and it did! I put on the other one and stood up. The heels weren't very high, and I didn't have any trouble walking over to the full length mirror hanging on the closet door and dared—for the first time—to see myself dressed a girl. I saw a skinny, gangly, short-haired, awkward looking creature. I hadn't had a haircut for about four months, so my hair was longer than usual. I grabbed a comb and combed it down over my ears. It wasn't much of an improvement! I turned around and there was G-ma glaring at me like I was a freak! She snapped “Come with me", grabbed me and took me downstairs. I sat down at the kitchen table-not knowing what else to do. When she lit the kerosene lamp I had an idea of what was going to happen and I was right! It was her favorite method of heating the curling iron.

All the time she was busy with the curling iron, she was calling me the usual names and bitterly denouncing me as a boy (man) although there was nobody around to hear her except me—and for some reason, I didn't seem to mind being called a girl. Every hair on my head was tightly curled and my scalp had a few burned spots where the hot iron got too close. She finished and sneered “Go look at yourself now, Betsy." I went back upstairs and looked in the mirror. There was no pattern to the mass of curls I had, but I was thrilled just the same. I ran my fingers over them and shivered with the excitement of having curls. I secretly wished, though, that they could hang clear to my shoulders. I tried to read, but couldn't concentrate long enough to become interested in the story. Every few minutes I'd feel my curls and go look in the mirror again. I tried posing in what I thought were feminine poses. And, of course, I put on several pair of Sis's shoes. I began to realize that dressing as a girl wasn't so bad after all-in fact I liked it. G-ma forced me to come downstairs to supper still dressed and curled. It took a lot of courage to face my G-pa like that, but he just looked at me and told G-ma "You're ruining the kid”. I think I loved my G-pa more at that moment than at anytime during my life. I had expected ridicule and had received instead a smile and understanding. Since the supper 'ordeal' hadn't gone so badly, I ventured out to do the chores still dressed. I wondered what Spot-my dog-thought when he saw me in a dress. I slept with my curls that night, but before breakfast, soaked my head and combed them out.

That summer soon ended, and I went back to school with a proper boy's haircut and some mixed memories of a girl (?) alone in her bed-

room.

There were no tears that winter, so I wasn't 'forced' to dress. The next spring a plan began to form in my mind for 'getting even' with G-ma,

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