by Alexander Chee
I was not just mistaken for a member of other races, as a child. I was also often mistaken for a girl. What a beautiful little girl you have, people used to say to my mother at the grocery store when I was six, seven, eight. She had let my hair grow long. I’m a boy, I would say each time. And they would turn red, or stammer an apology, or say, His hair is so long, and I would feel as if I had done something wrong, or she had. I have been trying to convince people for so long that I am a real boy, it is a relief to stop—to run in the other direction.
[Read more at Guernica]