It wasn't a long job; not nearly as long as I had hoped. I had hoped itwould take forever so I could just go to bed, but no. A couple ofminutes and it...was history, a bad memory, or rather, a good memory gonebad.I tried to stay invisible as I crept into the kitchen and my twobrothers we giggling into their hands. I wasn't happy and told them toshut up, but mum was having none of it."What do you expect you big sissy." I'm no sissy!" I said and I thought that had I been bigger, thisprobably. " So I can change?" I asked with hope."Of course not. It seems to me your sister and family were exactlyright about you. What kind of boy lets his little sister beat him upand put him in her clothes? What kind of boy wears girl's GoodNitesbecause he wets his bed? Only one kind. What kind has a crying fitlike a toddler because he's homesick? No matter what you want to be itis clear what you actually are. You are a little sissy boy, Samantha,and that's how your mother intends to raise you.. More

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