My Life: Vignettes Over Time – Chapter I

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It is hard to know where to begin when writing a personal history.  Do I start as a small child already feeling different than my peers, or do I begin later when I first began to understand my attraction to men?  Let me tell this story through a series of vignettes over time. Continue reading

Sayings From My Grandmother, or I Don’t Care

My grandmother was one of the most influential people in my life. She would come over almost every day of my childhood to help my mother. She taught me how to sew and use her sewing machine. No matter how bad we had been when she babysat, when my parents would come home and ask how the evening had gone, I could hear her from my bedroom saying, “they were angels.”. She was one of the people I always felt was on my side.

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Different

Now, “different” is nice, but it sure isn’t pretty
“Pretty” is what it’s about
I never met anyone who was “different”
Who couldn’t figure that out

– At The Ballet from A Chorus Line

I knew I was different from a very young age, even though my mother, grandmother, and aunt tried to turn it into being special. As the character Bebe sings in A Chorus Line, I figured out that I was not like the other boys and it was not a good thing. I did not engage in baseball on the playground, I was completely disinterested in sports and could not get my head around the rules or players’ role in different games. Continue reading

Memories of Past and Future

Today is the anniversary of my grandmothers death.  She died March 4th 2004 at the age of 100.  Tomorrow I will visit her grave, a ritual I do whenever I am in South Florida.  She is buried next to my grandfather, whom I never knew.  My grandfather died five years before I was born of a massive heart attack.  
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Tell me something wonderful!

My aunt and grandmotherOne of my earliest memories of my aunt was when I was three or four years old. She would tell me stories about a fairy named Matilda that lived in a thimble under her bed. She would talk in a high child like voice as she explained that she would feed Matilda strawberries and cream every morning and they would drink tea from little tiny tea cups and have all kinds of adventures. I believed these stories and thought they were wonderful.  Every night before I went to bed I began to imagine stories about Matilda and later my own stories about a fairy kingdom that I, along with Mr. Dog, my beloved stuffed animal, ruled over.  My own imaginary world, which helped me to fall asleep every night as a child, began with my aunt’s Matilda stories.  Continue reading