On Letting Go.

For those who replay the memory

It was 1998 in a small town just fifteen minutes north of Atlanta, GA. The city was buzzing with the energy of possibility and transformation — with sounds of Usher and TLC guiding our little, young hearts.

I was a new student at King Springs Elementary School, roaming the halls of a brand new experience after leaving my private montessori school. The small private school only taught up to 3rd grade, forcing me and my other classmates to finish elementary school elsewhere.

Fourth grade was where everything started for me. All the insecurities, the issues with friends, the knowledge of the “outside” world. It was where I heard my first curse words and also where I explored my sexuality.

With a building that held about a thousand students, I felt like a very small fish in a very big pond compared to the 30 odd students I was used to in my previous school.

I was walking from my fourth grade pod to the restrooms one day and I can’t remember exactly what my outfit looked like but I remember it was something frilly and something denim.

My parents weren’t too well off but my mother was a master clearance shopper. We got our clothes from the clearance rack at Macy’s and our shoes from the Payless on Atlanta, Rd — just a five minute drive from our…