When I was a boy, we knew what a boy was. There were signs—agreed upon signs—that left no one confused or unsure. Girls had certain features; boys had others. It was simple as that. Yet you came along and muddied my clarity. You loved hugs and kisses; you wept at the beauty of things; you frowned at trucks and baseball gloves. But you were a boy. My boy. And I meant to correct whatever had gone wrong in you.
