Recently I wrote a post called "Baggage" which questioned my desire to bring my love of sports with me as I transitioned into my life as a full time transgender woman. To make a long story or post short I concluded I could because as I looked around I discovered many other cis women who follow sports. I was thrilled when I found several other women friends who I could share a game in a sports bar with, along with a beer (or two, or three...)
|Photo courtesy of Paula|
"My sporting passion is Rugby, I used to play before there was a women's game, so when I start pontificating about a game I often get the "what do you know about it anyway" attitude from guys. Sometimes I fail to resist the temptation to tell them I played in the front row for nearly 30 years!
I've only been to a couple of big games since transitioning, one of the joys is these are at least one of the rare occasions when I'm not the one queuing up for the loo!"
|Photo Courtesy Connie Malone|
My wife had grown to enjoy sports over the years, and so we continue to watch football and baseball together. I’ve even enjoyed watching figure skating with her without feigning disinterest (as I used to do). I always get a little chuckle, recalling my official “coming out” to her:
My dysphoria had gotten the best of me, and I’d reached the point of finding my male life intolerable. I had locked myself in my basement office for two full days, and my wife had had enough of it. She left the house that Saturday morning, and, having heard her go out the door, I felt it safe to come out from hiding. The letter she’d left for me on the kitchen counter was an ultimatum, and I knew that I had to finally confront her. She knew what I had been doing (cross dressing), but she didn’t understand anything about it (I can tell you that explaining the X’s and O’s of football is easier than explaining the XX and XY of gender identity). So, I responded to her letter with a short note stating that I could only be completely honest with her, and that I had to do so as the woman she’d never seen or met. I then went about the business of cleaning myself up as preparation for her return home (she hadn’t taken the large suitcase, so I knew she’d be back before the weekend was over).
When my wife came home on Sunday afternoon, I was in the bathroom finishing my makeup. After she’d read my note, she asked me, through the door, if I was coming out of the bathroom soon. I said back that I would be out soon, and asked if it were OK that I did so in complete honesty. She answered, “Yes,” and then turned the TV on to watch the NFL playoff game. When I appeared to her, it was as if nothing was really different. I knew that she was playing it cool, and she wasn’t about to give me the satisfaction of receiving a big reaction to my big reveal. As I began to try to explain myself, she seemed to be distracted by the game on the TV. I finally said that I would just wait until half-time to try to talk to her, since the game seemed to be more interesting than what I had to say (a little passive-aggressive on both our parts). I then proceeded to prepare some nachos and a batch of Margaritas. By the time the second half of the game began, I’d made her understand that I had to live as a woman, and that I would never hide from her again. She made it clear to me that she was not a Lesbian. Then we both enjoyed the game together, just as we always had done before. I think that the Margaritas helped a lot, even if the second blender-full didn’t lead to a sexual encounter (as it might well have done in the past). :-)"