A room full of dressing-up clothes: princess gowns and gauzy scarves and sundresses and skirts. A boy pulls a dress out of the pile, slips it on over his jeans, and asks me to zip him into it. Then, he smooths the skirt down and adjusts the spaghetti straps – and begins to walk differently, proudly, self-consciously. He doesn't try to explain the way the dress makes him feel. He doesn't need to. Everything about him glows.
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