Last week I rambled on about my life, my dilemma, my issues and promised to tell you all about my childhood, but over the past few days I realized that if I don't talk about things as they happen (or very shortly thereafter) I will always be chasing my tail and not dealing with the issues as they affect me in the present.
This last weekend my wife and I went to my work to help me prepare for an inspection. We were in the same room with no distractions ... I tested the waters for conversation ... She was in a down mood and anxious about several events (car trouble, issues with her mom and so on),
I chickened out ... Not a word, but in my mind it was justified because I didn't want to make her troubles worse. I must realize that there may never be a right moment to discuss this, and I missed a big chance to have a true discussion ... Now I'm kicking myself and only dreading the eventual talk even more.
*** *** ***
Date - Early 1969 I was three years old
I have many memories from my very early childhood, many of them pleasant and fun as childhood memories should be ... many of them difficult, emotional and confusing as childhood memories will be when you are the youngest of eight children and the closest sibling to you is four years older than you.
One of my earliest memories was walking into the bathroom while my mother was on the toilet. I do not believe this was an intentional act on my part. She usually used the second bathroom and I probably had to go, but as clear as my memories are I do not remember the details of why certain things happened, just that they did.
When I saw her I did what most youngsters would do ... I pointed and asked, "What's that?" I pointed to the unusual area of short hair between her legs.
"It's my vagina," she said. Now this would prove to be unusual as neither my mother nor my father would ever be very forthright about anything as I grew up, especially anything dealing with sex or private parts.
"Why you have that?" I asked ... Of course I'm not certain my speaking abilities were that clear at that age.
"Because I'm a girl, and you're a boy," she said. And thus began a confusion, or perhaps a certainty that would shape my entire life. Although I do not think I ever questioned her aloud, I always knew she was wrong ... I was not a boy ... or at least I wasn't supposed to be.
*** *** ***
Looking back on my life I have always said I am not your typical guy ... I guess I was hoping somebody might catch on, but if they didn't I wasn't really outing myself. Recently at work on a couple of occasions when the term "typical man" or similar has been introduced into the discussion I've replied, "I don't claim to be a man."
Maybe nobody is paying attention, or maybe I said something they already know or figured, but each time I've said that nobody even flinched.