![]() We lived on Long Island, in one of twelve identical “splanches”-split-ranch houses-that lined a street in a suburb that had, until relatively recently, been a potato farm. One spring day in 1976, when I was fifteen years old and couldn’t keep my secret any longer, I went into the bedroom I shared with my older brother, sat down at the little oak desk we did our homework on, and began an anguished letter to a total stranger who lived on the other side of the world. “WHOEVER TOLD YOU I’D SEND YOU A ‘FORM LETTER’?”
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