An older girl shows me how to make a necklace using peas and thread, and I tell my parents with the innocent honesty of a child that I want to be like her. This is met with the fearful exclamation of a failed parent’s sarcastic defense, "Go ahead- be a sissy!"

Like most kids in possession of a childlike faith, this no-no I accepted with a certainty of belief usually reserved for things like the imminence of the sunrise, or of beginning school the next week. A certainty that allowed me to use my laughter toward those with less limitations as a weapon, by making fun of others ‘sissy’ behavior.

Still, my true self ,knowing the forbidden benefits of a full expression, would find a way to yet live , much as the small flower grows forth from the barren rock. I would evade a sense of wrongness by watching, from the safety of being another person in fantasy. For the liberty I wished, I could imagine being allowed to dress by unusual circumstances beyond my control.

Years later, as I discover the joys of a Teen Home Alone, a nervous exhilaration accompanies me as I discover the glories of an older sister’s closet. A thrill took me in- fear kept me there.

And the voices in my head said, the word that describes my activity, was cured with electric shock, as Science & Mechanics magazine also said. Dick Tracy’s Crimestopper’s Textbook! comics showed me both the probable social standing of this, and also how to ‘spot’ others like myself.

But a part of me knew better, that this had a neat side, and, What’s So Wrong With Being A Woman?

All of this would vanish at the WHOOMPH! of the car door announcing an early family return, as my heart pounded their bad advice, I, either exiting out of the clothes, hiding under the bed, or, once hanging silently .hoping! swinging several feet over their heads on a rope.... or lying in bed, covers up to my neck, as my mother felt my forehead temperature, praying! Please don’t pull down those covers!

Still, even though I hated those close calls, and I literally had hung by a rope over a world of boiling disownment or abuse, the world screamed - Get Fixed! I knew that I would continue. The Twilight Zone was on TV then, and I dreamed of the episode where the main character would suddenly find himself all alone, in an empty town, and panic. I knew what I would do - go straight to the women’s clothing stores!

One night I knew what I had to do. A Walk Across Town. Dick Tracy awaits just outside the door. The Ku Klux Klan is just down the street. And then there are the good ole boys, my dad’s business associates, peeking out every window. All of these would both convict, and injure me, with the title of perversion, despite my extreme caution.

So I went, the stormy wind ripping it’s fingers at my being, as I jumped from shadow to shadow. Society’s bad advice screamed, as prying eyes searched for my familiar, small town face.

But wrapped in all of this, aside from the adventurer’s gratification, was that as I walked forth into the world, the screaming receded, as if into the distance. Then a new voice approached, one that felt like an old friend. One that I recognized as my own. It said, Welcome Home. A friend to hold my hand, and keep me company. Then I knew that I would do the only thing I could do - save the only person I could - myself.

Years and half a continent later, I know what I have to do. I will find a community of people like myself. Before, I had assumed that others existed, but only in distant places. Then I found a newspaper article with a photo of an actual person. This was the first person like me I had ever seen, that I knew of. There was a shudder as I beheld this image, and a thrill as I awaited my first meeting with the gender group.

At that first meeting, there was an excitement as familiar as an old memory, when as that dressing room door opened, I beheld the first eyes to knowingly see. This was a good time, and led to my coming out, meeting others like myself who did the same thing as I.

But after awhile, I was disappointed with this local community (except for TRI-ESS National). I had turned down an awful row and hit a brick wall defined by the limitations inherent with those who did not like themselves. This atmosphere generated a lot of loud finger pointing, intimidation, and general paranoia building, all with the knowing nod of the leadership. A heated discussion told of spies in our mist, people outside the group trying to find us out. Needless to say, this did not lead to the people uplifting, life-is-fun crowd that I had so long wished for. I could have simply gone back into the closet, since this was a disaster, seemingly a collection of the things I feared the worst of in society, in an earlier time.

Fortunately, by now I had been in public several times, and knew the acceptance to be found there. Being in public was more accepting and fun than my experience with the gender community. My thoughts were ‘don’t get hurt, get busy’, and I still wanted a group.