Sometime before 1980 my mother called me into the living room and launched into a substantial rant about how I could not be gay, that gay was icky, that God would hate me, and so on. She even offered to go get some ‘magazines’ to show me how icky gay was. (WTF, Mom?) My boy puppet sat there and was confused. I just operated the puppet as a ghost.
But here’s where I reclaim that. She saw me. Granted, she immediately tried to kill me, but she SAW ME. And I was growing up GIRL!
