Connect the Dots

 Yesterday as the Cincinnati Bengals won their game and will head next to the Super Bowl, I will admit I did shed a tear or two of joy. Of course I was overjoyed at the hard fought win but even more I was overcome at the memories of the thirty three years which have gone by since the last trip to a Super Bowl by a Bengals team  As you can imagine, I have suffered more than my share of heartbreak when the Bengals found ways to lose I couldn't even think of and were even referred to as the "Bungles."

Photo JJ Hart

Being as perceptive as she is, my partner Liz asked me if my tears were because of the memories I had watching all the games I did as a guy. It was at that point I started to connect the dots and told her yes. 

In many ways, looking back at all the years of hiding my transgender feminine being from the world, I wonder how I made it. All those years of going to The Ohio State University football games, drinking enormous amounts of beer while I tried to out macho the other guy by smoking big cigars. One example comes to mind when I had to relieve myself of a large amount of the beer I had just drank by going to what can only be called as a high tech men only portable toilet. The unit only had a trough like device for about five guys to go at once. Or as many as could squeeze in. 

My dilemma quickly became my lack of enough hands. I had a plastic beer cup, a lit cigar and no hands to unzip and go. To solve the problem I pushed my way in holding my beer in my teeth along with my cigar and went ahead and peed. Either that moment was the most macho thing I did or at the least was the most imaginative thing I ever came up with. By now my mind was racing and I returned to the present.

As I cried though, all I could think of were all the wasted years I had doing my best to live a gender lie. How much worse could everything been if I had just followed my instincts and set out to live as my feminine natural self. 

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

On the other hand, if you believe in the cup being half empty or full, I was able to live a remarkable life as a guy. and have such wonderful things as my beloved daughter to show for it. Even my time in the military proved to be beneficial as I was able to see and live on three continents in three years followed up by living in several diverse areas of this country when I was honorably discharged. The cup was half empty when I chased after myself but full when I was able to add all the experiences I did.

When you are able to live as long as I have, you begin to realize connecting the dots only proves life is but a circle. Learning from the circle has been the difficult lesson for me.  

Sports and the "Big T."

 As football season winds down, for the first time in over three decades the Cincinnati Bengals are playing the Kansas City Chiefs for a chance to play in the Super Bowl. Kansas City is a tough talented team so they will be difficult to defeat

None of that hurts my enthusiasm. In my long life of 70 plus years, I have witnessed only two visits to the Super Bowl by the Bengals and both were heartbreaking defeats. On one occasion I even suffered a broken bone in my foot trying an ill advised leap during a touchdown run. I have written before how I had to make up a weak excuse for my boss why I worked the next several days on crutches.    

During todays' game you can bet I won't being trying any leaps. In fact with my testosterone levels so low and my estrogen so high, I'm definitely aren't so passionate anymore. I used to be so competitive I had a difficult time playing any sort of a game because I hated to lose. On the other hand, I am a better fan. I watch the games with more nuance. Maybe why there are so many more women these days who are sports fans.  

On another topic away from football, I received several great comments on my post "What's in a Name". The first is from Lisa :

"I completely understand. I went through several names before settling on Lisa, but it is a diminutive for Elizabeth, which is what I plan to use on my birth certificate, if I ever change it. I too have the grandkid issue, and have thought of putting my current first two initials as my middle name so they can use that. Not too different from your solution. "Great minds think alike!"

Thanks Lisa! And, another from Paula:

"It is a revelation to many that anyone can change their name, like you I went through a lot of names, more or less exotic. But when I realised that this was for keeps I went for the pragmatic answer, and the one that meant I didn't have to change my signature!

We grow up with the name our parents gave us and it becomes a part of our identity, so when we choose a new name we have to make sure it is one we are going to be happy taking as part of our identity. A while back my name was printed in a concert program as "Pauline" I was horrified as I though "No, I could never be a Pauline!"

As always thanks Paula! 

Finally GO BENGALS!!!!!

Party Down in "C-Bus"

 The city of Columbus  in Ohio is known often as "C-Bus."  I grew up and lived for years approximately a half hour away in Springfield, Ohio. 

One of the first places I used to go to attend transvestite or cross dresser mixers were in Columbus. It is a much larger city than Springfield plus it offered me a place to go where no one would recognize me. It was at several of those mixers I started to try to follow in the steps of the group's "A" listers. I didn't want to adopt their attitude in anyway. They were similar to the ego trips most likely seen in the cheerleaders where I went to high school. 

What I did value was the chance to go out with them after the mixers were over. I tagged along when they left most of the group at the mixer and went out to various gay and lesbian venues to party. Needless to say I learned a lot about attempting to go out in the world as a novice transvestite/cross dresser. 

As time went on, the group who staged the mixers went away and many of the "A" group who lived in the area began to meet at one of the members houses. If you are familiar with Columbus at all, the house was in a fully restored brick home in the German Village historic district. In other words, it was a great place to have a party. 

One of the benefits of tagging along with the "A" listers was my wife and I received an invite to the parties which normally happened about once a month. Since I worked in the restaurant business, Saturday nights off were difficult to come by and the rare ones I did get were cherished. As you can imagine, my wife wasn't totally on board with spending one of our rare Saturdays with a group of men in dresses. I had to mix in a powerful mixture of  persuasion mixed with pouting to get her to go. Normally me going by myself was out of the question. I wasn't trusted to be on my own in other words and she was right. 

Normally the parties featured a wonderful who's who of gender dysphoric people on a rapidly developing gender spectrum. Being transgender was still a new idea but being a transsexual wasn't. It was still during the time when transsexuals were expected to go through what then was known as sex change surgery then disappear into society. Never to be heard from again. In fact, the person who organized the parties identified as a transsexual. 

What fascinated me were the number of different individuals who attended. All the way from male admirers to transsexuals considering surgery to all the questioning people such as me. One night, a question I never considered was presented to me in a way I would have never considered.

Photo of model in mini skirt
 by Edward Howell on Unsplash

On the night in question, my wife and I had the usual fight over what I was wearing. My dress was just too short for her liking. I hate to say it but she was right and her point was proven dramatically. One admirer (or a man who admired cross dressers) was a big guy, around  six foot four and probably approximately two hundred sixty pounds. I wasn't a small person but he towered over me. 

What happened was he caught me in a hallway of the house in a position I couldn't get out of. I learned quickly how tables could be turned on women in an instant as I was trapped. About the time I was starting to panic and he was reaching for my thigh I looked up and saw my wife looking at me from down the hallway. It turned out she had let the lesson play out as far as she thought it needed to and then loudly cleared her throat. When the admirer heard it, he quickly backed off and as I said my lesson was learned. 

Of course, I had to hear about it all the way home. Partying down in "C-Bus" would never be the same again and I knew how quickly all women could be put in compromising situations they can't escape from.