As I sat outside this morning having breakfast, in between thoughts about the myriad of things I must do now that my beloved has passed, like reporting her death to various agencies that need to know, I had time to reflect on my childhood when I was teased by other boys, including my own two older brothers and even a fourth-grade teacher, who humiliated me in front of the class for crying over my 2 cent milk money.
Our six grade class would go out to play softball and our teacher, as the pitcher, would pitch differently for the girls than the boys, more gently and slowly to try and compensate for their perceived gender related lack of confidence and prowess in all things related to sports. I was always placed in the right field position for that was the least vulnerable of all positions, except of course for left-handed batters , just as Lucy Van Pelt was placed in the comic strip “Peanuts.” I think that was the way it was. I was and am a girl, remember? I even threw like a girl.
I think my six grade teacher did compensate for me but that was probably noticed by the other boys and added to the humiliation I felt throughout my school days, through puberty, high school and college. I have already mentioned about my wondering how I made it through playing JV football in my Junior year of High School in Japan.
I have forgotten about this until today, but in the new context that is my life now, it all makes sense, as this was just one of the many ways that I could neither fit in with the boys, which I had been labeled at birth, and with the girls, of whom I really belonged. This probably now explains my difficulty to socialize with either gender, even up to the start of my transition last November.
Being an adult female has its advantages, for all I really need to do now is sob and weep to get the attention of other females. I have been doing a lot of that lately and the response has been heart-warming. I never weep because I need to attract attention and as a young boy, crying set me apart from both genders which made it not only next to impossible to cry at my mother’s funeral, but to cry at all, although I did cry once for a cat my partner put down. I cry for my mother now, along with my beloved wife. and I often feel hungry afterward.