On an October day some years ago a second son was born to Ethel and Homer. They say he was almost ten pounds which seems like quite a lot for the slight mother. She later used to tell the story about dancing at parties when she was in her 8 1/2 month and how observers wondered how such a little woman with such a huge belly could keep up the Charleston dance step. Seems as though everything came out alright, no pun intended.
The new member of the family thrived on the love and attention from Mom and Dad. The older brother adjusted to the baby’s intrusion on his one-time monopoly of fair-haired first born (seven years difference) Apple of Everyone’s Eye. The seed of sibling rivalry was beginning to germinate but then manifested into an attitude of seeming denial of the little brother’s existence. If necessary the obligatory special occasions would be observed; that is, birthdays, Christmas, and Easter, etc. This pattern persisted into old age.
Early childhood revealed the physical differences between him and the girl next door.
The father’s dutiful instruction on the care and hygiene of the foreskin. How to pee standing up to the toilet. All quite SOP for his age.
Then some matters developed interesting turns. For instance, no one, least of all the child, thought there was anything odd that he had his own Patsy-Ann doll with a doll-sized truck full of little dresses lovingly sewn and/or knitted by mother. An actual talent for painting and drawing came along with a fascination for paper dolls. As time past he couldn’t manage to catch a ball much less win at kick-the-can or sports in general. The end result being a lifelong disinterest in sports or anything competitive.
One day after an exploratory adventure with two neighbor brothers he discovered you could do lots more with certain body parts besides eliminate one’s waste. And it was good!
As he developed emotionally as well as physically way in the back of his mind he became aware of being different.
He, through self awareness, ridicule, bullying, and abuse from older peers questioned his proscribed identity, and this happened before he even knew the words describing one’s sexuality. Ultimately with a contraband copy of Dr. Kinsey’s Report the revelation of twenty some years of mistaken Identity came home to roost. And the struggle went on until the day that the door fell off the hinges of the closet where he and so many other aged fairies resided. The mistake was theirs.
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