As my binge reading continues, I came across a passage in which the main character wonders if maybe he was adopted.
I'd forgotten that I used to think the same thing. The character saw so few similarities between him and any member of his family. I, too, felt as if I were plopped into the same situation. The thought continued until the resemblance between my brother and me became too pronounced. Then I sought solace in the fact that neither of us particularly resembled anyone else in the family. On the other hand, he fit into the family completely hand-in-glove.
Later, when I finally understood that I'm gay, the difference made complete sense. Odd that one aspect of a person should make me feel so utterly unlike anyone else under our roof. I was not the only left handed person. Blue eyes were a family trademark. Most of us were blonds, one way or another. We were not strangers to the arts, although they weren't our family's strongest suit. But gay? How very, very odd. Queer, even.
That one aspect of me made me determined that I wanted to get out of there. That conviction changed somewhat through the years, but I don't live where I was raised and now I don't have a reason to return...certainly not to live there.