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Play. It's all play. Of course, she, nor I, knew
the full scope of my childhood enravishment ... the nekkid skin games
and subsequent rape. It was in my mom's best interest to have me forget,
so she studiously removed all outward traces of my childhood in Kansas
and Colorado. Gone were the childhood movies, all the family albums. Gone
was my best friend, the family Great Dane. Gone was my own father, the
Harvard man. Banished. After my inexplicable court appearance,
back in 1949, she packed everything in barrels while I played inside the
empty ones, tipping them over and pushing them! There were barrel rings,
too! We sealed up all my toys, climbed onto a passenger train and moved
to Texas. Just hints were left. Things I had to live with. Like the strange
interest gay men took in me all the while I was growing up. Like very
small dogs.
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