In 3rd grade I cut all my hair off like Jean Seberg and wore clothes from the boy's department. I played in the dirt, and swam with my shirt off. "This is what granddaughter looks like," my grandfather said while showing everyone a picture from the year before. Strangers would use he's, and him's. My mom told everyone it was just a phase; "she'll grow out of it," she would say. My neighbor told me I looked like Bowie. Girls at school called me a freak; the boys didn't care what I wore as long as I could run fast, and play ball.
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