I was a skinny, sensitive, sissy kid -- not violent, not tough (the girls coud beat me up), scared of snakes and frogs, not very smart, not very bright, walked funny, talked funny, took piano lessons, played (not well though) the flute in the school band, and could sing soprano (well, until I was about thirteen). I loved going to church and feeling as if I was making God happy and, well, as I look at it all retrospectively, feeling I was excelling at (and developing some sense of superiority with) something others my age didn't care much about. Still, I liked playing with hotwheel cars in the dirt, walking in muddy water, playing neighborhood softball, and just trying to get along with everyone. Trying to get along with everybody could backfire, though, when some of the people were fighting (in one way or another) other people in the neighorhood. My hypocrisy was as bad as any. I could be bratty and hurtful, say mean things, pick sides for no other purpose than to save face (and lose face with the other sides), then switch sides later for the same purpose, and make trouble for other people.
Many years later, I finally learned how to sew, and I became a pretty good cook.
Also, many years later, I asked my mother (we were having lunch togeher at Denny's) if she and dad ever thought of me as a "sissy." She said, "No. We sought to support you in areas where you excelled.... Whenever we thought we'd lost you, we knew where we could find you ... on the bench of a piano or an organ (in my own little world) playing songs we sang at church."
