Any Particular Person: On Growing Up Catering to Difficult People

a close up of piano keys, bathed in red light
Image by Juan Antonio Segal / CC BY

Born with a Target on My Back

I wasn’t allowed to be particular.

Growing up, only two people in my family were allowed to be particular. One was my sister Alice. Her default state was disgust. Dismay.

Alice was nasty. Particular. And catered to. She was consulted first on where she wanted to go whenever the family went out to eat.  » Read more

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