"My Evolution...the Early Years"

  the boy & the girl

Some tranz-women are created inherently feminine from the onset - never physically or emotionally identifying with their in-born male traits. The rest of us? The path isn't quite so obvious.

We understand our gender reality at a very early age...children inherently see all truths in this world. They're not hampered by man-made prejudices regarding skin color, religion, socioeconomic conditions, sexual orientation or gender. They only see things the way they are at their very essence...before society inflicts its scrutiny upon their crystal awareness.

Many of us subsequently spend years battling these leanings in an effort to find happiness in our physical gender. Some of us are left with no other choice but to correct nature's mistake. Our other option? A life of misery...or even suicide. I lived many years plagued by the former and I sadly explored that latter option, as well. Fortunately, I came to believe that as long as I had another card to play? I was going to stay in the hand.

In my opinion, being transgender is a lot like one's belief in God. You can't prove it exists but you've known it within your heart since your earliest development. You subsequently explore this belief, questions its validity, become disillusioned, and even sometimes take its name in vain. However, in the end? The truth is the only path to freedom.

As in the world of spirituality, men & women in various majorities inherently harass those different from themselves. You'd think a nation founded by such persecuted orphans would comprehend this irony better than most. Alas, our forefathers anticipated this foul side of human nature: hence our well-conceived constitution.

Here I'm exploring the most profound events that affected my early journey from male-to-female. Naturally, I'm also including photos long before my transition. Some of you couldn't imagine me as masculine? Trust me...lots of early acquaintances were equally challenged envisioning me as female. 

This isn't a life chronicle. However, by default...it includes a lot of history about my life. I like to think this process might eventually help mend some old wounds: I suppose that's possible. However, it's been my experience that the deepest cuts never fully heal - we just learn to live with the scars.

Thus, I'm simply going to wish that by sharing these details I might help another find hope, solace or illumination along their path.

If I could make it through this?

Anybody can...

outward appearances

When I graduated from Owensboro high school in 1979: they voted me "Most Likely to Succeed". However, as class president & football team captain I could've just as easily been elected least likely to ever become a woman. 

Outward appearances? They're sometimes very deceiving.

Since the recent death of my closest friend from youth: Rob Puckett -  a number of teenage acquaintances became aware of my gender transition. A few reached out & we reconnected. Know what's most ironic? How wrongly most childhood friends pictured my life. Between battling with my gender identity plus grappling with sexual abuse that left me forever scarred and caused my sister to suicide – those early years weren't exactly picturesque.

The worst thing that came from all this ugliness?

I learned to lie. And I learned to lie very well. I first lied in order to survive. Subsequently? I lied in order to never face my reality. It took me another twenty-five years to discover how not to lie & begin living a life of truth. Along the way I ventured along a bizarre path of gender exploration as I remained on a collision course with my future transition.

first bouts with gender dysphasia  

I arrived on earth in Owensboro, KY on June third, 1961. The only thing notable about my birth? I was the first local child to be extracted from a womb using a new suction cup-device. Thus, my poor mother was positioned on her back with legs in stirrups - accompanied by a full room of doctors hoping to gain insight about this novel apparatus. As for me? I started my life naked in front of a bunch handsome, successful young men: couldn't have been all bad, huh? *Laugh* Unfortunately, my genitals registered as "male" and so did my birth certificate...and thus began a lifelong battle with transsexualism.

My clearest recollection of my first bout with gender identity? When we moved into our new home just after my fifth birthday. I vividly recall being convinced I could somehow miraculously become a girl as a part of this relocation. I intently prayed on the matter each night before bed. My desires included a comprehensive change of clothing in all my drawers & even a bit of decorating refinement. It was actually a fairly detailed wish for a preschooler. I was pretty certain that if I prayed hard enough? My dreams would come true. It took the Almighty another forty years to actually grant me this early wish.

Both my parents had been married before they connected & each had children from their first marriages - my mother had a son & my dad had a pair of daughters. There were substantial age differences between myself & these three siblings and none of them lived with us longer than a quick visit.

That left me to grow up with my sister Valerie, who was two & half years my senior and the first person to catch me in girl's clothing. This was very likely due to the fact I was "borrowing" - her items. Did she get mad? Nope...she simply traded her silence for my slave labor. You 'gotta realize: as a child? My sister pretty much owned me. To say she had an alpha persona...is to miss the point of what she was all about. *Laugh*

Mom finally busted my stash about a year later. Honestly? That - was a good thing as it freed me from worrying over threats from Valerie.  My mother wasn't really upset by this discovery. Thus, when she found me wearing girls undergarments the next time she just shook her head & warned me I'd be teased if I told others. She probably assumed I'd grow out of it. The only thing I grew out of? The sizes I was wearing.

Overall? My earliest years of childhood were a healthy & joyful experience. I enjoy lots of vivid recollections from these developmental years and most are pleasant.

One of the best-worst habits I developed from my upbringing was the habit of never dwelling upon the past. My mother was a disciple of the concept: "If something bad happens?" Move on...and focus upon what's situated directly in front of you or on your horizon. Generally speaking this was very good advice. I'm rarely weighted down by life's mishaps.

What's the downside of this practice?

Some things you just can't get past. In fact, some wounds never heal because of such neglect. They cut so deep that you'll eventually have to go all the way back to the moment in time where the hurt occurred...re-sort it all out & try to heal - if you ever expect to be healthy in the future.

My devastating injury?

It happened at home.

sexual abuse by my father

Unfortunately, in his earlier years - my dad was a very f***ed up individual. And like a lot f****ed up individuals? He perpetuated his chaos upon those situated closest to him. It started with physical & emotional abuse of my mother...most often when he drank - which became increasingly frequent. Eventually, dear-ole-dad expanded his mistreatment to include both me & my sister. It was terrible. I'm not going to fully explore these horrors except for their profound impact on me as a tranz-person.

I'm forever stumped to consider if my father sexually-abused me much earlier in life and that I'll simply never recall that exploitation. That possibility haunted my dreams of transition for decades. For the longest time I remained paralyzed by the fear he'd caused my gender dysphasia via sexual mistreatment. Thus, if I transitioned? I'd simply extend my father's control far beyond his death.

Probably the worst byproduct of his abuse? My sister & I came to detest one another for the most bizarre of reasons: we battled over who was the favorite...in the eyes of our father.

How sick is that?

The irony of this perverse competition? By winning that battle - she ended up losing the war.

The absolute bottom of this repulsive barrel was my mother's attempted suicide after I tried talking with her about what was going on with my father. We were in Sanford, North Carolina at that time where my father followed the tobacco market. Both my father & sister privately blamed me for her attempt. After that? I never again opened my mouth...even long after both my sister & father passed away. 

Much of this period of life remains a blur in my cranium.

Have you ever survived a bad situation? It's like carrying a bowl of hot soup across a room: it's difficult to recall details about your surroundings as you fixate upon not spilling the liquid. To me? The heat singeing my fingers was the abuse from my father - it hurt. But the real horror was the liquid itself: it represented my mother. If I spilled it? I'd possibly kill her.

I spent a lot years carrying that damn bowl of soup.

My therapist once challenged me to recall something good that happened in the midst of this misery. I cheated: talked with my old friend Rob Puckett who'd recall these years with vivid detail. I chimed in...but honestly? My memory remains slighted. To this day most of my detailed recollections remain post-facto through the eyes of others.

my sister's suicide

My sister took her own life just before the start of her senior year of high school. I suppose in retrospect her suicide was inevitable but I'll never forget those morning shrills...was a lot to absorb at fifteen years of age. There's no sound like that of a mother losing her child. At that point? We're all primal.

Know what's my toughest recollection from her death? We never got to be "friends". Alas, as I began to increasingly detest my father...she'd offset my  loathing with nearly directly proportional increases in his defense. We remained pitted on opposite sides of love. That sucked.

Took me several months following Valerie's death to garner enough courage to enter her bedroom. I waited until my parents went away for an afternoon trip on the houseboat. I adorned her clothing and spent the day trying to resurrect her memory & I cried a great deal. Honestly? My tears weren't rooted in her death: I was angered she'd left me to deal with all this crap. It was many years later before I actually mourned her passing in a traditional manner.

Throughout the years leading up to my sister's death my attitude, my grades in school, my life...remained a seesaw existence. I'd do well to secure a "C" average...then I'd make all A's with little effort. The only logic to my life was that it wasn't remotely logical. I took one final emotional dive during my sophomore year following Valerie's death: was troubled finding much reason for living.

Then...I went into perfect-child mode.

the perfect child

Both my parents remained a mess following Valerie's death. Holidays were just another reason to cry more intently over all that wasn't. I honestly didn't give a damn how badly my father hurt from this process. At this juncture? I absolutely hated that man.

But my mother? I couldn't stand seeing her miserable.

Somewhere along this path I began to believe if I was somehow good enough? I could make all her pain go away...make all the bad memories vanish.

Thus, I tried to become the perfect child. 

The result? My grades soared & my activities knew no end. Generally speaking, this period includes lots of great memories: good friends, good times & I even fell deeply in love. Importantly, a couple of other male parent-figures took a healthy interest in my life and this had a profound impact on my self image.

My alternative gender activities were limited & shared by only one person. Honestly? I thought perhaps I'd gotten around this issue & that my life would eventually become "normal".

Wishful thinking...

my first real taste of transsexualism

I started college in the fall of 1979 at the University of Kentucky. Lexington, KY provided a whole bunch of firsts in my life.

Tranz-wise...it was the first place I ever went out-on-the town...as a girl. "Johnny Angels"...what a club that was. I can honestly say my first visit to this establishment was purely accidental...a late-night vigil with friends for dancing. However, the moment I walked in & witnessed a couple of DRAG queens situated at the front bar...any delusions I had about being past gender issues? They came to a screeching halt.

After a bit of trial & error, I eventually befriended by a local queen...who also became my first male lover. She'd let me get dressed at her place & we'd go hit the scene. It wasn't a common occurrence but always special. Like most of my earliest gender-acquaintances? She died of AIDS in the late 1980's.

My funniest memories remain the number of times I almost got caught. How I lived in a fraternity house & remained active as a student leader without getting outed remains a modern mystery.

This phase of my life was a time for great healing. I was away from home & no longer constantly reminded of bad memories. I had my first healthy familial relationship with an older man who also became the only real sense of a father I ever knew.

Lexington was also where I was first tested for transsexuality by a therapist. I was recommended to begin female hormone replacement therapy during the latter part of my senior year in 1983. I was pretty confused & ended up not pursuing the matter any further.

Why not?

This was Kentucky...in the early 80's. The only tranz-women I'd met were a hand full of DRAG-queens & one older TS-woman that reminded me of my second grade teacher. There was no internet, precious little support...and no role models to visit or connect.

However, my biggest hesitation?

I remained unconvinced my desire to explore a female persona wasn't related to the sexual abuse I'd suffered at the hands of my father. Alas, nobody was ever going to be able to answer that question...but me.

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