It’s odd; I remember sewing it, but I don’t remember showing it to anyone. I suppose I knew I was supposed to be ashamed of sewing a dress for a doll. I think I left the sheath in a drawer at my grandmother’s house. I always think about how remarkable my grandmother was. She never, in any way, questioned why a little boy like me wanted to sew a dress for a doll. When I told my mother I was gay, one of her concerns was that she did not want her mother and daddy to know. They were old and she felt they would not understand. I found out years later from a cousin that my grandmama and granddaddy
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