View From the Middle
Most of my childhood memories are from dingy, faded photographs underneath sheets of sticky plastic in a family album. My first picture: I am brand-new, swaddled tightly in a blanket. My skin is an aggressive pink. My expression—skeptical, but curious. My head is a thick carpet of black hair, which will soon turn to strawberry fire. When I come out a girl, a disappointment, the nurse asks what to call me. Momma knows firsthand the heartache of being born a girl, so she only c