Afternoons As Endora by Richard Blanco
I was a boy who hated being a boy. I couldn't catch a football or throw a baseball. I didn't learn to ride a bike until I was nine years old and never played outside with those boorish boys next door — Randy and Ricky. Instead, I made Pillsbury Dough cookies and latch-hook rugs, drew flowers in my notebooks, and proudly displayed my paint-by-number scenes of Paris. I hated dogs but loved my cats — Miso, Ferbi, Butter — combing and dabbing them every day with baby cologne. I preferred my mother's Tupperware parties to Clint Eastwood movies and fancied her gossip magazines over all the butch toys — the Erector set, Hot Wheels cars, and cap guns that were approved "for boys" by my grandmother.
So far, he sounds like me...