Tag Archive | USDA Forest Service

‘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.


‘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.



‘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.



‘Male Fail’


Business before pleasure.

Our spirit friend Cara is messenger bearing bad news.

  • ‘Transgender Woman Killed in Wichita’ – Sunnivie Brydum (3 May 16, 1:40 pm EDT)
  • ‘A 16-year-old is in custody after allegedly fatally stabbing Tyreece “Reecey” Walker in her own home Sunday night.’
  • ‘A 16-year-old boy is facing second-degree murder charges after allegedly stabbing to death a 32-year-old transgender woman in Wichita, Kansas on Sunday, reports Wichita news station KAKE.’
  • ‘Police identified the victim using male pronouns and the name Tyreece Walker, though friends and family of the deceased told police that Walker identified as a transgender woman.’

Why is the accused labelled a ‘boy’ for having been charged with an adult hate crime?


What is ‘male fail’?

A person going through transition will encounter their end stage when others no longer perceive them as their originating person, but as their target identity.

In other words, for me, I went from my male presence to female presence.  People did not accept my male persona at the end of my male presence because I appeared too feminised to be accepted as male.  I ‘failed’ being ‘male’.

Perhaps it was inter-sex that I had two eras of my ‘male fail’, my first was my teens when I went thru my female para-puberty.  People who see those pictures of me at age 16 and age 20 and do not know in advance that it is me tell me that they see my appearance is more female than male.

I received much abuse as that female-appearing male all through those years (age 14 to 22).  I suppose this experience equates with that of F-M transsexuals during their teen years though I was in reverse of their direction.  Perhaps that topic can be my future post.

My second and final ‘male fail’ occurred during my 20s (1979 – 1985).  As I shall discuss here, my employer clearly failed to accept my male presence due to my ever-increasing female appearance and presence.



‘No matter what official ‘Policies’ there are, if management wants you out, you’re out.’


The euphoria of my employment paper changes was amazing:

  • Social Security Administration accepted my file change to my new name as Sharon and as female (September 1978).
  • My state affirmed me female under my new name, Sharon, and issued my new MVD licence (Spring 1980).


Employed as a male by the federal government (a civilian appointment to the Department of the Army) beginning 1977, I continued as such and used my male predecessor name Nick when I began my federal employment tenure at the USDA Forest Service; I was not ready in my stage of transition to work as my female self Sharon when I began working at the Forest Service (December 1978). My employing agency learned of my sex change on paper when my name appeared on Social Security’s discrepancy list.

  • ‘He’s a she.’ ‘No, she’s a he.’

I over-heard those words as Edie, my supervisor, was talking about me to Nancy, another supervisor, when I passed her office one day (1979). My employing agency made no issue of this directly to me. I prepared a letter to submit to my supervisor for just-in-case purposes. That was not necessary; the agency selected me for promotion and transfer to the new Geometronics Service Center at West Valley City, Utah (October 1980). Was it because my current supervisor wanted to pass my presence to another office or did I truly earn it?

My transition at my new Forest Service assignment and duty station location continued my ‘Victor / Victoria’ era – I am legally female working as male living as a woman pretending to be a man.  Employment security diminished as agency management at my new office saw my female identification on the SSA discrepancy list and acted variously.

I eventually rotated among three Forest Service duty stations at three different employing offices.  I began at West Valley City (1980 – 1985), then a concurrent assignment to the Uintah National Forest Supervisor’s Office at Provo (Summer 1984), and ended with a concurrent assignment to the Wasatch-Cache National Forests Supervisor’s Office at Salt Lake City (1984 – 1985).


Bob, my first supervisor at my Utah duty station, disguised a ‘date’ as a get-to-know-each-other invitation to me for dinner and a guy’s evening at his home (November 1980).  This was an evening more involved than Steve’s invitation to me when I worked at Williams, Arizona.

Who did Bob think I was:

  • (a)  a female (according to my SSA file) presenting as a male?
  • (b)  a Lesbian living as a male?
  • (c)  a heterosexual male (as I presented myself)?
  • (d)  a homosexual male (according to office gossip)?

Wow! was I presenting quite a confusing set of circumstances in my ignorance of that time.

Gawd knows what other options floated their boats.

  • ‘You can’t think at the ‘Great Thalt Lake’.

What were Bob’s true expectations and intentions?  These were questions left un-answered at least because he was promoted to a new assignment at a different state and the scenario did not play out with him.


My male presenting declined into clear failure – now known to me by the term ‘male fail’ – by 1983 and led to Blanche, the second supervisor at my West Valley City duty station, proving the danger to my livelihood.  She called me to her office one day; she told me,

  • ‘I know you are a female. We can’t have you working here as a male.’

Or thereabouts.  She directly threatened to fire me on her charge of my being F-M transsexual.  She exposed my private medical information throughout the office.  I began hearing those familiar ‘She’s a he!’ and ‘He’s a she!’ whispers from several co-workers and managers at that office; I heard far worse words from many others though no one ever had the indecency to actually speak them to my face.

I feared my supervisor’s threat that day; she made them real.  My regret was that I did not return to work the next day as Sharon / female, walk directly to her at her office, and inform her, ‘Here I am.  I shall be from now on working as who I am – as Sharon – as female.’  Looking back on that time, it would have been the best opportunity to complete transition to female at work.  She could no longer accuse me of being a female working there as a male though I’m certain the gossip would have flown wilder than ever before.  My full change was valid:  SSA recorded me as Sharon and female (1978), my state legally affirmed my name change to Sharon and my sex change to female (1980), and my operations finalised my female anatomy (1982, 1983).

Why was I still waiting in 1983?


That is my lesson learned.

A problem looking at it then as current events and looking back at it now as history was my lack of available transition counselling.  Again, these were the dark days of early 1983 – more than 30 years ago.  I had no transition counselling since my move from Arizona (October 1980).  Maybe I should have called long distance to my former counsellor at Arizona?  I would have not even the semblance of transition counselling until later 1983 and early 1984 through mid-1985.  That was poor transition counselling at best and a failure at worst; not that I lay blame on them, it was the circumstances of those times.  I was attending mostly group sessions; the counsellor’s instructions to me were to minimise my transition issues during group and reserve them to occasional one-on-one sessions.


If I had a local counsellor the day when Blanche called me to her office and declared her charges against me, I would have called that counsellor on the telephone immediately after work and sought advice at an emergency session.  Looking back, if I were the counsellor, then I would have advised Sharon to come for an emergency one-on-one meeting to discuss plans and tell her to bring a few change of clothes to test her female presentation – I’d tell her it’s time, now or never.

I was still scared; there was advancing that finality presenting as female with the notion there was no going back.  Sure, I had years wearing my sister’s clothes either in private, among family, or in public as a child and teen.  I eventually wore my own feminine female attire since 1974 though less in public as an adult.  I was wearing something of uni-sex female attire (jeans, tops, shoes, sox, etc.) what to me I presumed others perceived as accepted male attire.

Presenting as female in public once and for all appeared to me in those long ago days to be a mountain when in fact was nowhere as high as the proverbial molehill.

Remember what was in my head.  My father had my transitioning Uncle Frank arrested during transition.  The family had Uncle Frank murdered during transition.  What if something went terribly wrong with my adult presenting and the Mormon police arrested me?

You who are working out your transition plans today have my full empathy and great support.  I know exactly what is tearing your mind apart – ‘been there, done that’.  I’m here for you.


I did not come ‘out’ where I was employed, but I’m certain that my changes must have been noticeable during my final physiological transition from male to female.  I continued growing my hair shoulder length and got occasional female-styled perms by my friend who supervised the Cosmetology Department at Utah Technical College, the nearby community college.

Clearly recognised was my increasing absence of body hair and facial hair.

I long earlier already ditched my male attire and replaced it with my uni-sex female attire.  The only clothing that could be identified as male were my business office shirts – required while I worked at my employer’s personnel department while still presenting there as male.  Denim pants / jeans are part of the official Forest Service federal agency uniform so I wore my women’s-wear jeans every day.

I learned female fashion to co-ordinate my male office shirt with a matching female sweater / vest / pull-over and sox as I progressed through feminisation though still presenting as male at work during my transition to female.

Looking back, this attire surely must have begun up-setting my employment surroundings – mostly when I really went full steam ahead at my subsequent downtown Salt Lake City office location.

Looking back, I was oblivious to what I was doing.

There are some pull-over sweaters that I wore to accessorise with my male office shirt that I see nowadays are very clearly quite feminine; I wonder now how I thought I was satisfactorily presenting as male at work.  Among my favourite remains an off-white sweater with soft blue pastel highlights.  I look at that now and I wonder; I had moxie wearing that at work expecting others to accept my presence as male especially by 1983, 1984, and definitely 1985.  They didn’t, they couldn’t.  Some who did not know me at our large office building addressed me as female.

(1981 xx xx) Work ID Photographs(1985 08 xx) Pima CC ID - (1988 xx xx) DES ID

There was the array of our agency’s organisational chart on a wall outside our Director’s Office.  This wall presented each of approximately 150 employee’s name, position title, grade, and office identification photograph.  There I was, my infamous 1981 picture (left).  All anyone needed to do was walk a few yards down the hall to my desk and see me by 1983 looking quite different (right, my appearance by 1985).  It did not require a rocket scientist to figure this one out.

I now know of this condition as ‘Male Fail’.


I learned early that I had to wear something up top to protect my anatomy from getting rubbed raw.  A bra was out of the question when I was presenting as male at work, that was another reason why I wore multiple T-shirts under my business office shirts to help hide my ‘B’ sized ‘girls’ under this male office attire; that soft cotton fit that bill.  Sometimes a soft paper towel helpt.  I frequently added that sweater vest – women’s wear, of course – over my office shirt to create bulk layers trying to hide my blossoming self.  Some days my two bumps were more noticeable than other days – depending upon what I wore.  I’m certain that I grew to care less about that as time wore on.

People at work (Blanche, LeeAnne, Dreama, Patsy, Gloria, Gary, Don, John among my nemeses) long-suspected my status was F-M through their cruel gossip; working as Sharon could have changed that gossip in short order.

Terry, my immediate co-worker in our Personnel Department, saw my devolving physical changes every day for four years yet apparently did not fully perceive them until we chatted at her home one evening after work (1985).  It was just another visit of many routine visits as I had been her otherwise dutifull male friend.  She suddenly asked why I had no facial hair, then looked at my arms and hands and asked why I had no body hair.

Jean was a curious co-worker.  She is Lesbian.  We participated in many of the same after-work political and civics activities.  She did not approach me about my condition the four years we worked together and knew each other socially outside work.  Huh?  I give her credit being strong and ‘out’ during those years.

Betty, my jigsaw puzzle friend, was my only true support at work who did not question my ‘male’ presence that was clearly kaput by 1985.

Meanwhile, my employer’s action to fire me as a F-M transsexual persisted two years through the administrative process (1983 – 1985).  I eventually resigned (1985).  I then petitioned for Unemployment Insurance.  UI agreed and determined that my Forest Service employer conducted an ‘intolerable work environment’ against me.  Surprise vindication.

While my federal agency was firing me as a transsexual, I learned they were openly accepting Roberta, a M-F transsexual employee at another location within my same organisational structure.

Go figure.



‘My Own ‘Victor / Victoria’ Days’


I met Kathy Q and Virginia during my nights socialising and dancing at disco clubs (1979 – 1980).

Kathy Q began as a light relationship, yet became important.  It was early during my transition.  I was uncertain of my life’s future as well as any extended future with her or anyone else for that matter.  We were dance partners with no attachment so I came out to her as a test.  She expressed curiosity.  She agreed to me to try her birth control pills to help me determine how I may or may not decide to change.  Hey, we were not sexual so there was no concern of an un-planned pregnancy (she had no idea of my true inter-sexed female anatomy any more than I at that time).

Virginia was different.  We also soclialised at the disco dancing clubs (1980).  We mutually foresaw a prospect of a serious friendship; she seemingly wanted more than our platonic friendship.  We had a few quiet dates that I refused to allow to go far.  She frequently invited me to her home but I would not allow anything to happen.  Our holding hands and talking satisfied Virginia.  I suppose in some ways she appreciated my friendship because I was not that groping male as she surely had experienced with other males.

I also danced with other women at the disco clubs.  None knew my medical situation.  I must have been an odd male dance partner.  Dancing close became a matter of me out-manoeuvering the groping hands of my female dance partners.  I could not allow them to feel my female chest.  They would rub their leg attempting to arouse me between my legs; there was nothing male to arouse.  Did they perceive themselves failing to attract a male (me)?

Yes, as you now know, as your estrogen transitions your body to female, your body transitions to the female scent.  It’s part of the entirety of your change.  Your partner will smell your female scent and will taste your female taste.  So it seemed puzzling to me that neither Kathy Q, Virginia, nor any dance partner smelled my female scent or tasted my female taste; or at least none commented to me about it, perhaps their fear of what they did not comprehend.

I had one major fear during my dancing days – fear of being discovered if a female dance partner ever felt my blossoming girls (a large ‘B’ or small ‘C’ by then) that were at least as much as hers.

That era ended when I moved to Utah (October 1980).


Baby steps helpt me seamlessly continue along my transition.  I could not believe how easy that went.  Or was I so naive?

Social Security Administration accepted my file change to my new name as Sharon and as female (September 1978); my state affirmed me female under my new name (Spring 1980).  The euphoria of those paper legal changes was amazing!

I was employed as a male by the U.S. federal government (1977 – 1985).  I continued using my old name (Nick) at my December 1978 appointment to the USDA Forest Service (where I remained employed until May 1985).  I was not ready to present and work as Sharon, my female self – physically, emotionally.

My Forest Service employing agency learned of my legal sex change on paper when my name appeared on Social Security’s discrepancy list.  I learned that they learned when I was returning early from lunch break, passed by my supervisor’s office, and over-heard my supervisor talking about me to another supervisor one day (January 1979):

  • ‘He’s a she!’ said one.
  • ‘No, she’s a he!’ said the other.

My employing agency made no issue of this directly to me.  I prepared a letter to submit to my supervisor for just-in-case purposes.  That letter would not be necessary; the agency selected me for promotion and transfer to the Forest Service’s new Utah office (October 1980).  Was it because my current supervisor wanted to pass my presence to another office?  Or did I truly earn it?

Never mind whatever the reason, more opportunities came into my future.

Steve was friendly toward me during our time as co-workers (1978 – 1980).  He invited me to his home for a visit one last evening before my departure to Utah.  His home was a curious scene that evening.  We initially sat separate from each other – he motioned me to his sofa and he took his easy chair across from me.  Steve later moved from his seat to the sofa, then gradually moved closer to me on the sofa – eventually touching close.  I made no responce.  Steve apologised to me.  He told me that he is gay and that gossip at work is that I am gay; Steve said that he wanted to share this last evening with me.  I told Steve that I am not a male homosexual.  I could not tell Steve the whole truth – that I am a female transsexual (M-F), that I do not have the body parts that would please him (breasts up top and rudimentary female anatomy below), nor is he part of my sexual attraction (I am not attracted to male homosexuals).  I assured Steve that our evening would remain private.

My transition progressed at my new assignment and location; this continued my ‘Victor / Victoria’ circumstance – a female pretending to be a male, a woman living as a man.  Employment security diminished through the course at least for one of two supervisors and other agency management; they, too, saw my female identification on the SSA discrepancy list and would act differently.

Bob, the first supervisor, disguised a ‘date’ as an invitation to me for dinner and an evening at his home (December 1980) similar as Steve’s invitation.  Who did he think I was:  female (according to my SSA file) or male (as I presented myself)?  Did he think I was Lesbian living as a male?  Or Gay (did that false gossip follow me)?  What were his true expectations and intentions?  These questions remain un-answered unless and until Bob sees this site and adds his comment.

Blanche, the second supervisor, proved dangerous to my livelihood.  She called me to her office one day (1983); she assuredly told me that she knows that I am a female working there as a male and she ‘will not have that’.  She directly threatened to fire me because I am a sex change.  She exposed my personal information throughout the office.  I began hearing those familiar ‘She’s a he’ whispers from several people; I heard far worse words from many others though no one ever had the indecency to actually speak them to my face.(1981 xx xx) Work ID Photographs

Look at my pictures (1981 and 1985).  You see me changing from male (1981) to female (1985).  Yet Blanche and Forest Service management were firing me as a female-to-male transsexual.  They had no perspective of direction.  They certainly saw me as female in their midst, no longer ‘male’ as I once was.  Did they somehow expect that I would change back to ‘male’?  Sorry for this cliche’.  Did they not have a clue?  Okay, this was 1983, not 2015.  I was the only transsexual in Utah at that time (insofar as that was what my counsellor told me in 1983).

(Up-date –  April 2016:  I met with a counsellor three times here at home – Phoenix – during 2015.  He mentioned to me that he recalled hearing about a M-F transsexual at Utah during 1983 to 1985.  I told him that perhaps the other person and I should find each other and create a fan club.  I have had months to think this through, do my own table-tapping, and now it seems quite likely that I was that one – that only.  Is there anyone in cyberland who can substantiate that you are that other?  Let’s find a way to meet and share notes.)

(1985 08 xx) Pima CC ID - (1988 xx xx) DES ID

I look back at Blanche’s confrontation.  Blanche said to me something such as, ‘I know you are a female. We can’t have you working here as a male.’.  I feared her and her threat.  It was real; my responce failed to match her threat.  Instead, I should have arrived at work the next day as Sharon, walked directly to her at her office, and told her, ‘Here I am. I will be from now on working as who I am – as Sharon – as female.  You lost your reason to fire me.  Now what are you going to do?’  My full change was valid:  SSA recorded me as female (1978), my state legally affirmed me female (1980), and my operations finalised my female anatomy (1982, 1983).  People at work already suspected my female status through cruel gossip; working there as Sharon would have changed that gossip in short order.  Why was I waiting?

Yes, I can fairly write now that in my present mind that is the opportunity that I should have taken in 1983.  But I was afraid in 1983.  Fear.  Regret as well; regret nowadays that I could have done transition better.  That is a lesson learned.

Terry was my co-worker at Utah (1981 – 1985) – about 20 years older than me.  I was her dutifull ‘male’ friend:  helping her move from one apartment to another, setting up her washer and dryer connections, re-arranging her furniture when she asked.  Even when she had a serious boyfriend, she asked me for help first.  She also confided personal information to me that no woman ever had done before and only since presenting as female.  Did my feminised presence allow her subconscious to perceive me as another female?

Terry saw my devolving physical changes every day for four years yet apparently did not fully perceive them until we chatted at her home one evening after work (1985).  It was just another visit.  We sat at her kitchen table talking and drinking coffee same as dozens of previous times.  She suddenly stopt mid-sentence and asked why I had no facial hair, then looked at my arms and hands and asked why I had no body hair.  I fumbled for words that failed her because I had not prepared myself to provide an answer to such questions.  She was angry, hurt, frustrated with my denying her very accurate observation considering Terry confided her many intimate thoughts to me.

(2007 06 08) OPM Reassignment Letter

I owed my honesty to Terry in return.  I’m sorry, Terry, that I could not tell you because I feared you might let it slip at work though that hardly mattered considering that Blanche already initiated firing me.

Betty was among the few other supporters at work as my employer was taking action to fire me as a sex change in retaliation for my whistle-blower action (1983); Betty did not know the full truth.  Thank you, Betty.  I have your framed gift placed prominently at my home.

The administrative process persisted two years; I eventually resigned (1985). I filed as Sharon / female through the Un-employment Insurance process; UI agreed that my employer conducted six years of an ‘intolerable work environment’ against me.


I hope others reading this who have not yet begun their transition learn that they need to determine their own time to begin.  Do not fear it and do not allow others to intimidate you from it.  Each element of your life will be different.  My transition was piecemeal – that’s what worked for me.  I transitioned elements of my life at different times – work, school, second jobs, volunteering, social life, etc.  Good counselling will support your effort to help you make good decisions while minimising your regrets.

I completed my transitioning life toward female by 1985 yet I could not out myself during my residence at Utah.  I lived with the fear that my life would become more complicated if anyone was less than supportive.


I began learning that presentation was part of my transition.  I could wear the exact same uni-sex female attire and present myself differently – some people perceived me as male while others perceived me as female.  A simple change of hair style and mannerisms took me from male to female; a touch of make-up added to my female presence.

My primary personal fear came to be whether I passed well as female.  I made small steps at this endeavour as I gradually transitioned my life from male to female.

I considered that ‘Passing My ‘Passing’ Test’ would be when I otherwise made no extra effort presenting myself (even a male self) and others naturally perceived me as female.  I clearly ‘Passed My ‘Passing’ Test’ by early 1985, yet my self-confidence was lacking; it would all finally come together by June 1985.

The location where I was co-employed by the Wasatch-Cache National Forest during my last year while presenting as a male was at a large, multi-story commercial building.  Same as my prior locations, I again made myself known to my new co-workers to walk up and down the stairs as exercise during break and lunch so that my departure from my immediate work area and floor appeared routine.  I feared raising suspicions with my new male co-workers if they observed me using only the stalls at the facilities near our area.

It happened when I was at a distant men’s restroom on another floor.  I finished my business and was washing my hands.  A man entered, gazed at me, made a puzzled look, and asked if he had the men’s room or not.  I dug down deep for the best possible male falsetto I could muster and confirmed that, ‘Yes, this is the men’s room’.

The lesson to me that day at that time was that there I was doing my best to appear and present as a male at work and this stranger saw me as female without me trying to present as female.  He saw what I was wearing though he may not have comprehended my attire was female jeans, sweater vest, and shoes.  He saw that I had no facial or arm hair.  Hiding my ‘C’ girls under extra T-shirts under my over-sized male office shirt was getting difficult.  It’s no wonder that man at the men’s room that day perceived me as female and not as male.

That rest room confrontation brought me to ponder how others at my office also truly perceived of my appearance as not quite male, and persisted their whispers of ‘He’s a she’ and ‘She’s a he’.


() 'Viktor und Viktoria' Poster sYZkkY5‘Crazy world’.


I truly did live an actual ‘Victor / Victoria’ existence.  There I was – a female presenting as a male who was living as a woman pretending to be a man – in a manner expressed in that popular Julie Andrews / Robert Preston / James Garner / Lesley Anne Warren movie of that time.

Sharon / female is my real me while ‘He’s a phony’ was what I presented at work.  I submit to you, Dear Reader, that my real life was far more interesting – obviously true to life – than their fictional story.

(Up-date:  29 Apr 17)

Danke!  Thank you, Cristina S., for the ‘Viktor und Viktori’ poster.