My mom once told me that boys grow up and have a broken voice at the age of 13.

I look forward to my thirteen. That day has come. I am 13. I am proud to live, thinking that my voice was broken and I was upset. A real man.

And here, somehow, I needed to call my mother’s “home” phone to work. I had only three numbers in my head (mama’s work, grandmother’s work, dad’s work) that I was constantly confusing.

I call my mom to work, they raise the phone and I go "and Lily can?“”

In response, I get a response from the grandmother who destroyed my thirteen-year-old man: “Girl, you’ve got the wrong number.”