Tag Archive | transition

‘Today Is A ‘Coming Out’ Day’

*(1970 06 00) Slim at Crater Lake (sitting) 62108991_353447288645822_7445126293500198912_n

‘Today Is A ‘Coming Out’ Day’

(11 Oct 2019)


I am already ‘Out’.

Lemme share about my experiences.  Maybe someone is new here, hasn’t browsed this ‘Slim and Me’ web-site or social media.  Or maybe you are familiar to my life.  Either way, I’ll try to use a different angle to write about things this time.

I was Out since at least age 3.  Perhaps I did not use Transsexual for my self, but I did know about two people:

 – Uncle Frank (my mother’s younger brother) was in Transition from boy to girl (as my child’s mind perceived it) and 

 – Christine Jorgensen’s name came directed at me during times when my parents were shouting at me about what I was doing (though I don’t recall knowing why her name was mentioned when I was a child at that time ). 

I knew that I am a girl, same as my sister Kathy.  Family frequently referred to Kathy and me as ‘The Twins’.  My only childhood definition of twins at that age was two siblings born at the same time – two girls or two boys, not one of each.  Being called a twin of my sister didn’t help me differentiate from my sister, it brought me to identify same as her.

Oh, family was humoured by me.  I wore Kathy’s clothes and we painted our nails.  Or I put on my teen cousins’ make-up and nail polish during visits to their homes.  The family gushed:

 – ‘Oh, Nickie!  What a cute little girl!’(1927 xx xx) Abie's Irish Rose (book cover - green) 51p7kbWYLGL._SX346_BO1,204,203,200_

That name – Nickie.  Here’s probably the first time that I shall have described in my essays how that came.  On the one hand, I hated Nickie because family used it as part of their verbal abuse against me.  Yet I came to want to embrace it when another reality hit.  Our father acquired child custody of Kathy and me following our parents’ divorce; he took us out of Public School and put us into Catholic elementary school.  My name at home, among family, among play friends, officially at Public School was Nickie.  No more Nickie at Catholic school, the nuns would not allow Nickie, the nuns forced me to use Nickolas.  No more Nickie – a name I began observing used by girls, not boys.  I resented the loss, I resented adults and authority denying another element of my girlhood.

Curious, I might not have sought a different name during childhood if the nuns had allowed me to continue using Nickie.  Instead, in my retaliation against authority, I explored innumerable girl’s names throughout 2nd Grade and 3rd Grade.  I decided upon Sharon by late 3rd Grade.  I told my mother first.  It was one Saturday morning during visitation as she cooked breakfast; we had quite a row in the kitchen.  I’ve asked Kathy many times; I’m surprised that Kathy tells me that she didn’t hear us where she was in her bedroom.  Taking it further, I don’t know what would have happened with my decision to keep Sharon – me as namesake for the other Sharon – a few years later.  Or maybe I would not have needed to have made it permanent and changed my name as part of Transition.  Small moments develop into major consequences.

(1969 06 00) Mincemeat and Nick - Grambling Apartment 64597389_2088241518143369_2973098609945346048_nLikely I would have changed my last name in any situation.

Life got difficult as I grew up.  My father was beating me for my Feminine Protesting, my female inclinations, my wearing Kathy’s clothes by the time when I was of older elementary school and high school age.  The worst was February 1971.  My family murdered my Uncle Frank a few months earlier to put an end to his Transition – to be done with him, one way or another.  I feared that this fate was happening to me that Thursday evening.  Crazy thought – I made numerous past suicide attempts and there would be other attempts wanting to end my life in later years, but there that night, that time and place, I really wanted to live, at least survive, somehow.

My teen years were living on that proverbial razor’s edge.  My father and I moved to Greece for two years during my high school.  I promised to control my Feminine Protesting, to cease wearing female attire, to study well; my father allowed me to grow my hair, tried to end his beatings.

(1972 03 00) Slim and Nick at Anatolia CampusI got lucky after I graduated from high school.  Dear Ol’ Dad took his two-years contract to teach at Brasil; I stayed home.  I had a fortuitous encounter with Denise, my next mentor; I promptly began my adult Transition at her encouragement.  That uneasy truce began to crack when my father returned home.  He snooped in my bedroom and through my privacy:

 – he discovered my Library books about Transition – especially Christine Jorgensen’s biography and books about the psychology and the sociology of Transition,

 – he found my correspondences with Transition programs, miscellaneous postal letters with Sharon as the recipient.

He resumed beating me.  What was I to do?  This was the 1970s.  There was no such thing as Domestic Violence as a crime back then.  I could hardly call the police.  Report my father?  The devout leader of our Catholic parish?  The respected Principal of our elementary school?  Police would have arrested me as an abusive son.

What if police did arrest him, prosecute him, sentence him, incarcerate him?  What was I to do still financially dependent upon him?

I finally gained employment and lived on my own.

My Transition still was not to be discussed.  Or, at least, family spread gossip among themselves making me fair game while they prohibited me from sharing my experiences and progress with them, such as:

 – I yearned to share my Transition advances at Christmas dinner 1979 (that year was one of the most momentous to that time).  This had been the first time in several years that so many of us would be together at one time and place; I so much wanted to share my joy with my family as a family.   Family shut me down.  That gathering was to be the last time when our father, Kathy, and I were together in good cheer.  If I recall correctly, the next time would be when our father was dying a decade later.

 – I showed my Diethylstilbestrol pills to my mother several months later; she laughed at me, she countered that she didn’t consider them real, she blathered to me that they were a trick, that they were candy.(2019 06 08) Inter-sex Don't Need To be Fixed 62175802_335193497131221_9095511818230562816_n


Our Transition is not always a direct route.  My detour was when doctors diagnosed me Inter-sex (1982) and offered a surgery six months later.  The hospital psychologist was not supportive of my Transition, provided no guidance to me how to explain my Inter-sex to family.

 – My father came cross-country to visit me for Christmas 1982, he saw evidence of my exploratory hospitalisation, and asked for details; I did not know what to say.  My father snooped through my box of medical papers while I was at work.  Not once did he bother to talk with me; instead, he made his own conclusions (wrong as he was).

 – I travelled to visit Cousin Nancy from Texas a few weeks after my surgery.  I hoped that I could have figured things out enough to share with her and her family.  Nope, there was no good time to talk seriously.(1984 06 xx) Grandma Thonus and Me on Mom's Sofa

 – I later tried explaining Inter-sex to cousins Carole and Bev (1993).  I gave an audio cassette tape and diagrams to them, they were from Dr. Paul MacDonald’s Inter-sex lecture to the University of Arizona Medical School (1974).  I hoped that they would comprehend Dr. MacDonald’s explanation of Inter-sex.  They didn’t seem to grasp anything – Carole is a college graduate (I don’t know her degree), Bev is a Pharmacist.


It’s all well-worn history when I finally managed to achieve full-time in 1985.  I had one interim situation during May when I stayed with my father at the home where I once lived with him during my years as a teenager.  This visit was home base for me to seek and secure my own home before I made my final departure from Utah.  I seriously considered presenting as Sharon during that two weeks or so, but decided that I should wait til I had my own home if this visit went bad.

My father hoped that I still was going through a phase when he invited me to my birthday dinner that July.  Nope.  I already had been living full-time for more than a month, my apartment registration was Sharon, my neighbours (including Clint) knew me as Sharon, my college enrollment and ID was Sharon.  I could not possibly do anything other than what was long overdue. 

(1986 xx xx) Golden Acres - HomeI presented Sharon to my father that evening – permanently, once and for all, no more part-time, no more denying my self to please Dear Ol’ Dad.  The subsequent 18 months was rough – he wanted nothing to do with me, did not communicate with me.  He refused my goodwill offer at his birthday (January 1986).  He was facing his denials.  All my years since the time when I was a toddler apparently did not prepare my father for this inevitability.  I am empathetic.  His wife denied a son to him and now his adopted son denied his son to him.

Our relationship settled into another truce by late-1986 – my father and I came together when the Mets played and won the World Series.  My father was becoming at ease with me, was no longer reticent about being with me in public.  Soon, he would frequently drive to visit with me.  He would pick me up from work, he observed how my co-workers accepted me, he made no slip-ups to them about my past.  We would go grocery shopping together, dine out together.  We were making progress together.  Those were among what few good times we would have.  We had a tumultuous Thanksgiving Day 1988.  He died of cancer the next July.

(1992 02 xx) Amber's DrawingI had one brief visit with Grand-Aunt Lena, Grand-Uncle Vic, Uncle Jack, Uncle Artie, Cousin Amber at their home (1992).  I was on exhibit for them – Look!  It’s Baby Sharon, she walks, she talks, she drinks, she wets.  I felt stiff, unable to relax, under their scrutiny the entire time.  Amber did present her drawing to me.

Last time when I saw Kathy was 1993.  It didn’t go well.  It has been downhill since that time.

Fast forward to family living here in town – Aunt Pat and cousins Bev, Carole, Gail, Jack.  They invited me, then they un-invited me, to Thanksgiving Day 1993.  That was the last time I heard from them til a series of awkward telephone conversations with Bev a few years ago.


(1972 12 00) Dad - Kathy - Nick (Vienna)For years, my ‘self’ perceived me as Transsexual.  Then came Inter-sex; then came doctors specifying that I am Female XXY.  I studied Transsex and Inter-sex at the University of Utah Medical School and then at the University of Arizona Medical School during the first half of the 1980s.  I had been especially familiar about my Transsex circumstance.  Adding Inter-sex was quite a new dimension to handle, accept, comprehend, alter my self-perceived consciousness.

Living stealth did much to suppress my perspective about Inter-sex more than Transsex.  During these past four decades, I gradually came to embrace my Inter-sex though my more commanding Transsex perspective told me different.  I ponder the reversal when I learned that Inter-sex persons generally remain as Assigned At Birth versus Transsex persons who generally change from their Assigned At Birth.

 – What if I knew about my Inter-sex during childhood?

 – What if doctors and family offered the opportunity to me to have Transitioned during childhood?

 – How different would I have perceived, accepted my anatomical anomaly if I knew as early as my childhood that I am Inter-sex?

 – What difference would have been my decisions during childhood?

 – What if I did not Transition, whether as a child or as an adult?

 – What if I declined my two ‘sex change’ surgeries and instead embraced what I called my ‘Half-and-Half’ and ‘50/50’ Inter-sex anatomy?

My anatomy has always been my ‘normal’ despite competing forces:

– My Transsex drive told me to make my anatomy biologically ‘normal’ to be acceptable to CisHet normative standards.

– My Inter-sex drive told me that I AM ‘normal’. 

No regrets.  Just questions.


I won’t belabour the point that two employers (Forest Service, State of Arizona) fired me because I am Transsexual two decades apart (1983, 2008).  You can read those details already written and posted at several essays here in social media and at my web-site.  Lemme make reference to this point that losing two careers was a life-altering situation leading to a drastic difference in my financial condition.  

– The Forest Service put me on track for promotion at least to grade GS-11.  My income at that grade would have led to an accumulated life-time income exceeding $2 million, maybe as much as $3 million.   Maybe I could have made GS-12?  GS-13?   SES?

 – Or take the difference in earnings between a woman and a man – that’s 60¢ for the woman to a Dollar for the man.  My prime earnings time frame as an adult man was less than a decade.  My earnings years as a woman spanned more than two decades, would have been more if not hindered, then derailed, by my last employer.

 – What if I waited to Transition male-to-female after my lucrative career of 30 or 40 years?  Many (most) people do that – they take full advantage of their pre-Transition Male Privilege throughout their lifetime; they avoid incurring this combination financial penalty being a woman, being Transsex / Inter-sex, being a Trans woman.

That income disparity means the diminution of life accommodations in home, transportation, comfort, travel, investments, retirement.

I lost one home, two cars, most of my personal possessions because of my Transition.  I live in a humble home needing multiple repairs beyond my means, my car remains un-repaired, my diet is from the grocery discard rack.

Thus, Dear Reader, is one aspect of my fiscal cost of Transition.  You need to know this if you are Transitioning young – that Transition from male to female incurs the difference between financial ease versus financial desperation.

I am fortunate.  I know several Trans friends – both personally and throughout social media – who are far worse than my condition.


I invariably read social media from many of you.  I enjoy learning from you.

Many of you and I are from a similar age group born during the 1950s. Many of you report having severe experiences of anatomical frustration throughout your childhood, knowing that you are a girl, afraid to reveal your thoughts to family, punished because of your behaviour. You describe minimal knowledge about Transsexualism til adulthood – 30s, 40s, 50s – you marry, have children, make a good career, establish a solid circle of friends, yet you are gripped by fear of disclosing your life-long secret to family and friends. You report your access to Trans resources is quite different from mine.

I was fortunate when it came to Trans; whereas, I lost the family, friends, career.(2019 06 07) Christine Jorgensen 61957188_297225101160272_6758831003961131008_n

 – Christine Jorgensen was a common reference in my household, maybe because her home and our home were within the same metropolitan area rather than cross-country.  Where your parents might only have received publicity of national distribution, living locally probably provided frequent daily publicity leading to daily conversation at home.

 – Uncle Frank was in Transition during the 1960s.  Sorry, I don’t know what was or would have been his female appellation, so I stay with what I do have for consistency.  Having one Trans family member was a clear bonus for my own Transition, even though I have only one specific memory of him – watching my father and him arguing at our front door til the city police came to arrest him.  His influence throughout the 1960s passed to me when I eavesdropped hushed conversation among the grown-ups.

 – My next mentor was Denise.  Our first meeting was totally serendipitous, a misidentification on my part.  Our second meeting was equally at random.  I’m not one to intrude into the privacy of others, so I didn’t want to push myself into her life.(1977 12 30) Stanford Reply (Name Covered)

 – Linda was a co-worker where I was employed as a civilian at a military base.  She was an electronics engineer auditor who made her two-weeks TDY to our Directorate facility.  I was one of three office clerks for the civilian head and his staff of both civilian and military.  Linda and I had our own work responsibilities and schedules that did not match.  We decided that socialising at lunch breaks together might not be a good idea.  She invited me to spend an evening after work with her, she was a font of knowledge who shared as much as she could with me, she provided additional resources for me.

 – Stanford University Medical Center’s ‘Gender Dysphoria Program’ was one of a handful of Transition programs during the 1970s.  Denise made a referral to get me enrolled (1977).

 – Janus Information Facility was a resource agency that Linda told me about.  They provided literature that I could send to family and friends, they provided psychological assessments of my status, they provided lists of potential counselling and medical services to contact.(1978 07 00) Information for the Family (Janus) (Cover)

These were opportunities that blessed my path.  How could I not succeed!


Each of us eventually finds our way, finds success in our own strength.  We come to our own breaking point when we realise that we are a better person living who we are rather than living who others demand.  Perhaps this is another reason for antagonism from the Cis Community.  We might perceive that we failed, but it is in our strength that we succeeded. 

Our failure was that we could no longer live a facade, our strength was that we can succeed when we live as our truth.  Most of the world lives in their failure, jealous of the rest of us who succeed when we live true to our selves – ‘A free fish doesn’t know what it is to be a hooked fish’.

Nor is there failure trying to live suppressing our Trans.  One famous Trans woman talked about how she tried sports, she tried the military, she tried being the ‘lady’s man’ – failure, yes, because she was none of that.  As she put it humourously about her efforts to ‘be a man’, she had to settle finding her success being ‘super water boy on the football team’ because she failed doing what she was not.  Success was when she found herself through her strength – her Transition.

Innumerable encounters that I had with Cis people growing up and as an adult eventually involved some degree of Cis aggression against me.  I can see where it scares the Trans child, left alone, left without family and other support structures.  Gawd, I grew up scared!  Perhaps it was humanity’s internal compass telling me right from wrong because somehow, within me, I had a strength, a sense that taking my stand was me being stronger than any bully. 

As I alluded in my essay, it was likely that many (most?) of today’s Out Trans Community may not have perceived or were not aware of Trans persons when they were children and during their younger adult life.  There were few counted actual Trans people by the end of the 1970s reported among the medical community – I have found reliable sources reporting from 1000 to 3000; certainly that fails to include children and adult Trans people living on the streets beyond the realm of official numbers.  Today is drastically different.  We can read social media at least by one Trans woman or another on any given day who is reporting that she is beginning her Transition, beginning her hormones, having one surgery or another – quite different compared to the 1970s, 1960s, 1950s, etc.

Yes – there were the occasional references and inferences in American media.  I saw an episode of the 1950s’ ‘Burns and Allen’ in syndication a few years ago cracking a joke about a sex change for one of the characters, the popularity of ‘Some Like It Hot’ and ‘Myra Breckinridge’ during the 1950s and 1960s, ‘M*A*S*H’ (and Klinger), ‘Soap’ (and Jody), and Tom Snyder during the 1970s.  Their frequent context was Trans as an oddity rather than Trans as our humanity.

There was good news during the 1970s and the 1980s.  Publicity began to present more Trans people in a positive context.  Robert Reed portrayed a character in Transition in 1975’s two-part ‘The Fourth Sex’ episode of ‘Medical Center’.  Then more public presentation among the daytime TV talk circuit – Dina Shore, Merv Griffin, Phil Donahue, Sally Jessy Raphael, Jane Whitney, Joan Rivers, Jenny Jones, Geraldo Rivera.  These talk shows finally presented us as normal people, not a punchline in a stand-up routine or a gag in a TV comedy.  Unfortunately, by the 1990s, Jerry Springer made Trans into freaks and objects.

We going public were still relatively few, aware of the hazard that publicity destroyed one’s life and career.  Allow me to identify Maria; she was on a few of those named talk shows, we became pen-pals for a few years.  She reported to me that she lost everything for being public.  She cautioned me to remain stealth.  Maria, I really want to hear from you, hoping that you have been able to do well.

We are still experiencing being Society’s pejorative.  There is the ignorance of many who have little education about Trans.  Then, there are the pernicious others who know exactly what they are doing to destroy us; I’m still amazed at their weakness and hypocrisy.  Pat Robertson had positive support for Trans people as recently as 2013 when I heard him discuss the topic on his TV show; something between then and recent led him to turn on Our Community.  He embodies that failure, that lack of strength in truth.



And so goes today’s Out Day reminiscences.  Those experiences have been among my Trans experiences.

(2019 06 10) We treat you life family 62440894_825818261130533_1994170594186231808_nFamily can read this essay.  Perhaps you can put these events together in your Ah-Ha moment of recollection.  Or spread gossip among yourselves.  Or not.  I have no expectation that any of you will ever correspond with me.







Cousin Nancy from West Virginia, 

Cousin Nancy from Texas, 





Uncle Jack.

I certainly don’t expect you or any other family to bother about this.  After all, Bev, you accuse me of hiding in your bushes, waiting to attack you, because I am a ‘Monster’ (as you call me).

Please.  Gossip amongst yourselves.  Or not.

Kapung Khaf!


Thank you to all who are responding positively to this essay.

Thank you to all the Resources whose work contributed to this article.(2015 08 20) Decide to be a Girl11046480_376569759191961_3227315234969587031_n


Additional Resources:

Itali Marlowe – 20th Trans person murdered this year – murdered because she is Trans:

Nope – I was not confused.  I knew at least by the age of 3 – ‘I’m a girl! I proclaimed to family.  I didn’t necessarily know that that made me Transsexual.  Uncle Frank, who began Transition when I was age 4, made Transsexuality a normal concept at home.(https://www.refinery29.com/en-ca/gender-identity-isnt-too-confusing-for-your-toddler)

The Birth Certificate fight continues at Utah.(https://fox13now.com/2019/10/10/utah-supreme-court-orders-state-to-weigh-in-on-transgender-birth-certificate-issue/)

Trevor Project’s LGBT Handbook for Youth. (https://www.advocate.com/youth/2019/10/09/trevor-project-releases-coming-out-handbook-lgbtq-youth?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=youth)

AMA support for LGBT Rights.(https://www.ama-assn.org/delivering-care/population-care/why-ama-s-standing-lgbtq-rights-supreme-court)

Stealth at work.(https://www.marketwatch.com/story/half-of-lgbtq-americans-are-not-out-to-co-workers-2018-06-27)

It’s no surprise that an anti-LGBT Republi-con is charged with child porn and sexual abuse.(https://www.lgbtqnation.com/2019/09/republican-state-senator-charged-possessing-child-porn-sexual-abuse-minor/)

The USA Supreme Court wants to tell Trans persons what public restroom to use.(https://news.yahoo.com/us-supreme-court-just-sent-134534353.html)

The 2020 Election is important for Our LGBT Community.(https://www-m.cnn.com/2019/10/10/opinions/2020-election-importance-lgbtq-david/index.html)

Poland right-wing attacks against LGBT.(https://slate.trib.al/VYhadkH)

TERF Lesbian opposes LGBT and Trans Civil Rights at Supreme Court demonstration.(https://www.pinknews.co.uk/2019/10/09/lesbian-activist-linda-bellos-supreme-court-against-trans-rights/)

Transgender youth activist.(https://www.smh.com.au/politics/federal/transgender-activist-lashes-scott-morrison-over-gender-whisperers-comment-20191007-p52ya8.html)

Australian Trans Community seeks health care coverage by Medicare.(https://www.outinperth.com/renewed-calls-for-medicare-to-cover-gender-reassignment-surgery/)

Surgery leads to improved mental health.(https://abcn.ws/33g6fEV)

Adult support helps Trans youth overcome suicidal thoughts.(https://www.lgbtqnation.com/2019/07/just-one-supportive-adult-cuts-chance-lgbtq-youth-will-attempt-suicide-40/)

A preview of the USA Supreme Court presentation.(https://www.rollingstone.com/politics/politics-news/supreme-court-gay-rights-workplace-equality-895565/)

Transcript of oral arguments in Harris Funeral Homes v. EEOC.






Thank you to all the resoources who make this web-site and page possible.

Please return for another essay.


‘Banging Our Own Drum, Singing Our Own Tune’


‘Banging Our Own Drum, Singing Our Own Tune’

(20 Sep 2019)


Dear Reader:

Allow me to tie together an accumulation of various loose end thoughts.

I’d like to elaborate on the questions that we of the Trans Community come to during the course of our Transition, as we complete Transition.   I propose these questions more specifically for the M-F Trans woman who has had all the hormones and surgeries that she planned.  Or maybe she decided to cease any further surgical events.

 – When do you choose to cease referring to yourself as ‘Trans’?

 – When do you consider yourself complete as a woman?

 – How do other women – Cis women – among your circle of friends accept you?  Trans woman?  Woman?

This is ‘Passing’ – one element of Transition.  This concept of Passing dates to the 1960s, 1970s, 1980s – the era of my adult Transition that occurred during the 1970s.  Passing provides that society perceives of us as a woman rather than as a Trans woman.  Passing is different nowadays.  Some of today’s Trans women accept it, some reject it. 

Some of us Pass quite amazingly well, even those who Transitioned after decades of T Poisoning.  Some of us think that others Pass quite well.  Some of us are closer to Passing than we realise.  Some of us will always appear Trans.  Some of us are our harshest critics who think that we shall never Pass.

Either way, it is in our innate sense that we had no choice but to Transition and endure whatever the consequences.


I consider that I Pass.  I don’t see Nick in my reflection in the mirror or in my current pictures.  Other people who don’t know me apparently perceive me as a woman; Society does not mis-gender me as a man.  I learned that I began to ‘Pass the ‘Passing’ Test’ by the way Society mis-gendered me as female despite every effort that I made trying to present as male during my late-Transition.  That is called ‘Male Fail’.

The sense of the terminology of Transsexual (and perhaps now Transgender) was applied to the person during their Transition.

Once you achieved whatever is your goal, once you accomplished your Transition, you dropt the reference of Transsexual.  For the M-F, you were now a woman without need to carry that extra reference as Transsexual.

My surgeries made me feel that I accomplished something.  I wasn’t certain if either were the last, but at least I achieved something momentous.

They both affirmed my Femalehood, definitely putting ‘male’ in my past.

Transition, as far as ‘bottom’ surgery went, was to the extent possible.  I obtained what my health insurance provided – relatively minimal considering the circumstances that that was Utah in 1983.

I considered FFS.  I want it.  Do I need it?  Can I afford it?

I made recent enquiries about FFS.  Ouch!  I’m looking at $35.000 for the immediate medical surgery aspects.  Then there is travel, out of town recovery residence, follow-up medical exams at home.  What happens if there are complications?  Adjustments?  This remains a far more complex decision than ‘bottom’ surgeries.

Self-satisfaction, self-respect, self-love come into play.  I must accept who I am, no matter what my outer appearance.

I must accept at some point that I am complete as Sharon, as a woman.

As one woman explained, if you broke your arm, then you refer to your self as having a broken arm only until you are healed.  You no longer explain your self to others that you have a broken arm, except as part of your past, once your bone is healthy.


Being both Transsexual and Inter-sex has its own complexity.  As Transsexual, I considered my 1983 surgery my completion event; it was not everything that I wanted.  That surgery permanently changed my medical record to Female; that result was more than I could have expected mere months earlier.  Yet my 1982 Inter-sex diagnosis caught me in the middle.  My Transsexual self told me that I wanted to be ‘normal’.  My newer Inter-sex self was gradually trying to convince me that I was already ‘normal’ – Inter-sex ‘normal’, my ‘normal’.

Post-op 1983, I was what I called myself ‘Half-and-Half’ and ‘50 / 50’.  I fought my internal struggle still wanting to be ‘normal’ as compelled by my original Transsexual identity, yet accept my new ‘normal’ according to my Inter-sex diagnosis.

I am ‘normal’ since my 2016 surgery; no regrets, yet sometimes curious what my life would be if I chose to forego that surgery.

Of course, there is that certain Badge of Honour wearing both the Transsexual and Inter-sex terms.  Our label keeps ourselves and others aware that we came through our own journey to maturity a bit different than society’s concept of ‘normal’.


Some of us will choose to reveal that we are Trans as part of our womanhood.

Cis women and Trans women have much in common, yet much divergent.

 – Cis women have their periods, concern for birth control and pregnancy, growing up with their own expectations as women in this society.  These may be wishful ideas of the Trans woman’s imagination.

 – Cis women likely have little concept about the M-F Trans experience – Dysphoria, socialisation as ‘boy’ / ‘man’, expectations of men in society.


Perhaps a weird explanation about us is that we see ‘him’ in the mirror though we’d rather see ourselves as her.  This transformation takes time – months, years.  It is gradual, sometimes slowly imperceptible, usually causing frustration that it can’t move faster to satisfy our impatience.  Then, one day, we do see our self, the woman whom we are.  She knowingly stares at us with a smirk and a wink.  At last we begin to enjoy our self; highly critical at first, eventually unconditionally.  It is who we are.  We are proud of our accomplishments.  Finally!

Lemme tell you about my first mirror experience.  I was travelling from Oregon to home at Arizona (July 1993).  I spent the night at a seaside motel at Port Orford.  I had to visit Mother Nature during the night.  The light inside the bathroom was not totally dark, probably a bit of Moon glow.  In my fog of sleep, I noticed what appeared to be a woman in my motel room bathroom before I could turn on the light.  Who is she?  How did she enter?  I felt an unease.  I managed to nervously turn on the bathroom light and prepare to confront this intruder.  OMG!  That stranger in the bathroom was my reflection in the mirror.  She is me!  This was probably the first time when I examined my self in the mirror.  This discovery remains vivid with me.

The second time that I remember having a mirror experience occurred four years ago – Summer 2015.  My focus was preparing myself for travel to Thailand for surgery with Dr. Chettawut.  I depended upon free Wi-Fi – at the Public Library, at the Fry’s grocery store, at Kinko’s copy stores – to accomplish innumerable travel and surgery preparation tasks on-line.  This mirror was at Fry’s; I was familiar with several local Fry’s restrooms, but this was at a Fry’s store new to me.  I opened the restroom door and saw a woman confronting me. 

 – ‘Pardon me’ I said to her.


Upon a second look, I realised that that woman is me – my reflection in the mirror placed opposite the entrance door.


There is no single way to do Transition, to live.  Each of us is in charge of our life, our revelation.  We must find what makes us happy, what makes our Trans support family happy for us.

Our focus is on our selves, on our Transition, sometimes excluding other people, other priorities when we begin our Transition.

We focus on ‘me’ more than any others around us.  We need to bring our attention to our Transition challenges.  

Our family and friends who have been our support might feel that we are rejecting them, rejecting their support – being selfish.


We can’t allow others to control us, not now.  This is too important to lose our focus.  If Transition is selfish, if others consider that our life endeavour is selfish, well, so be it.  This must be accomplished for us to find our maturity on the other end of the process.

Please bear with us.  Eventually, we adjust our perspectives and re-organise our lives with a better balance; Trans is no longer everything, though reaching our goal is on our mind.

We control when and how we define our selves.  We embrace our Trans-ness when the time comes, even if our revelation is difficult.  We drop it when we prefer our privacy.

We learn to adjust our decisions as we progress.  While Trans is who we are, we no longer feel the need to talk about it all the time.  Our attention shifts from the personal to the political – our Civil Rights, our Constitutional Rights.  We began to confront society’s Transphobics who seek to abolish our existence, our Rights.


Sometimes, all these years on, I still feel awkward introducing myself in female identification.  Not that I perceive my self as male.  Maybe this is the trade of my Non-Binary self in me that I discovered some time around 1977 during my Transition.  I frequently had night-time dreams of me moving freely among society from Sharon to Nick – this could change from day-to-day or even hour-to-hour.  I remember having a humourous dream attending college classes.  I arrived one day and one of my class-mates asked me who I was that day – Sharon or Nick.  I shrugged, ‘I don’t know’.

But just let something mistake me, mis-gender me, and that gets my proverbial goat.  I remember with clarity receiving my Social Security card as Sharon (1978), I remember receiving my driver’s licence as Sharon with that ‘F’ for the first time (1980).  My medical records documented me as Sharon and female since 1979, I’ve had three surgeries (1982, 1983, 2016) confirming me as female.  Those achievements brought a lifetime of euphoria.  Yet, in 2017, there it was – my medical record showing me as ‘male’.  AGH!  I showed this error to my physician and, politely as possible, demanded that this be corrected.


I don’t introduce myself to people as being Transsexual and Inter-sex.  There must be a reason to tell someone that I am.  I don’t have a habit of saying anything about it.  I don’t announce it as a grand acclamation.  I don’t find that disclosure necessary.  

I’m not soliciting for an intimate encounter when perhaps that specific disclosure seems fair.  But then again, I rarely meet new people outside the Trans Community where I am known as Trans and my history is public.

This introduction quandary is something quite individualised among the Trans Community.  Each of us determines what is comfortable to the situation and audience.

There’s no hiding this, and I don’t.  I shall always be Transsexual and Inter-sex.  Likewise, I always was, always have been, always will be Female / Girl / Woman.  I knew of this since age 3.  Family knew of this at least that time.  Various friends came to know this as I revealed it to them during the course of my life.

Related to this, there is Stealth.  This becomes a personal decision for a variety of reasons.  Frequently, Stealth is critical for safety in public settings where disclosing being Trans attracts violence, assault, murder.  Disclosing being Trans at work invites harassment and getting fired.  Don’t I know that!  Disclosing being Trans can get you evicted from your home where city, county, or state laws allow Trans people be refused housing.  Now, here at Arizona, our state Supreme Court ruled that a business open to the public can refuse to serve an LGBT customer.  Add more to that sign in the window:

 – ‘No shirt, no shoes, no F*gs, no Tr*nnies:  NO SERVICE!’


I admittedly don’t know your life, Dear Reader.

Nevertheless, allow me to tell you what may come.  Your thoughts will exclude your Trans history – possibly for days, weeks, months, maybe years.

For myself, that was my experience.  Dunno if it was because of living stealth or merely because I eventually put my Transition in my past, its significance diminished through the passage of time.  As the premise of this topic, I progressed from being in Transition, to being post-op, to being me. 

Days, weeks, months passed and I had no thought about my having been what I was – Trans.  I am only what I am – a woman.

Taking my daily hormones was not anything more momentous than taking my daily vitamin supplement.

Sure, I attended to medical appointments.  Attending to medical appointments specific to my condition were the only occasion that brought about the thought of my past experiences; other health care was for me as a woman.

So, too, went swaths of time when I had little thought about my anatomical anomaly – that I thought about it only when I had to attend to medical appointments.

In 2015, for my first time, I outed myself when I began participating in social media.  That was a rough start.  It was the time when TV was introducing new characters as Trans, one of them named Nick (I wrote about a personal backstory to that character in a prior essay, and other TV characters were named Sharon and Nick by the same producer in another TV show).  Gradually, the others at that chat room forgot about my being Trans, they eventually perceived me simply as Sharon, a woman, not Sharon the Trans member.  To them, I was as any other woman.

As I explained, I was living life unconsumed by this.  I had no Trans Community at that time – not in real life, not among social media.  I remember coming out of my Stealth during 2015 – I thought, ‘WOW!  I just met someone who is Trans!’ totally oblivious to the fact that I am Trans, grew up as a Trans child, began my Transition more than four decades earlier.  All those years, I gradually had begun to think less and less that I myself am Trans.

Being here at social media allows me to control information about my life.  I am comfortable discussing my Trans and Inter-sex situation with civilians.  I reveal only what I choose.

You can talk with me any time, any place.  Let’s keep it respectable. 


Sometimes saying that I am Transsexual and Inter-sex now makes it a political declaration, a statement of revolution and defiance in the face of opposition from Crooked Drumpf and his Right-wing Republi-con Christian Con-servative Evangelical Fundamentalist Taliban.

Some members of the Trans Community consider that it is important to be public.  

 – That being open educates the Cis Community, we are Trans ‘ambassadors’ presenting our positive image representative of the Trans Community.

 – That being public encourages others who are themselves trying to find themselves, who may be just starting, who may be early in their journey.

Allow my presence to become a role model, a mentor to others coming this direction.  I had my start same as everyone.  Then again, I was more than fortunate to have several Trans people help me throughout my life from the earliest of my memory.


Thank You, Dear Reader, for visiting today.

Thank you for checking in:

– T-Central.blogspot.com

– KiraMooresCloset

– Geraldine1000.

Please return for the next essay.


Additional Resources:

A Trans Woman speaks about hate crime:




For parents raising a Trans Child:


London ‘Pride’ event:


The importance of an out teacher as a positive role model:


Assistance for you seeking surgery and surgeons:



Physicians must be held to their Hippocratic Oath:


This should please Mary, my one-time Pinewood Class-mate friend turned Christian Con-servative school teacher from Lethbridge:


Turn-about against Christian Con-servatives:


Learn about TERFs:


Three articles about DeVos banning Trans Children from school:




Carson denies public housing for ‘hairy’ Trans Women:




’To The Contrary’


’To The Contrary’

(14 Sep 2019)


This week’s episode of PBS ‘To the Contrary’ is an interview with Dr. Michele Angello.

As ‘they’ say – Check local listings.  ‘To the Contrary’ is broadcast on PBS World usually:

 – at least twice on Saturdays (7am and 5pm Arizona time), 

 – Sundays (6.30am and 2pm Arizona time), and 

 – once or twice weekdays (Wednesday at 1pm Arizona time).

Here’s the episode on YouTube:


Dr. Angello has researched and written about the Trans and Inter-sex child.

Good presentation here.  This is quite informative in a positive way.  I especially appreciate how Dr. Angello explained the Trans child’s predicament:

 – ‘Some children come out and it’s definitively their identity and it stays static for the rest of their lives.’

 – ‘Kids can be certain of their identity.’

 – ‘I say to parents, ‘When did you know that you weren’t Trans?’.’

 – ‘Parents need to be supportive.  Love your child no matter the outcome.  Let them explore.’

– ‘Love your child unconditionally.’

 – ‘Allow your child to gender themselves, they’ll tell you how they identify.’

 – ‘Suicide attempt rates for Trans children is 41% – it’s bullying and harassment, it’s that they can’t use the bathroom, or ‘my family doesn’t accept me’, or ‘my religion doesn’t accept me, God doesn’t accept me’.’

 – ‘Folks with an opposite belief system ramp up their hate against Trans.  We’re still getting a lot of backlash.’

If only my family was this open and accepting and my medical care was that available six decades ago when I came out to them as Transsexual at age 3.  Eh, Kathy?

You who are familiar with me know that I am both Transsexual and Inter-sex (Female XXY).

If you are new, here’s a summary of my Trans / Inter-sex life:

 – I was an out Transsexual child by age 3 (1959),

 – I began my M-F Transition at age 18 (1974),

 – Denise, my mentor, helpt me enroll at Stanford University Medical Center’s ‘Gender Dysphoria Program’ at age 21 (1977),

 – My physicians first diagnosed me as Inter-sex (Female XXY) at age 26 (1982),

 – I am okay to say that I had a uterectomy (1982) and two Trans-related surgeries (1983, 2016),

 – I’ve been full-time since age 28 (1985),

 – Two employers (Forest Service, State of Arizona) two decades apart (1983, 2008) fired me on their accusation that I am F-M Transsexual.

 – I produced two TV shows during the 1990s: 

–  – ‘Dick’s Automative’ (about electric cars) and

–  – ‘Rock Club Rising’ (live on tape music) (https://www.phoenixnewtimes.com/music/eat-the-document-6421801).


Dr. Angello commented about trouble that Society is imposing upon the Trans person who has need of public facilities.

Why must Society be cruel and fickle?

The Public School I attended for Kindergarten and 1st Grade made no objection to me using the girl’s restroom though I attended school as a ‘boy’ (1961 – 1963). The only time I got in trouble was when our teacher scolded my girl friend and me for making wet toilet paper wads and throwing them at the ceiling inside the girl’s restroom when I was in 1st Grade.  No school officer or teacher reprimanded me when I otherwise used the girls’ restroom (the boys’ restroom stunk).

I did experience one complication inside one of the men’s restrooms at work (1985) when I was in full-blown Male Fail.  My employer (USDA Forest Service) was in the midst of firing me on their accusation that I am a woman who was working there as a man, yet they required me to continue to present as male at work.  One day, a man entered the men’s restroom as I was washing my hands. We looked at each other.  He made a sudden startled jump backward while asking to perhaps no one specifically,

– ‘Is this the men’s room?’.

I dug down deep for the best possible male falsetto that I could muster, but the most that I could mumble was a feeble ‘Yes’.  I finished and was gone.

Okay, on the serious side.

So far, so good.

The concept and acceptance of Passing may have changed through the decades.  After all, we who better appear Female to Society’s expected standards of Femininity are considered Passing and less likely to be subjected to Society’s anti-Trans wrath.

Passing was one requirement for surgery for we who were enrolled in the Stanford University Medical Center’s ‘Gender Dysphoria Program’.

Nowadays, we Trans persons are public in far greater numbers than the 1970s when Stanford issued their  Guidelines.  More Trans people means far wider expression of one’s Trans-ness.

Me ‘Passing’?  Dunno.  I am me, take me as the woman whom I am.

The very first time when people mis-gendered me was during my teen years residing at Greece and travelling through Europe and Asia:


– Men in Turkey grabbed my behind – that act of criminal assault committed by men of misogyny.  I was frozen. I did not know what to do, what to say, whether to scream.  My father was with me, I tried to express my anguish and fears to him, but he did nothing; maybe there was nothing that he could do.  This was my father again teaching me about misogyny and patriarchy.  This was my father trying to use these assaults as a way to convince me to not Transition, that somehow I would no longer be a girl because criminals assaulted my intimacy.


– My own family mis-gendered me – whether for real or to demean me.  My father and I shared photography of our travels and experiences of Greece and Europe.  He was showing pictures of us to family gatherings.  I could observe that these relatives were puzzled by the images.  Eventually, my Aunt Olga queried:

– – ‘All these pictures.  There are pictures of a stranger girl in many of them.  But where’s Nickie?’

– The most memorable mis-gendered photograph was my picture with the boys of the Vienna Boys Choir while obtaining their autographs.  I clearly remember how much my appearance was more a teenage girl than a teenage boy.  Indeed, ‘Where’s Nickie?’!  I have not seen any of those photographs since perhaps 1974.  I suspect that my father did not want to share those pictures because of this mis-gendered identification.  Further, my father’s older sister and her husband threw away my father’s entire collection of photography when he died.  My father kept all his photography (and most of mine) stored with them since the time when my father and I moved to Greece (1971).  That destruction was my family expressing their complete and absolute hate toward me.

One lesson of its own is that of people perceiving a Trans woman as a woman regardless of how we ‘Pass’.  People were mis-gendering me as a woman during  my years of part-time.  There I was, especially once I hit full-blown Male Fail – presenting as my male ‘before’, perceived as a woman by the public, ‘Passing’ as a woman.

No one has ever bothered me or confronted me about my presence using the women’s restroom going back four decades in time and travelling throughout the USA and three other nations.

I never thought about being denied using a public restroom and that using the women’s restroom could create trouble until I first noticed this becoming a sudden political issue in Houston in 2015.

Now I attend to my business wary of any potential complication, I enter and use the facilities with caution.

Society has become determined to put us under attack for our existence.

It’s not enough to have legal ID nowadays.  It’s not safe if some authority imposes their Panty Patrol.  No person should be subjected to strip search to use public accommodations.


Here’s an article about TERFs that came to my Facebook feed:



I searched the Internet in curiosity.  Looks like the book is here:

‘GYN / ECOLOGY: The MetaEthics of Radical Feminism’ by Mary Daly


Debbie E. referred this book to me during the early-1980s.  I need to read this again with a perspective of these four decades passed.


Transition comes in stages.  We adjust our attitude about life, our selves, others.

I submit that it is our maturity that brings us through our stages of Transition.

We begin our Transition abhorring every bit about our ‘before’.  We act stridently with our insistence.

Eventually, depending upon the individual, we come around – we lighten up about ourselves and about others, we come to understand the important things in life, we realise the truths in that saying:

– ‘Allow me the capacity to change what I can change, accept what I can’t change, and the wisdom to know the difference.’

These are examples of what I learned to accept because I can’t change other people regarding the sensitive issue of one’s name and pronouns:

– My father never – NEVER – addressed me as Sharon to the day when he died 30 years ago, though I declared my name at age 8, went through Transition, advanced to full-time.

– One aunt, who had not seen me in several years, called me Nick the only time we met personally 30 years ago at my father’s death.  I did not take offence because of the circumstances.  Besides, correcting her would have been pointless for me, and I kinda felt nostalgic about it.

– On the other hand, my mother, my sister, other family did use Sharon, but they speak it with disgust toward me.

I deal with those situations.  It matters little what others do when I do not allow their deliberate insults to affect me and I accept their mistakes made in honesty

I learned to embrace my ‘before’ – Nick is NOT ‘dead’, he will always be part of Sharon.  So when people do refer to me in my ‘before’, I think of my efforts that brought me to today.



You can thank Alan Hart as the mark of the beginning of the current era of Trans in 1918.

I agree with the thought that coming out nowadays is easier because of the availability of information, resources, social media compared to past years and decades.

Unlike many of my contemporaries who describe the absence of information and resources about Transsexualism, I had the benefit of innumerable advantages throughout my childhood, teens, and early adulthood during the 1950s, the 1960s, the 1970s.  Those opportunities enabled me to be out as a child by age 3 and to Transition at age 18.  I consider these key:

– Christine Jorgensen and her family was from New York City, my family was from suburban New Jersey; my family continued to reside at metropolitan New York City during my first years of childhood (1950s).  I have described previously that my father’s DD-214 records that he served in the military at the same time and same duty station as then-George.  Her  name was frequently among family comment and among public notoriety.  My father regularly invoked her name (both George and Christine) whenever he scolded me for anything that I did that was Transsexual.  Was it personal?  Was it through the public common?  Or was it both?

– My mother’s younger brother – my Uncle Frank – was Transsexual, was in M-F Transition during the 1960s.  Likewise, my father invoked Uncle Frank anytime my female tendencies surfaced.  I clearly remember when family gossip was filled with self-congratulations when they had Uncle Frank murdered (1970).   Now his murder became a more severe, very real threat hung over my every effort – especially during times when my father and I experienced heated arguments when I went into my Feminine Protesting tantrums or when he beat me because I was wearing Kathy’s clothes.

– One vital element would be my serendipitous encounter with Denise, my next mentor (1974).  She gave that critical spark of initiative to me precisely when I needed it.  She would get me enrolled in Stanford’s ‘Gender Dysphoria Program’ (1977).

– I claim no personal association with Renee Richards.  We are contemporaries in our own Transition at about the same time, that’s about it.  I can say that I followed her early tennis career, her legal battles.  Her successes inspired me to continue.

– Another opportunity was Linda, my co-worker and mentor.  She taught to me innumerable practical tasks that I needed to accomplish throughout my Transition.  She connected me with the Janus Information Facility (Reed Erickson Education Foundation) of Galveston.  Through these resources I changed my legal ID, driver’s licence, Social Security Account identification.  I located the counselling required to continue my Transition.

How many Trans people of our generation can count maybe one or two items similar to my list?  How many Trans people of our generation can count more experiences?

I took good advantage of the abundance that came my way.  I am forever grateful for their contribution to my success.

As I frequently ponder to myself and with my trusted friends:

– Where would I be without these great people and resources who came into my life at the critical times when they did?

It’s easy to comprehend that I would have been nowhere in Transition if this assistance was absent from my life.

I ‘knew exactly who I was’ by age 3, never wavered, and received help that brought me to where I am with no serious regrets other than wishing that Transition could have been better done during my childhood.

Take away those opportunities and my life would be totally different.

It would have been likely that I would have been a late-Transitioner as many are during the recent decade.


Thank you.


ขอบคุณ ค่ะ.




Please take advantage of these Additional Resources:










WPATH Standards of Care Version 7 free download at:  (https://www.wpath.org/publications/soc)

UCSF guidelines:  (https://transcare.ucsf.edu/guidelines)


‘Strange Solitude’


’Strange Solitude’

26 Jul 2019

*(2019 06 09) Slimand Me (Thassos -February 1973) 50091091_2252905174984063_633501676090687488_n
Thirty years passed quickly.

I just realised something.

It came to me as I was commenting to a Facebook post about fathers and their LGBT child.

Last week – 19 July 2019, 11pm – marked the 30th Anniversary of my father’s death. We finished watching ‘China Beach’; the 11pm Late News was starting.  He began to heave his last breaths as I held him, hugged him; I wanted him to know that I would not let him go alone.  Where was the rest of his family?  He was staying at the New Jersey home of his sister and her husband – they had not come downstairs to the basement to see him all day.  My dad’s brother and his wife lived a few miles down the road – they had not bothered to visit since the previous Sunday.  My father’s natural daughter returned to her la Jolla, California, home two weeks earlier – she chose to leave her father during his final days rather than stay with her father til his passing.  There I was – the only family with my father at his final moment, the family member rejected by that family.

(2019 06 16) Surnack Home - Mahwah 63213611_1797939466975200_6669567397273272320_nI flew from New Jersey cross-country to my home on the Saturday immediately following my father’s death on Wednesday night – family told me that I was not welcomed to be present at their home any longer.  My father’s funeral home visitation was that Saturday – family told me that I was not welcomed to participate and greet visitors.  My father’s funeral and Requiem Mass was that next day, the Sunday immediately following his death – family told me that I was not welcomed to attend Requiem Mass at their Catholic Church.  The military provided special attention to my father’s funeral service as a Veteran of WW2 and Korea, as a Bronze Star recipient – family told me that I was not welcomed to receive the Military Honour Guard as his child.  My 33rd birthday 30 years ago – my first time without my father.  Strange solitude.

I don’t know what this means.  I always – ALWAYS – found a way to commemorate his death each and every year with at least a moment of silent reflection at 11pm.  This is the first time in all these intervening years that I totally forgot about him on that day.

My dad was college educated – nearly a doctorate.  My dad had plenty of information about Transsexualism – there was Christine Jorgensen during the 1950s, then his brother-in-law Frank and his Transition during the 1960s, then me since and throughout my childhood, teens, adulthood.

My father had my entire lifetime to become accustomed to me – growing up as a Transsexual child, Transition at age 18, struggling through part-time, full-time at age 28.

Dad knew that I had been in Transition, knew that I had been part-time, knew that I had my 1982 exploratory surgery and its diagnosis because he snooped through my private medical papers.  I withheld information of my May 1983 surgery from family because I had no counselling to help me share my good news with family.  I had no idea how family would accept it, I could hide that surgery because I was still presenting as Nick to them.

We hadn’t seen each other for only a brief interlude – since late May 1985 when I returned to Utah to pack my household belongings and move from Utah.  He didn’t know that I advanced to full-time during those few intervening weeks earlier – quite literally on the road. I departed my Utah apartment as Nick, I became Sharon as soon as I drove out of town.

That first year after making full-time was the worst.  He rejected me more than any other time.  About the only difference in his responce to my Transsexualism was that he would no longer hit me.

He softened slightly when he saw that I cheered the Mets winning the 1986 World Series.  I was definitively, unquestionably his daughter that year; but there I was, cheering on the Mets, doing what he saw his son doing in 1969 (and in 1973’s losing cause).  It was about the first time since November 1985 when we finally met again, even if only tentatively.


Dear Ol’ Dad was socially and emotionally distant my entire life, specifically my Transsexual life.  He never, not once, addressed me as Sharon; I didn’t expect that when I was age 8 when I made my first announcement that I chose my new name, but Sheesh!, he intercepted my postal mail for Sharon beginning in 1977, he snooped through my boxes of personal and intimate medical papers at my own home.  He lived in denial of what I presented directly to him.

I devoted my life to my father during the last three weeks of his life.  Lying in his hospital bed in the basement of his sister’s New Jersey home, he turned his back to me, he preferred to look at the wall, whenever I tried to talk with him.

With his death 30 years ago this past weekend, maybe I can fantasise that he could have changed; but, I submit, the cold reality is that these subsequent 30 years would have done nothing for our relationship.  My father would have remained opposed.

The first words that I said to my dad:

  • ‘Now I’m happy, Dad.  This is who I am.  I’m still me.  We can still watch Sunday football together.’

That’s what I told my father.  One of the first things in 1985 when I travelled to his home at Sierra Vista when he invited me for my birthday.

Just like that – my words permanently etched to my memory.

My dad turned away from me as I entered the door.  Maybe he never heard my plea.

He refused to look at me.

The remaining of my 1985 birthday visit was cold, without much conversation between us.  We prepared dinner in silence, we ate in silence.  Maybe because we were nervous and tentative during this first time when my reality truly and finally hit his reality.

I don’t recall, but I don’t think we hugged good-bye that night.  The time was getting late and I departed.  My drive home was 90 miles and two hours distant – plenty of alone time for myself to ponder that evening’s events.  As he would later turn his back to me in his hospital bed.  As I would return home in solitude during my cross-country flight home in 1989.

My dad came to my apartment in November 1985.  That was a few days after Clint’s football buddies tried to attack me.  Clint was with my dad.  They both yelled at me – how could I do this to them.  They demanded that I change back.

I would not hear from my father again for several months.  Clint never came to visit me at my apartment and he did not welcome me at his apartment.

Christmas and the 1985 holidays season was distinctly alone for me.  No communication from family.

(1986 xx xx) Golden Acres - Home I drove to Sierra Vista on the evening of my dad’s birthday (23 Jan 1986) with a card and plans – hoping that we could reconcile.  He was not home.  I waited for a short time, but eventually determined that he did not want me around, that he was avoiding me, that he made his own plans without me in them.

We had almost no contact for about a year – til the time of those 1986 baseball playoffs.

My dad came to visit me for the first time since 1985.  He actually came to pick me up after work one day where I was employed as Court Clerk at a Tucson city court office.  He allowed me to introduce him to the few co-workers there still working later hours.  He was good, he behaved himself, he said nothing to my work-mates to expose me.  We went to dinner that evening – our first dinner together in public.  There must be some spark, something good in my father about those efforts that I can grasp – that that was one brief event when he felt comfortable about my presence.

Family happy endings are nice, but not universal.

Our relationship remained difficult for our last three years.


Epilogue – for the record (26 Jul 2019):

Family read this post adapted to another social media site.  They left a Comment.  No doubt that their gossip mill is running full steam as they have done in the past.

I alluded to this in the essay.  My father snooped through my box of medical papers when he travelled to visit me at Utah during Christmas vacation 1982.  I learned in 2015 that he told family that I had BA.  Well, that’s Our terminology; his report was more civilian and obviously quite wrong.

My point being – Why can’t family offer their invitation for me to visit them, rather than gossip among themselves, rather than silence toward me?

No one says that this meeting must be at their home or my home.  Maybe at the Public Library?  Or the salad bar?  Or a walk in the park?

My sister really extended herself this year.  She sent the absolute briefest of a text message that, at first effort, didn’t even include my name.  How thoughtfully thoughtless!  No information about her and her family.  No enquiry expressing her interest about my life.  No picture of her and her family.

(1970 06 00) Slim at Crater Lake (sitting) 62108991_353447288645822_7445126293500198912_nDo they really want me to be part of their family?

Or do they keep me around because my life makes a punch line in their conversation?


Thank you, Dear Reader, for visiting this page.


‘Walking In Daylight’

*(1970 06 00) Slim at Crater Lake (sitting) 62108991_353447288645822_7445126293500198912_n

‘Walking In Daylight’

(07 Jun 2019)


Christine Jorgensen is a Pioneer of Our Community.

Many of we who lived during Jorgensen’s life have our personal experiences or stories.

Allow me to share mine.

My father made frequent, rude comments about Jorgensen throughout my childhood.  According to both my father’s DD-214 military record and Jorgensen’s published military record, there was a time when they both served at the same location.  I didn’t learn about this til after my father’s death – he died about the same time as Christine – so that became one question that I didn’t know to ask him throughout his own life.

  • Did my father know Christine during their military service?  How much?  For how long?
  • What about during the 1950s?  During the 1960s?
  • How did any of this affect how my father reacted to his wife’s brother doing Transition?  And to me doing my own Transition?

When he died, my father left evidence that possibly indicates that he had contact with either Christine herself, or someone in her family, or someone close to her.  I have corresponded with people who identified themselves being among Jorgensen’s inner circle.  I asked them to clarify anything.  The results have so far been inconclusive.

No matter.

The deaths of Christine Jorgensen, Billy Tipton, and my father at nearly the same time three decades ago create a lasting impression upon my own life experiences.

Speaking of Billy.  Surely my mother would have heard of Tipton through her careers in the entertainment industry:  she was a part-time movie and TV actress, she performed in Community Theatre at several cities across the nation, she worked in radio, she performed in radio and TV commercials – all during the 1950s through the 1990s.  What were her memories that she could have shared about him?

Thank you, Christine and Billy, for being Pioneers in my life.


From the article:(2019 06 07) Christine Jorgensen 61957188_297225101160272_6758831003961131008_n


#BornThisDay: Transgender Pioneer, Christine Jorgensen

May 30, 1926– Christine Jorgensen:

– ‘Remember, never throw away a chance for happiness too quickly… it can get to be a habit.’

Before freedom found Chelsea Manning two years ago, before the lovely Laverne Cox, before the late, great Alexis Arquette, before Chaz, even before Bruce Jenner broke the big news to Diane Sawyer and the rest of the world that Caityln had arrived, there was a little boy from the Bronx who became a lovely lady.

It was 1952 and Science was still a popular subject, unlike our own times. Engineers were able to build rocket ships, researchers could cure diseases, and medical doctors were able to turn a seemingly regular guy into a glamorous woman. This was an era before there was a T in the Equal Rights movement, before there was even an L,G, or B, much less a Q. In fact, Transgender wasn’t even a term yet.

Recently discharged Army Private George Jorgensen made headlines around the world when he returned to the USA from Denmark as a blond woman named Christine Jorgensen. Jorgensen shocked the world and freaked out most Americans. People were afraid and angry. They still are.

While serving in the Army, Jorgensen, who said that she had felt trapped in the wrong body since childhood, read an article about a doctor in Denmark who was experimenting with sex change and hormone therapy.

Brave Jorgensen was just 24-years-old when she made the journey to Copenhagen to meet with Dr. Christian Hamburger who diagnosed the young GI as “transsexual”. Hamburger prescribed female hormones and encouraged Jorgensen to dress in women’s clothing. Hamburger and a noted psychologist had to petition the Danish government for permission to perform the illegal act of castration for surgical purposes.

Hamburger successfully changed Jorgensen’s special stuff from male to female. Jorgensen chose Christine as her new female name in honor of her doctor.

Her transition made headlines when she returned to the USA. Curious crowds and eager journalists showed up at NYC’s Idlewild Airport to cover her return from Denmark. The December 1st, 1952 headline on the cover of the NY Daily News read:

Ex-GI Becomes Blond Beauty.


– ‘At first I was very self-conscious and very awkward, but once the notoriety hit, it did not take me long to adjust.’

Jorgensen was resourceful and like any true blue American she was able to take that media attention and turn it into nightclub engagements. With a straight face, she sang I Enjoy Being A Girl and Bewitched, Bothered And Bewildered as part of her act. My city of Portland’s own Mary’s Club, the oldest strip club in the USA (Portland still has more strip clubs than churches) engaged Jorgensen with a gig as a go-go girl. Often the butt of television comedians’ jokes, she still always kept a sly sense of humor about herself.

Jorgensen didn’t hide away. She became the first, but certainly not the last, transgender American to grab all that publicity about her transition and run with it, so to speak. All network news broadcasts, every major magazine and newspaper, and every popular radio show covered her transition. Books were written about her. She smartly wrote her own: Christine Jorgensen: A Personal Autobiography (1967), a bestseller in 12 languages, adapted into a film in 1970. The memoir begins with this succinct first line:

– ‘Nature made a mistake which I have corrected.’

She got a record deal and released Christine Jorgensen Reveals, a spoken-word album where she was interviewed by comedian Nipsey Russell(not to be confused with the recently deceased rapper Nipsey Hussle). She even cut a few singles. Jorgensen made $12,000 a week performing her stage act in Hollywood. Other people who were considered “cross-gender” always existed, but no one had the guts to go public, become famous and make money until Jorgensen.

– ‘I decided if they wanted to see me, they would have to pay for it.’

Just like in our own 21st century, the U.S. government didn’t know how to handle a change in gender. She sought a marriage license in 1959 but it was denied because her birth certificate classified her as male. She had worked as a chauffeur, but her permit was revoked. She had difficulty finding a place to pee.

Jorgensen claimed that public reaction to her surgery was one of the first steps in the new sexual revolution of the 1960s. She said that she never regretted her decision. The public acceptance of Jorgensen as a woman showed that gender and the body were not always connected, and that gender was something that a person could create. This changed the world in no small way.

Jorgensen lived a quiet private life after her celebrity had run its course. She resided at the famed The Chateau Marmont in Hollywood, occasionally taking speaking gigs. Lovely to look at, smartly dressed, with a smoky, sexy speaking voice, she would have been perfect for today’s television reality programming. I am sure that here at World Of Wonder Productions, we would have had a place for her in our smart line-up. Maybe a cooking show. In fact, at the end of her life she said that her only real regret was not having appeared on Murder, She Wrote (an achievement that I did manage).

With the divine Divine at the first annual party of the Limelight disco in Atlanta, 1981, from Transcity via YouTube

She never married and lived alone. Jorgensen took her final curtain call in 1989, gone from that damn cancer. She was just 62-years-old. I like to imagine her still alive, living as the queen of the movement that she gave voice to.

– ‘Does it take bravery and courage for a person with polio to want to walk? It’s very hard to speculate on, but if I hadn’t done what I did, I may not have survived. I may not have wanted to live. Life simply wasn’t worth much. Some people may find it easy to live a lie, I can’t. And that’s what it would have been… telling the world I’m something I’m not.’


© 2019 World of Wonder Productions, Inc | World of Wonder is a trademark of World of Wonder Productions, Inc | Privacy


*(2019 06 07) Stone Wall 62200637_851680238530966_7534440559327313920_n

Allow a little bit of historical perspective.

Until at least some point during the 2000s, ‘Transsexual’ was the medical condition applied to and used only during one’s Transition.  When you completed your Transition (however you determined), then you were no longer ‘Transsexual’, you were (as for me) a woman.

Think of it as if you broke your arm.  Your physician would only log into your medical record that you are being treated for a broken arm only during your treatment for your broken arm.  Reference to your broken arm is no longer a current condtion once your broken arm is healed.

My medical records document that process.  My Internist stopt using ‘Transsexual’ on my documents once I made it to full-time (1985).  It was like receiving my graduation certificate when I received a copy of my first medical record where it reported me as simply ‘Female’.  No more ‘Transsexual’ qualifier to my status.

Frustrating nowadays.  My current medical Team Sharon insist using either ‘Transsexual’ or ‘Transgender’ on my medical records identification.  I told them that neither apply, explained the history, and that at least I’d rather that they NOT use ‘Transgender’ because I never changed my Gender, I only changed the presentation of my Sexual Identity.


Additional Resources:











Dear Reader:

Thank you for visiting today.

Thank you for reading the articles.

Thank you for paying tribute to our pedecessors.

Thank you for slogging through my ramblings.

Thank you for browsing through the Additional Resources section for additional information about this essay and the articles.

‘Thank you’ to the Resources who make this web-site possible.

Be nice to one another.  Keep your words and actions kind and decent; no insults, we are better people.

Please return for another essay.




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



(16 Feb 2019)


Share this video if you think that Trans Rights are Human Rights:


(2019 02 16) Share this video 1 52011329_698468003888835_6734441044328316928_nThese are quite real issues that have apparently had little change during the past four decades since the time when I began my adult Transition (1974 at age 18).

Two employers during my early Transition effectively condoned what amounts to criminal, felonious assault.  This first occurred when I was employed at a service station (1975 – 1976), the second was when I was employed as a Substitute Teacher (1977- 1978).  Be they co-workers or students, assailants grabbed at me, pushed me, said words that should not be spoken.  These events were my daily endurance.  To the people who knew me during that time – please think back to those years and realise now how this explains what was happening in my personal life.

Recall that I changed my Social Security file in Summer 1978; my new SSA card arrived September 1978 (remember, Uncle Jack?).

(2019 02 16) Share this video 6 51944635_289666955059356_8763330599357251584_nI found employment with the Forest Service (1978 – 1985); they soon discovered something not obvious about me.  I returned from lunch one day in January 1979 – early, before the other co-workers returned – and overheard their infamous debate about me, that conversation between Edie (my supervisor) and Nancy (the clerical pool supervisor):

  • ‘He’s a she!’
  • ‘No! She’s a he!’.

Dunno if they knew that I was there at the office or not.  But I became extremely frightened about my future.

Why did they have their debate?

How did they suspect?

Social Security Administration issues their monthly discrepancy report – it lists whose identities do not match between what SSA has in their records about that employee versus what an employee presents to their employer. There I was – my SSAN file is now Sharon, but I was employed presenting as Nick.

I eventually composed a statement to submit to Edie if the appropriate time came.  Maybe it did and I missed it; maybe I should have told her, or maybe it was better that I kept my mouth shut.  Dunno.  Life usually allows only one opportunity to do it correctly, the rest of the time, well, we make do.

(2019 02 16) Share this video 2 52558992_2249298458726825_9073576539781595136_nWord got out; people at work made me their subject of their gossip.  Most every co-worker at Kaibab abused me in one way or another.  I shall never really know whether my promotion to the Forest Service’s GSC was on my merit, or Edie’s way to get rid of my ‘trouble’.  But ‘trouble’ it was that followed me to Utah (October 1980).

Remember, the Forest Service had my SSA file reporting me as Sharon / female from the beginning of my appointment (December 1978); I made my legal ID change to Sharon / female by early 1980.  So it came to be that Forest Service management knew of me – officially, according to my documentation – as Sharon / female, not Nick / male.  My presenting as Nick / male unwittingly fostered their imagination that I was Sharon / female in Transition to Nick / male – a F-M Transsexual.  (See my essay:  ‘My Own ‘Victor / Victoria’ Days’, 23 Jul 2015).

Blanche, my new supervisor (February 1981), certainly made herself and her antipathies obvious, the Southern Conservative that she was.  Gossip soon spread that there was a F-M Transsexual among the workforce of about 150 employees.  GSC only knew of me – legally – as Sharon / female, not Nick / male.  Blanche, Don, Gary, John, Gloria were among the management at GSC who exposed my privacy.  LeeAnne, Pat, Dreama were among the leading co-workers who were spreading their hateful gossip – usually behind my back or in whispered tones when I approached – methods common among bullies.

Blanche’s final act before she retired (May 1983) was to summon me to her office:

  • Blanche (in her Southern drawl):  ‘There is gossip that someone here in the office is a woman working as a man.  I think that it’s you.  No, I know that it’s you.  We just can’t have that here.’

(2019 02 16) Share this video 3 52011207_2205907499648042_663778025841623040_nWith that, Forest Service initiated termination action against me.

I had been earlier promoted to Personnel Specialist; they took that from me and demoted me to Clerk, though they obligated me to continue my same duties.  They imposed upon me to work concurrent appointments at multiple Forest Service offices – Uintah and Wasatch – trying to shake me – discourage me – to no avail.  I fought valiantly for two years, clinging to both my employment and my dignity, til the time was right for me to move on.

Strangers among the people at the commercial office building where I worked were regularly mis-gendering me as female by 1984 (Remember when that man in the men’s restroom thought that I was a woman?).  I could go shopping and be mis-gendered female.  I had a date with the sales clerk at the quickie mart gasoline station; I suspect that she wanted to figure out whether I was male or female.  That was happening while I was still presenting as Nick, trying to present as male.  Proof to me (1985) that it was time to get a clue, buy a vowel.

I was long-ready to complete my Transition anyway.  Two surgeries finished the physical part (1982, 1983) – at least what was available and presented to me at those occasions.  All that remained was making life official.

I applied for Unemployment Insurance (June 1985).  Forest Service challenged my request; they lost.  UI determined that I endured six long years of the Forest Service’s ‘hostile work environment‘.

(2019 02 16) Share this video 11 51353612_2153017344942820_7883270072167301120_nI knocked around for several years – forced to accept low-wage and Minimum Wage employment because no one really wanted to hire me (1985 – 1990).  Dunno?  I never said anything about being Transsexual.  I still expected that being stealth was the best alternative.  I control my private, personal, medical concern; this is not something subject to employers’ debate regardless about what the Forest Service did to me.

My dad became terminally ill (January 1989).  He went to obtain treatment ‘back East’ (April 1989).  I quit my job to be with my dad during his last three weeks.  He died July 1989.

I returned home – back to looking for jobs that never came – unemployed for a year.  I eventually applied for Food Stamps because the money in my savings was running low.  One day, during one Food Stamps appointment, the case manager asked if I was interested in a job similar as hers being a Public Assistance case manager.  Well … civil service tests, applications, and interviews later and I got hired by the state’s public assistance agency (July 1990).

(2019 02 16) Share this video 9 52144356_375188649979433_2159665313417789440_nGood times were fleeting.  I had only been on the job a few months when Ros, one of the unit supervisors, approached me at the employee water fountain:

  • Ros: ‘I know what you are.  I’m going to get you.’

A clear threat that she made good.  She enticed Patti, the office Director, to assign me to her unit.  The next two years were filled with Ros’ antagonist behaviour – taunts, threats, work overloaded, irrational performance appraisals, forced over-time without pay.  My only recourse was to resign from work and seek other employment (June 1983).

Six months later and I was hired by another state agency to their Payroll department.  Trouble again with Ann, the supervising manager.  She was not quite explicit, but she made it known that I was not welcomed.  She passed over me when time came for two opportunities at promotion, despite my superior qualifications compared to the others whom she selected.  Eventually, Dan came along as my supervisor; he promoted me to Fiscal Specialist.  One day, Dan had a unique project for me – an audit that Ann required.  I was reluctant to deal with it, fearing that it was Ann setting me up to fail.  I completed the audit better than Ann or Dan expected.  I finally seemed to have earned Ann’s respect; we got along well after that.

Another state agency came along and hired me (May 1999).  They assigned me to manage a wide variety of spreadsheets and databases; I was preparing and maintaining accounts to billions of Dollars balanced exactly to the penny.  My work performance won PIPP bonus every quarter.  The agency named me Employee of the Quarter.  The agency included me in other superior performance awards – even while Bettye, my new supervisor toward the latter time of my tenure, was destroying my work and my character.  Mind you, she frequently ditched work un-announced following gambling binges.  She was also about as close to being a chain smoker – constantly excusing herself to take her incessant cigarette breaks.  The common, frequent refrain from we at work:

  • ‘Where’s Bettye?’

All came crashing about one week following an agency gathering in which they issued another agency-wide award to me as part of our work group.  My agency Director summoned me to his office and presented termination papers to me – ‘mentally unfit’ to be a State employee because I am Transsexual (August 2008).  I fought and won my case through the state employment and legal process.  No matter, the agency refused to restore me to duty, contravening their legal order to comply.

I filed for Unemployment Insurance (2010).  This time, the state as employer conceded to all charges; UI again determined that that employer waged a ‘hostile work environment’ against me.



I thank you who have read this far.

None of this all matters other than my documenting that we Trans persons are not secure in our employment.

(2019 02 16) Share this video 10 52188009_409033619663738_7481433924090986496_nWe endure hardship – hostilities at work if we can find employment; otherwise, lack of work, lack of income, economic calamity, and poverty when we are denied gainfull employment.

The financial cost to me is in the millions of Dollars considering less income due to the loss of better-paid employment with either the Forest Service, or the state, or any other prospective employment during the 40-some years of my advanced careers.  Add the loss of investment income that would have derived from greater available income.  Add the loss of income upon retirement – less Social Security retirement, lost federal retirement, diminished state retirement.  Add the loss of home and life’s better necessities and luxuries.  Now know that I have it good compared to many, if not most, Trans people who live on far less income, have no home to call their own, resort to food box donations for their sustenance.

(2019 02 16) Share this video 8 52508087_1285292014967915_3122009837676789760_nLost family and ‘friends’ already happened since childhood.  No family corresponds with me in any continual, meaningful way.  Last time when I saw any family was 1993 – when cousins un-invited me to Thanksgiving Day holiday.  I tried to maintain a relationship with one cousin into early-1994, but they were stringing me along; there was little sincerity from them.

I do have a select few Friends from my ‘before’.  Thank you for being with me, though geographical distance is with us.

I also have a small number of Friends among people locally where I reside.  Thank you.

And I feel good about the opportunity to develop Friends through these cyber environments.  Thank you.

Real Friends read this far.  Thank you!

(I shall continue this narrative in a moment.)

I had to repeatedly save and close this essay for fear of losing the composition midway.(2019 02 16) Degrassi Junior High 52501631_244370839838386_2925488837339643904_n

I think that I am now completed with this.

Thank you, Rachel; I shall return my attention to binging on Degrassi:


(https://youtu.be/l_SHtG6_6Sc)(2019 02 16) Degrassi High 52020871_1337373976405144_5069493660614131712_n





*(2019 02 16) Degrassi Next Generation 51951397_244962373059901_5481568946299600896_n



















Dear Reader:

Please return next time for another essay.



‘The Human Package’

*(2017 11 17) The Real Thing video 46715025_254095831934289_6151024042733207552_n

‘The Human Package’
(22 Nov 18)


This seven-minutes video has been making the rounds:

The video finally made it to my Facebook feed last Saturday.

Please watch it.  Post it to your own web-site, your Facebook page, and other social media and web-sites.  Share it wherever, however you can.

This should be required viewing by all parents and grandparents – to be aware of their children and grandchildren.

School officials need to see the harm that they commit upon Trans students when they deny our rights to our personal dignity.

(2017 11 17) The Real Thing video 46479356_292651214923596_8881156206714945536_nNever mind that the video includes holes during its seven minutes of story-line.  That’s okay.  The essence, message, ending is what is important.


I shared an intimate version of these comments with my close friend bestie.  I might as well share a public version of these comments with everyone else in a public post.

Allow me to preface. I know that my family knows what I present to you today.  These people will not be coming here:

  • my sister Kathy – she doesn’t read here;
  • both Mike and Rachael – they don’t visit here;
  • cousins Gail, Carol, Bev – they don’t come to this page. Cousin brother Jack – he has not had much good for me since I used his bed as a trampoline;
  • Cousin Nancy T – she sent Seventh Day Adventist conversion books to me in 1985, she disavowed my existence in 2015;
  • Cousin Nancy B – she disowned me this past Summer;
  • Uncle Jack – he sent a curious text message to me six months after I sought to re-connect with him.

(2017 11 17) The Real Thing video 46492597_649282082133867_4657382804009517056_nThere are few other family members to mention.

As an adoption, I have no idea who are my biological family.  The mom and dad who raised me are long dead.  Other than an odd communication from Kathy, I haven’t been part of any family for decades, haven’t heard much from them in decades.  The last of it was 1993 – Aunt Pat deliberately un-invited me to our family Thanksgiving Day gathering.  Curious timing – then and now.

*(2017 11 17) The Real Thing video 46485362_571267473319644_9021072106481254400_n

Watching this video flooded me with memories.  I sure wish that my parents could have been as this father in the story.  What a difference!

It brought back that infamous afternoon and evening – it was the first Thursday of February 1971 – when I was in 9th Grade.

Remember.  When I was younger, when I was first wearing Kathy’s clothes at age 3, my parents scolded me.  It was not for wearing them.  Nope.  It was for taking something from Kathy without asking.  Certainly an appropriate lesson in life.

But that was no longer the issue as I got older and I continued wearing Kathy’s clothes.  It no longer mattered that I borrowed her clothes without her permission.  The issue was that I was wearing her clothes.

My dad knew that I was wearing Kathy’s clothes when he was not home.  We had frequent fights about it, he hit me for doing it.  I had a sense to not do it in his presence. I had a real fear of danger to my life, especially at that time.  You know the details – family recently murdered my Uncle Frank a few months earlier in 1970 during his Transition.  I did not want to be next.

(2017 11 17) The Real Thing video 46507221_2146806312009529_3331016913533796352_nI usually returned home from school each day at about 3.30pm.  I changed from my school clothes to Kathy’s clothes as soon as I arrived.

My dad typically did not arrive home til after I was in bed (10pm bedtime) because he attended college classes at the university after teaching at his school.  This day would be one exception.  My dad came home early – at 4pm – that February day.

I happened to go to the kitchen for some reason that I have lost in what would follow.  Likely it was routine, maybe a glass of water or a snack before starting to do my homework.  Jesuit school piles on the homework.

I casually happened to look outside the kitchen window.  I saw the pick-up camper truck parked in front of our home.  There was my dad walking up the driveway to the kitchen door entrance coming home unexpectedly early that fateful afternoon.


I made a mad dash to my bedroom, closed the bedroom door, began trying to change clothes as fast as I could.

Mind you, this is only my dad and me living there at home – us ‘guys’ – no closed doors.

My dad entered my room saying ‘Why is your door closed …’, but his words didn’t get any farther as he opened the door to see me un-dressing – some of Kathy’s clothes on me (bra, skirt, undies), some off (a blouse).

He just gave a cold stare as he left me alone to finish changing.  That cold stare didn’t go away as we made supper and ate in silence, as I stayed in my bedroom doing homework all evening.

Then, late, about my bed-time, he came into my room.  At first he was hushed.  He mostly just stood there.

Another row starting quietly.

He asked me,

  • ‘Why do you want to be a girl?’

He yelled.

Any reply that I said in prior arguments – my ‘Feminine Protesting’ – was pointless:

  • ‘I AM a girl, dad!  I’m NOT a boy!’
  • ‘I’m gonna do it, Dad!  I’m really gonna do it!  You can’t stop me!’

(2017 11 17) The Real Thing video 46501726_235930533786555_7133446830431404032_nHe grabbed me, pulled me close to him.  I began shaking, scared to say anything, scared for my life.

He hit.

My dad went off on me.  That was when he then grabbed my right arm, pulled it around my back, and taunted me to scream:

  • (2017 11 17) The Real Thing video 46765901_509385949472201_5892305048297275392_n‘Scream!  No one will hear you.’ he snarled.

If only my dad could have hugged me – as that father in that video – instead of yelling and beating me.

Why couldn’t I be Sharon?  At least at home?

This was nothing new to family for years when they earlier said to me, ‘Oh, Nickie, what a cute little girl!’.  Remember – Gail?  Carol?  Jack?  That’s exactly what you said to me when I was age 3, 4, 5, etc.  You even initiated conversation about this with me in 1993.

I knew that there was no way that I could finish 9th Grade at the Jesuit boys high (2017 11 17) The Real Thing video 46495823_2141758495876300_1017716479589613568_nschool as Sharon.  Doubtful that I could have transferred to the corresponding Jesuit girls school either.  But we could have figured something practical beginning 10th Grade and the rest of high school.

Certainly, part-time at home would have provided some sense, some opportunity for me to test my female self.

Then came Greece – my dad said that he needed to take me from harmful influences at our home town – I could have attended Pinewood as Sharon.


Here comes the philosophy.(2017 11 17) The Real Thing video 46494600_748523345505865_1536549856091308032_n

I truly consider that, if my dad was compassionate that day, my life would have been totally different from that point.

Having changed to Sharon at 9th Grade would have changed everything in my life from that time forward.  All my experiences of life would have to be totally different.  Nothing can be the same.

  • Pinewood and Greece.
  • My dad going to Brasil.
  • My meeting Denise and starting Transition.
  • Where I attended college.
  • Where I was employed; the jobs that I did.
  • All my work-mates would be different.
  • If I worked for the federal government:  Fort Huachuca, Forest Service.
  • I would likely never have met Linda, my second mentor.
  • My Transition itself would have been totally different.

Every person whom I would have known would be different, relationships would be different, or perhaps not at all.

(2017 11 17) The Real Thing video 46488091_256786768348996_5440445682412421120_nWho knows?

Transition was typically done through university medical schools during the 1970s (see pages 7 and 8 of the Janus book that I posted here at this web-site – ‘Janus Information Facility’, 9 May 17).  Would I still have been enrolled at the Stanford University Medical Center’s ‘Gender Dysphoria Program’ without Denise’s referral?  Where else would I have gone?  In what other program?

If I had no connection to Stanford and Janus, then who knows how much different I would have my enthusiasm for their documentary ‘What Sex Am I?’ (HBO, 1985)?

No!  I would change nothing.  For better, for worse, for whatever.  Everything is who I am; I could never want to change.

*(2017 11 17) The Real Thing video 46505866_1492175967584111_3865114346107437056_n

Thank you, Friends, for visiting and reading.


Thank you to the resources who contribute to this page.

Please visit those references when I add them to these essays.  The contributors work hard and tirelessly to bring about sense from the non-sense.


Please return for another essay.


‘Breaking Out The Loose Ends’


‘Breaking Out The Loose Ends’

*(1969 xx xx) Slim - Muffin - Charlie (Side yard)

(24 Apr 18)


Greetings, Wai, Sahwdee Khaf, Yasou.

I am overdue for a post to this web-site.

Much has been happening – life – allow me to share some moments that I hope are of interest to you, Dear Reader.


I found Mary G a few weeks ago – my Pinewood school-mate and Prom date for 10th Grade and 11th Grade.  We are doing well catching up on old times.

Here’s one of her favourite songs:

It’s good.  Give a listen.

*(1972 xx xx) Dad-Slim at Anatolia campus

In terminology during the 1960s, 1970s, 1980s when I was young, there we these.

‘Pseudo Transsexual’:  Someone with a mental development of a sex different from their assigned sex, but has minimal desire to change from their assigned anatomical sex.  ‘I want to be a girl.’  ‘I want to be a boy.’

”True Transsexual’:  Someone with a mental development of a sex different from their assigned sex and is determined to change it – consistently, persistently, insistently.  ‘I am a girl!’  ‘I am a boy!’

‘Feminine Protesting’ tantrums:  When a boy insists that she is a girl.  ‘Masculine Protesting’ was for a girl who insists that he is a boy.

‘Gender Dysphoria’:  A mental condition when identity is incongruent with anatomy.

(1972 03 00) Slim and Nick at Anatolia CampusSome people insist using ‘Transgender’.  That is becoming an umbrella term that actually does not apply to many it purports to include.  Its literal meaning is someone who changes their gender identity.  My gender identity has always been female, so ‘Transgender’ doesn’t apply to me.

‘Transsexual’ is used by some to report that they changed their sex anatomy.  Technically, this also doesn’t apply to me because I always have been a genetic female.  It was my birth room doctor who erroneously assigned me to ‘male’; it was my family who forced me to ‘present’ as male based upon that faulty assignment.  It was one of my doctors during Transition who diagnosed me female due to Inter-sex in 1982.

‘Trans’ tends to be used as both short-hand and as a way to better include ‘Transgender’ and ‘Transsexual’.

Some people currently scorn the use of ‘sex change’, I don’t.  It was a common term that I recall from my youngest days and into the 1980s.  While maybe in detail it is not what happened to me from my perspective, it is a simple term to explain what I did as perceived by the outside world.

(1973 02 xx) Kathy-Nick-Slim at Thasos‘Hermaphrodite’ was in common use until some time recently.  It fell into disfavour, but I have no idea why.  I have seen ‘Inter-sex’ being used as far back as 1974.  I am fine using either term for myself.


I don’t have value in chiropractic.  As to what it is – I consider it as little more than a massage.

My dad had kidney cancer from at least 1963; it’s what killed him by 1989.

I often wonder if my dad’s prescription pills that I was downing in October 1968 (trying to commit suicide) were pills meant to treat my dad’s kidney illness.  He was hospitalised in January 1969.

My earlier suicide efforts were kinda dumb – the ‘I’ll show you’ sort.

When my dad and I stayed at his sister’s home (Summer 1967), I would sit on the railroad tracks near their home, I hoped a train would hit me.  None came.  I didn’t know that the rail was a commuter line – morning and evening rush hour only.  D’oh!


Skip to 1980s.  My dad’s illness was hitting him.  He continually complained of ‘back’ pain.  I was employed in the medical community – health insurance utilisation review.  I was honestly concerned for my dad’s health.  He went to chiropractic; he refused to see medical doctors or cancer doctors as I tried insisting.  His chiropractor obviously failed to recognise my dad’s true reason for ‘back’ pain – his kidney cancer that was spreading throughout his entire anatomy.

As Lisa told me, my dad was teaching class one day (January 1989).  He suddenly collapsed right there in his classroom.  Emergency ambulance took him to the hospital, doctors finally examined him, they told him that he had six months to live.

You and me – we compare our dad’s timeline to our own.  I am at my dad’s timeline same as when that hospital doctor told him that he was terminally ill.


My Thai Experience friend sent this URL to me:

I tried to listen to that Dr. Bowers’ video.

‘Try’ is the key word.  The audio volume is almost nothing – I have my device’s volume full blast, but can barely hear her.

It is frustrating!

Whoever edited this didn’t bother to check the volume levels.

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

I have been experiencing back pain – or at least perceiving pain at my lower back – during the past three weeks.

The frustration is how that pain – or at least the perception of a sensation that my mind interprets as ‘pain’ – comes and goes with no connection to anything.

My back feels okay lying down, getting up, walking, moving, bending – small twinges, but quite okay.

Sitting initiates paralysing ‘pain’ – I can barely move when I try getting up – it is absolutely excruciating – YOUCH! – the pain hits.  But once I walk, move, bend, stretch, then I have no disabling pain – just a twinge.

Lying down on my back, I can move, bend, and no pain.

This is frustrating!

I think that I am hungry and want to eat, but when that pain hits, I lose all interest.  I have barely eaten much these past weeks: a couple burritos from the fast food joint, Dragon Fruit, four apples, two Dragon Fruit, three pears, a can of sardines, yoghourt, and three cans of pineapple.

I went to my clinic’s Urgent Care facility.  They took X-ray views of my back and sides to determine any injury or deterioration of my spinal cord, vertebrae, discs.  No real issue there.  My X-ray established that I can eliminate vertebrae, disc, and spinal column injury or damage.  The doctor supposed that my pains are muscular and prescribed muscle relaxers.

It is not as though I did something to stress a muscle – no over-working, no excessive movement.

Two days later I began experiencing diarrhea that continued for five days.  But I had a colonoscopy less than 18 months ago; my Primary told me at my appointment from last week that there is nothing wrong with my bowels.

Along the way I saw network TV news reports about e coli poisoning spreading through the area.  I read about e coli from a handful of reliable Internet web-sites and wonder if this is what I have.IMG_0296

I clean fruits and vegetables as reasonably as possible – skin fruit, too (banana, orange, avocado).  I wash eating utensils and dishes. I wash after using the toilet.

I read that it helps to soak fruits and vegetables in baking soda before a final wash.  I bought baking soda the other day, mixed some in a bowl with baking soda in some water, soaked some items.  We’ll see if that helps clean better – if this was e coli from tainted food.

The only event that I can determine is that perhaps an e coli infected person touched something on the city bus and that I touched that infected surface.

A friend suggested seeking chiropractic treatment.  I don’t have value in chiropractic.  As to what it is – I consider that it is little more than a massage.

My dad had kidney cancer from at least 1963; it’s what killed him by 1989.  He was hospitalised in January 1969.  I often wonder if my dad’s prescription pills that I was downing in October 1968 (trying to commit suicide) were pills meant to treat my dad’s kidney illness.


Skip to 1980s.  My dad’s illness was hitting him.  He continually complained of ‘back’ pain.  I was employed in the medical community – health insurance utilisation review.  I was honestly concerned for my dad’s health. He went to chiropractic and refused to see medical doctors or cancer doctors as I tried insisting.  His chiropractor obviously failed to recognise my dad’s true reason for ‘back’ pain – his kidney cancer that was spreading throughout his entire anatomy.

As Lisa told me, my dad was teaching class one day (January 1989).  He suddenly collapsed right there in his classroom.  Emergency ambulance took him to the hospital, medical doctors finally examined him, they told him that he had six months to live.

I compare my dad’s chronology to my own.  I am now at a time in my life corresponding to my dad’s life when that hospital doctor told him that he was terminally ill.  These are heavy thoughts for me to ponder; I can barely comprehend my dad’s thoughts.

*(2015 08 20) Decide to be a Girl11046480_376569759191961_3227315234969587031_n

Quite simply put, no one goes into fits when a child with apparent female anatomy says that she is a girl; similarly, no fuss when a child with male anatomy says that he is a boy.

But just let a child self-identify different than how their birth room doctors assigned them and whole populations want to deny civil rights, go to war, kill.

You likely said to people when you were a child – ‘I’m a girl’ (when your doctor assigned you female) or ‘I am a boy’ (when your doctor assigned you male).  No one sought to beat you for it.

Well, when I affirmed to my family that I am a girl – at least as young as age 3 – my parents beat me, my sister beat me.

But they were inconsistent.

We would go visit relatives here where I grew up.  I made a bee-line to the bathroom, put on my teen cousins’ make-up, and was greeted with: ‘Oh, Nickie, what a cute little girl!’.  Then my cousins, my sister, and I would all go into our cousins’ bedroom, play records, and I would dance ‘like a girl’ to their amusement.

My school where I attended Kindergarten and 1st Grade had no issue when I used the girls toilet.  The only time I ever got in trouble being in the girls restroom was when my girl friend and I got caught throwing wet toilet paper at the ceiling and walls.

When I wore Kathy’s clothes, I got punished for taking them without permission, not for wearing them.

First time I was forced to use male toilets at school was Catholic school beginning at 2nd Grade.  The nuns would have none of me dare use the girls toilet.

*(1977 12 30) Stanford Reply (Name Covered)

I took time to ponder the past four decades. It all fits – it is all interconnected.

  • Stanford University Medical Center’s ‘Gender Dysphoria Program’ accepted me in 1977.
  • Forty years ago this month was my first medical appointment to obtain clearance; my physician approved me to proceed with Transition

I have few of my own experiences to compare that are typical of the ‘vanilla’ M-F Trans person.

One was wearing women’s undies – full-time beginning when my dad and I lived at New Mexico (1977 – 1978).

I first bought my undies and female attire through the Sears catalogue (1977) – separate orders from that which my dad made, but scheduled for the same pick-up date.  We ordered many items from that catalogue.  I was the one who drove to pick-up our merchandise.

I didn’t have the nerve to go as Nick to buy in the store.  No urge to browse lingerie specialty shops for me.  I still buy undies, bras, slips at the intimate section at Target or K-Mart; it’s just utilitarian to me, not erotic or sensual.

My Transition was long ago; I can’t consult with my diaries because they were stolen (2014).

I got to start thinking about 1979.

A pivotal year!  Gawd, yes!  That year – 1979 – was so pivotal.

I had my medical appointment with the local physician (January).

  • What if I chickened out?
  • What if I said that all I wanted was a general physical exam now that I had health insurance?
  • What if I failed to present my Stanford papers to him?
  • What if he tossed me from his office?
  • What if he didn’t offer referrals me to get my counsellor? That led to my Internist? That began my estrogen?



I had no idea what to expect.  I was honest with him – I told him that I didn’t obligate him to be my doctor unless he could do it, but rather use his connections to help me find someone at Flagstaff.

I was scared about work.  I feared that I would need a doctor’s letter to verify my appointments and that they would reveal my medical privacy.  My work supervisor never required any verification from me.  I suppose that she knew anyway.

(1978 07 00) Information for the Family (Janus) (Cover)I visited with Kathy and my mom that February.  They both were overhearing my telephone call to a counsellor.  I overheard them later talking about me.  That is okay, I was always glad that you heard – it forced my family to comprehend my initiative even though they refused to talk with me about it.  That was when I heard my mom say her words to Kathy – that she was ‘one and done’ with Kathy, that she is not my birth mother.  That truth freed me.

That Summer 1979 was my first Forest Service vacation.  My dad drove to New Jersey, Kathy drove me to the airport, I flew to meet my dad at New Jersey, we stayed one week, we drove home the next week.

My Estrogen was beginning, it was working its magic.  My personality was suddenly quite different; little bothered me during that time because of my new-found euphoria.  I also felt good physically – upstairs and downstairs.  You know – same as Cis female puberty.

I wore T-shirts that trip – the same that I had been wearing before ‘E’.  My lack of self-consciousness, lack of new self-awareness, hardly realised how much I might have been showing upstairs.  I didn’t think much about til I was there in New Jersey.  Maybe my T-shirts were now too tight?  It was too late to pack something different.  At least I remembered to pack male undies.  How could I toss my female panties in the wash at my Aunt’s home before leaving New Jersey?  Can you imagine her wailing about that discovery!  That was probably the last time when I wore male undies for such a duration.

My dad most certainly must have known that something was, um, developing.

I so much wanted to share my news – with my dad, with family.  Nope, family was out, I couldn’t take that chance and start an argument where I had no place to go for safety.

I was the one who made driving music – usually I would dub a mix of genres and artists that my dad and I both liked.  We could play the cassettes when we drove through radio dead zones.  But something was very different about the music that Summer 1979.  The only male performance was Paul McCartney’s ‘Back to the Egg’.  All the other artists were female:  Blondie, Suzi Quatro, Shocking Blue, Heart, Jan Park, Dana, Patti Smith, Genya Raven, Janis Ian among what I immediately recall.

My dad refused to talk to me during our alone time.  Maybe it was fear – my dad was afraid for the inevitable that he saw was happening right before him.  Maybe he was trying to be sincere when he kept telling me to ‘talk to a priest’?  That started when we lived at New Mexico (1977).  But that priest was absolutely anti-Transsexual.  I knew because of his sermons. He didn’t say ‘Transsexual’, but it was part of his weekly diatribe.

My dad and I drove cross-country mostly in silence.


I think that it helpt me that I hardly fell susceptible to lures from advertisements.  Certainly having older female cousins and an older sister presented female role models and female realities to me – clothing styles, make-up, hair fashion, hygiene.  I as much grew up as a girl presenting as a boy – an unwilling F-M.

I wonder what people do today.  I submit that you Newbie transitioners only become aware of advertising targeting women when you begin your Transition.  You try figuring what real Cis females do.  You see that advertising – newspaper, magazine, TV – selling the ideal woman.  You don’t know what to think because female life is new.  You suddenly see all that junk and you get that false notion that women do what is shown in those ads.  Lingerie stores can attract the Newbies – someone new in their Transition.

I see Trans women walk around in gaudy clothes that do not match – as if they figure that when the label says ‘female’, then they wear it.  Nope, not like that.  Female sense for everyday attire is a simple match of clothing and accessories.

Some M-F Trans persons appear – at least to me – as though they have not bathed in a week, washed their hair in the past month, no sense of self and presentation.  But I am reluctant to judge because I don’t know where they are in their life – maybe they are in crisis, maybe someone taught them badly, maybe they don’t know better.

Others know how to dress appropriately – tops, skirts, jeans always match, always well-groomed and bathed.  You are pleasant to be with.

My best time was from 1985 (when I went full-time) to 1989 (before my dad died).  I was in great physical condition, I cared about my self.  My clothing was fashionable; my wardrobe during my work life was reasonable office conservative – plain matching tops and skirts, nothing flashy, no low-cut tops, no skirts or hems above the knee.  My dad’s death put me in a downward spiral that I have been fighting for 30 years.

My current attire is what could be termed comfortable.


I found this album on YouTube a few days ago – music from my Transition past that I really miss (it was stolen by those crooks in 2014).  I dubbed my album to audio cassette back in 1979 as driving music for my dad and I.

I could sing along with it when I had my singing voice.  I just began my Estrogen when this album came out (1979).  The opening track – ‘Something happening to me …’. Yes!

I played Jan Park again when I was outside on my patio washing a couple towels and a sheet the other day.


Another album from my past in 1979:

I used the intro of that song for background music on several productions I did at the radio station where I was a DJ.

Allow me to share some of the lyrics, how I felt them, how I re-worked some of the lyrics to fit events in my life during 1979 when this album was released:


‘The smaller the town, the more the rumours fly around and they stab you in the back.’

– Small-town people, small-town employer – the rumours of my status, my co-workers with their hurtful gossip.


‘When you’re 17 …’, ‘Read between the lines …’

– I am a Janis Ian fan, had most all her albums, relate this to my interpretation of Ian’s ‘At Seventeen’, ‘Society’s Child’.


‘Makes you realise living in a town this size …’

– But the small-town people and co-workers didn’t even know my name, they never ‘knew’ me.


‘You know it made me see ..’

– They were never fooling me.


‘The stab in the back and the rumours in fact …’

– Are more than in my mind – they were quite real, quite painful.


‘I found the truth …’

Telling me to be!  Not going back.


‘The girl is back …’

– You can say I’m going ‘home’ – somewhere else will be my ‘home’.  You could say I’m never calling that small town, that small-town employer, my ‘home’ though I left with many emotions from there.

Many reasons why I stopped there when I drove the moving truck from Utah to Tucson (1985).

I could have easily filled up gas at Flagstaff and drove right through without stopping.

I had to see if anyone still knew me five years later.  Nope.  No one recognised me.

The woman at the diner downstairs from where I once resided didn’t bat an eye at me, not one sliver of recognition.

Nor the filling station on the corner.  I could have gone to the Whiting Brothers that was cheaper, but the guy at the filling station knew Nick every day for two years.  All he saw of me Sharon in 1985 was some crazy bitch who has no business driving a truck – about what he was cursing at me when I drove to the pumps.

(1985 08 xx) Pima CC ID - (1988 xx xx) DES IDI travelled there sometime later – don’t recall what year other than likely before 1989.  I went to my former Forest Service employer pretending to be a tourist seeking information.  OMG!  Lydia was still working the reception desk.  My heart nearly beat me out of my gourd.  All the days Lydia and I talked during lunch and break for two years, not even Lydia, a decade following Nick’s departure, recognised Sharon.

I also saw a few others during the few minutes there, I currently don’t recall whom.   They didn’t recognise me.

Most all those co-workers were phonies.  They considered Nick only as a foul rumour – queer, f*gg*t – words they spoke behind my back when they didn’t know I was listening.  Or maybe because they knew that I was listening, but they were too cowardly to tell me to my face.


This came into my Facebook feed:

I noticed it is from ‘Ehipassiko’ – that was the first Trans web-site that I found three years ago, but haven’t checked in since maybe two years ago.


Well, I don’t know.

Is it me?

Is it them?

I met many people these three years since I put my stealth in my past – people at Trans support groups.

Then I look at all the people I met doing TV for more than 20 years.

People from work.

I have only one friend in my life from all these years.

Am I that unpleasant to everyone else?

Maybe my self-isolation stunted my capacity to socialise?

Certainly outsiders could surmise that I am weird if maybe my Transsexualism complicates my presence that they don’t understand.  But they do not know that I am Transsexual and Inter-sex.

Certainly people at the support groups can’t use my Trans and Inter-sex against me.  They are hardly in a position to render that judgement against me.

Yep.  Support groups played their role in my life and now it is time to move on.

We’ll see what happens with other social ideas.

This past Saturday morning was the Phoenix Electric Auto Club meeting.  I decided to ditch this month.  Maybe next?


I agree that the past is done.  My past made me who I am today.  I would be someone else somewhere else if I had a different past.

Just one tweak, for example.(2002 xx xx) Estrogen Warnings (p 1 of 2)

If I left Tucson that fatefull December 1999 Sunday evening a few minutes earlier (or later?).  I was being sociable with the gas station attendant, wishing him Merry Christmas in case I didn’t return til next year.  Five minutes earlier (or later) and that bus might not have hit me.


Experiment with your estrogen if you think it will work.

I have been amiss – off my estrogen and progesterone meds – these past two, three weeks.  I had none during the 10 days prior to my blood draw.  I figure that will test where I am without all exogenous hormones.

I still have not made much effort to keep current.  I don’t totally care right now.  But it’s not just prescriptions.  I have also ditched vitamins and supplements.

That is not to mention lack of interest in food.

*(2002 xx xx) Estrogen Warnings (p 2 of 2)

Religion makes a difference to people.

Some can’t get past their dogma that lets them abuse and beat a Trans child or other Trans family member (such as mine).  Other families allow the opportunity to learn with the child.

You are accurate about the life-or-death option.  My family chose that they would rather have me a dead ‘male’ than a living daughter.

My mother beat me quite severely when she had custody of my sister and me.

When our dad got custody, then he was the one who beat me – sometimes hitting me for 30 minutes and more.  Kathy used to keep score of the time and tell me how long.

The reason why my dad and I travelled to Greece was directly following a beating.  We had a real bad argument the first Thursday of February 1971.  He literally pulled at my right arm trying to dislocate it all the while taunting me to scream.  ‘No one will hear you.’

The next day, he came home from work and told me that he applied to two foreign schools – one at Afghanistan, the other at Greece.

Pinewood hired my dad.  There you have it.

All through Spring 1971, my dad warned me that I better keep my mouth shut, ‘or else’.  I did have arguments with my dad while we lived there at Greece, but I also had the sense to take in the experience.

Nowadays, not one local ‘family’ member has anything to do with me.  I occasionally send texts to them asking to visit – no reply.  My Cousin Bev recently unfriended me from Facebook.  Kathy does not correspond with me.

I can’t say that no ‘family’ will communicate with me.  Relatives from West Virginia occasionally text me.  Cousin Nancy posted some harsh comments to my Facebook page recently.  And there is her older brother Cousin James.

I am the only one in ‘family’ who is Left of Ghengis Khan.  My ‘family’ are long-time Republi-con.  Bev’s older brother made the rounds in his state’s politics – himself a loyal Republi-con appointed by Republi-con governors to be director of various state agencies to impose Republi-con ideology.  He ran the state Republi-con Party, or whatever it was.

My sister Kathy and her family are among the infamous ‘1%’.

Sometimes I try excusing my ‘family’.

My dad received the Bronze Star for combat in Korea.  God only knows what he must have experienced the couple years when he was there.

My mom was an alcoholic.  She frequently told me how she was bullied at school as ‘that little Mexican girl’ so much that she quit high school early and found comfort in booze.  She was okay sober, but deadly on booze.

Our dad goaded Kathy to beat me or else he would beat her.

Crazy family.

There was no such thing as ‘domestic violence’ when I was growing up during the 1950s, 1960s, 1970s.  Besides, even if there was, what was the point?  I was a child during my mom’s custody; my dad presented evidence of abuse and beatings to the Family Court, but they ruled that my sister and I had to remain in our mother’s charge – susceptible to further beatings during her drunken rages.  I lived dependent upon my dad til 1978 when the Forest Service hired me; if I had called the police on my father and they arrested him, prosecuted him, sent him to prison – then what was I to do?

I so understand people who have been demoralised by family abuse.  It is a trap with no escape.


Most all politoical candidates pose to their electorate:  ‘Elections have consequences’.

I pose that same point to you, Dear Reader.  Liberal or Con-servative.  Democratic or Republi-con.

We don’t elect candidates in a vacuum.  No candidate is perfect – same as the rest of us.  Thus, our choice is not merely the individual candidate, but their political party, their political platform, the history, the following – all part of those ‘consequences’.

There are people in my life who claimed to hold similar perspectives as mine, yet they are Republi-con, they campaigned for Crooked Drumpf, they tell me to wait and give him time.  Others now claim that they preferred a different Republi-con candidate.  Does not matter.  You failed to consider the consequences of your vote.

() Supreme Court Guts Voting Rights ActThese people remain absolutely blind about Hillary Clinton.  They only know their Republi-con Party line:  hate Clinton, love Crooked Drumpf.  They have no motivation to recognise that their Party lies to them.

Some are starting to peel away, deny that they ever supported Republi-cons or Crooked Drumpf.  Yet they are not taking concern for the consequences of their vote.

People change only through their own initiative.  Some will not examine themselves, they refuse information contrary to what they hold as their truth.


Barbara Bush.

Sorry, I don’t feel mushy about her.  She was mildly defined as a Feminist during the 1970s.  But both husband George and boss Reagan read the riot act to her in 1980 – either fall in line politically, ‘or else’.  She abandoned her principles to surrender to George, Reagan, the Party.

I have no respect for her doing that.


So here I am – I am at this place in my journey because of what I did 40 years ago.  I wanna laugh.  I wanna cry.  I wanna celebrate.

With you – friends, family, support group members, strangers on the city bus.

Or without you.

*(2016 01 19) Bangkok Central Train Station (Ildi)

Dear Reader, allow me to spend my time outside on my patio enjoying the Spring weather, the fresh air, hearing the birds chirping and cooing.  I would like to socialise with the human species, but find it difficult as long as the rest of it considers me that misfit outcast.

Thank you for visiting today.  Please return for another essay.  Meanwhile, enjoy the other compositions here at this web-site.








(11 Mar 18)

*(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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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



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.


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.


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

Please return for whatever comes next.



‘It’s A New Century’


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

‘It’s A New Century’


(04 Mar 18)


Welcome, Yassou, Wai, and Sahwdee Khaf, Dear Reader.

According to this web-site’s administration, this essay marks my 100th post.

Allow me to present a grab-bag of thoughts along the way.


I watched a few interesting videos on YouTube.

Here’s one about several phases:


Allow me to share another couple films.

I do not recall if these were on the movie list when a university student presented numerous Trans related films at a Trans Spectrum movie night about 18 months ago.

I discovered this first movie about two years ago.  Dunno?  Was there fate or total serendipity?  It came randomly next during a night of YouTube ‘auto-play’:

‘Different for Girls’ is a 1996 British / French drama film in which one of the protagonists is a transsexual woman.’

‘What would you do if your best High School buddy …?’

If nothing else, you can listen to the music track that’s pretty good and watch for the cameo of Ian Dury as the recovery agent.

Another movie is a telling of Renee Richards’ biography:

Allow my personal back-story relating to these two films that I may presume to be an experience some others share.

While I lived in stealth during the years of my adult life from 1974 til 2015, using my time to test how well I might be recognisable to people who did know the ‘before’ me but did not know the ‘after’ me became an occasional experiment.

My first such encounter occurred during my move from Utah to Arizona (June 1985).  I deliberately drove through where I previously resided.  My prior home was an apartment among the buildings lining the main street, downstairs was a small diner, at the corner was a service station.

That June day when I drove through town, I decided to test my presence.  I certainly was nervous.

What if someone did recognise me as Nick?  Would I acknowledge my past to them or deny any resemblance?  What if my presence caused trouble for me?  Would my ID and Drivers License as Sharon / female have been enough?

I was greeted with abuse when I drove to the service station for a fill-up.  The owner saw me – a 28-years old female – maneuvering towards the gas pumps.  I watched as he came out from his desk yelling expletives at me – calling me a dumb ‘bitch’ who had no business driving that moving truck.

The diner was far less involved.  The waitress sat me at a quiet table, I ordered lunch, ate, paid my tab, and went on my way un-noticed as any other traveller passing through town.

I have mixed feelings about what happened.  These were people who knew me Nick every day for two years (1978 – 1980).  Five years later they did not recognise me Sharon.  Some sense of relief, some sense of disappointment.

Tonight, after I watched ‘Different for Girls’, ‘Second Serve’ unexpectedly came up next on YouTube’s ‘auto-play’.  I made a VHS tape recording when CBS originally broadcast it many years ago; I watched it many times, the last was probably 2014.

Renee Richards is close to my time – we are contemporaries – she did her Transition during early-1970s, her operation was 1975 if I recall correctly.

I followed her legal battle during 1975, 1976.

If you don’t mind, I found multiple comparisons depicted in this Richards film to my own life.  Allow me to share these:

  • Richards’ complicated communication with her mom.  My mom refused to talk to me, refused to accept me.
  • Richards’ dad kinda came around but continued calling her Dick rather than Renee.  My dad continued calling me Nick, I accepted his use as his affection.
  • There will be a scene where Richards forgets her purse, her father takes it to her, and they share a glance and a hug.  My gawd!  That happened with my dad, too.  I’m sure it was awkward to him, but somehow it was a small gesture that still makes me cry thinking about it.  Damn, I wish he could have been alive a few years longer.

The ‘Second Serve’ story-line also includes a friend who accompanied Richards’ before, during, after.  Dunno if that is a composite characterisation to this film or her actual biography, but it takes me to recall my friendship with Clint when I see that character here – someone who knew me before, during, after – though he did not ‘know’ til ‘after’.

Clint and I became best friends early during our 12th Grade (1973).  It was following my departure from my Forest Service career when I decided to move to Arizona where he was residing when I was finally prepared to tell him (1985) – it was of necessity because I was now headed to full-time upon telling him.  I sat him down and tried to tell him, but he insisted on sharing his own news first – he would be getting married within the week and wanted me to be his Best Man.  Sheesh!  One more delay – hey, what a way to end Nick going out as my best friend’s Best Man.

I told Clint and his wife about one week after their wedding – time for their event to settle.  Clint asked me if I had any sexual feelings towards him.  I assured him that I didn’t.  Sorry, Clint.  In fact, swirling in my mind at his question what I really thought was ‘Ewww!’.

There was Jeff.  We grew up together since 3rd Grade (1964).  Our families became closely bonded.  Their home became a second home to me.  The last time when Jeff and I socialised was when he took a job as a lawyer for a Salt Lake City law firm (1983) – coincidence that I already had been living there.

Jeff and I somehow lost touch when he returned here to Arizona.  He had his own life – his wife, children, family.  I never told Jeff about me in 1983 – or since.

Opportunity struck when I took a job with the State of Arizona (1993).  I lacked courage to contact Jeff but I devised one experiment – sit at the lobby of his office building after my workday and merely watch if he passed by.  Sure enough that first day, I saw Jeff exit the elevator, walk right past me, and out the door.  We were within arm’s length and he did not recognise me.  Relief?  Disappointment?  Dunno?  At least I no longer needed to spend any more of my time watching for Jeff.

The ‘Different for Girls’ movie ends with Kim and Prentice as lovers.  Dunno?  That ending is not in my fantasy.  Or at least to say, I currently can’t perceive myself in such a predicament with any male former friend.  Ewww!

One closing note of eerie co-incidence: Clint’s birthday is 3 Mar 18.


I remember when during the 1960s the NRA sought extensive bans on firearms.

Of course, peeling back their reasoning it became clear that they sought to ban gun ownership and possession by Black / African-Americans – it was their impetus to dis-arm the Black Panther Party who self-armed as protection from an oppressive government.

The NRA is now a full participant in oppressive government – the very entity that Right-wing, Republi-cons, neo-cons, ‘survivalist’ types rail against are now their own Frankenstein’s monster.

A great big Thank You!  I enjoyed listening to and learning from the numerous subsequent video segments that ran on ‘auto-play’.

Of course, you might strenuously object if you are any or all of an Amerikan Right-wing Republi-con Christian Con-servative Evangelical Fundamentalist Taliban Fascist.

This page welcomes and challenges all to ‘liberally’ (there is that other word for ‘freedom’) post your comments – or to ignore this page altogether.  It’s your 1st Amendment choice.

Play nice.


The Other 98%

What Wayne LaPierre really thinks about guns in schools


This message from Spirit friend Cara.

‘The NRA used to be sane. Not anymore, and they HAVE changed for the worse and becoming far, far, far more radical and dangerous.

This is where they were, once upon a time.  Look at where they are today and weep, for all those murdered every year by firearms.’

‘I have a request to everyone that reads this and wants to start the pressure on politicians. Please start using any of the following hashtags on Twitter, Facebook, and other social media whenever the discussion turns to guns.

  • #RepealTheSecond
  • #RepealThe2nd
  • #RepealThe2ndAmendment

Only about 35% of Americans own guns in 2018.  Half of 300 million guns, over 150 million, are owned by 3% of the population, just 10 million people.  Gun owners are not nearly as numerous or powerful as we’ve been led to believe.

Let’s cut this rot out at the source, then we can enact sensible gun control laws like other first world nations!

  • #RepealThe2nd.’


‘Five Days Without Estrogen – Transgender Universe’

‘What happens when a transgender woman runs out of hormones in ‘The Weekly Rant’ with Mila Madison.’


Five days?(2002 xx xx) Estrogen Warnings (p 1 of 2)

That’s nothing!

No disrespect to the author of her essay.  She expresses quite well the panic any one of us endure – especially during our pre-op Transition.

When you are travelling overseas to Thailand, Dr. Chettawut requires all patients cease hormones at least two weeks before departure date.  That is to clear your system and avoid the potential for blood clots.

Dr. Chettawut also commands that you not take any hormones til after you return home.

So, at minimum, you are doing without ERT for the next foreseeable six weeks.


Some patients panic at that very thought going that long without your  little green or blue magic pills – especially when you have depended on them at least a few years pre-op.  They have been your intimate ‘comfort food’.  Your physical and psychological dependency.

Your pre-op, pre-surgery jitters are tough going, especially your first days without your pills.  As each day approaches your travel day, you realise that you can live those two weeks without your magic pills.

Time eases as you await your surgery date.  Pills are likely the last thing occupying your thoughts.

Post-op you likely have little to no concern about pills.  You are in recovery, you await your un-packing, you will have daily exams, you must pass ‘final exam’ to receive your travel authorisation.

Once home, you now have gone without hormones at least six, maybe seven weeks or more.  That’s quite a stretch that just a mere two months earlier seemed to be an insurmountable obstacle.

Some endocrinologists tell you to wait til you get a blood draw and your first home post-op medical exam before you resume your hormones.  Ouch!  Another couple weeks.

Ya know what?  Now, post-op, that wait doesn’t seem so bad.  You’ve had those ‘male dangley bits’ removed – the essence of your ‘testosterone poisoning’.

You may actually feel empowered to go without ERT.  Not so good.  Work with your endocrinologist and medical team.  Most Endos set your post-op blood estrogen level to 200, some higher, some lower.

Most Endos maintain your progesterone.

Testosterone?  Hah!  That blood level drops down to below 10; some people’s T diminishes to zero.  No more T-blockers – no more finesteride, no more spironolactone!

You and your feelings are not alone.  We go through these times missing our prescriptions.  Panic seems more dire if you are pre-op versus post-op.  We find relief getting our script resumed.  Share your fears with your friends, your family, your support group.

And so it goes.


You already know my life story, so I shall only summarise it here for you new to my web-site.

I strictly withheld disclosing or admitting to a special few beyond family or mentor of either my Transition or my circumstance – Denise referred me to Stanford, Kathy Q let me use her Norinyl.  Otherwise, my entire life was stealth when I began Transition in 1974 til I became public three years ago.  Hey, Rusty, if you’re reading this, what did you know?  My apologies.

My family knew their suspicions that I was in Transition, they had to expect it eventually.  I did tell them all my life – that’s what my ‘Feminine Protesting’ tantrums beginning at age 3 were all about, but they refused to acknowledge what was right in front of them and right under their collective noses.

  • My father routinely snooped through my belongings looking for my female attire or other evidence, he intercepted my correspondences with Stanford, he rummaged through my box of medical and Transsexual files.
  • I gave copies of my Stanford enrollment papers to my mom in 1978, I showed my pills to my mom in 1979; she said to me, ‘That’s candy’.
  • My sister Kathy is still in denial that I wore her clothes through age 21.

If  not Transition, then what did they think that I was doing?


This topic is about employment discrimination against Transsexual:

‘Here’s How Trans Women Are Subtly Pushed Out Of Their Jobs’

Employers must adjust their employee evaluation systems to account for systemic sexism or risk losing their Trans employees in the long run.


First, the USDA Forest Service began termination action to fire me on my supervisor’s accusation that ‘You are a woman working as a man; we can’t have that here’.  That was 1983 and I was about to enter full-blown ‘male fail’ as I fought that action during the next two years.

Second, I had a successful, award-winning career as an employee for the State of Arizona for nearly 20 years.  Then one manager summoned me to her office and promptly began questioning me whether or not I am Transsexual (2006).  The agency eventually presented termination papers to me with the charge that being Transsexual made me ‘mentally unfit’ to be a State employee (2008).

I never found gainful employment since then.  I had to accept Social Security retirement.1977-12-30-stanford-program-p-3-of-5

Stanford University Medical Center’s ‘Gender Dysphoria Program’ was wise.  They opposed we patients Transitioning at the same workplace.  I Transitioned according to their direction.  You can read the complete Sanford guidelines elsewhere at this web-site (see:  ‘Stanford Gender Dysphoria Program’, 24 Sep 2016).

Forest Service knew my situation from the first day.  I submitted my name / sex change to Social Security Administration July 1978, I received my new card September 1978, Forest Service hired me November 1978, with my effective date December 1978.  It was SSA’s discrepancy list of January 1979 to my employer that reported my name and sex to Forest Service as Sharon / female different from as I presented at work as Nick / male.

I never disclosed or admitted my Transsexual status to Forest Service.  Nor would I satisfy my State agency with that tid-bit these many long years subsequent to my completion of Transition in 1985.


The American frog in that proverbial pot of water is now fully boiled.

Here’s to the Republi-con ‘Contract on America’ and the fulfillment of their ‘Permanent Republikan Majority’.

Here’s to Right-wing Republi-con Christian Con-servative Evangelical Fundamentalist Amerikan Taliban Fascism fully infiltrated into the last days of our fading Constitution.

‘It Can’t Happen Here’ happened November 2016.  The only unknown remaining is when our real-life conclusion of ‘It Can’t Happen Here’ will occur here.

After all, was it not Cheney who prattled that he considers the American Constitution as @ss wipes.

Just this week, Crooked Drumpf boasted that he held no regard for this American Constitution – the document that he swore to ‘Preserve, protect, and defend’ means absolutely nothing to him, to his administration, to his ruling Republi-con Party.

That his fellow Republi-cons refuse to act on impeachment and conviction legislation tells us that their entire Party is complicit in this overthrow if our American Constitutional Democracy.

That as much as two-thirds of the American population (one-third who declare themselves Republi-con, one-third who declare themselves ‘Independent’ sycophants) has succumbed into this nadir signifies that the Myrmidons have re-settled on this once-proud land.

Our ‘Experiment in Democracy’ was a fun ride while it lasted. Now where do we go?


How Religion Turned American Politics against Science

‘The current state of American politics has seriously harmed the perception of science. This can be directly tied to the rise of the Christian Right’


Hitler presented his Holocaust in three simple steps:

  • #1: You have no rights.
  • #2: You have no rights to live among us.
  • #3: You have no rights to live.

>>(2013 10 13) The Lesson Of 'Non-Essential' 1

We thought ‘Never again’.  But it is fomenting here in this American nation.  We are between Stage #2 and Stage #3.

Become a ‘Student of the Shoah’.  You must stand firm on ‘Never again’.



The ADL – Anti-Defamation League’s most recent report shows an alarming rise in the number of anti-Semitic incidents in the U.S.A.


PBS Newshour broadcast a two-part report on sexual harassment in the USDA Forest Service.

If you are / were a Forest Service employee, perhaps a federal employee at USDA or other federal agency, and you experienced sexual harassment, or know someone who was subjected to such misconduct, endured agency retaliation, then consider corresponding to the specific PBS tip line e-mail and tell your story to the investigators.


I submitted a statement to the PBS Newshour tip line e-mail address though the sexual harassment and retaliation that I endured occurred four decades ago.

PBS Newshour can know that Forest Service, USDA, and other federal agency sexual misconduct, harassment, retaliation has a long, pernicious history.  Each of us can do what we can to be certain that it does not continue.  If this essay, this referral helps only one person, then that one person is rescued from the lifetime of pain that we others endure.


Social Security’s 2006 erroneous report illicitly issued my private information to the State of Arizona, my employer; my employing agency then initiated termination action against me on their accusation that being Transsexual made me ‘mentally unfit’ to be a State employee (see:  ‘Another Sex Change At Social Security’, 31 Jul 2015).

(2007 06 08) OPM Reassignment LetterI contacted OPM to obtain copies of personnel documents showing that my sex identification code as a USDA Forest Service employee was ‘female’; recall that the federal agency changed my sex marker from ‘male’ to ‘female’ in 1983.

I was surprised to receive this OPM reply.

I instead learned from OPM what Forest Service did when I needed my federal government records to resolve this Social Security discrepancy that hounded me in 2006 and led to my termination of employment as a State of Arizona employee – the Forest Service sealed my original OPF record and substituted my original record with a ‘transcript’ file.

I make this additional point about the action described in this OPM cover letter.

I never submitted any request to any federal agency to change my file name from Nick to Sharon or to change my sex designation from ‘male’ to ‘female’.  It was the OPM Records Center that subsequently communicated to me that my Forest Service employing office’s Administrative Officer who changed my file to Sharon / female before the effective date of my departure (May 1985).  That federal agency unilaterally issued their change absent my knowledge, permission, approval, or consent.

I also want to declare that I had many fond times as a federal employee, as a Forest Service employee specific to the source article.  I met many fine people at work and through my duties.  I achieved many accomplishments that I had no reason to expect when I began my federal career.

The disappointment came from their insidious corporate culture – their harassment, intimidation, retaliation.  Unfortunately, that pernicious culture continues four decades later, it harms the function of the agency, it destroys people whose goal is to make their agency and its functions in our society a better place.


‘U.S. Forest Service chief under investigation after complaints of sexual misconduct’

‘The U.S. Forest Service has confirmed that parent agency USDA has “engaged an independent investigator” to look into complaints against Chief Tony Tooke.’


The facts presented by Hartmann’s article speak far better than I can add.

I expect that some people among my ‘Friend’ list can’t be bothered reading this truth.  To them, they call the truth ‘Fake News’.


‘The Second Amendment Was Ratified to Preserve Slavery’

‘The real reason for the Second Amendment’s ratification was to preserve slave patrol militias.’


This ‘Message from Women Everywhere’ pops up frequently on my ‘Feed’

The ‘Message’ is clear…


‘A Message From Women Everywhere’ – The Mash Report


You can read theoretical debate about this topic at other pages.  Allow me to present practical considerations.


Too many people who are uneducated about Trans issues fail to grasp practicalities.

Would they require a burly Trans-man use the female restroom?  Can you imagine a Trans-man with a beard, muscles walking into the woman’s restroom?

Do they not comprehend that ‘bottom surgery’ can’t be a requirement when only 25% to 30% ever achieve ‘bottom surgery’?  When will the opposition support universal health care for Trans persons who need health care?


Lemme share experiences.

I met a man using the woman’s restroom at the Public Library a couple years ago.  I felt no fear about his presence.  I asked him why he was using the woman’s restroom – he told me that MEN molested him in public men’s restrooms.  Fair enough, I accepted that he was honest with me.

Then this happened two more times.  I talked with each man in the woman’s restroom.

They admitted the same – that a MAN molested them in the men’s restroom.

Maybe we need a law to prohibit MEN from the men’s restroom?

I can also write about all the times when I witness a mom bring her son into the woman’s restroom.  Why?  Because mom fears that a MAN will molest her son while her son uses the men’s restroom.

Seems to be that MEN are the danger, that all MEN should be prohibited from using all public restrooms according to reasoning.  Certainly we feel safe with a Trans person because we know no event of a Trans person convicted of molesting anyone in a public restroom but there are daily events of MEN convicted of molesting men in men’s restrooms and MEN molesting women in women’s restrooms.

Do they know that Congress MEN are more likely to commit a lewd crime in the men’s room?  Let’s prohibit Congress MEN from using all public facilities.


‘So You Think You Can Trans’

Bathroom laws need to be sorted out quickly, because there are 25 million trans people busting for a piss.  (Sniff, sniff, tee-hee.)

Cassie Workman breaks it down.


I dedicate this to the people of America’s ‘Coal Country’.


  • digging coal mines,
  • breathing coal pollution,
  • destroying your mountain tops,
  • killing your friends and family in mine explosions,
  • enriching corporate coal bosses at your impoverishment.

We outsiders await your coming demise as ‘thinning the herd’.  Soon we shall no longer be forced to support your lifestyle and ways through special Black Lung programs draining our Social Security and Medicare finances.

Some day you will all die off in extinction same as we witnessed tobacco consumers.

Meanwhile, we in renewable energy environments breath clean air and enjoy the fruits of clean Earth



Project Earth

‘One more reason to move away from coal and towards sustainable, clean energy.’ via The New York Times.


‘Black Lung Disease Comes Storming Back in Coal Country’

‘Hundreds of cases of advanced black lung disease have been found among miners in Central Appalachia.’


Alana offers this:


Thank you, Dear Reader, for another trip down memory lane.

Share with those whom you love in your life.

Please return for another essay.

Thank you to the outside sources who made this essay possible.