Warp and weft and dumb and deaf

One day my mother told me that she had now learnt to love me, and
had finally come to terms with my being born a girl. I don't remember
feeling any sudden shock , however this revelation has impacted itself
upon my psyche, as being the first emotional experience I had.

I was only just turned three yet can recall minute details about the
position I was lying in, on top of the slippery claret eiderdown, next
to my baby brother, the sun falling through the window between coral
coloured scallop shell curtains and across the large frame of a weaving
loom . My grandmother used to work from home. It was an afternoon nap
we were waking from. A train (2.45 p.m.?) had just passed over the
bridge at the end of our street and hooted.

Maybe she didn't realise I could understand . And maybe I can't
understand why she didn't realise. And perhaps this could be taken as a
warning to caring people, that the dumb are not necessarily deaf (and
vice versa)

After this I had to adapt to the new concept that what I had taken to
be love was just co-existence and a degree of tolerance. My parents had
somehow acquired a machine they could see no use for. But they had the
common sense to keep me well oiled and covered , lest anyone came by,
peeped through the window and shook their head to see rust, heard the
shrill grating noise of parts dissembling.