[Gemme]

I spent almost a week being deliciously objectified by this community and I'm totally okay with that. Some would think that perhaps I received my tush from the maternal side of the family and you would be WRONG. In fact, it has a name. It's the _____________ butt. My dad gave that to me. I have a naked baby picture of me on my belly and you can totally see that it was already there, from the very beginning.

He also gave me his tree trunk legs (good for kicking people and things, getting down low to push things back or semi-crushing unsuspecting butch's heads/waists/etc) and thick ankles. Thanks, Dad. Those are something I could have done without.

Oh! And his chin dimple. It was better when John Travolta became famous but I'd rather still have a good old fashioned, in your cheek dimple.

Also coming from him is an emotional distance that can be difficult for partners to cross. He has been married to my stepmom for decades now and they have what is, to them, a happy and healthy relationship. But they live in separate homes on the same street. Lots of folks think that is weird and I did as well when I was growing up but now I think it's brilliant. His space, her space and they still do for one another (he cuts her grass and fixes things and she makes dinner and makes sure he doesn't leave either house with mismatched socks). There are some Daddy issues related to that emotional unavailability too, although as time has gone on (and maybe his morality catching up with him), he's tried to bridge that gap between us.

I've always thought that I resembled my mother more, both physically and emotionally. Both parents had brown eyes and hair but my hair is squirrely and thick like my mom's was. I have her almond-shaped eyes, horrible eyesight included. Actually, I was whammied with that one. Both parents have bad eyesight. I had glasses at a year old. Let's just say, I went through maaaaannnnny pairs before I figured out that they are actually beneficial for me to keep on my face and out of the bushes, toilet, the dog's bowl or garbage disposal.

I have her build from the waist up. Slender shoulders, stubby fingers, weak chin and little ears. One thing that I really and truly wanted from mom, I did not get, and I think that I should be able to petition someone somewhere about that.

My mother had beautiful breasts. Full and heavy, they were round globes of freckled flesh that swung effortlessly from side to side with minimal bounce. Her nips were always perky too but that had to do with the shot they gave her to stop her milk flow, she said. I, apparently, got my father's breasts.



But they work the way they are supposed to, so I can't complain there. I just remember watching my mother dress for work in the mornings and having discussions about the changes that my body will undergo eventually and the one thing I was totally stoked about was growing breasts just like hers.

My mother was paranoid schizophrenic and I thank the high Heavens that I did not get that from her. She was such a good soul and was very rarely violent but that condition tore her, me and our family apart. I wound up in the system because of it and both she and I became victims of it and the fallout from it. In the scheme of things, I think that trumps breasts, especially since I can buy new boobies but can't buy a new brain.

I got her sense of humor. My God, that woman was funny. Get her off her mind-sucking meds and she was a quick one. I think my inquisitive nature came from her as well. We operate it differently, but I think that our core is identical.

We're both writers. Not professionally, but both of us had/have the tendency to write bits here and there and keep it all, because we might use it down the road and both of us felt that we expressed ourselves better on paper than in person.

Mom had a thing with playing with her hands, like she didn't know what to do with them. I think I feel that too and sometimes mimic her hand gestures when I'm feeling out of sorts or uncomfortable.

My mother passed down insecurities as well. She taught me a hard love that would be labeled child abuse now and that's one of the top 5 reasons I never procreated. I was afraid that I wasn't strong enough to break that cycle. She showed me, step by step, how to pick the wrong partners and how to alienate and reject the better ones. She showed me weakness and fear and judgement and, for the longest time, I emulated that. That's a difficult cycle to break as well, but I'm still trying.

Not all things received were good and not all things received were bad. They just are and sometimes, it's about how you spin it.

So, what about you?