Atlantis and Despicable Me

What did I do for my birthday? I took my kids to the Atlantis Water Park in Clarkesville, Indiana, 17 minutes from my front door, wearing my two piece bathing suit with the brown and pink spaghetti-strap top and the brown mid-thigh swim skirt. And no...that's not me in the photo.

We rented a tube and went to the lockers to put our things away. I was expecting a coin-operated locker, but instead saw that tiny padlocks were affixed to each locker. As I went back to the booth, I noticed a old man sitting next to a box that had a sign on it for lock rentals.

"I bet you don't take credit cards," I said. "Can I pay at the ticket window?" He held up his hand, motioning me to wait while he helped a couple in front of him. When he was done, he gestured with his fingers to approach.

As I got closer, he began rummaging in his box for the lock and said, "We don't want you to go through that trouble. What's your name?" Then he proceeded to just hand me the lock and record my name with the lock number. After we were done at the park, I handed the person at the box the padlock and key, and turned to walk to the car, when the person stopped me with, "Wait, you get this back," and handed me two dollars. Dazed, I vaguely remembered a deposit, was glad to get it back and replied, "Thanks, I almost forgot." As we got to the car, I realized that it was a mistake, because I didn't pay the deposit in the first place, and I had no way of returning it without getting someone nice in trouble.

The park was fun. My seven year-old was quite a bit upset about not getting to go down the big slide, because she has to stand on her toes to pass the height test. Her older sister encouraged me to go while she played with her in the Kiddie Pool. Then it was my turn, while my 12-year old went down the tube slides and I splashed across the pool with my youngest. As my daughter was backing her way to the life guard, I noticed that I was inadvertently giving him cleavage views as I was reaching down with my hands to splash. I can only imagine what he must have been thinking as my daughter raced by him to the slide calling me "Dad!"

Then there was the wave pool. We spent practically all our time hanging out in the rolling surf. Finally, when I had enough and was waiting on my girls, I dried out in the hot bright sun on the deck chairs and then headed to the shade by the lockers to put on my brown top and brush out my hair. Meanwhile, a young man sitting in a deck chair was obviously filming me on his cell phone from just a few feet away.

Once the kids finally tired, about 15 minutes before the park closed, we drove to downtown Louisville to drive slowly past the Louisville Slugger. Then, on a phone call from my wife, we finally found a Vietnamese restaurant (La Que) and grabbed a combination pho to take home.

Meanwhile, my mother had called to wish me Happy Birthday, Shirley had called to invite me out to the club and Brandi, DeeDee and Braneisha had left Happy Birthday balloons with their names on them and a card on my apartment door. She called to make sure I got them. When she started to come by the apartment later after 9, I happened to see her as I was closing the windows. She came over and we chatted at the window for a little while and she promised we would get our time together later, understanding that my focus is on my kids while they are here.

Tuesday night, it was a pleasant surprise to watch Despicable Me in 3D with my children for the low price of 6 dollars a ticket each, because, apparently, Tuesdays at the Rave are Super Tuesdays and every movie all day is only 6 dollars.

Finally, I got a chance to talk with my daughter about the great parts of having a "Girl Dad." I explained that she has a very special "Girl Dad," that most girls don't get to experience. I enjoy doing nails and makeup with her, going shopping and just talking about whatever. She didn't lose her Dad.  When we were done, she was grinning from ear-to-ear. She was back.

And I got some good bonding time with my older daughter as well, mostly through trusting her with spots of independence in the park while I took care of her little sister, playing together in the wave pool and just watching the two them have a really good time.

And I have a ton of Birthday Wishes on Facebook, and they started coming in faster than I could reply to them all. I still owe a few Thank Yous.

Hugs and God Bless,

Sophia

Nobody Ever Bought Me Flowers

"A boy learns a thing or two in four hundred years," he smartly said, then clapped his hands together.
-- Chloe Neill, Friday Night Bites

"I don't wear boy clothes," I said firmly to my daughter yesterday when she told me, "You have to change into boy clothes," after we walked into my apartment.

They were waiting in the parking lot when I arrived, having driven 750 miles from Texas over two days. They had been there maybe 10 minutes when I drove up after work. All I wanted to do was give them each a big hug.

Trying not to embarass my older daughter, I inadvertently wound up embarassing her, anyway. When they stepped out of the car, the place appeared to them to be a ghetto. And it's no wonder, because the low cost of the apartment allows many who are unemployed a place to live while they can still collect their unemployment benefits, and many of my neighbors don't make much. Since the population of urban Louisville does seem to be mostly black, among whom I have several friends, I can see they must be experiencing a bit of a culture shock.

I took my older daughter to go shopping, but before I did, I changed out of my long skirt and blouse into denim shorts and a sleeveless top, so I could blend in the heat and not embarrass her by being overdressed. It had the opposite effect. She thought I dressed like "trailer trash." Back home, I invited her to inspect my wardrobe before we went out, and showed her what I was wearing to work to see if it would be okay for going out when I get home. While I won't dress male, I won't let my wardrobe stand between us.

Before we went shopping, I called to activate one of the credit cards. They asked me my name and details off the card, and then they asked, "Can I talk to Robert..."

"I sent a name change in over a week ago. Didn't you get it?" After a couple of minutes of silence, she finally returned and I answered questions about personal details that only I would know.

Then at bedtime, my wife and I talked. We talked about how this would probably be the last time we could see each other, how we are going to move on, and she implored me to be safe in my relationships going forward and to try to get a place in a safer neighborhood.

I have a beautiful giant bouquet of fuschia, lavender, purple and green long stem flowers in a heavy vase sitting on my desk. It's the first bouquet anyone has ever given me in 45 years. I used to get jealous every Valentine's Day, because that's all I wanted for myself. Nobody ever bought me flowers. Now, for my birthday, Debbie surprised me with them and started suggesting I take one of the flowers and put in over my right ear. "Why the right ear?" I asked.

"Because left means you're taken and right means you're single," Sandra said next to me.

Debbie also took me out to dinner and bought me a gift. "Okay, I'll marry you," I teased. Wrapped in paper with the images of dogs in hair bows, I found a plush-feeling steering wheel cover.

Tonight, in little over an hour, I'll be home to spend more time with my kids. Wherever they want to go, whatever they want to do, as long as I can afford it, it's my week to give the happy memories before they leave me on Sunday.

One final note. Sophia. I am beginning to prefer Sophia to Sophie now. It feels more feminine and more serious at the same time. "I'm Sophia" just begs to be said more slowly with more of a feminine lilt than "I'm Sophie." I'll leave Sophie for those more intimate moments for now and put on my sophisticated airs.

Hugs and God Bless,
Sophia

More Than Infinity

In a few hours, I will see my children. My oldest daughter has already emailed me the two places that she researched as the best shopping in Kentucky: WetSeal and Deb's. My youngest daughter made me promise to not go dancing when they come up or she will "hate [me] for more than infinity." That's a pomise she won't have to worry about me breaking. On Thursday, after having my toes kicked by half the leads during Balboa lessons and preparing to go home, I told the instructor that I was going to have to catch up the following week because my kids were coming up for my birthday. She told me I would get a birthday dance that Thursday. A week, maybe a week and a half, without dance, to spend time with my kids--but it's worth it.

My laundry's done, the house picked up, and the floor vacuumed with the new Bissel I bought last night at WalMart. I didn't finish until about 1 AM, so I skipped vacuuming the car, took advantage of the 7 minute snooze this morning and was still running a little slow when I got ready. Most likely, it was frying that bacon and egg that slowed me down. My kids have been living on bacon, sausage and  pancakes for as long as I can remember.

I've changed a lot since I last saw them in December. I'll be greeting them after work in my pastel blue and lavender chiffon top and fuschia-flower printed long skirt. Wearing makeup in the style taught at the M.A.C. counter, and my shoulder length, now blonde hair, will they recognize me? I have to say, that in the last 7 months, they only saw my image on my Facebook photos. Maybe that will be enough.

I am so happy. My birthday week is actually starting off pretty well. I started to get to know my neighbor Brandi a little better--we stayed up til 5:30 in the morning Friday night. Trying to draw me out the evening before, she told me she was lesbian and had a "something-gender" cousin as she put it. I filled in the prefix she couldn't remember and told her I was both. She invited me to tag along to her uncle's birthday party with her daughter and one of her cousins (it turned out to be her transgender cousin, D), and we spent a lot of time there. I found out that she had already told her family about me before we got there, and I was hit with sexual innuendoes as I met several of the guys before I found that tidbit out. Her beautiful cousin seeemed a little shy and she hung back with me for a while.

Sunday morning was almost a fiasco. It would have been if I hadn't shown up. The morning greeter apparently hadn't found someone to take her place, and one of the new greeters thought she was in the position she wasn't assigned. Once I took over the front door, and figured out which position she was supposed to be in, training on the spot, things began to right themselves. Roger showed up a week early to learn how to do coffee, hoping to work with the coffee server of the day. And it was a good thing he did, because the person scheduled to do the coffee came down with Lyme disease, as I learned during Joys and Sorrows.

While I was still greeting, before I went into the service, I got serenaded at the door by one woman who had colored her hair and let it out in tresses, something I hadn't seen her do before. And Gail gave me a kiss on the cheek as she entered. I could not suppress the blush either time.

That evening, my neighbor's cousin helped me bring in the groceries, telling me she rescued a kitten about 3 weeks old and wanted to find him a home because she couldn't take him in. He took to me so readily, and I did want to keep him, but my wife is driving my children up and her allergies wouldn't permit it. We asked several of our neighbors to take him in, if only for a week, but no one could.

Meanwhile, as I was complaining about being outed to someone before I met them, D told me she was transgender, too. It was then that I finally put the pieces together and realized this was the cousin Brandi was talking about. Brandi came by and promised me a phone call on my birthday.

Just a few hours to go. My coworker wants to take me out for a birthday lunch tomorrow, and I'm taking Wednesday itself off to spend the whole day with the kids. Meanwhile, I've got a big hug waiting for them and their mother. I miss her, too.

Hugs and God Bless,
Sophie
 

T is not the Middle of the Alphabet

"I said, freeze!" Terry Ryan yelled. But the thief had already made a break for it.
- Matthew Reilly, Contest

I was surprised to see that another online sister, who wrote candidly from her heart about T-issues, tear down her blog and go home. She posted something about "crazed T-girls," firing off an epithet and the snippet I can read ends before I can dig further into her rave. From the snippet of the previous post, not quite 24 hours old, I see that she mentions how, after 5 years, she can no longer blog about transgender issues. That's a long time to dedicate to a single topic. Though I didn't always agree with some of her assumptions, she did make valid points and bring to light many issues that we do need to think about. All of that information is now gone, archived, at least for a while, in Google's search engine archives. For her, and for us, life goes on.

T is not the center of the alphabet. Nor should the concept of being transgender or transsexual overshadow our lives if we transition. If we can't stop worrying and measuring everything from the aspect of shifting genders, we are living in an obsessive compulsive frame.

For our own sanity, especially when we're living as ourselves, we need to step out of the shadow of T and just experience life. There are a number of things to take note of as you live in a new gender, and not everyone experiences manhood, womanhood or androgynity the same way. For example, if you're interacting, living as a woman, just appreciate the intricacies, subtleties and challenges that being a woman provides. The same holds true if your interacting in the male: appreciate the day-to-day challenges of being male. If you can step out of the shadow, you will be able to fully experience yourself.

Think back to when you were a child. Can you remember a time before gender expectations, before you heard of terms like transsexual and transgender, when you were simply you? Maybe you can recapture the experience. Being transgender may be a part of your identity, but it is probably not your whole identity.

When I passed through the drive through on my way home last night, the young gentleman who hadn't waited on me in months, asked me, after taking my credit card, "Did you really change your name?"

"Yes. I did," I replied in my sweet feminine, yet firm, voice. Of course, this was not really an appropriate question to ask in my mind, since it violated my privacy by the implication that he had memorized my name from before. It also confirmed my suspicion from months ago that he "Sir'ed" me because of the name he read.

"Have a good day...Sophia," he tried to say in a suave and debonair wave as he handed my credit card back. As I drove forward to window number 2, he finger-waved me from the counter inside while the next person filled my order.

I registered for the Poetry Contest tomorrow night at the Riverbend Wine Factory. The original 25 dollar registration was waived because the show is going to use audience participation. As Miss Feathewind, I have to deliver one of my memorized pieces for the judges with about 11 other contestants. If I make it pass the first round, I will get to participate in the winner-determining second round, to be voted on by the audience. I selected my best pieces, one for the judges and one for the audience. First prize is 500 dollars with 250 dollars and 50 dollars going to 2nd and 3rd place finishers. There are also hours of photo opportunities, and a publisher will be present. I have a 25% chance of at least placing: pretty good odds I think. But even if I don't place, it will be a great chance to expand my visibility and network.

Tonight, we're doing Balboa lesson #2. Last week, I couldn't quite figure out one of the moves, unlike the first Hustle lesson Tuesday night where everything seemed to come together more easily. (And no, it's not disco hustle. It's more of the Latin Hustle, which involves a partner).

Besides waiting for a photographer to call me back for a headshot sitting, so I can have a shot at a possible booking at the world's largest drag show complex, that's about it.

Hugs and God Bless,
Sophie

Insanity

You're not crazy. Albert Einstein once said "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results". And since you are exploring your feelings, and altering your behavior to match what you feel inside shows that you are definitely not repeating behavior, that you are on the verge of breaking out of the old patterns completely.




I understand the anxiety. The idea of seeing a counselor can make it seem official and that you would have no choice but to transition. Counselors can't peek into your head. Nor do they force you to transition. They can only lay the alternatives you have available based on the information that you give them. Like a medical doctor, the best prognosis is done only with the most complete and correct information. They are resources with access to other resources to help you plan your transition, and if you continue to experiment with hormones on your own, you are liable to feel some really uncomfortable emotions with no one there to help you navigate the waters. Unchecked, the potential emotional instability and any side effects you had from repressing yourself has the potential of disrupting relationships (which does include your work relationships), kind of like a young teenage girl has to learn how to keep her emotions under control. I'm pretty confident that you don't want to be compared to a teenager run amuck. I would ask around the MtFs to find a counselor that they feel comfortable using. I, and a couple others, see the same counselor in Louisville. I am in the final stages of my transition counseling as she prepares my letter for surgery for me, and I did find her useful for dealing with sexual trauma and family issues.



We are here for you. I am here for you. But I'm not a medical doctor, and I can't take hormone level and liver checks to see if the hormone level you are taking is safe and appropriate. If you are experimenting with hormones and you haven't clued a medical doctor in yet, please do so. Sooner or later, you won't be able to deny the effects, but if something happens to you and the doctor doesn't know you're on hormones, would you risk an incorrect diagnosis because they don't have all the facts?



To be honest, I resisted the deep emotional need to transition. I tried to reject it. I tried to compromise with it. But each compromise only reduced my anxiety to move further on. Meanwhile, I incorrectly blamed myself, my wife and my children for holding me back, trapping me in a man's world that I felt daily more uncomfortable with. I tried several times to save them the pain of a transition by killing myself. It wasn't until I moved to Louisville that I no longer acted on those urges (other than occasionally taking curves as fast as I could).



This has not been easy for me. I lied to myself that I had complete control, that I had a choice, that I could stop whenever I wanted. It took me a year to start hormones. But transitioning itself became an addiction, even though the end result of transitioning on the job scared me to death. But I am changed in many more ways now. The change runs deep. Most significantly, who you are emotionally is radically altered, but done carefully, is more integral. There are still aspects of the She that begin to bubble into words and I can bring them to my lips right before they burst, leaving the critical feeling missing. I catch myself saying, "I feel so..." and then it's gone, or "I need..." I remember one moment when the words, "I am so..." finally ended with "ready."



Transitioning is my lot in life. It is my destiny. It is a spiritual path I was put upon the day I was born. I am finally realizing "the person I was meant to be." But I had to pay the price. I am divorcing the only person who has ever loved me enough to marry me, and I haven't seen my children since December, when I was sick from driving all night to see them. And I am romantically alone, at 45 next week, realizing that there may never be another. And at a time when I have been sensually awakened by the hormones.



Your doing great just being yourself! Why would you want to hide yourself from people that can help you?



Hugs and God Bless,

Sophie

Expected to Follow

He stood, moved to the door, and beckoned me to follow with two crooked fingers.

- Chloe Neill, Friday Night Bites

"I'm grooming Sophie to be the ministry chair," I heard Rita say at the next table over at Holly's house in reference to the Membership Ministry of the church, while we were drying after bathing in Holly's floor so that we wouldn't mess up her hard wood floor.

"I'll probably find out about it like the Chalice Night Team," I called over to her. "I'll probably find out after you nominate me and I get a letter thanking me for volunteering from Dawn. 'I didn't,' I mimicked in reply. Rita, who is the current chair and was  member of the prior Chalice Night Team, had also last month convinced Dawn, our minister that I had volunteered to be on the Chalice Night Committee, the group that oversees the administration of the weekly religious education opportunities for members and guests of the church, as the Membership Ministry representative. Because I found out by the congratulatory email to the new team from the minister, I'm taking her at her word.

Today is pleasantly quiet, the day after July 4th celebrations and a day off from work, it is refreshingly peaceful. When I finally crawled out of bed this morning, I threw on the first shirt in my short-sleeved section of the closet, and when I looked in the mirror to see how the blank workout tank top went with my brown skirt-style swimming trunks I slept in, I was pleasantly surprised to see cleavage. It wasn't really noticeable from the front, but from the sides it made me happy to finally see I had what I have been so jealous of. For the record, it's about a week over 26 months that I have been on feminizing hormones.

After a bath, a quick dry of my hair and lite makeup, I gathered up laundry and headed to the laundromat. I had exchanged the swim bottoms for my blue-jean skorts. There weren't many people there and I read about the first 30 pages of Friday Night Bites. As I grabbed a quick soda while folding my laundry, I noticed a gentleman staring at with me with a scowl. I didn't know why he could possibly be angry, and, defensively, returned a smile. Every time I glanced in his direction while folding, that look of disgusted hatred was on his face as he stared at me. Looking back now, I am thankful for the security guard who held the door open for me as I left.

I also got looks from a gentleman sitting in the passenger seat of a pickup right next to my car. An older white-haired woman sat in the driver's seat while they waited for their laundry to dry. There was something odd about the way he looked at me that made me feel very uncomfortable. I am hoping that one of these days I will not have to use the pepper spray I carry on my key chain. I have noticed at this particular laundromat that the time of day almost predicts which gender is present. Before 5 PM, the place is full of mostly men doing their laundry, and after 5 PM, it's mostly women. I should have waited until 5, but I wanted to get it over with. Next time, I'll wait until at least 4, when the men present are a bit more comfortable to be around and the the place will soon be packed with women and children.

Saturday night, I finally watched Soldier's Girl. I didn't realize it at the time, but it is an appropriate transgender-related movie to watch around Independence Day. There are adult moments in the movie, but they are key to understanding the story. It's the true story of the brutal murder of Private First Class Barry Winchell, who was murdered in his sleep for falling in love with a woman, Calpernia Addams, who happened to be transsexual. The events happen around Independence Day, 1999, and Don't Ask Don't Tell comes into the spotlight. The movie was brutal to me, because I identified too much with Calpernia's tale. I couldn't help but cry, and the only thing available to stem my tears was a role of paper towels on the table.

It was a long night that night. I didn't get back to my place until about 3:30 in the morning, fighting sleep on the hour and a half drive. I only got about 3 hours of sleep as I crawled out of bed on Sunday for church. As I was serving coffee afterward, I accidentally pointed to a couple of guests I hadn't met to remind myself to meet them, one of them noticed me pointing and came right over. As I presented my hand to introduce myself, he held it for the entire conversation as we continued to talk. And I met another guest, who happens to be working in Fort Knox, doesn't live that far from me, and I may have talked her into showing up at Jim Porter's for Swing Dancing Lessons on Tuesday. She came with her parents. Word is, she may be deploying to Afghanistan soon. I hope I can at least buy her a drink before she goes.

After church, I grabbed my bathing suit and spent the next six hours at a swim and barbeque at Holly's house. There were about 10 of us there, playing games in the pool and enjoying the wonderful buffet. My plate was loaded down with mostly vegetables, a piece of chicken, a deviled egg and a brownie. I had to go back for another deviled egg, fruit, and a wonderful homemade bean dip with chips shaped into little star-shaped bowls to hold the dip. Eventually, I made the 11 minute drive home to my place about 7 PM and crashed on my bed in my bathing suit until the fireworks woke me about 10 PM. Completely exhausted, I removed my bathing suit top and stubbornly tried to sleep through the booms, imagining what it must be like in a war zone, like it was in 1989 with all the missiles over Iraq. Finally, the noise ended, and I slept.

I was also pleasantly surprised by the scale this morning. All that exercise in the pool and right eating paid off. On Saturday, it read 196, and today it stopped at 190. If all these chips and homemade bean dip that I brought home doesn't put it back on, I only need to erase another 20 pounds in the next year.

Hugs and God Bless,
Sophie

Preparing for a Visit

The bed is ordered. I stopped by Cort Furniture about 30 minutes before they closed to buy a queen-sized bed in time for my daughters' visit in the next couple of weeks.

Alicia, the store manager, recognized me as I walked in the door, and asked how things were going for me, displaying an amazing memory of how far I was settled in the last time we had talked in person last November. As I explained to her what I needed, she simply walked me to the set she deemed was right for me (much like some hair dressers will do) and proceeded to tell me what I was getting: a new mattress and box spring with a simple roller frame for about 240 dollars after tax. She informed me quite simply that I do not need a headboard, and we rang it up, and scheduled delivery for sometime Saturday. I was pleased to hear that it was going to be Ronnie delivering, as he was amazing last time when he helped me move.

That done, I headed to Target to pick out some nice purple, pink and brown bedding, a security lock for the front door (the door jam type), a tower fan, electric outlet extensions and something in red, white and blue to wear to work tomorrow with my white jeans and something to wear on Saturday, since Target is having their 4th of July sale.

I also called the cable company to add cable television to my internet service on Saturday, since I'm not in the mood to handle the end-of-the-world should Qubo be interrupted by the pauses and skips in the signal. It should be installed sometime between 2:00 and 5:30 PM, and it comes with the Showtime channels free for the next year...

...Should I still be here next year. My job security right now lasts until the end of September, and I'm worried.

I got an email from a recruiter addressed to my old email address, asking for an update to my resume if I was still interested in technical placement.I replied from my new email address with a freshly updated resume, letting him know (without any explanations, thank you, Oprah) that there was a name change as well as an address change when he updates the database. He very politely replied to my new current email address that he had updated the database, instructed me to check his website from time to time to see if there were any positions that he was filling that I might be a fit for, and said he'd let me know if there were any potential matches. His office is based out of New Mexico, and if I remember correctly, he places at Sandia National Laboratory.

Meanwhile, here in Louisville, tonight is the first lesson in Balboa, my second time through. I am looking forward to it, already practicing the basic step, before I attempt a pretense as a complete newby during the lesson. Forward, forward, pause, back, back, back, pause, forward, forward, forward, pause...

I've been giving a lot of thought to the idea of whether I were to meet and spend time with someone special, and I don't think I could sacrifice my new-found social life to revolve around them. Nor would I expect them to revolve around me. Actually, the playing field is rather limited when I think about it, since I would expect them to at least be open spiritually, maybe join me in the church where I have a lot of friends and responsibility, and to share my desire for dance--a lead for my follow to enable us to spend time together doing the things we love. Since there are no obvious candidates, I will just continue to continue on.

Hugs and God Bless,
Sophie