Happy Holidays

 As I sit here warm and safe in what is left of our Artic climate watching "A Christmas Story" my favorite

Happy Holidays from Liz and I

holiday movie, I need to pause a moment and wish all of you a Merry Christmas. Or whatever holiday you celebrate this time of year.

"A Christmas Story" always resonated with me because of several reasons. I suppose the next to biggest one is the fact the movie took place in about the same period of time which I went through growing up. Complete with the festive downtown department store Christmas windows with electric trains and other kids gifts such as dolls and BB Guns. The biggest draw from the movie was even in the earliest days of my existence, something deep down inside told me I would rather have the doll rather than the BB Gun. Ralphie, the young star of the movie was just the opposite and wanted the air gun badly. Unlike Ralphie I was disappointed when I was gifted with the gun. On the other hand I couldn't imagine ever admitting to my parents I wanted anything such as a doll for Christmas. 

The only thing I remember happening with the BB Gun was a couple of sparrows were terrorized and my brother shot me in the arm once. Who knows what would have become of a doll since the only siblings in the family were my brother and I.

I would be remiss if I wrote a Christmas post without mentioning all of you transgender or LGBTQ individuals who may have lost your families for any number of reasons. I have my own point of reference since my brother and his side of the family refused to accept my new feminine authentic self. I quickly moved on and it was their loss. Blood family or not, I hope you have someone to spend the holidays with, or at the least think about you.

Another Holiday photo I would like to share here on the blog is from long time reader and fellow blogger Paula Godwin from the UK. She writes the transgender "Paula's Place" blog.

Happy Holidays!

Being a Late Bloomer

 Or should I say a "late boomer" since I was born in 1949, I firmly fall into the "Boomer" generation. One of the things which disappoints me the most  is when a younger transgender person tries to say I (or anyone else) who transitioned later in life are somehow less trans as their younger counterparts. 

Happy Holidays!

First of all, what does less transgender mean to begin with? Just because I identified as a cross dresser or transvestite for nearly fifty years doesn't mean I didn't think constantly about if I could achieve my impossible dream of living a feminine life. Of course, all of us of a certain age remember the "dark ages" of the LGBTQ movement. There was very little information at all concerning our urges to put on our hose and dresses and do our best to look like girls. It was a lonely time in our very dark gender closets. Younger transgender women and trans men probably can't imagine a time with no computers or social media they could use to communicate with other friends. Many of you remember when Virginia Prince and her Transvestia Magazine was almost the only source we could turn to trying to educate ourselves to our gender issues. The publication even magically helped others such as me seek out and find others with like cross dressing interests. I remember how scared and excited I was when I learned there were monthly "Tri Ess" meetings going on which were close enough geographically for me to attend. 

I did attend and ironically did learn I was still different than many of the others who attended. There were those who seemingly used the opportunity to wear a dress to overstate their masculinity. In the days preceding "Urban Cowboy" and cis women smoking cigars, these cross dressers decided a big cigar, no makeup and a cowboy hat were their best feminine accessories. On the other hand, there were the attendees who looked impossibly feminine. I found myself between the two. Most certainly I did not identify with the cigar smokers but was not accepted by the so called "A" Listers. I had a ways to go with my feminine presentation but I was trying. Even though I didn't particularly appreciate their attitude, the "A" girls couldn't wait to expand the cross dressing party out of the hotel and into the world. I knew that was where I wanted to be, even way back then. 

I imagine when I did tag along, more than a few of the "A" girls looked down on me (an early form of being transer than I) but I persisted and learned. Slowly but surely I became accepted by a group in nearby Columbus, Ohio. Compared to a few of the others, I was still a late transgender bloomer even though I was just in my thirties. The whole experience gave me a regular outlet for my gender desires other than my yearly Halloween party. Plus being around the "A" girls really helped me to up my game and try harder to look more feminine. The only main problem I was having was I was happily married to a woman who knew I was a cross dresser but was careful to draw the line when I made any moves to advance to the next step which a few of my acquaintances were heading towards. A sex change operation as it was known back in those days. 

My excuse in those days for my stopping my gender progression was I was happily married to a woman I loved, plus I was rapidly advancing in a job I had worked hard to obtain. In other words I had a lot to give up. In essence giving up a life we transgender persons of a certain age have worked to build is one of the main gender transition problems we face. It all is in direct opposition to the hurdles younger trans people face. They face building a life in a sometimes hostile world while we face giving up the living privileges we have gained over the years. 

The key is understanding from all transgender women and men. Being a late bloomer is just another part of the process. 
 

Riding Two Horses While Trans

Jessie and Liz (right) from the
Jessie Hart Collection

 I should say trying to ride two horses at the same time. Since I have barely ridden any horses at all, I certainly couldn't attempt to ride two at the same time. What I have tried to do was live in two genders simultaneously. Or live two days a week in a feminine existence then finish out the week as a part time man. I took as many chances as I could to dress as a woman and attempt to present as well as I could in the public's eye. Being blunt, before I decided to go full time as a transgender woman and quit living as my false self as a man, the process nearly killed me. 

Overall, living in both of the primary genders was too much to take and it nearly tore me apart. As I lived I had to make a conscience effort to remember which gender I was. All in all, it was the complete throwback to my younger days when I woke up every morning wondering how I was going to make it another day trying to fit it and/or compete in a male world. Even though I was very bad at it, I somehow succeeded in convincing the other males around me I could compete to a certain level. Most certainly in those days I was not trying to ride two gender horses. 

It wasn't until much later in life, I was forced into the process. The better I became at being a woman, the harder it was to go back to my male self I detested so much. Especially when I began to learn all the nuances of how women interact between themselves. I found out the hard way when a passive aggressive compliment isn't a compliment at all. My favorite example comes from women complimenting me on my appearance as a man trying to appear as a woman. Or the occasional woman who would be smiling at me as she hid the knife behind her back waiting to cut me the entire time. The whole process was quite the experience. Exciting and terrifying at the same time.

I am sure there are rodeo acts somewhere with sexy cowboys riding two horses at once but I couldn't do it with my gender dysphoria. In addition to not really wanting to ride both genders, my male side at the time was quickly withering away and dying. Replacing him was an ever so vibrant inner woman waiting for her turn to live. The bad part was the worst male characteristics I had held on. Even if I had anyone to talk to concerning my gender issues, it was always easier to keep them bottled up. Even to the point of resorting to trying to escape through an alcoholic bottle. Deep down I hoped I could find the courage in a bottle to tell my friends what was really bothering me or later on give me the courage to go out and see if I could find a feminine existence as a transgender woman and live in it.   Even the alcohol didn't work and in fact the whole process led me to a deep despair which ultimately led me to self harm...again. As I looked back on my life, I squandered many chances I had given to me by being very self destructive. I am a firm believer I had a strong guardian angel looking over me. 

Riding two horses while trans didn't work for me. In fact it nearly killed me.