Tag Archive | SOFFA

‘Misfit’

 

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‘Misfit’

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(11 Mar 18)
(Draft)

*(1970 06) Slim - Crater Lake (sitting - portrait)

Let’s get right to beeswax.

I am a misfit in today’s world of Trans, Transsexual, Inter-sex, gender identity, sexual orientation, anatomical ambiguity.

I shall express what might be taken by some as harsh words, others will comprehend my direct honesty.  Please accept that we are all in the same boat – a lifeboat – and that we need to work together to paddle to shore right there in view, not allow others who are paddling their own direction take us further out to sea.

I think that I shall also post the essence of this composition to my Facebook page where members of my ‘Friend’ list include members of support groups where they are likely to see this essay but who otherwise don’t read this web-site.  The explanation of that statement will become clear.

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TDOR is a gathering for people from various support elements who pay a vague homage to dead strangers from far away cities, towns, states, countries – like Native Americans of the USA recognising Columbus Day.

(2017 11 20) TDOR - Light on the Flag 24204945_1773307756303415_12806820_nThough I doubt that I heard of it til 2015, TDOR is reality to me.  My mother’s younger brother Frank was Transsexual.  My family had him and his wife murdered and made to appear as double-suicide.  Local police were not interested investigating the death – any death, any cause – of a ‘Tranny’ in 1970; if his wife was dead, so much the better to clean the slate.

I really appreciate all that is done with this TDOR effort of awareness.

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I had no ‘coming out’ to family.  I was already ‘out’ among them my entire life since the beginning of my memory – in this reality, since at least age 3.

As a child, I was openly putting on my teen cousins’ make-up when we visited their home throughout the week.

  • ‘Oh, Nickie, what a cute little girl!’

Eventually, my father was beating me for wearing my sister’s clothes during my childhood and teen years.  He probably expected to beat it out of me.  Some success he was, eh.

I told barely a few people from my circle of friends by the time I went female full-time forever (June 1985); the few whom I told were disaster because all whom I told dumpt me – eventually – like the plague warmed over.  I merely disappeared from the rest of them.

(1985 08 xx) Pima CC ID - (1988 xx xx) DES IDLisa, my apologies; we are one odd circumstance – our relationship / friendship remains a mystery to me.  I didn’t tell you; I have not told you directly, so far.  Instead, I realised the apparent possibility that my dad told you.  Or maybe you figured it out when last we met in person (May 1985) – you previously saw me in 1978 while my appearance was still reasonably ambiguous female, you never saw my male interlude, my 1985 appearance was post-Transition post-op female.  By the cues during our conversation when last we talked on the telephone (April 1989), you seemingly had long known; you addressed me as Sharon right from the start, not Nick.  I am the one left puzzled not knowing whether you still accept me.

That light that brings hope from other past friends arrived when Brad (‘Dasahori Kids’) invited me into his realm – he accepts me.  I held my breath about others of that Dasahori past – they accept me.  Then the makings of an idea.  I extended my efforts to others of my Pinewood years.  Those who responded accept me – my Efharisto to you who know who you are.  I must allow the realisation that those who don’t reply are the ones who don’t accept me – you who know who you are, for sure.

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I came from a long ago generation in the universe of Transsexualism.

Neither proven nor disproven is my tentative Christine Jorgensen connection through my father.  I do know that, according to my father’s DD-214, both he and then-George served at the same military base at the same time; I am missing documentation that they ever met, or knew each other, or inter-acted in any way.  I found a handwritten note in a small wooden box with news article clippings – a box that my dad left to me at his death.  That handwritten note was the name ‘Jorgensen’ with a New York City address and telephone number.  There were likely dozens of Jorgensens at New York City during the time when my dad wrote that note – when my dad was a police officer during the 1950s.  My father made frequent disparaging remarks about someone named ‘George’ while I was growing up – his responce to my feminine protesting tantrums; I knew little, if anything, about Jorgensen during my childhood.  I found someone who claimed to know the Jorgensen family (2015); I asked for her assessment, but her enquiry was inconclusive.  I’m stuck calling this a set of questions that remain for which I seek the answers.

(1977 12 30) Stanford Reply (Name Covered)I suppose that I could declare that I began my Transition at age 3.  Instead, I mark the official  beginning my Transition when I became the age of legal majority in 1974 – the year when I turned age 18.  There were few of us who were out / semi-out / quasi-out / closeted child Transsexuals who Transitioned upon reaching age 18 during the 1970s – there were less than 1000 medically-reported cases of Transsexualism in the USA when I began in 1974 (with all my due respect to countless others:  brave people on the streets, those Transitioning ‘under the table’, anyone doing whatever they could outside that damned ‘gatekeeper’ suppression).  I made the Stanford University Medical Center’s ‘Gender Dysphoria Program’ in 1977.

I led an otherwise unassuming life of stealth.

I am now in my 60s.  Our numbers – we of early first- and second-decade generation from the 1950s to 1970s – are thinning at this time of our life, at this time in our contemporary Transsexual history.

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I have been doing much soul-searching.  A support group Board member ‘asked’ me, with the entire group assembled, to leave the SOFFA session of a recent support group meeting (I perceive it as being evicted).

The support group’s President led the concurrent Trans-female sessions that day, had plenty of time between sessions, had plenty of time after sessions, yet took no effort to explain why this happened to me when I tried to get her attention – her nose firmly planted in her computer screen.

I shall talk to one of the SOFFAs – both a Board member and a Facilitator – in private either before or after a future meeting and hope that she will give a straight answer to me; an explanation in private from someone in charge of that SOFFA meeting seems the least of a courteous option for them to do.  Another option for me is to make a formal point of personal privilege at a future Board meeting.  Any evasion, denial, refusal will be its own answer.

I perceive of myself an anachronistic misfit outcast of current support groups on multiple points – all beyond my control – all a curious circumstance that violates the very concept of these support groups.

  • #1:  I had at least one family member who was / is Transsexual
  • #2:  my current age (62)
  • #3:  that I was an out Transsexual child all my young years since at least age 3
  • #4:  when I began Transition (1974)
  • #5:  the age that I use when I define when I began Transition (age 18 – the age of one’s individual legal consent)
  • #6:  that I am genetically and biologically cis-female (Inter-sex), unlike the others whom I humorously, respectfully term ‘vanilla’ Trans (genetic cis-male whose self-identity is female).

One support group dissolved more than a year ago.  I doubt that I would have bothered staying active with one current support group had I not made friends with someone who attended that support group, but she no longer attends that group herself for reasons that I am now finding true.

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Is this ostracism among local support groups?

I participate with two remaining Trans support groups but feel as that misfit outsider because of my facts as I presented them (above).

Few, if any, other people in these support groups began their Transition more than a decade ago – so I don’t fit with them.  They don’t welcome me.

Others may be in my older age group, but they are NB – newbies – in Transition.  They don’t welcome me.

I meet with the SOFFAs (Significant Other, Family, Friends, Allies) because I feel the better possibility to help them rather than the Trans members who seem to prefer to clique among their own; but that doesn’t do well because those SOFFA people are there for someone newly in Transition.  Now they don’t welcome me.

No support group participants socialise with me with any regularity – either during the meetings or outside in our private lives – because of my misfit circumstance.  They don’t welcome me.

I participate in an LGBT support group.  Their focus is more on the L,G, and B, though there are a few of we T and I.  Same as the Trans support groups – I don’t fit.  I do identify as Lesbian, but I lack a partner to join with me at the meetings.  Few cis-female Lesbians seem to hold an interest for this cis-female Inter-sex Transsexual Lesbian.  They don’t welcome me.

Another mark against me is being Inter-sex:  I am genetically and biologically cis-female; it was my exhibited anatomy, my external ambiguous genetalia at birth.  Doctors assigned me male at birth (AMAB), my family forced me to live and present male as a child and teen (either ignorantly or deliberately).  There are other Inter-sex people among the support groups – they are F-M; I sense that they don’t accept me because I’m F-M-F (or whatever!).  Instead, they are teaching me about caste bigotry among the Inter-sex.  Apparently my Inter-sex is not as good as theirs – they are biological parents, my anatomy rendered me absent the capacity of reproduction as either female or male.  Or maybe they are enjoying the fruits of their new-found ‘male privilege’?  They don’t welcome me.

I also sense that being Inter-sex – a genetic cis-female – outcasts me from M-F Trans circles whose participants are that ‘vanilla’ Cis-Male to Female Transsexual.  Allow this attempt at a bit of literary licence mixed with a touch of inoffensive insider humour to present an otherwise clinical description.  Any or all may apply in varying degrees:

  • M-F ‘vanilla’ Transsexuals are genetic cis-male phenotype,
  • their gender identity is female,
  • they have / had functionally-working cis-male anatomy,
  • they enjoy(ed) using their cis-male anatomy despite their dysphoria about it,
  • some experience ‘pain’ or dysphoria toward their female genitalia after undergoing SRS / GCS,
  • some told me that they quit ‘duty’ because that experience – the intimately cis-female vaginal experience – is ‘pain’ to them.

Some post-op M-F told me directly, others post to their cyber presence, that they enjoyed masturbating as cis-male on the morning of their bottom surgery.  Could they be ‘Pseudo-Transsexual’?  ‘Vanilla’ M-F Transsexuals do not welcome me.

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About that recent Trans support group meeting.  I entered the room for the SOFFA family group.  Someone whom I thought was a ‘friend’ abruptly ‘asked’ me to leave this SOFFA session – she curtly told me to go the Trans-female session, she told me that I was not welcomed to participate in this SOFFA session.  She provided no explanation.

I am a Board member of this support group, I am a trained and active Facilitator for this support group’s meetings, this status grants every authority to me to attend any meeting as I determine for the good of the organisation and for the membership while fullfilling my duties; no one told me that I was a detriment to the SOFFA meeting – either before, after, or since.  Disregarding those points and according to the expressly declared policy of this support group, I also have the right to attend any session of my choosing while a member in good standing; not once has anyone ever told me that I am otherwise not a member in good stead.  Nevertheless, I raised no fuss or objection as perhaps I should have or could have; I participated in the two sessions with the Trans-female group and I said nothing of this rejection during either.

(2015 08 10) Chettawut Clinic Confirmation Letter - 25 Aug 15 - Name covered DOC052317-05232017173247-0001Why was I evicted from that SOFFA ‘family’ meeting?  Okay, I know of no current ‘family’ member attending this support group or experiencing their Transition.  I am a ‘friend’ and an ‘ally’ to this support group and to the local Trans community.  Hey, I am also a long-time member of the greater Trans community:  I’ve been alive longer than most other members, my Transition began and ended long before most other members have been alive, I’ve been post-op longer than most other members have been alive, I did a ‘revision’ surgery long before others did their original bottom surgery, I’ve endured discrimination and bigotry more than most will ever comprehend.  Am I not good enough?  Isn’t the whole point of our Trans support groups to learn from others’ experiences, to accept the Trans (and Inter-sex) person into family, friends, society, not render them as outcast?

There were people of this support group who originally perceived me as cis-female only until I introduced myself as the trifecta:  cis-female, Inter-sex, and Transsexual.  Why would these same people deny my participation in this same group now that they know me as such?

How will the people in that room demonstrate the decency to explain to the general membership what they did to initiate my departure if I come to decide to not attend future support group meetings?

Maybe it is as I submit – people come to these groups until they got what they needed and then they moved on.

Maybe that is as it should be – we get what we need and move on to life beyond the support groups.

Maybe it’s my time to move beyond these support groups if I am no longer a welcomed participant?

I did not need these support groups for my own self, but rather I sought to contribute my decades of insight to the groups.  One Board member told me that I am ‘irrelevant’, that my presence is no longer welcomed.  So be it.

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Steve Dain warned way back in the early 1980s that there are many in the Trans community who assert themselves as a self-elect group.  Seems we have enough of that nowadays with Jenner and all these wannabe celebrities crawling out of their woodwork.  Where were they 30, 40, 50, 60 years ago when they could have been contributing for our common support?  Those who are old enough were hiding, were enjoying their ‘male privilege’, while we fought their battles.  Those who are young today are standing on our shoulders and taking credit as if they did it all on their own.

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I am making efforts to improve my life, not remain bogged down by weights.

(https://www.hercampus.com/life/family-friends/why-its-okay-cut-toxic-family-members-out-your-life).

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Dear Reader, allow me to spend my time outside on my patio enjoying the warm Spring weather, the fresh air, hearing the birds chirping and cooing.  I would like to socialise with the human species, but I find it difficult among those who consider me that misfit outcast.

This is the ‘Year of the Dog’, this has been my ‘something to bark about’.

Thank you for visiting today.  Please return for another essay.  Meanwhile, enjoy the other compositions.

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Update (20 Mar 18):

I found a post to a Facebook page in my Facebook ‘feed’ promoting ‘Laverne Cox IS Barbie’ – a ‘pioneer’.

Whoa, Nelly!

I made the ‘comment’ that Christine Jorgensen IS one true ‘pioneer’.  Another post supports my position.

Unfortunately, two opposing comments re-state the lines of that originating article:

  • that no one cares about we old or dead forebears,
  • that they don’t perceive the existence of old or dead people as ‘pioneer’ for today,
  • that their today community wants some celebrity of today, not an actual ‘pioneer’,
  • that this person of today is their ‘pioneer’ – ignoring that their ‘pioneer’ would be nowhere without we the old and dead forebears who actually ‘pioneered’ every step in the path these new-comers walk.

With all due respect, ‘Laverne Cox IS’ Ken.

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Thank you, Dear Reader, for bearing with this essay.

Please return for whatever comes next.

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‘TDOR, Uncle Frank, And Cousin Steve’

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‘TDOR, Uncle Frank, And Cousin Steve’

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(20 Nov 17)
(Draft)

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The annual ‘Trans Day of Remembrance’ is 20 November.

The world community calls attention to the fact that there exist people in their cause of hate who choose to murder too many Trans persons among our Trans community.

We seek the time when this commemoration no longer requires current recognition, but only for the past – that the world community no longer targets members of the Trans community for assault and murder.

TDOR has been happening for many years,

yet there I was myself, you know me, the news junkie, having little knowledge that TDOR existed before last year.  Both national network news and local news make scant mention of it, if at all.  If all members of our own Trans community don’t know of TDOR, then how can we expect non-members to be aware!  Let’s see about whether and how much the national and local news report this year’s events.  (Up-date 21 Nov 17:  ‘Cronkite News’ was the only local coverage for this market – they interviewed one of our members.)

This will be only my second attendance at TDOR.  I barely knew of this event until last year though I have been transsexual my entire life.  I submit that my lack of awareness is because of said paucity of the publicity distributed among the population in general – the world beyond the Trans community has no concern for our well-being, therefore no concern for those whom they murder and no concern to publicise the slaughter of our Trans community members.

One of the elements that really bothers me during the reading of these names is the number of ‘Name Unknown’.

  • How can that be?
  • How can a family or social circle allow someone of their own to be murdered as ‘Name Unknown’?
  • How can a legal system and news process be satisfied that they have done their job concluding with ‘Name Unknown’?!

I can’t imagine the cruelty in the finality being solely identified as ‘Name Unknown’.  I dread that thought, that people I know – family or friend – could  be so callous as to not care for me, my whereabouts, my safety, my life that they would not bother to report my absence and search for my remains if dead.  That anyone is allowed to be ‘Name Unknown’ is appalling.  May I request of our Trans community that, from now on, anyone who is left as ‘Name Unknown’ be given a name by which we remember their lives.  It is the least we can do.

The sole local news coverage in this metropolitan region was ‘Cronkite News’ shown on a variety of local PBS TV stations nationwide.  Absent were the network affiliates of ABC (KNXV), CBS (KPHO), Fox (KSAZ), and NBC (KPNX).  (Up-date 21 Nov 17:  Nor did I see any coverage on any network news program either leading to this day, yesterday or the day after; I did not watch every minute of every broadcast, but surely there must have been some mention in light of all these accusations flying through our nation.  For shame!)

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This Editor shall elaborate here that this commemoration strikes home personally (see: ‘In My Life …’, 19 Apr 16).

My Uncle Frank was in transition during the 1960s.

He travelled cross-country to visit our family sometime during the early 1960s (when my family was still intact).  I recall Uncle Frank at our front door; my dad had him arrested when he arrived at our home dressed in female attire.

Uncle Frank’s name was not to be spoken in our home, his existence was to be denied, all while growing up.  Kathy still refuses to acknowledge Uncle Frank and Cousin Steve as recent as today.  ‘Names Unknown’ to her.

The records show that Uncle Frank died in 1970.  My family plotted his murder; they made it appear as suicide.  In those days, the local police were more than happy to not bother to investigate the ‘suicide’ of a ‘pervert’.  The story that my family told to me was that he jumpt to his death from his bedroom window.  As how I knew it, Uncle Frank, his wife, and his three children resided in a typical split-level New Jersey home – a fall from a bedroom window might stub your toe or break an arm if you land most awkwardly, but it is hardly lethal.

My family told me that Uncle Frank’s wife died soon after – supposedly despondent at her husband’s demise, she also took that same ‘suicide’ tumble from their bedroom window. This was another improbability.

The deaths of the two adults orphaned their three children.  My family told me that the two daughters went to live with their paternal grandparents and that Cousin Stevie was sent into the state system – foster care and / or adoption.

As I recall, the last I may have heard from or seen Cousin Stevie was mid-1971 before my dad and I travelled to our two years at Greece.  I have a specific memory of talking about Cousin Steve in the car of my father’s older brother and his wife.  From them is where I got the story of the whereabouts of Cousin Steve in placement with the State of New Jersey.  I have a recollection visiting the two-story home of my maternal grandparents and seeing my female cousins making their new home at that location.  My imperfect memory senses that Cousin Steve and I might have also met there our last time when we saw each other, but he was treated as though he was not wanted at this home.  My father told me to forget about Cousin Steve, Kathy tells me to forget Cousin Steve – put them in the ‘Name Unknown’ list – but I never have forgotten Cousin Steve and never will forget Cousin Steve.

I frequently ponder the circumstance that perhaps Cousin Steve’s family could not bear with him as he was also going through his own childhood transsexualism as mine.  His grandparents refused him, his aunts and uncles refused him.

I presented at other posts at this web-site that my dad frequently whined that he wanted to adopt more children than me.  My question persists:

  • ‘Then why did you not also adopt Cousin Steve?’.

If it was because the laws of that time prohibited a single father from adopting, then certainly my mother who was re-married could have adopted Cousin Steve.

No matter.  I doubt my father’s resolve because he used his threats to return me to the system to try to keep me in line; a lot that did, eh.

Allow me, Dear Reader, to pose to you my continued effort to seek the truth, to learn whether what my family told me is true or merely family fable.

My Uncle Frank was born Franklin Thonus at Passaic County, New Jersey.  He died in 1970.

I have used the Internet to conduct several records searches for the news accounts, obituary, or police reports of Uncle Frank.  Those sources lead me through multiple pages of gibberish, but never any actual results.  Those sources always demand payment to use their site to collect any meaningfull information.  Rip-off!

My Cousin Stevie was born Steve Thonus at Passaic County, New Jersey.  His current age would be in the late-50s.

I likewise have used the Internet to do numerous name searches for Steve.  There are many people with that name and close age.  The problem is that these sites also lead me through several pages and end with a demand that I pay money to them for some vague proposition that they will finally provide that last nugget.  No way do I fall for those web scams!

Maybe in the parlour game, people connect to Kevin Bacon within their proverbial six degrees of separation.  With that in mind, maybe someone coming upon this site or through this tag will either be Cousin Steve or know him and will bring him in contact with me at this site.

Beware! you trolls of fraudulent purpose.  I, of course, hold specific details that only the real Cousin Steve can confirm.  Anyone either claiming to present leads to Cousin Steve or claiming to be him will be required to undergo a grueling interrogation; I shall weed out you phonies in less than a handfull of questions.

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I sent a brief text to Kathy today.  I reminded her that today is TDOR.  I commented upon the death of our Uncle Frank.  I asked her – for the umpteenth time – the whereabouts of Cousin Steve.

I doubt that she will soften her heart at this latest summons.

She replied to my text with, ‘I have no idea what a t’dor is.’ (sic).

Aw, c’mon now, Kathy, you can do better than that!

You tell me that you have been a nurse since the 1970s – a career of scientific enquiry.  Can’t you take 10 seconds to browse your computer for TDOR and learn something?  Why can’t you learn to spell the acronym better?  I guess it figures.  There was never a newspaper, never a radio, never a television for the news during the few times when I visited Kathy at her home.  How can one live in a world of seven billion people and not open yourself to some of them?  In this larger political scheme of things, Democracy demands that ‘informed electorate’; no wonder this one-time great American nation that began its move to Democracy as recently as the 1950s, 1960s, 1970s gave way to the collapse that began during the 1980s.

Kathy made no comment responding to my questions regarding both Uncle Frank and Cousin Steve.

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This year’s TDOR commemoration now also comes personal to my own existance.

I wrote in my prior blog that I was assaulted and attacked by a criminal (‘Why Not Treat Us As Human’, 16 Nov 17).

  • Maybe he was a typical patriarchal male misogynist?
  • Maybe he discerned something about me being transsexual?

He did taunt my sexual identity.

  • Why did he consider me transsexual?
  • Why does he hold animosity toward the Trans community?
  • How is he influenced by these current politics of Crooked Drumpf?

If I should perish due to my injuries, then I become another person whose name is added to this list.  This is not a position that I thought I would find myself at this time of my life.

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I was an out transsexual child during the 1950s and 1960s when that whole idea was rare for adults, let alone for children.  I was among the one-in-a-million with the other transsexuals in this country by the time I reached adult age.  Some sources put the number at only 1000 cases in America by the end of 1970s.

My dad and I were in the midst of one of our many crises by the time I got to 9th Grade.  I was changing to Kathy’s clothes every day after school.  Maybe our neighbours observed me walking Slim while dressed in her clothes and they told my dad?  My dad repeated to me during that fatefull school year that Uncle Frank was among the reasons why he needed to take me away from those bad influences of my mom, her family, Uncle Frank’s transition.  My dad threatened me to the same fate as Uncle Frank.  My dad took me to Greece.

Maybe my family murdered Uncle Frank on their impulse to retaliate against him for influencing me?

Think of the possibilities if Uncle Frank remained alive.  We would have corresponded, met each other, compared notes.  My ‘feminine protesting’ tantrums might have brought me to flat-out demand to transition to female during either 9th Grade or 10th Grade with Uncle Frank’s help.  My body naturally feminised during those years, I would have passed female, I would have received the medical care necessary.

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Maybe Uncle Frank influenced me?

I was openly female-identified to my family throughout my childhood – a transsexual child – six decades ago, or thereabouts.  I can barely perceive male.  I can barely recall male.  I can’t see my life as male.

When I turned age 18 is when I count beginning my transition.  That was four decades ago, or thereabouts.  That was as young as legally possible in those days.  The medical system denied to me my right to my hormones until February 1979 – at age 22 and one-half; I went to full-time hormones shortly after turning age 23 by late-summer 1979.  That seems almost ‘yesterday’ to me.

You who join us on this path – whether Trans yourself or a devoted SOFFA – know and share our mutual understanding.  You’re doing this, too.  You get it.

Youth and body type have their advantages; I had one of those – youth.  I feminised during my teens that surely upset my family who imposed their male upon me.  Starting young means that you have endured less ‘testosterone poisoning’.  I wish that others could have had my fortuitous opportunities to transition young if that is what they wanted.  I hold no regrets other than what I now see through 20 / 20 hindsight that I could have done better.

Recall my chronology (in brief):(1977 12 30) Stanford Reply (Name Covered)

  • 1974: Met Denise, my mentor, in stealth (my first transsexual, other than Uncle Frank)
  • 1977: My mentor Denise referred me to Stanford University Medical Center; I began my correspondences with Stanford
  • 1978: My first transsexual medical appointment to attain approval to Stanford; corresponded with Janus Information Facility; name and sex changed at Social Security Administration; my first counselling
  • 1979: Accepted for regular counselling and approved to transition, accepted for transition medical care, began hormones (Norinyl, Diethylstilbestrol)
  • 1980: Legal name and sex change, began full-time female (uni-sex styled) attire
  • 1981: Denied continued hormone treatment and counselling by the gatekeeper medical community of Utah
  • 1982: Inter-sex diagnosis – genetic female
  • 1983: Restored to transition hormones (Premarin); first surgery; employer changed my official appointment designation to female
  • 1984: Male-fail mis-gendering
  • 1985: Female full-time forever.

I would say that such a life seems almost un-believable, some crazy plot in a fictional novel, if I had not lived it.  Yet here I am.  It is believable.  I have been living it, I bear the scars from it – then and now.  My ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures and my Stanford papers are about my only evidence for me to document that I previously presented male, that I rode this journey.  I compare both – Nick and Sharon – knowing that that is really me in transition.  Me male to me female.

I can recall each day of freedom when I first began full-time.  I arrived home – alone – to my apartment at the conclusion of a busy day, threw myself on my bed, and let out a quiet cheer.

  • ‘Yes! I did it!’

How I wanted to share my enthusiasm with family and friends, but I had none.  My family and my ‘friends’ rejected me.  Among my feelings of great joy was great hurt that my people abandoned me – their deep abandonment continues today.

Nevertheless, without them, I counted my days; those days became weeks, weeks became months, months became years.  Now I am fortunate to count decades.

You in transition comprehend this mutual experience.  If only we could bottle our exhilaration to taste its sweetness throughout life and share it among those we love and appreciate.

I prefer to participate with the SOFFAs at one support group.  I enthusiastically support the newbies and present my self to them a hopefull future.

We, through the time of my era, were generally obliged to participate in transition programs; they were usually sponsored by a university medical center.  Transition programs (mine was Stanford) impressed upon us the importance of blending into society – ‘strealth’ as they now call it.  We old-timers set the opportunity for you Trans children of today who become celebrities because you are Trans.

Finance matters – some of us had to search for coins in the seat cushions while others got it paid by their parents.  I was lucky to have had a good job that provided sufficient income and decent health insurance.  It also helpt that the ‘EXCLUSIONS’ section continually became irrelevant to me as I legally changed my name and sex, my medical record reported me as female, and my employer changed my designation from male to female.

In this season of Thanksgiving, I am forever gratefull for the bounty that came my way.

My transsexual perspectives of 40-some years ago are different than those of current Trans people – whether they are transitioning late in their life or are Trans children.  Not all have an easy transition – then and now.  We of my era could be subjected to ridicule, yet curiously, the general public paid little attention to our presence.  We went through our process with a society different than today’s.

We Trans must manage our own before we can expect the outside world to respect us.  There had been a movement toward openness, but I fear that those now in charge of our American government and their regressive political climate are imposing changes for the worse.  Some members of our Trans community brought this upon us much the same way Jews of Hitler’s Judenrate, Judischen Altesterrat, and Schutzstaffel chose to collaborate with NAZIs.  That era of NAZI-ism and Fascism persisted from the 1920s to the 1940s; on that timeline, we shall experience this in America until the 2030s – or later – when you continue doing nothing – when you persist colluding with the enemy.  Follow Hans von Dach Bern into total resistance.

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I feel conflicted.

You have seen here, Dear Reader, that Brad welcomed me into the fold of our ‘Dasahori Kids’ Facebook page.

I am now also accepted to my ‘Pinewood School Alumni’ Facebook page.

I present myself to the Pinewood School Alumni web-site only as Sharon; I make no mention that my past identity to them was once Nick.  I am not hiding my past; rather, I see no point forcing any agenda, I shall not deny my past if anyone asks.  Actually, I posted a picture from my school days, I mentioned the years when I attended, that my dad was a teacher, I identified where I resided on the school campus, I listed a few of my school activities, I mentioned school-mates in my social circle.  I also make reference both to the ‘Dasahori Kids’ site and to my own web-site.  Certainly people can do an Internet search.  Anyone who knows those ‘clues’ knows who I was.

As yet, the only alum who have corresponded with me did not know me personally during my two years at Pinewood.  I first wrote to the sister of a school-mate who was my prom date, then I wrote to the sister of my team-mate for the 1973 International Model United Nations.  I await posts from people who knew me directly.  According to the latest list as of when I last browsed that site, there are only a few who did know Nick and they have yet to read my entries.

Has anyone otherwise realised that I was Nick?

Maybe I have been too circumspect?

No problem.  I can write a post to answer questions and come clean in short order.

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It is getting into cold and flu season here in the US of A.

Allow me to recommend soup to fend off illness and ease your pain.

  • Chop and cut some garlic (good to prevent those sick days), carrots, red potatoes, red onions, celery.  Spice as desired with any or all of:  rosemary, fennel, cumin, tumeric, curry, chili powder, cayenne.  Why not add chicken.  Cook them in your slow cooker.  There you have it – fresh chicken soup, the universal cure; better than canned chemicals.

Serve this with some grated cheese on top.

Or …

Add a dollop of yoghourt and wrap it in a flour tortilla as a combo vegetable and chicken burrito.  A kinda vegetarian gyro to our Greek cuisine.

Yum!

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Sad notes to report.

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Malcolm Young (64), guitarist for AC/DC, died of complications from Alzheimer’s.

For those about to rock – we salute you and thank you for all the great music.

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We also learned that 1970s teen heart-throb David Cassidy (67), of ‘Partridge Family’ fame, is hospitalised and suffering from total organ failure. He awaits a possible liver transplant.

You made us happy.

Get well.

(Up-date 22 Nov 17: David Cassidy succumbed to his illness.)

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I saw it on the over-night news as I was fading back to sleep.

You know, Dear Reader, the story of my name and how I came to be Sharon (see: ‘In My Life …’, 19 Apr 16).

My friend put it well – Sharon Tate is smiling at final justice come her way.

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A great big Kapung Khaf thank you to ‘T-Central’ for picking up this web-site in their reference:

Take a browse at ‘T-Central’ for their diverse writing.

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Kapung khaf, thank you, Dear Reader, for bearing with me on this personal journey today.

Please return for another post at a future date.

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