I was wondering why today's date was nagging at me.
My grandmother died 50 years ago today.
She cultivated my love of books. She'd give me a book at every birthday and every Christmas.
I wouldn't be writing Captain Bara today if it weren't for her.
When I collect all of the stories into a book, maybe I should dedicate it to her.
I wonder how she would have reacted to having a book of gay furry fiction dedicated to her. Probably break her brain. Would it break her heart as well?
Books taught me how to understand the world and myself. Books helped me survive my teen years. Books gave me a refuge in bad times.
I'd like to think that she would have seen past the surface. Past the parts that would have upset her, because she was a product of her times. That she would have understood that she had given me the tools to express myself. The tools to let out the confusion and anger so it wouldn't stay bottled up inside. That that was the value of her gifts.
I have no way of knowing, of course.
I'm still thinking about you, Grandma. I hope I make you proud.
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