The Shiloh Years
I knew this one was a lezzie the day she was old enough to wear Crocs.
You can call a gay out at a very early age. When you’re 5 you don’t give a fuck what anybody thinks. You do what you want without fearing people’s opinions. I used to dress up in Mom’s clothes all the time and was as happy as a clam on high tide.
One time I made my younger brother dress up as Dad and I dressed up as Mom. My older brothers had gone to the store and I thought it’d be funny if when they returned we were having a tea party as Mom and Dad. I remember hearing the car come up the drive way and telling my brother to “get in character.” We pretended to be having an adult conversation as my brothers came in the house. When my older brother saw us he said, “That’s sick! Get out of those clothes! Jesus!” I just laughed and carried on with the conversation. I thought I was so funny—but I knew that something was different by his tone and harsh words. I continued dressing in Mom’s clothes for a little longer after that but stopped when I was 6 or 7, when I learned that only faggots dressed in their mom’s clothes and faggot was something bad. Boys weren’t supposed to be faggots.
It’s unfortunate that I was taught at an early age that dressing up as a girl was not a good thing, but there was a brief time, The Shiloh Years, when I was happy and comfortable. I treasure those years.
