The world that existed in my childhood mind was, like for most children, one of wonder and imagination...a world in which dreams could come true and a happy ending was always to be found on the last page of the story before the lights went out.

The earliest memories of my childhood involve the family Bel-Air, the chrome-legged kitchen table, and a little girl up the street named Tara. She was my age, about 4, and we spent many happy hours playing. I don't remember exactly what we played, but I do clearly remember us sharing clothes on numerous occasions. It probably didn't mean much to her, but it meant everything to me.

It was a blissful opportunity to fix the mistake that nature made, at least for a few minutes at a time.

It was the chance to be a girl, at least my little mind's idea of what a girl was.

Being a girl made perfect sense to me. I watched intently everything that my mother did when she got dressed. I remember asking for some of her clothes and getting a rather cool response which really didn't encourage me to want to try again anytime soon. In the daycare, I remember being drawn to the piano and spending the entire time mastering the songbook while the boys played with trucks in the sandbox. I felt more comfortable in the presence of girls, and I wanted to be among them and be one of them. It felt as normal as yawning when I was tired. I certainly couldn't put my finger on exactly what was out of balance for me, but I knew that everyone around me never gave a moment's thought to anything pertaining to gender whereas for me the constant act of conforming to expectations was as physically and emotionally draining as living without sleep. But I knew that wanting to be a girl was something that I couldn't safely reveal to the world. I would fake a halfhearted smile when effeminate boys were taunted and I remember the adults in my parents' circle of friends regularly ridiculing rock stars who chose gender-bending styles. The intolerance was clear to me even at that young age.

In the evenings, as I listened to my scratchy Disney records, I would hear the sweet storyteller's voice wrap me in another happy ending graced with triumphant music. I would dream of my happy ending, that somehow I would wake up the next morning with a new name and a new body. (I couldn't have cared less about the prince or the treasure.) Unfortunately, such wishes came true only in my stories and I would wake up every morning disappointed. I would just have to make it through another day, make people happy by playing with paper airplanes and Legos, meditate a little harder in the bathtub to try to make something magical happen, and try to figure out what I was doing wrong that made my wishes fail. I got very clean and wrinkly, and incredibly good at paper airplanes and Legos. I suppose some of those skills have served me well, but there was so much more I yearned for.

So went the rest of my life. I was quite successful, earning outstanding grades, playing sports, going to college, landing a well-paying job, getting married to a very special woman, and raising a treasure of a daughter. The message from the world was that normalcy comes in only one form. My efforts at trying to understand my feelings at the University of Washington were met with but a few outdated books on the mental illness of gender dysphoria and a beaten up photographic essay of drag queens with half the photos cut out. There was clearly no room for me in the world, and perhaps the very brevity of this account of so many years is a reflection of how numb I had become. For years I watched the female world from the outside, only venturing into a store during a few rare holidays each year to find an excuse to obliquely talk forbidden subjects with salesgirls. I cherish the genuine love I have for my family, yet the whole affair of living as a man was more for everyone else's enjoyment...for my parents' pride, for my family's honor, for the comfort of my friends and society, and for the love of my wife and daughter. I thought I was doing the right thing, presenting the person society told me was correct, struggling to find the right combination of expected behaviors that would suddenly kick start my normalcy, and playing the role that wouldn't result in my life or livelihood being destroyed. I thought things were going fine, until my secret was revealed.

My marriage nearly collapsed. My wife felt betrayed and cheated. This is not what she wanted and to be forced to accept this situation was maddening. Fortunately, we both had the courage to seek help. My wife came to terms with me and accepts that I'm not the man she thought she married. This doesn't mean that she's happy about the situation, but with acceptance comes recovery, growth, and the ability to move on. For my part, I discovered that my facades had even fooled myself and I went through a major grieving phase as I realized that half my life had passed without me ever fulfilling some of my deepest dreams. I grieved the waste...the missed opportunities...the dishonesty to my loved ones...and the dishonor to the one life I have.

Over the last few years my marriage has taken on a new tone...less of an intimate husband and wife situation (but then, it was never intimate to begin with, but that's another story) and more of a friendly-parents-raising-a-daughter situation. But my daughter and wife know who I am and provide me emotional support, my parents struggle as best they can to understand and help, and my friends lend their shoulders to lean on in times of need.

The terror I felt as I prepared to tell my parents is indescribable, but it was something I committed myself to in order to honestly acknowledge the things that were important to me. The highly rated book True Selves by Mildred Brown was helpful in this regard, and if you are looking for guidance on how to broach the subject with friends and family, this book has some excellent ideas. I told my parents that I had something very important to tell them and my wife and I went to their place to share the news. Courtesy and discretion are important in this process and I went in boy mode. As expected, things were tense as I sat down, but it didn't take more than a few moments for me to preface the whole talk with a few words about how hard it has been to keep myself in hiding and everything else simply spilled out. Not too surprisingly, there were lots of questions from them, lots of confusion, and they tried to place a lot of the blame upon themselves ("where did we go wrong?") I did my best to explain what I could and that it wasn't their fault. I reassured them that things were not going to change anytime soon and our talk ended that night on reasonably good terms.

About 5 years after coming out, my attitude about myself has matured significantly. I am very comfortable with my identity, whatever that may be, and I'm also quite comfortable with how I choose to present myself. Having overcome the programmed message of conformity, I'm much happier and freer than I had ever imagined I could be.

This state of mind encouraged me to approach my parents recently and tell them that I felt it was about time that I introduced myself to them in person. I had left a book and some photos in an envelope with them during the first meeting and they bravely slogged their way through the book and took a look at the pictures. But pictures and seeing someone in person are very different things and I really wanted to take another step forward for myself. Besides, I had recently introduced myself to a few friends as well and those meetings had gone really well and without exception they all said that as Ginger that I was a much happier person than they ever remembered seeing me when I was a guy.

I called my parents and said that it was really important for me to introduce myself to them in person. I was ready with all sorts of justifications but before I could get into them, my mom jumped in and agreed that it was about time as well. It wasn't the most enthusiastic remark on her part, but I give her lots of credit for taking that brave step. Oddly, I wasn't all that nervous in the weeks preceding our meeting and even as I walked up to their house and rang the doorbell on that important evening I was still remarkably calm. It must be that new-found sense of self and self-esteem or something...

My dad answered the door and the first words out of his mouth were that he didn't recognize me. When my mom saw me she had a look of dismay and concern, like I was in pain or something. I wasn't of course, but that was simply her reaction. I gave her a hug and we sat down to talk. Her first comment was that being a woman was much more than dressing up and looking nice (there were no comments about my appearance that evening at all, so I guess I'll have to take that one comment as an oblique compliment). It was actually a very nice conversation and we covered just about everything. I think the most significant comment they made was that they wanted me to be good and moral, be happy, don't hurt anyone, and live life so you don't have any regrests. That's good advice on the surface, but fundamentally contradictory in nearly any practical application. I think the most important part is that yes, I agree with the message, but ultimately how I carry it out is up to me and my life will probably not be lived in the way they might hope to see. And I let them know that were I to put everything back in the closet and be the person that they had gotten used to, I'd be very, very miserable.

In the end, I left with a smile on my face, both for the fact that I did what I did without chickening out and that I held firm and strong. Had I attempted to do this a couple years ago I suspect I would have rolled over and pretty much encouraged a major tongue-lashing from them. But I'm not a pushover anymore, and although it might be hard for them to adjust to, I am much happier the way I am than the way I was. I think they know that, and I also know it's hard for them to struggle with what they think is right and what they know brings me peace and happiness. I appreciate their concern though...they care deeply and showed a great deal of courage to listen to what I had to say and show them about myself. I appreciate that immensely and know that of all the possible outcomes, this was really among the best of all the realistic possibilities. Thanks mom and dad...I love you.

As an aside, my friends engaged in a very interesting debate over what I should wear to this meeting with my parents. Should the goal be to be comfortable? Reflect my own self image? Reflect an image that I think will impress my parents? There's no doubt that we shape our appearance every day for various purposes, so this kind of situation certainly invites a careful choice of clothing. At the very least, I knew that my look would have to be something that I was comfortable with, so I had a jeans look, a casual skirt look, and a professional look as possibilities. The jeans option was interesting because the clothing would be very neutral and the face and personality would stand out on their own. I dropped the Ally McBeal suit immediately because I thought too much leg would simply be too distracting for everyone. I ended up choosing the middle route and wore an ankle length black skirt with a grey shell. It truly is a look I'm very comfortable with and I like the fact that I could choose an outfit for me rather than for someone else. Having the strength to be one's self...isn't that what it's all about anyways?

A word of advice to those considering a relationship

So my journey has begun...

Counseling and the collective wisdom of the Ingersoll Gender Center support groups have kept my spirits high. I keep in mind a few inspirations that give me strength and flight:

• I only have one chance at life, and I'm not going to let the opportunities slip past me.
• A life lived by others' rules isn't much of a life at all.
• I'm going to honor the love the special people in my life have shown me with the truth.

Numerous friends on the internet have helped through my years of struggle...friends far too many to name. I am blessed to live in an age which, although still bereft by intolerance, is at least knit together by the electronic community of the internet where I have found friendship, belonging, and a sense of purpose. Knowledge is power, and from information comes truth. Someday I hope that the power of communications fostered by the Internet brings societies to a new level of understanding, where differences are celebrated for the way they ignite the spirit, where imagined achievements become reality through the complementary strengths of people working together, and where smiles of joyous discovery light every spot where two strangers meet.

Somewhere in here I'm expected to label myself with one of the usual "T" labels. I resist doing so for a number of reasons, but primarily because the labels are profoundly inadequate and imprecise and result in more misunderstanding, ignorant misinterpretation, and incorrect assumptions than is worth my trouble. It's sort of a cop-out, but I'll toss myself into the big TG bucket because it's the label that most conveniently covers the frequent changes I make to my own picture of myself. However, for the benefit of those who think they have a concept of the terms, I more precisely consider myself a pre-everything TS. Those of you who understand the terms also know that declaring myself TG or TS tells you nothing about who I prefer to spend my intimate time with or where I will necessarily end up. There. I said it. Take it and run with it. I guess I could say more but I simply don't have the energy...