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Unformatted text preview: my own identities whenever someone asks me who I am, and the answer that tumbles out of my mouth is rarely predictable. But this is my mother's funeral, and I
am devastated, and to honor the memory of my mom, I'm telling each of them the
who of me I know they can deal with.
'Tm Kate Bornstein," I answer her in this quiet-quiet voice of mine, "Mildred's
"Daughter?!" She shoots back incredulously the same question each ofller predecessorshad asked, because everyone knew my mother had two sons.
"Mildred never mentioned she had a daughter." The eyes behind those glasses
are dissectihg my face, looking for family resemblances. When I was a boy, I
looked exactly like my father. Everyone used to say so. Then, when I went through
~hat people would call my sex change, they would say, "You know, you look just
~Ikeyour mother." Except I'm tall. Nearly six feet of me in mourning for the passIng of my mother, and I'm confronting this brigade of matrons whose job seems to i .
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This document was uploaded on 02/21/2014.
- Spring '14