Parental Guidance?

 A couple days ago I wrote a post which spotlighted parental fixation from transgender women and men. Or the how's or whys  of our lives as we grow into our adult selves. 

Connie responded with this comment:

Photo Source: Connie
Malone

"The last words my mother uttered, as she lay in her hospice bed, were, “It’s nobody’s fault.” I think that was her way of making a final confession in general, but I’ve chosen to embrace it as a sign of forgiveness for me, her oldest son, even though I longed so to be seen as her only daughter. I doubt, though, that she would have been any less critical of me, but I still know that I’d have been a much happier daughter than the son I was forced to be. There was no need for me to come out to her, as I’d been caught more than once in my trans expressions. Although we never discussed the subject, I was chastised and humiliated on a number of occasions – even beaten with a stick – during my childhood for being (unacceptably) different.

The beating incident took place when I was 13, after I’d put a small dent in her car during one of my middle-of-the-night jaunts out as my feminine-self. Despite the beating, though, I remember the whole thing with some humor. Her main concern was not that I’d dented the car, nor was it that I’d snuck the car out – never mind that I was only 13. No, it was her fear that someone might have identified me as her, being out at 3:00 AM! The optimistic way for me to remember this is that she thought I looked convincing enough for people to mistake me for my mother, and that it was a back-handed compliment for my ability to pass. Back-handed compliments were the only kind she ever gave me, anyway, but I was driving her car, wearing her clothes and wig, and I have always resembled her facially. Unfortunately, I also resembled her in temperament and sarcastic wit. I have learned to forgive myself for that, though, and I’m a much nicer person than I used to be; she never really got there.

Gender identity is not a fault, but much fault can be attributed to how one deals with it – whether that be the person dealing with the dysphoria directly or others that are affected by it. So much more is known about it now than was known 60 years ago. I don’t blame my mother for how she handled who she thought was a sick and disgusting son. I do place some blame on both of us for never having had a frank discussion about my gender identity, however. Sorry, Mom, you were wrong to say that there was no fault. There was, but it was for what we didn’t do, and not anything that was done.

“IN THE END… We only regret the chances we didn’t take, the relationships we were afraid to have, and the decisions we waited too long to make.” ― Lewis Carroll"

Thank you so much for the in-depth look at your life!

Following in Whose Footsteps?

 Perhaps you have seen the insurance company television commercial where the middle aged participants were becoming their parents.

Photo Credit: JJ Hart

We as transgender people, similar to most other aspects of our life look at the process differently. We for whatever reason, fixated on the parent of the opposite gender than us. In my case, my Mother. In my earliest years I do remember watching my Mom putting on her makeup and noticing certain other mannerisms. 

I also grew up being told and recognizing it was true how much I resembled my Mother, even though I outgrew her clothes very early in life. She was only a little over five foot in height so it didn't take much. She was also part of the WWII/depression generation which meant full make up and nice clothes most of the time when she went out. Plus she was a full time high school teacher which meant professional attire for her.

Ironically, not a whole lot of her "fashion" wore off on me. As I grew up, I was inspired by the Boho "Hippie" girls around me. I simply loved the fashion of that period all the way from mini skirts to bell bottomed jeans. I was able to secure a small amount of those clothing items for my little "stash" of feminine collectibles.  It wasn't until college when I was able to afford a long straight blond wig I loved dearly which went a long way to completing my outfit of the times.

By this time the military was knocking on my door and the writing was on the wall when I passed my physicals and was pronounced  fit to serve by Uncle Sam. One of the ways I had to stay away from actual combat was to enlist for three years. I happened to be working for a small radio station owned by a Congressman I used his influence in part by saying I will serve, just don't let them ruin my career in the broadcasting industry. When in fact I wanted to say don't let them ruin my time as a cross dresser. Which of course I couldn't. 

In the years following my time in the Army, I mostly followed in my Mother's footsteps in the make up department. For any number of reasons I obsessed into looking my best feminine self. I learned so well, my two wives along the way asked me for help with their makeup.  And no I wasn't marred to them at the same time. 

Through it all, I retained a love for wearing a Boho based fashion.  I say based because I wasn't totally into my old Hippie based world until it became back in fashion. But I did keep my fondness for wearing feminine pant suits and slacks. So much so I was called out for my fashion sense at a cross dresser mixer I went to. Someone asked me why would I want to dress feminine and not wear a dress. I responded that I see plenty of women not wearing a dress.  I should have finished the comment with now mind your own business.

If indeed I was following in my Mom's footsteps, I would have said exactly that. She was very outspoken and while I didn't retain much of her sense of fashion, I did retain her attitude. 

Fashion too is generational of course and if she was alive today, I'm sure Mom would not approve of my jeans, boots, and sweater wardrobe, While I watch tons of old movies from the 1940's I truly am fascinated with both gender's sense of fashion. I just can't see myself following in their high heeled footsteps. But, I certainly respect those that do.    

Whose Fault was It

 I often think about and sometimes write about what if I was never gender dysphoric and ultimately made it my life's goal to be a woman. In fact, if someone had asked me early in life (and I gave a honest answer) what I really wanted to do with my life, somewhere in the answer, being a girl would have made it into the conversation. Of course I never had the courage to answer like that.

Photo Courtesy
J,J, Hart

I have written before on the effects of the drug DES which was given to pregnant women who had a history of problem pregnancies'. What is DES? Diethylstilbestrol (DES) is a synthetic form of the female hormone estrogen. It was prescribed to pregnant women between 1940 and 1971 to prevent miscarriage, premature labor, and related complications of pregnancy.  I fit the description as I was born in 1949 and my mother suffered from a string of cruel miscarriages and still births. So it's very possible I was a DES baby.

What did it mean to me? Most likely a lifetime of gender struggle. I wish I could reclaim just a small portion of the energy it took me to stay in the male gender lane. 

I wish too I could have had a chance to experience just a small lesson into what a girl went through growing up. I remember quite vividly the changes I went through when male puberty took over my body. I remember too how I didn't like it but thought I didn't really have much of a choice. I am happy for the young transgender youth of today who at the least have a possibility of being prescribed hormone blockers to help development  into their authentic selves. 

Looking back at the process now, I'm sure my Mom who was a very forceful individual would have forced her "daughter's" hand  into going to the same college as she did along with being in the same sorority. I can only imagine the pressure she put on me as a son would have increased dramatically

Most certainly there would have been other trade off's too. The primary one concerns my time in the military. Seeing as how I have to add in all the years the Vietnam War hung around for, caused me to have to worry about going and serving. All the worry led me to the ultimate prize of meeting my first wife and her birthing my daughter who I cherish as the greatest gift of my life.

For the most part, my gender condition was no one's fault. In the end I was given lipstick and learned to wear it and if it wasn't for DES I may not be around to experience the gender euphoria I feel on occasion. 

I wonder if DES had come with a transgender warning label if Mom would have decided to take it.