Viva La Difference!

I knew I was different from other little boys from a very early age. I told kindergarten classmates that Judy Garland was my grandmother.



I held private, solitary concerts, re-enacting Diana Ross' Central Park performance.



I colored in the black & white illustrations of Nancy Drew books, giving the titian-haired sleuth...well, titian hair, as well as color-coordinated day dresses, gloves and shoes.



My parents, needless to say, were a bit worried; especially my mother. If only I could have shown her this:



I'm not saying one's right and one's wrong, but I think mom may have accepted my Matt Dillon fixation, had I promised to never pierce my septum or permamently place a mural on my face.