Transvestia matter, any close friends, I was perhaps more ig- norant of sex than most boys of my age. Sex was a subject never talked about in our house---certainly not within my hearing. I knew there were boys and girls, men and women, but couldn't connect the real reason for their being different. Although I was a boy, wanting to be a girl seemed perfectly natural to me. If only someone were close enough for me to con- fide in, or show me understanding, perhaps most of the troubles that were to be my lot could have been avoided.

About this time, the Great Depression was in full swing. Times were hard. Money, food and clothing were the prime concerns of everyone, particularly in our home. We were very poor, having only a one- room apartment. It was a bare, dreary place that no amount of effort could make "nice". We were forced to accept welfare--which was barely enough to keep body and soul together. So it was a rare day, indeed, when Mother could buy herself a colorful new dress. For six long years we did not "live"--we existed. I had almost nothing in the way of toys or playthings. I was a lonely, solitary kid with a great big infer- iority complex. You see, the people in our town looked down on families as poor as ours and discours aged their children from associating with such "poor trash". Then too, I was afraid that someone would discover my secret desires and didn't dare to be too friendly with anyone. Because of the coldness I found wherever I turned, I tried to find pastimes that I could do alone--model building, art, music, etc., which proved very interesting to me then and still are. Being ragged and poor, I was a social outcast in school and hated to go. I just barely scraped through.

Whether I was a victim of my environment, or just introverted because of my "terrible" secret desires, I don't know, but my childhood years were far from pleasant and left their mark on me.

As I grew into my teens, I had to find whatever

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