Going Back Home

I grew up in a smallish town in western New York. The sort of place that cannot call itself a suburb of one of the bigger cities like Buffalo or Rochester. At best it rates "bedroom community" status. Of course we did not know that growing up there. Into the 70's it was the sort of place where folks did not lock their doors and has much more of a Midwest feel than that of urban "New York". Farms abound, driving to town is still a big deal, and they call it "pop" if you are asking for a carbonated beverage. I think there are more cows than people in the county of my birth. I think you get the picture.

My folks still live there in the house I grew up in. My Brother, and family, lives in a suburb of Rochester. All of my Dad's relatives live within a 35 mile radius. In fact, I am the only one that moved away. I tell you this to set the stage for these reflections on a short holiday visit I just made there. And of course this was my first time returning to my hometown as my trueself.

About a month ago the topic of the holidays came up.  I was asked by my parents if I would come to see them.  Mind you this would be a solo journey as my two sons would be with their mother for all of the holiday break.  This an artifact of the deal I had to make to 1) Keep my boys together as much as possible, 2) Honor my oldest son's wish that he be in my house on most school nights.  There is a lot more to that saga, but suffice to say, save for a 24 hour period, I do not get to see my kids over the holidays.  

Anyhow I digress, the question was put.  Are you coming?  I reminded them that I was "me" all the time now, there was no "going back".  They said that would be fine.  After a few weeks I posed another question.  "Who knows?", the answer, "almost nobody".  They had told some family friends who do not live in town a few months ago.  I had gotten a very nice supportive phone call from those friends.  They are winter birds, at least I think that is the term.  They spend a good part of the winter in Florida.  As such, they knew something about transfolk.  It seems they had followed the events around Susan Stanton, and so were well aware of things.  Their take, she got a raw deal.  And so that was it, they were supportive and happy for me.  A nice thing, considering I had felt these folks were surrogate parents for me in high school.  And to be clear, I had dated their daughter in high school too.  I wonder if they have told her yet...

But that left everybody else in town that they know, and all of my extended relatives, who live about 25 miles away.  Basically everybody they deal with on a daily basis.  They had told nobody.  I am not faulting them.  It is probably embarrassing to say your son is an [insert your favorite misunderstood trans term here].  I have an uncle in a nearby town.  They refer to him as Uncle Blabbermouth.  They are convinced upon his learning of this he will trot off to the local diner and hold court, explaining it all to everybody in town.  And of course without being encumbered with any facts his job will be easy.

And there is the issue.  My parents have to come out too.  They do not know how to do it.  But my imminent arrival dictates that it will need to be done.  So I write them a letter from me to their friends/relatives that they can use as a lubricant and explanation.  They like the note.  There is a recent photo of me so folks get the idea.  I send this weeks before my trip.  So I ask a couple days before my trip, "Who knows now?"  "Nobody."  Still.  They are scared I think.

They have some best friends in town.  You know the type.  They sometimes show up at the house unannounced.  Especially if they know long lost offspring are in town.  I posed to Mom, "If you like I can drop by their place on the way in to town and do the deed for you."  It is a genuine offer.  I want to spare them the pain.  About 2 hours later I get a text.  "We told them".  "And it is no big deal".  I think they are relieved.  But that was the end of their telling.

This is all of course preamble for the actual visit.  As I am driving the near eight hours north I ponder what the deal will be when I get there.  Will it be ok?  Will they be uncomfortable?  They have seen photos.  Mom saw me in person last Feb.  It cannot be a big shock, can it?  As I finally pull into town I head to a plaza near my parents home and park in the lot and fix my makeup (yeah I am that sort).  Take a deep breath and drive on.  

The initial reaction is uneventful.  They are happy to see me.  They have held dinner for me.  There are no compliments offered.  No, "you look nice", "love your hair", "wow did that surgery hurt".  None.   I can see they are trying.  Trying for it to be a normal visit.  There are the initial discussions about plans, and days and times for the remaining holiday events.  But from the beginning, I am "he". "his", "him", and "[Old Name]".  I decided to respond with things like "are you talking to me?", and "who?".   Once they see it is bugging me they try harder.  "Blah blah blah he, blah he, blah blah his, oh shit, I meant she".    

I probably react poorly.  Since going full time I have not been "he'd" that much in a very short period of time.  I basically got a years worth of real world "he's" in an hour.  It was too much for me.  I actually asked them, do I look like a he?  Probably out of line.  But if I did, or acted like one, I could get it.  But I don't, and so I didn't.

I leave the house and head to my hotel, somewhat dejected.  I can go anyplace else in this town and they will all say "she" and "her".    The proof is everyplace.  The clerk at the hotel, "Checking in ma'am?"   As I am unlocking the door to my hotel room a very young boy, perhaps all of two years old yells down the hall to me.  "Hello Momma!".  He keeps coming, his dad in tow.  He turns to dad and points at me.  "That's a momma Daddy".  Now I know kids have X-Ray vision.  But even this two year old looked at me and saw a woman.  

I get situated.  Then decide I need a drink.  I go out in search of a place in town, which oddly enough, I find quickly, it is a small town after all.  I go in.  This is a straight place.  Very straight.  I sit at the bar and order.  I get a drink and a smile from the pretty bar keep.  The crowd is much younger than me, not all of them, just most.  There are no stares, no gawking, nothing.  I finish the drink, my goal accomplished.  As I walk out a fellow more nearly my age offers me his nuts.  Ok it was a jar of nuts, but he offered them just the same.  And does so with a big smile.  It is a flirt I am sure.  I take a few, say thanks, and move on.  

I ponder the day.  Confounded, why can't my parents see what everybody else sees?

The next day I head back to their house after running errands around the town.  Again chit chat, etc.  At one point I ask Dad what is the deal.  He says to me "I will be honest.  You have impressed the hell out of me.  But in my heart you will always be [old name]."  He meant it not in a hurtful way.  He is grieving, I can see it.  At the same time he can see that I am ok, and will be ok.  

Later I talk more to Mom.  She expresses frustration about the pronoun thing.  She says well it is hard going back and forth.  I said "What?"  I have been mostly FT since April and 100% since Sept.   There is no back and forth.  She said "well there is for us."  You see when she talks about me to other people it is still "he".  Because "they" are not out.  I begin to see the problem.  I transitioned, they have not even started. 

I go shopping with Mom.  Last time we did this it was a disaster.  She "he'd" me in front of the staff.  I figure we needed to get that demon exorcised.  So we went to Penney's.  Yeah, there is one in that small town, go figure.  I tell her, just resist the need to talk about me to other people for now.  That way there will be no need to worry about slipping up.  We go, we shop, look at clothes together, jewelry, etc etc.  It really is a mother and daughter event.  I buy some things, so does she.

Later that night there is a dinner at a restaurant.  My brother, his wife, and three teenage nieces will be present.  They all know, and have seen photos.  My brother has seen me in person, the rest of his family has not.  My middle niece greets me with a big smile and hug.  We have been chatting a lot online since she found out.  She has been totally supportive.  The younger one is aloof, but friendly, I think it is mostly I am from out of town, and she does not know me so well.  The older one, now 17, was initially very skeptical, she did not talk to me for 4 months after learning of  my transition. 

But the dinner goes very well, I am surrounded by the girls.  We are getting along famously, and my parents can see this.  I think they are surprised.  None of my nieces seem to have the same pronoun problems.  My middle niece, 15, leans into me and says.  "I feel so much closer to you now."  I tell her, "that is because we now have some things in common."  We are both "teenage" girls.  Later on the way home I get my Christmas present.  My oldest niece sends me a TXT.  I have pasted it here, it is just easier for you to read it.

Hi! Just wanted to take the time to say it was so nice meeting the real you! I am so happy that you are genuinely happy with the way you are! I hope you come up again soon or if not I would love to fly down for a weekend and hang out and catch up and tell me about your new and happier life! I love you so much! And can't wait to see you again! I will definitely miss you!          XOXOXO.
Yours truly. L. <3

I cry.

The next day is Christmas Eve.  I head back to their house again.  We will exchange gifts, and have a nice dinner.  I mount an LED TV to the wall for Mom.  A chore I would have done before.  It is good that they see I am still me in many ways.  

When Dad and I go out to get the mount for the TV we head to Lowes.  I realize this is his first time out with just me.  I pay for the mount.  In front of the the register clerk he says outloud, thank you Sharon.  He is really trying here.  Later at home I say to him, you know other than dinner last night, that was the first time you have been out with me.  I asked if he was at all uncomfortable.  He said no, and that is seemed pretty normal.

 

We open presents.  My gifts are all addressed to Tracy Sharon.  Among them are a set of gold hoop earrings.  No kidding.  Then I open the big box and inside is a handmade quilt from my mother.  She embroiders the back with a title block stating who made it for who and when.  It sports my initials "T.S.".  She probably has been working on it for a couple years.  Who knows when she did the title block.  But even then she knew to not use the old name.  I cry again.  It is lovely.  A family heirloom for certain.

The last day I drop in for breakfast and pack up things that mom has asked me to take with me.  There are old books, some likely rare.  The unopened bottles from her liquor cabinet.  Board games. A really nice sewing machine.  It seems like mom is cleaning out the house in anticipation of days to come.  She is a planner.  And of course there are culinary goodies for me and the boys to eat. My truck is full, breakfast is done.  Time for me to go.  We embrace.  The hugs are different now.  I cannot describe them.  "More loving" perhaps.  Maybe it is how parents hug their daughters.

Hopscotch

I am sure you all remember getting out a piece of chalk as a kid and making that pattern on the ground with the numbers in it.  Or perhaps I have just shown my age and that kind of thing does not go on anymore. A dying art.  Like cats cradle, or those orgami flower kind of things we would make that you put you fingers in and open and close and use like a personal 8-ball.  Hell even the 8-ball might be off the list.  Anybody remember playing crazy 8's? You did not need to go to the store to buy a special card deck for that.  Probably went out of favor as the profit margin on just a deck of cards is probably low, or moreover, it seems like a durable good.  You know like a washing machine or something.  You replace it when it dies.

But hopscotch was kind of neat.  It had sequence and rhythm to it.  I remember it usually was the girls in the neighborhood that would set this up.  Either on the sidewalk, or the street.  And then play for a long time.  Sometimes I was "allowed" to join in.  Most often not.  I confess I was not the most coordinated person.  I was often quickly "out".  My lack of physical coordination showed here way to easily.  And then of course there was this acceptance thing.  After all I should have been off playing kickball, or capture the flag or something else with the rest of the lads.  So it was funny that I was no where good enough for the boys, and I was not enough "like" them for the girls.  Nowhereman(woman).  And so I might sit on my front porch and just watch them for a while.  Taking in the why and wherefore.  Eventually the rain would come, and wash away the chalk marks and return the pavement or concrete of the sidewalk to its original, unadorned state.  Kind of like me.

Lately I feel as if I am in a game of hopscotch.  There is a pattern I am familiar with but not expert at.  If you make a single error you are out.  The pattern keeps changing, just a little bit. But you have to be able to cope.  And since this is a game you almost never play alone.  There are participants who are ready to chide you when you fail.

The second aspect I find is that when I was playing hopscotch most of my energy focused on the next leap. Not the entire path.  And this is what prompted me to write today in the first place.  I find that I draw my life out like the hopscotch "court".  A sequence, a series of events, one after the other.  Each requiring a leap or expenditure of energy to accomplish.  In hopscotch, usually, after you do not blow it on your leap, you collect yourself for the next one.  Again hoping to not make a mistake. Often there is a sense of relief.  Of course the next number in the grid looms in front of you.

My characterization is not really how many play, or see, that game.  They see it as a run to the end, and back.  And I suppose as your skill improves so does your confidence in creating a rhythm to it.  Hop, hop, hop, hop, hop, turn hop hop, hop...  I remember some of the girls going so fast I could not comprehend how they did that.  It was almost it's own form of ballet. 

In my life I find that I set myself up with a similar grid of boxes and numbers.  I set the next goal, and then work on it.  It is almost like it takes my mind off the the pile of personal turds I have in the corner.  I think to myself, if I can just get to event "X".  Then drop back, collect and head to event "Y".  The problem I have is once event "X" is over and done.  Regardless of how well it may be done (one foot in the square, touching no lines) I have to find a way to prep for the next one.  And in that time before I can get moving that blue funk comes and offers doubt.  It says, well you may have pulled that off, but you can still fuck up the next one.  Sheesh.  What a set of wiring I have in my head.

So what is the point of this post? I need to learn to do things in runs.  I have to figure out how to let the present square I just landed on, with success, offer me momentum to move to the next one.  Thus riding over this funk that comes after each effort.  This post-partum. 

I worry that if I do not draw the grid to start and play the game then the pavement is just what is left.  And I am pretty sure that the pavement is dull, and gray, and cold, and uninteresting.  And I would rather have the bright multicolor chalk marks as a guide.  And that is where this transition stuff makes it self apparent to me.  Because it very much is a playbook.  Do this, then that, then this other thing.  And because of my previous note about checkboxes I wonder what the right answer is to this.  The grid forces me to move forward, but usually in ebbs and flows.  Is there a point where you get so good at it that you no longer see the grid and just do the whole thing.? I think maybe so.  

Somebody asked me recently, when do you think your transition will be complete?  I told her when I am "worm food".  She wrinkled her nose for a moment.  She is just getting started on this road, and has already found it full of ruts and bumps.  Certainly one that you could not play hopscotch on.  I remember.  I told her that I would expect that ten years from now I will still be discovering things I did not know about being a woman.  I have a lifetime to make up for.  So my expectation is that the journey will go on.  Perhaps the intensity of this time will fade.  I certainly hope so.

And so back to my chalk marks.  I want to be proficient at this.  I need to be good enough so that the other girls want me to play.  And that is my goal.  Not the course, not perfection, but merely being good enough to not be asked to go sit on the porch.  To be considered as part of the exercise, and not an interloper.  And to do that I need to do things in runs, and do it with my head up.  And having that comfort of knowing that ok, so what if I miss one?  My friends here are going to miss one too.  And we might laugh and smile and just start over.  That would work for me. 

Fatigue

I have had inquiring minds ask me, when did you go "full time".? My usual answer is I am not sure.  It kind of depends on your definition of what that means.  For most it means, tell everybody (work, friends, family) and then present as your new self 24/7 without "ever" going back.  But I think that standard is some kind of pie in the sky view.  There are very few that just draw a line in the sand all of a sudden take the leap.

There always seems to be some constraints on when will others allow you to be you all the time.  

In my case I tell them that I was basically something like 23.25/7 as opposed to 24/7.  What that meant was there were a few hours a week where I needed, mostly for business purposes, to be "him".   I was very lucky that my job did not demand my presence in an office every day.  So one day out of the week I might show up at work as my alter-self for 4 hours or so.  Then get home and "undo" it.  So in a way, I was full time as long ago as last April (2010), meaning I did everything else as my new self (Groceries, doctor appointments , appearing in court, picking up and dropping kids at school, going out with kids, etc etc.) and only a very few as my old self.  Considering there are 168 hours in a week this meant I was girl 163 hours and boy maybe for 5.  I would fake it on the phone a bit more than that.  But by my math that is like 97% of the time in girl mode.  I am going to call that full time.  We can do best two out of three Indian leg wrestling if you disagree.

So by the time I had the big reveal in September 2010, I had been living things pretty much full time already for 5 months. And of course for the last 3 months I am now truly 24/7.  That is 8 months essentially, or if your round for a 30 day month, or 5760 hours. I did the math on hours to make a point.  Even if I subtract out the 5 months at 97% it is still nearly 6000 hours as me.  Granted, I was sleeping some of that time.  So were you.

I have a friend who recently boasted that she had been "In this business for a lot longer than me."  And as such she had some unique perspective.  I would be inclined to agree but not in the way she thinks.  She is part time, so part time in fact that her world kind of starts on Friday afternoon and goes to Sunday night.  Lately she slips in a weeknight.  But if I am generous, that would get her to ~60 hours in a week and over a period of a a few years she probably gets to about the amount of "stick time" that I already have in 8 months.  And that math might hold true except for one problem. Making progress. Of course that depends on your definition of progress...

You see I am of the opinion that on this "road", having short immersions is not the same thing as coming and staying for a long time.  The staying bit changes your perspective.  For example, if I am going to the dentist, I do not think about who I will be when i go there.  I just go.  Recently I went to a restaurant that is local to my home.  Prior to about 90 days ago I would avoid it enfemme.  Now it is just another restaurant in my neighborhood.  Kinda neat I would say. :)

Said another way, I am now just living my life.  I no longer need a special venue, or an event, or need to have other trans friends in tow to go and be me.  I just do it.  And to be frank, I am tired of having an expectation that I need such places to go or that I must have a trans entourage in tow.  Some of my trans friends, the ones that have yet to move into the mainstream do not get this.  Or more likely they say they do, but they really don't.  It is not their fault I suppose. Like the former Alaska governor they can only see the part of the world they can actually see from their own front porch.

An example is probably worth illustrating here.  In the recent election I supported our governor who was re-elected.  (Yay!).  Yesterday I got an invite from the Governor to attend his Holiday Open House.  Now by any stretch of the imagination, that is not going to be a trans venue.  It is about as mainstream as you can get.  And I am likely to go.  And I am also likely to tell many of my trans friends, unless you got a similar invite, I will be going alone.  Why you may ask?  Well for one, you were not invited and for two, TransFatigue...

You see if you gave me a choice right now between a mainstream event and a trans oriented event occurring at the same time I would skip the trans event.  Yep.  And it is worse than that.  I would probably not want 90% of my trans friends to be at the non trans event either.  Let me qualify that.  The 90% of my friends who are not yet functioning in the "real-world".  And yeah, that was me until a few months ago.  But there is a reason for this perspective and it is is that I have no "fallback".   

Oh sure I could pull a stunt and de-transition.  [Sound  of laughing out loud]  (Donna Rose, bless her soul, told me last night that I could no longer pass as a guy if I wanted to.) :) That sounds like a good plan.  We have seen where that ends up in some cases.  Not pretty.  No, I am in "Damn the torpedos, full speed ahead!" mode.  We have been using a phrase of late around here to illustrate this.  In the bacon and egg breakfast the chicken is "involved", the pig on the other hand is "committed".  Me, I am a pig now.  And so that means that when I go someplace, and interact with folks, I do not want to talk, or think, about being trans anymore.  

And when the rest of my "peeps" are around, they just cannot help themselves.  Conversations inevitably disintegrate into discussions of surgeries, and hormones, and hair removal, and documentation, and boob growth and "does it all work" afterwords.  And at this point, I might actually want to have an intelligent adult conversation about the state of affairs in say Africa, where there is a charity I support.  Or maybe talk about some neat stuff I do with my kids, or some interesting hobbies I have, or music, or a show I saw.  You know, like real people.

And so my friends, whom I love dearly, are going to have to get a grip on the notion that my social life is going to start to not revolve around being trans most of the time.  Sure there will be times where it does, but the priority has shifted for me.  I have some stuff to prove, minds to change, and goals to meet.  The one about being trans and getting that mostly worked out.? That problem is no longer at the top of the list.  Apologies to those who might be offended but frankly, I am tired of it.  Hugs to all, time to move ahead...