My mother always said that I was a smiling and laughing child. Everywhere she took me, people would remark, “What a wonderful laughing baby.” She tells me that I soon learned that smiling—and sometimes posing—would open doors for me. In first grade, I held other boys’ hands and pretended to be married to them. I was forbidden to play with dolls, but I still managed to sew outfits for my sister’s Barbies. I hid my sewn creations in a bag and buried them in the yard so that I could bring them out to play whenever my parents left the house.
In school, I endured beatings and humiliation. When the school bell rang at 3:00 in the afternoon to go home, I bolted out the door to avoid the bullies who waited to humiliate me in the hallways. As for the man I am today? I was born this way, and I am proud!
