Office Of Behavioral Health Licensure And Arizona

...per dire loro che era lesbica.

March 8. A post with the issues that are important to me, for once the female form.

Six months later he went specifically home to tell them that she was a lesbian. Then, for years, wondered why he had done - if it was, as he said then, in itself, an act of political integrity, motivated by a genuine need to be honest with her parents, or whether it was not true revenge, revenge and liberation. At that point he had been convinced for some time that her lesbianism was something neutral, neither good nor bad in itself. But he also knew that this neutral fact of his life, when presented to the parents, would be just as powerful brandishing a machete in front of their faces and would have caused wounds as deep. He had many preparations, consulted many books. "The afternoon is the best time" had recommended Cornelia Patterson, and therefore Jerene, afternoon, ceremoniously took his parents to stay to give them the news. As she talked her father looked out the window toward the oleanders in the garden, his mother sat on the sofa and wept. "Have you finished?" Asked Sam after she had been silent for a few seconds.

"Yes, I'm done."

"Then I'll tell you one thing. I'll tell you that I would have preferred that I had to cease a cancer. "never took his eyes from the oleander.

"Dad," she said. "How can you say such a thing, how can you stand there and say such a thing?"

"I'm serious," he said, turning. "You've always been a disappointment for us, we've always given problems. And now back home with this ... This crap, this sacrilege. What did you expect me to do, I smile and relax in the chair? "

" And as a death, "murmured Margaret slowly from the sofa, sobbing. "It's as if she were dead."

«Mamma!» disse Jerene. «Papà! Non dite queste cose. Io sono ancora la stessa. Sono sempre vostra figlia, la vostra Jerene. Vi prego! Sto solo cercando di essere onesta con voi, di dirvi la ve­rità per una volta.»

Suo padre allontanò gli occhi da lei, guardò ancora una vol­ta fuori della finestra. «Tu non sei mia figlia» disse. «Ringrazio Dio almeno per questo. Tu non sei mia figlia.»

E così strappò il machete che gli era stato piantato nel cuore, lo girò e tagliò via di netto Jerene.

(D. Leavitt - The Lost Language of Cranes)