First Declaration Of Being Female

All Transpeople have a pivotal moment, within our lives, when we realize that we are living, in the wrong physical body. Before I start this monologue, I must tell you, some of the details, are a little fuzzy, as more than 35 years, have since passed for me, but the general events happened like this. This monologue is my first self-realization, of whom I am, as a person and the blowback that I faced.

 

* * *

 

My First Declaration of Being Female

 

Funny how our memories work, regarding the way we remember events in our lives. Selecting certain moments, which we can see every detail, in crystal clarity. As if, it had been filmed with a HD camera, perched over our shoulders, otherwise forgotten by us, through the passage of time. And yet, it was the little things that one takes for granted, like taking a scented bubble bath, and covering my chest with foamy breasts, which I have discounted, as my earliest feminine memories. Temporarily, hiding the birth defect, found between my legs, with the bubbly foam. For it wasn't a huge declaration of my true gender, but everyday events that followed a routine, come bath time. Like mom using her talc powder puffer, to apply her rose scented powder, upon my body, as the final step, in my preparations for bedtime, as a five year old, before putting on my "boy's" pajamas. But, to me, my first declaration of my desire to be a woman, happened later in my life, when I was seven years old.

I was living, in the small rural village of Erin, Ontario, then population of 2 000 people, where a radical idea meant voting Liberal, instead of Progressive Conservative, during provincial or federal elections. This was a sleepy village, which held small "c" conservative values. Change comes hard, there, especially, when it involves changing generations of how society views gender, which society had refused to look at, in any serious way.

I was seven years old, sitting on my green bicycle, in the local high school's parking lot, on a warm summer’s Sunday afternoon. The local public library, located in the nearby public high school, was closed. Excluding myself, there were five other boys, playing "super heroes". As Saturday morning cartoons, was dominated by various incarnations of "The Super Friends", a mostly male dominated show, with the only female character, being Wonder Woman. You must realize this is the mid-70s, two years before Christopher Reeve, landed the role of Superman. Shaun Cassidy and Parker Stevenson dominated Sunday night's airwaves, with their show, "The Hardy Boys", almost every girl's walls, was covered, with posters from teen magazines.

Not sure, if it was the rashness of youth, or the unfounded belief that the other boys, would accept me, at face value, when I decided to call out, "Wonder Woman" for myself. Boy, did I ever miscalculate their reactions to this, getting many strange looks from "Robin", "Batman" and the other boys. As if, I had started to sprout a horn, in the middle of my forehead, like an Unicorn. But damn it, why can't I be "Wonder Woman", if I so choose? Blindly ignoring their reaction, I continued on, as my bicycle became her invisible jet. An insurance company bumper stick, on the chrome handlebars, acted as the radio. But this proved to be, too much, for the other boys.

There was no physical violence against me, but something, socially far worse for a young child, I was shunned. Gradually, they started to isolate me from them, by ignoring me and focused only on themselves. Hoping I would leave them, alone to their boys’ games. That afternoon, I learn a very painful and self-destructive lesson, don't trust anyone, as I began, to bury deep within myself, my more feminine impulses. Or least tries to, for time to time, they would emerge, unconsciously, and I would pay the ultimate price, of being bullied.

Where my words and actions were used, as a weapon, against me, in the form of lethal verbal daggers, to attack and hurt, with their venomous words.

Not caring, how deep their verbal knives slash into my young soul, fearing that they don't or want to understand. Over the next twenty-seven years, I did my hardest, to bury this part of my soul. So deep, I hoped to never find it, again. That it would disappear, into thin air. A futile effect, at best, which continue to haunt me, as I attempt to heal, myself. Unable to develop, any lasting or long-term relationships, without the need to lashing out, at the first sign, things are starting to go sour.

Looking back, there was nothing wrong with my desire to be "Wonder Woman”, rather, society was not prepared to accept the reality that a child may be born, in the wrong gendered body. Or it's ok, for that transchild, to act out their desire to express their inner masculine/feminine side. Maybe now, society is moving towards a point that it can understand the inner battle, which rages within my soul. Am I asking too much from society? Honestly, I don't know. For to me, these changes are happening too slowly, for the next generation’s mental and physical safety.