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Mom , I Need To Be A Girl

http://ai.eecs.umich.edu/people/conway/TS/Evelyn/Evelyn.html

Copyright 1998 Just Evelyn

Illustrations Copyright 1998 Andrew Wahrmund

Mom, I need to be a girl

Copyright 1998 Just Evelyn

Illustrations Copyright 1998 Andrew Wahrmund

Walter Trook Publishing

276 Date St.    Imperial Beach, CA 91932

Editing by: Dawn trook

Cover Idea: Julia Kate Morgan   Cover Illustration: Andrew Wahrmund

All right reserved.    No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission of the author.   *

Some names have been changed to protect the innocent and the incompetent.

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition   Library of Congress Catalogue Card Number; 98-84-72

ISBN: 0-9663272-09

*Electronically reproduced here with permission.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my new daughter who has taught me so much about being brave and true to oneself.  

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I want to thank all those who helped make this book possible.    My mother  who did much of the typing and organizing of the stories.    Thanks to all my children for making my life interesting.    Thanks to the Writing Centre.    Thanks to my friends who listened and encouraged me: Tom, Lorne, Susan, Caroline, Walter, Dawn, Kelly, Karry, Serena, Hallie, Elena, Janine, Dave, Andrew, Jenna, Joyce, Brent, Michelle, Nicole and too many others to name.  

I also want to thank those special people who stood by Danielle and helped her through this new part of her life: My sister, and Denise, Laura, Miguel, Gloria, Diane, Danica, Joe, Joni and the members of the New Images cast.  

CONTENTS_____________________ PAGE

Introduction___________________________ 04

Part I Anguish__________________________ 05

Part II Learning_________________________ 18

Part III Accepting_______________________ 30

Part IV Finishing Touches_________________ 40

Letters from Family______________________ 58

Advice to Teens________________________ 62

Advice to Parents_______________________ 63

High School____________________________ 63

Counselling____________________________ 63

Endocrinologist_________________________ 64

Electrolysis____________________________ 65

Surgeons______________________________ 66

The Vultures___________________________ 66

Glossary______________________________ 67

Reading Recommendations________________ 68

Resources_____________________________ 68

Rear cover_____________________________ 69

Recent photo of Danielle_________________ 71

INTRODUCTION

You are about to read a rare true story about a young boy who received a kind of help from his mother that some children need, but almost none receive.  

Daniel should have been born a girl.    In these pages, you will meet Daniel's father who believes that sexual reassignment is against God.    You'll follow the fencing matches with bureaucrats, and the contest of wills with councillors whose skills are so often limited to dream-obstruction and fee collection.    Most importantly, you'll read how Daniel's courageous and superbly understanding mother helped Daniel to become the charming, irrepressible Danielle, despite a globe full of minor tyrants, tunnel vision functionaries, buffoons, financial opportunists, and misguided do-gooders trying to prevent it.  

(1998) -I have finally met Danielle now 19, after having heard and been entertained by her exploits every week for months during my electrolysis sessions with her mother.    I am deeply impressed.    Danielle's fitness for life as a teenage girl and success at it, as well as her happiness and maturity bring glad, wistful tears to my much older eyes--wistful, because I, too, am a transsexual.  

I lived through Danielle's childhood experiences of having the wrong body, but because I grew up in the 50's and 60's, and because of the less communicative, sexually repressed atmosphere of my family, I had to go through full male puberty, attend male gym classes, deal with bullies, and miss out on many years of shopping and dating.    I hit every stump, bramble bush and pothole that waits for us folk who hack our way along the wrong road of life.  

But it's 1998 now, and things are changing.    Danielle's experience is one of the first in what promises to be a new and better era for people like her and like me.  

Hallie Horowitz

 Something to tell you mum .    .    .  

PART I.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   ANGUISH

"I need to talk to you Mum.    I have something to tell you, but I'm afraid you won't love me any more.   " My fifteen year old son lay down beside me on the bed in our usual family conference tradition.    The children knew they had my undivided attention when I was already in bed.  

I assured him that no matter what he told me, I would still love him.    He hemmed and hawed and I thought he might be going to tell me he was gay.    I had suspected that he was gay for years and had hoped such a conversation would take place sometime so that we could get involved in the gay community support system.    However, he had something entirely different on his mind.  

He said, "I need to be a girl.    I'm a girl inside.    I like boys but as a woman would, not the gay way.    I have felt this way for years, and you know how feminine I am.   "

So this was what he had been upset about the last few months.    At first I didn't know what to say.    I hugged him and thought, "Oprah Winfrey, where are you?" I rarely watched television, and daytime talk shows even less, so I had not been exposed to this issue before.    Everything seemed to move in slow motion.    I felt my life was taking a definite turn; I knew it would never be the same again.  

After a long silence he asked, "What are we going to do?"

"I honestly don't know what to do, but I'll find out," I answered.  

After we laughed and cried together I asked, "Have you ever worn my clothes?"

His response was, "I would never wear your funky old clothes," and I believed him.    Besides being bigger than him, I knew he did not approve of my non-fashions.    He scolded me for my lack of interest in fashion or make up or hairstyles.    He said, "You are a woman and can do all those things, and yet you don't.    That's such a waste!"

We talked about his childhood.    He admitted trying on his female cousin's clothes.    He was happy when someone mistook him for a girl because of his feminine appearance although I had always assured him he looked otherwise.    He always felt bad when I talked about how proud I was of my three sons.    I had often added, "I'm glad I don't have any girls, because they're harder to raise.   " Sometimes I said, "The world is not yet ready for any girl I would have raised," Because I would have encouraged a girl to join little league or be a jet fighter pilot or president.    How prophetic that turned out to be as I am now raising a girl that the world is not ready for.    I had always told my children that they could be anything that they wanted to be when they grew up, but I never dreamed that one of my boys would want to grow up to be a woman.  

"I just want to be normal, and normal is being a girl.    I'm tired of not being myself I'm tired of being confused.    I just want to be a girl.    I have no future as a man.    I wanted to run away from home so that I could be a girl where no one knew me, but I knew it would hurt you.   " I asked him if he wanted to move to a new school and go as a girl the next year.    "I can muddle through high-school as a boy," he replied, "I don't think going to school as a girl will be a solution because I would just be hiding and pretending from another side.   " He wanted to BE a girl, not just dress-up as a girl.  

He finally fell asleep beside me.    Meanwhile, my mind was wide awake forming dozens of questions.    What happens to these kids? Is this just a phase? Is this part of being gay? If I don't make a big deal about it, will it just go away? Is there a name for this condition? Does this usually happen to people so young, and can they change? Can they succeed in life? I wanted information and I wanted it now, in the middle of the night!

What does a mother do in this situation? When my boys came to me with a cut, I would put on a Band-Aid and a kiss to make it better, but I had no Band-Aids for this problem.    I knew his life would be difficult and sad.    How could a mother help, and would a mother's love be enough? Was I strong enough to handle this? I thought I knew my boys pretty well, yet I had no idea that Daniel's life was so troubled.  

* * * * *

This was the beginning of just one more chapter in my unconventional life.    I spent some of my childhood in Africa with my missionary parents, so I had been exposed to travel, adventure, and attempts to change the world.    I was also the anti-establishment, back-to-nature type and had dropped out of college to volunteer my time and talents to a school in a small Mexican village.    There I met Salvador, a man with beautiful Latin eyes, a man whose world was limited to a town so small it had only one paved road.    His simple, self-sufficient life style seemed attractive to me.    We grew our own food, owned a cow, and I made our clothes.  

We lived in an old adobe house without water or electricity.    After our first son David was born, we moved to California, the first of several moves between Mexico and the States.    After Benjamin and Daniel were born in California, we moved back to Mexico into a new, modern home that we spent several years building.    A few months later we were hit by a flash flood during extraordinarily heavy spring rains.    The children and I were marooned for several hours on the top bunk bed while we watched the furniture float out the double doors and down the river.    Fortunately we were rescued before the whole house washed away.  

For ten years I tried to prove to everyone that I could make this marriage work, but reality finally set in when I became resentful of Salvador's attempt to isolate us even from his own family.    I finally decided to leave, taking the boys, ages three, five and nine, with me.  

Their father said, "Since you are leaving and taking the kids, I expect you to be able to support them.    If you want any help, you can come back and live with me.   " Salvador lived up to his word and never provided any support, and I never returned to him nor asked for his financial help.  

Life was not easy as a single mother receiving no child support.    I was in a constant panic about money, always hoping the end of the month would arrive before the end of the money.    We lived sometimes in the city, sometimes in the country with a variety of pets - a destructive dog, a bird, fish and a horse.    There were paper routes, music lessons, and summer camps.  

After four years on welfare, I started working full time as a file clerk in a hospital and Daniel started school.  

I worked a second job which made it possible to keep a roof over our head and food on the table.    However, it didn't allow me much time to be with the boys.    They learned to take care of themselves and each other.    There was always a fear in the back of my mind that the Child Protective Agency or other authorities would discover the boys at home alone and take them away.    It almost happened when police came in response to a frivolous 911 call placed from our house by a neighbourhood girl.    They found 12-year old Ben, and 10-year old Daniel alone.    The law allowed a 12-year old to be alone, but not baby-sitting a younger child.    Ben and Daniel offered the officers peanut butter sandwiches, and asked them for help with a computer game.    The police concluded that they were well fed and were good kids.    They left with the admonition that their mother find someone to watch them during the times when they had to be alone because of David's schedule.  

David became my dependable helper and baby-sitter for his younger brothers - he even took a Red Cross baby-sitting course.    My children were quite self-sufficient, for they had learned to grocery shop, feed themselves, wash clothes and handle money.    I could give them $20 when that was all I had for food until the end of the week, and they would decide which necessities to buy.    Ben could estimate the total amount of their purchases within pennies, so they would not be embarrassed at the check-out stand.    They helped me write cheques and balance my bank account.    They understood that they needed to help me by staying out of trouble.    I didn't want them to worry, but I needed the help and I believed in accepting reality.   

We moved quite often because I had to live where I found work, or there was trouble with neighbours or house mates or the local school, or the apartment owner raised the rent.    We even moved temporarily to the east coast, travelling both there and back by Greyhound Bus.    We were a team so my children always helped with the decisions about moving.    I didn't make any rules because I wasn't home to enforce them.    I raised them using the theory that I expected them to be good, and they were.    I let them learn from their mistakes.    If they stayed up too late, it was hard to get up for work or school the next day.    They set their own alarm clocks because I was often off to work before they were up.  

My children were brought up without God even though I had no idea how to raise children without religion.    I was raised in a conservative Christian home where sin, punishment and guilt seemed to be waiting around every corner.    It is my belief that I am responsible for my actions.    If there is a God, He does not need my adoration or my money.    I don't believe that He is involved in the day to day happenings of every person's life.    I did like to think there was a strong feminine force up there somewhere watching over my children when they were out of my sight, a heavenly grandmother.  

David's great sense of humour and responsibility helped me to keep things in perspective.    At sixteen he got his driver's license and my mother gave him a used car.    I sat down with him and said, "Now that Grandma Clela has given you a car, we need to make rules about driving.   "

He asked, "Why?"

After thinking about it, I could come up with no reason that made sense since he had always demonstrated exceptional maturity.    So together we decided no rules would be necessary as long as he was responsible and kept out of trouble.    And there were never any problems.    He would often come home from a date or school activity, wake me up and sit on the bed beside me while telling me all about his evening.    Even when I was very tired, I was glad he wanted to talk to me because I loved being involved in his life.   

Ben, who is four years younger than David, and very bright, was not being challenged in school, even in the classes for gifted students.    He had a keen interest in money and showed signs of being an entrepreneur at an early age.    He sometimes offered to clean out my purse for the loose change, or clip coupons for items that we regularly used, and I was glad to give him the savings.    When we had a garage sale, it was Ben that priced the items and handled the money.    In third grade he chose the baritone horn and played in the band.    The horn was almost as big as he was, but he trudged off to school every day hauling it behind him on a trash can carrier.    He became very proficient as he played that huge horn through high school while learning other brass instruments as well.    He easily picked up computer skills, and was a good athlete excelling in anything he tried.    As the middle child only two years older than Daniel, I probably neglected him somewhat, but he did well on his own.  

Then there was Daniel! He was a loving and cuddly child, but he was a handful! He didn't hit his terrible two's until he was five, and then I thought he would never get over them.    He always tested me to the limit.    If I said, "No," to touching one trinket on a shelf, he tried each one to see if I would say "No.   "

Brushing and arranging my long, curly hair was a favourite pastime for Daniel when he was about three years old.    During his early teen years he could arrange my thick curls into a spectacular hairdo for a special occasion.    He was very fashion conscious and always aware of the current styles.    He most often chose unisex styles for himself in bright colours, and then washed them by hand so they would not fade.    When I went shopping for clothes for myself, he enjoyed going along to advise me.    In retrospect, I think he was living vicariously through me because he could not wear feminine fashions himself.  

Ben and David tried unsuccessfully to get Daniel involved in some of the more rough-and-tumble games.    However, he became quite skilled in the art of self-defence when his brothers teased or made fun of him.    Once I came home to find the two older boys in a corner while Daniel wielded a broom stick that he used very effectively if they tried to escape.  

Most sports held no interest for Daniel, but he enjoyed roller skating and took classes in tap dancing and gymnastics.    Because he had few successes in school, I encouraged him in these other interests to boost his self-confidence.    He was especially talented in gymnastics, and his brothers heaped praise on him when he did hand stands, one-handed somersaults, and other tricks beyond what they were able to do.  

Daniel always preferred playing with girls rather than boys.    In the toy box at Grandma Clela's house, the old doll was his favourite.    Daniel liked to sew, cook, and clean house.    Since I spent little time on these traditional female activities, he was not following my example.    He rearranged the furniture to his taste, and looked for pictures and other items to decorate the walls.  

After much hard work, I started my own business doing cancer statistics.    Self employment fit my personality because I like to control my own life.    It also allowed me to have a flexible work schedule.    The pay was adequate so that we no longer had to count pennies, and we were able to get out of debt.    I was proud that I was the bread-winner; I was providing for my family, and doing it better than many families with two parents.    Women in our society seldom have such an opportunity.    Many single mothers I knew were playing the role of victim, dependent on the whim of the father to provide child support.    For many years I dreamed of someone to share the responsibility and the joys of watching my children grow up.    However, most of the men with whom I formed relationships added to my responsibilities, and did not enjoy the boys as much as I had hoped.    Being single suited me fine, for the boys were the focus of my attention and concern.  

As Daniel finished the eighth grade, I saw signs of increasing tension.    He seemed to enjoy school and socializing with the other students, but something was bothering him.    He was not able to fall asleep at night, and when he did, he did not sleep well.    He knew he had to get some sleep to feel well for school the next day, so we tried warm milk, watched boring television, sang lullabies, told stories, and did the mental exercise "walking through a dark friendly forest, you are getting tired.   " We also talked about a great variety of topics.  

Once he said, "I don't know who I am.   "

I responded, "Most teenagers feel that way.    Most of the kids at your school probably feel the same way.   "

"When my teen years are over, I won't feel this way anymore?" he asked.  

"That's right.    You just have to get through your teen years.   " Little did I know just how difficult getting through those next few years was going to be for him.  

I don't know who I am.    

* * * * *

During Ben's sophomore year in high school, he went to live with David, who was attending college in Phoenix.    It wasn't easy to let Ben leave home when he was still young, but it solved several problems.    Daniel, Ben and I were living in the country: an hour's bus ride from the nearest high school.    My work schedule prevented me from driving him to and from school so he felt pretty isolated.    He was unhappy because the transportation problem kept him from participating in after-school band or sports activities.    David was living in an apartment but had trouble finding responsible roommates.    David suggested that Ben could live with him and attend the nearby high school.  

I was sad to have Ben leave and a little apprehensive about the arrangement, but they wanted to try it.    Besides he could always come home if it didn't work out well.    I paid Ben's share of the apartment rent, but otherwise they were mostly supporting themselves.    David and Ben had a credit card on my account to be used when they needed money unexpectedly.    They never used it without telling me, and never used it unwisely.    I was proud of them as they responsibly went to school, worked, paid their bills, and kept track of each other.  

Whenever possible I've allowed my children to shape their own lives, and tried not to curb their adventurous endeavours because of my anxiety.    I was proud of David and Ben as they proved to me that they understood the meaning of responsibility.    My friends were amazed at this unusual arrangement.    Parents are often unable to manage their teenagers living at home let alone trust a couple of brothers to take complete control of their lives 400 miles away from any family.  

With my child-rearing days almost over, there was light at the end of the tunnel.    I just didn't realize how long the tunnel was.  

* * * * *

After his revelation, Daniel was peaceful and calm, but I was a basket case.    I tried to maintain an outward appearance of composure, but my mind would not work well due to stress and lack of sleep.  

The next morning Daniel spent hours in front of the mirror in my room.    He styled his hair, put on make-up, shaved his legs, and created short-shorts from a pair of long pants.    When he tied a T-shirt up tight above his waist, he did look like a girl.    It was amazing to watch the transformation.    However, he still adopted the unisex look in front of others, and he did not want me to tell his brothers yet.  

When we went shopping later that day, Daniel said he needed underwear, and I wondered whether he was thinking about panties.    I didn't ask, but just told him to get what he needed because I wanted to avoid the whole subject.    He chose his usual jockey shorts, and I breathed a sigh of relief.    I kept watching for signs of something - I'm not sure what.  

I asked one of my friends to meet me at the mall because I really need to talk to someone.    He hazarded several guesses as to the cause of my problem, but I knew he would never guess.    When my friend learned the cause of my dismay, he agreed he never would have guessed.    He thought the condition was called gender dysphoria or transsexualism.    He advised me to research the subject at the medical library of our local university hospital.  

Another friend who knew my children well expressed his support but did not know much about gender problems either.    However, a few days later he called with some troubling information.    A gay friend of his had told him that transsexuals have an even a harder life than gays for they are at the far end of the spectrum when it comes to acceptance in the community.    He also expressed sympathy for us because he knew we had a hard road ahead and suggested that I go to the Gay and Lesbian Centre to seek information.  

Daniel had gone to visit his brothers as soon as school was out.    Ben brought him back and was visiting from Arizona for the Fourth of July holidays.    I was close to tears all day.    Contrary to Daniel's wishes, I told Ben the reason for my distress because I needed to share it with someone.    Ben said, "It's no big deal.    Daniel probably just needs more attention.   " When Ben was ready to return to Phoenix, Daniel wanted to go back with him.    He wanted to be able to go out shopping at the mall as a girl without the fear of running into his friends.    David and Ben approved the plan as they liked to have him cook and keep their apartment clean while they worked or attended school.    Daniel had played with several feminine names, such as Jasmine or Dannie, but seemed to be settling on Danielle.  

My instincts told me that momentous events would take place during Danielle's second visit to Arizona, and I talked to my children there almost every day so as to be a part of it.  

Danielle told me about Denise, who was a good friend and neighbour to Ben and David.    Denise had known a transsexual, and recognized the signs in Danielle, so she took her under her wing.    While the older boys were away, she and Danielle experimented with hair and make-up, and did all the things that girlfriends do - the things that Danielle had always longed to do.    Danielle confessed she took some of my make-up with her - make-up that she encouraged me to buy a year before when she saw it on television.    I didn't mind because I seldom used it.    Danielle kept me informed about all the new things she was doing, and told me everything she bought during her mall trips with Denise.    David used my credit card to get cash advances for Danielle's use, and she told me how much she paid for each item because she was concerned about my having to spend money on her.  

It was Denise who told David about transsexuals and what was happening to Danielle.    When David told me he knew, I cried with gratitude for Denise.    Bless her dear, dear spirit - I just wanted to hug her.    David was quite stressed by all the new developments.    He was doing his best to hide his feelings from Danielle - he began to work out at the gym more than usual.    Ben persisted in his opinion that Danielle just needed more attention.    He bought her a computer art program and was trying to teach her how to use it.    It was clever of Ben to find a way to give her more attention that involved his beloved computer.  

Danielle told me her brothers were treating her nicely, and she thought they were glad to find out that she was not gay.    She told me she saw an 18-year old transsexual on a television talk show and said, "I think I could have done better at expressing how it feels inside.   "

Denise thought Danielle was passing very well as a girl - the guys were even checking her out at the malls.    Denise had to remind Danielle not to scratch where her new bras made her itch.    When Danielle started receiving phone calls, David was afraid he would use the wrong pronouns so he would use no pronouns at all.    "Down by the pool," he would say, "Gone shopping," or 'Not home.   "

Danielle told me about a 21-year old man, a neighbour in the apartment complex, who took her to the store to get hair spray.    "I told him that I have two big brothers who are very protective so I couldn't mess around much," she said.    "He is cute, but kind of nerdy.    He would make a good friend, but that's all.   "

I was sure my new daughter was going to get her heart broken, but Danielle was thrilled to meet boys who thought she was a girl.    One night when I called, Danielle was out on a "date" with the neighbour.    When he came for Danielle, Denise wrote down his address and phone number.    The boys were still worried about her, and Ben waited up for her to get home.    David decided that before he dated a girl, he would ask to see one of those cute, naked baby pictures.    He wasn't sure he wanted to date a transsexual.  

David and Ben discussed how to tell their father.    They thought of a scheme to soften the blow.     They would tell him that David was gay, Ben was a Cross-dresser, and Daniel was transsexual.    Then when he learned the truth, that only Daniel was transsexual, he would be relieved that only one of them had a problem.    They laughed and talked about what they thought their father's reaction would be.    They never carried out the scheme, but I was thankful my kids could handle this unique situation with humour and common sense.  

When Danielle had been in Arizona for only two weeks, David told me the situation was a little stressful, and he was ready for Danielle to return home.    Grieving is part of the family's adjustment process when a child comes out as gay or transsexual, and David expressed that sentiment to me when he said, "I feel like my brother has died and I don't know who this new person is.   " David also felt that it was partly his fault because he had been there when his brother was growing up and he must have done something wrong.  

Several times I thought, "I just want my Daniel back.   " I secretly hoped that Danielle would call and say that she had changed her mind and was going to be my little boy again.    I wanted to walk away from all these new problems, and go on with life as it was before.    However there were so many things to deal with that I did not have much time for grieving.  

My greatest sorrow was in knowing the hardships that lay ahead for my new daughter.    I could see it was going to be a long road, and we didn't have a map to follow.    I wondered if I would be strong enough to handle this new situation.    I asked myself again and again, "Is a mother's love enough?"

While all my children were in Phoenix, I set out to look for information, and my first stop was the Gay and Lesbian Centre.    Until the moment that Daniel revealed that he was a girl, I was resigned to the fact that he was gay so I expected that I would contact the Centre sometime.    

Is a mother's love enough?

When I was young, my experiences with gays had always been positive.    "Uncle Bob" was close to our family and was also the father of one of my best friends.    We knew he was gay, but also knew he was a good, dependable person and an important adult in our lives.  

A classmate and his twin sister were my best friends during high school.    Phil came out to me years later when he explained that he left the church because Christians disapprove of gay people.    When I visited him in San Francisco, he lived with two male friends in a beautifully decorated apartment where they all shared the homemaking responsibilities.    I noticed the peaceful, caring and quiet atmosphere that pervaded their home, very different from the stressful, bitter and controlling relationships that I had seen in many heterosexual homes.    A highly respected teacher in my parochial high school was gay, but we didn't know it at the time.    He taught English and made it interesting and challenging.    He was married and his children were part of our social circle.    Years later I visited him when I learned that he was dying of AIDS, and found that he was still interested in new thoughts and projects.    I shared with him my concern for my youngest son.  

These three men, as well as all the other gays and lesbians I knew, seemed to be exceptionally fine people.    When I believed that Daniel was gay, I hoped he would be a wonderful human being also.    I did not blame myself for I had raised all three boys the same way.    As early as age five, I recognized Daniel was effeminate and different from other boys, but I knew he did not choose to be that way.    It is my belief that some people are born gay just as I was born with curly hair and poor eyesight.    I did not feel Daniel was influenced by an outside source, nor did I believe he was sinning.  

Fortunately I had read that the gender of the unborn foetus is determined by the hormones to which it is exposed in utero.    All babies start out as female.    An infinitesimal amount of male hormone at exactly the right time is necessary for the normal development of male sex organs, and the male pattern of thinking.    On rare occasions something goes wrong.    There may be enough male hormone to produce male sex organs, but it may not be in sufficient quantity to push the brain into the male pattern of behaviour.    Although I was surprised and a little shocked to learn that Daniel was transsexual, I think it was easier for me to accept because I knew he was born that way.  

I was on the verge of tears on that first visit to the Gay and Lesbian Centre, and was thankful to meet a friendly and sympathetic female intern counsellor.    When I asked for guidance in helping a boy who wanted to be a girl, she could be of little assistance because she admitted she knew almost nothing about the subject.    She praised me as a wonderful mother for wanting to help my child, and made a future appointment with a staff psychologist who had experience with transsexuals.    She also gave me the phone number of a local support group for transsexuals and Cross-dressers, called Neutral Corner.  

My next stop was the hospital library where I found articles about the use of hormones, and the actual mechanics of sex reassignment surgery.    One study hypothesized that transsexuals tend to have more brothers than sisters, and are further down in the birth order.    Another theorized that some deficiencies in the womb can result in the birth of a transsexual.    One article told of following a group of transsexuals through a spiritual, body and mind transformation with rights of passage.    There is little information about transsexuals after surgery because many blend into society and just get on with their lives - they seldom come back to report to the researchers.    There were a few outdated psychological studies of children who had gender dysphoria, based on small research samples.    But there was no advice for me.    I needed A book with step by step instructions - How To Raise a Perfect Transsexual - that might say, "When your teenager tells you he is transsexual, you should do this, this, and this.   "

 How to raise a perfect transsexual.  

The local University hospital informed me that specialists charge $100 an hour, and it would probably take two hours to arrive at a diagnosis.    Children's Hospital essentially told me the same, and the local state mental health agency had no specialists.    I soon understood that the financial arrangements were of utmost importance, for the first question at all the medical facilities was, "What kind of insurance do you have?" I felt I was all on my own.    No one knew what to do, but they would try to figure it out for an outrageous price.  

At that time, I was newly connected to the computer world, but even if I had surfed the web there would have been little information available about teens with gender dysphoria.    Although my friends and relatives knew no more than I did, it was comforting to talk to them.    My mother and my older sister were supportive and reassuring.    My mother's reaction when she heard was, "Aha! Of course! That explains so many things.   "

My Mexican friend and "commadre" Chula (Daniel's godmother), was not surprised about Daniel for she recognized that he walked like a girl when he was only two years old.    She had no problem understanding and accepting the situation, and had even read articles in Mexican magazines about transsexuals.    She expected trouble with Daniel's father because of his macho attitude.    "Since he has never helped with the children," she said, "he better be nice or not say anything at all.   "

The first breakthrough came with my counselling appointment at the Gay and Lesbian Centre.    The experienced counsellor looked like a hippie with his earring, a beard, a pipe in the pocket of a his Hawaiian shirt, and sandals.    He knew of only a few teen transsexuals and even fewer who had gone through sex reassignment surgery, but he answered many of my questions: he doubted that it was just a phase that Daniel was going through; it would not be easy to get hormones from a medical doctor or endocrinologist for a minor; street hormones are dangerous although some have resorted to them to save money; hormones would stop some of the hair growth and electrolysis would also help; most of the effects of taking hormones would disappear when they were discontinued.    The success of the transsexual depends somewhat on how well he passes as a female, and the counsellor thought he could tell by looking at a picture of Daniel whether he would pass well or not.    He asked about Daniel's build and his father's height.    I was not worried about him passing because I had already seen Daniel as a girl, and knew that he looked incredibly feminine.  

He informed me that several places in the United States perform reputable sex reassignment surgery at a cost of approximately $10,000, and hormone therapy would probably cost $100 a month.    That information was important because I would have to find a way to handle the expenses.  

The hormonal and surgical treatment of persons with gender dysphoria is strictly regulated by guidelines formulated by a group of psychiatrists, physicians and other care givers in 1979.    These Standards of Care mandated by the Harry Benjamin International Gender Dysphoria Association (( HBIGDA )-now>( WPATH )) specify that a licensed clinical behavioural scientist (psychologist, counsellor, psychiatrist, or clinical social worker) with proven competence in the field must be closely involved before sex reassignment surgery may be permitted.    These guidelines are not written in any law, but with only a few surgeons doing sex reassignment, all of whom agree to these guidelines, they might as well be law.  

The first step requires one of the above professionals to evaluate the person with gender dysphoria over a period of three months before giving a referral for hormone therapy.    A year of living full time as the opposite sex is required during which time the person must live and work or go to school in the new gender role before evaluation for surgery is made.    Continued contact with the therapist should be maintained during that year because the authorization of two therapists is necessary before the sex reassignment surgery may be considered.  

I wasn't ready to think about surgery.    I had more urgent needs, such as finding the best way to help my teenager now.    This first counsellor seemed to be a caring person, and someone with whom I felt comfortable.    He said he would be glad to talk to Daniel, but was not set up to write a letter recommending surgery.    His services were on donation basis or were free through the Gay and Lesbian Centre.  

A man from the Neutral Corner support group phoned me in response to my call.    The group had no teen information on hand, and he knew of no other transsexual as young as my child.    He invited me to attend their support meeting, and to look through their library.    As a result of that contact, the wife of a Cross-dresser called me.    She had found out her husband was cross-dressing a year or so after their marriage, but with love and counselling they managed to deal with it.    Even their two children knew about their father and seemed to be handling it well.    A priest told her that cross-dressing was not a sin if her husband was not hurting anyone.    She was very supportive and encouraging, and although our situations were completely different, it was good to talk to a person with an appreciation
for the problems we faced.    It was comforting to know that real people had struggled through something similar and continued to live productive lives.   

Most of the transsexual information that I found pertained to adults, so I felt I was reinventing the wheel.    Parents who had dealt with the same situation could be very helpful.    What had they found that worked? What mistakes did they make? What did they do about school? How can parents help?

I knew that I must accept this child as a girl even though I had no idea how to raise a girl, much less a transsexual girl, but I would do my very best to make a good life for her.    A change in my thinking and speaking would be necessary to accommodate a teenage daughter.    I vowed that by the time she came back from Arizona, I would be able to use her new name and female pronouns.    To practice, I chanted to myself, "I have a new daughter.    Her name is Danielle.    She is really cute.    I love her.   " The hardest word for me to feel comfortable with was "daughter," since I had always used masculine terms for my children - "Let's go guys.    My boys.    Hey, little man, none of that.   " I started using the terms "children and kids" instead of "sons and boys.   " During that time when I was struggling with gender issues, it gave me peace to think of my child as an angel - pure, innocent and lost, neither male nor female.    I even wondered if there might be a reason in the bigger scheme of things, that I was given this child.    The thought "Why me?" did occur, but the answer also came right away.    "Because you can! "

It was my determination to allow Danielle to set the pace for her future - I would neither push her nor slow her down.    It would be my responsibility to provide her with as much information as possible, to discuss options with her, and to pay the bills for any therapy or surgery.    I also vowed that our home, wherever it was, would be her sanctuary from the world, a place where she would be safe with no stress or disapproval from me.    She would be welcome to go everywhere with me, just as she had in the past: I would not hide her or be ashamed of her.  

While Danielle was experimenting with new things in Phoenix, I attended a birthday party where the guest of honour knew of the recent developments concerning Danielle, but the rest of the group did not.    When the other guests inquired about my boys I found it difficult to say anything.    I made numerous trips to the powder room to dry my eyes.  

There were several toddlers in the room, and I heard the mothers exchanging stories about their little boys.    I wanted to say, "You think they are boys.   " When I saw a little boy with a pretty face, I wondered about his true identity.    My perspective of the whole world had changed.    My sister does ultrasound examinations of prenatal infants, and often tells the parents the gender based upon the genitalia that she sees.    I thought to myself, "Every parent should be given a disclaimer saying that the foetus has male genitals, but the real gender may not be apparent for years to come.   "

The support group Neutral Corner has monthly meetings for people with gender issues.    The first time I attended I sat in the parking lot for some time trying to build up enough courage to go inside.    I was apprehensive about the people I would meet.    Finally I went in motivated by the hope of finding answers to some of my questions.    I admit that I was also curious to see what transsexuals looked like.  

I could not tell which ones were Cross-dressers or transsexuals, or if those that appeared to be men were really males.    It was very difficult to talk to anyone because I discovered that all my conversation starters were based on the person's gender.    When meeting men in the past, I first tried to find out if they were single or otherwise eligible, and then talked about their work, sports, cars, or computers.    When I met a woman, we talked clothes, kids, work, or men.    When the gender was unknown, I struggled to make conversation.    I had to rethink what I knew about gender, things that I had previously taken for granted.  

After a few minutes, a person appearing to be a male introduced himself to me, said he was a Cross-dresser, but not dressed tonight, and inquired as to the reason I was there.    It was soon evident to him that I could hardly talk without crying, so he changed the subject to politics, and then health-care and other gender neutral subjects.    He was a good conversationalist, intelligent, and a very nice person from all appearances.    He did not seem to be odd, or weird, or any of the other things that I had feared I would find at the meeting.  

Then a male and female couple revealed to me that she was a male to female transsexual (MtoF) and he was a female to male transsexual (FtoM).    Recently they had gone through the gender transition together.    They did not know of any young transsexual, nor had they had experience with the schools, but they gave me names of counsellors and endocrinologists, and expressed support as I endeavoured to help my new daughter.    I was happy to discover a nice group of people in attendance who talked about computers, families, and fashion, and I began friendships that night that were of great help to me as I journeyed through a new and unfamiliar territory.  

As the evening progressed I was introduced to everyone, and I learned that many of them were successful business people with supportive spouses.    Some were cross-dressers in female garb, and some were in "drab" which meant they were not dressed as females that night.    I learned to tell the difference.    Others were MtoFs or FtoMs, but to my surprise and pleasure, most appeared to be happy and well adjusted.    Some of the women were very fashionably attired, while I was dressed as usual without earrings, nail polish, or high-heels.    They warmly included me in their friendly community, and gave me several books to read from their library.    It was interesting to find books on ancient Greek mythological figures that were transsexual and were not treated as if they had a mental illness.    The American Indians also had many transsexuals in their tribes who were treated with respect as leaders and teachers because they could see the world from both the feminine and masculine point of view.    Traditional Indian society was also very accepting of children deciding which gender, or gender roles they wished to follow.    Although the books pertained mostly to adults, I read them anyway.    I wanted to learn everything I could on the subject.    That experience with Neutral Corner gave me the first glimmer of hope that there might be a happy and successful future for Danielle.  

* * * * *

On the way to the airport to pick up my new daughter when she returned from Phoenix, I wondered if I would recognize her.    Would she really be a cute teenage girl? I needn't have worried, for she looked adorable to me - a little garish perhaps in the dress and make-up but definitely an attractive female.    She was a little tentative about how I would accept her.    When I hugged her and let her know that I loved her, one of the first things she said to me was, "I can't go back to school as a boy.    I am too happy as a girl to ever go back.   " I had already come to the same conclusion.    She thanked me over and over for letting her be a girl, and told me how much she loved her brothers and Denise for helping her so much.  

After a few weeks it became evident to all who knew Danielle that this change was a wonderful and happy process for her.    She was bubbly, exuberant and optimistic about her new life, as the person who had been hidden inside began to emerge.    She began letting go of the male role she had tried to maintain.    She still had demons of the boy sitting on her shoulder always whispering that the male was still present, but they were becoming quieter.    As she became more confident that others were seeing a girl, she let more of her beautiful character blossom and be exposed to the world.    It was a celebration of life!

PART II.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   LEARNING

The next few weeks before school started, Danielle stayed close to home and very close to me.    It was as if she had regressed to infancy and was bonding with me.    She wanted to sit by me, sleep in my room, and be with me all the time.    She needed many hugs and frequent reassurance.    How could a child in these circumstances survive if there was no one there to hug her? She returned to her independent teenage self after a month or so.  

Some transsexuals in Neutral Corner referred us to Mr.    Hunter as the best counsellor in the community.    I went to the first appointment with Danielle because I didn't want to turn my new daughter over to a stranger who might convince her that she was crazy so that he could then cure her, or one that would come between us.    Danielle wore very feminine attire, but was still in her garish phase - tight, short, loud - exaggerated but very cute.    The therapist talked to us about our situation a little, but mostly told us about all of his experiences.    He inquired whether Danielle was traumatized at an early age for he claimed to have done research to prove his theory that transsexualism is caused by trauma to children under 31 months of age.    Daniel was one year old at the time of the flood, and I thought his verbal skills had been affected.    He stopped making sounds at all, and only smiled, cried, and pointed until he was three.    Whether he was influenced by early trauma made little difference at this point, as I wanted to know what to do now.  

Counsellor Hunter gave us a Personal History form to fill out and return to him with $150.   00.    He told us someone else would review it.    There would also be psychological testing down the road that would cost $700.   00, but we were not to worry about that yet.    When the interview was over, he didn't tell us when he wanted to see Danielle again.    He did, however, warn us to be careful.    Apparently most transsexuals are beaten up at least once by a date if he learns of her past.  

We discovered that the questionnaire dealt mostly with adult issues such as marriage, children, sex, and work.    There was only a small part about family, growing up, and school that we could fill out, but we returned the form with the money.    We never did find out who was reviewing this questionnaire for him.    Mr.    hunter called me a month later and referred us to an endocrinologist.  

We were nearing the end of the summer and had to find some way of getting Danielle into school.    It was obvious to me that she would have a better chance if she went to a new school.    From past experience I had learned some secrets about getting a child into a specific school in our district.    The best way was to move into the neighbourhood near the school.    There were at least two schools with waiting lists that did not take students from the neighbourhood, but if you were the right race you might be bussed from one neighbourhood to another, depending on the racial balance the school was trying to achieve.    I had played the race game several times with the older boys.    Since my children are one-half Hispanic and the other half a mixture of European races, I would choose whichever race was needed for a given situation.    On several occasions I tried to do away with race questions altogether, for I objected to choosing either Hispanic or Caucasian.    A student could not be registered as mixed racial origin even though he was, nor could he be just American.  

Finding a school that would be safe for Danielle was uppermost in my mind.    When I asked Mr.    Hunter about schools, he advised me to call school principals and explain the situation.    When I found a friendly person, I could register Danielle in that school.  

Following his advice was not easy because the schools were not in session during the summer.    Most of the administrators were gone and would not be back until just before school started.    Time was running out, and if I had to move, I wanted to get started.  

I decided to go directly to the top and call the school district office.    There were all kinds of "touchy-feely" committees promoting student wellness, self esteem, and equity, so I thought they would surely be able to help Danielle.    After being transferred from department to department, it seemed the person who normally handled this situation was on vacation.    I was finally connected to Ellen.  

"What is the school district's policy for dealing with a transsexual student?" I asked.  

She asked several questions and then put me on hold while she talked to her boss.    When she came back on the phone she said, "Our policy is that we can not discriminate.   "

"That is not much help.   "

She said again, "All I can say to you is that we can not discriminate.   " It sounded as if she wanted to say more.  

I hung up in tears of anger and frustration.    If they could not discriminate then my "girl" could be in the boy's physical education classes or with the girls, and the school authorities could not do anything about it.    Perhaps if they understood the situation, they would not want her in either PE class.    I would wait a few more days for someone to return who supposedly knew more about placing a special student.  

After many frustrating calls, I was able to set up an appointment to discuss the matter with a school official face-to-face.    I went to the appointment with little hope of receiving help because this official and I had done battle before over the race issue.    A few years before he told me that the school district would take me to court and designate one race for my boys since I was refusing to specify one race for them.    He didn't follow through on that threat, and I hoped that he did not remember me or the heated words that we exchanged at that time.  

Our Policy is that we cannot discriminate.  

To my surprise, he was cordial and appeared genuine in his desire to help me.    (Apparently he did not remember our other encounter.   ) However, he had no previous experience with a situation like this.    Upon inquiry, the computer department informed him that a student's `name could not be changed unless the birth certificate was changed.    I knew that the name on a birth certificate can be changed, but the gender cannot be changed until after sex reassignment surgery.  

He told me about the alternative school programs available in the school district.    One was home schooling, but I was not interested in that.    There was a program mostly for troubled teens where they could go at their own speed: that wouldn't do either.    Danielle was not a troubled teen and I had heard only negative reports about this program.    The third possibility was a small alternative school that he said was "pretty laid back" with few rules, but promoted student responsibility.    There were some gays and lesbians attending who had not been successful in other schools.    The PE program was informal, so the students wore their regular school clothes.    This seemed to be the right place to put Danielle, so I filled out the necessary forms.    I told him I needed to know soon because I preferred to live close to the school rather than have her bussed across town, and it would be necessary to move.    We left on good terms.    I didn't even cry.  

A few hours later he called with bad news.    There was a two-year waiting list for entrance to the alternative school.  

"Is there any other school that you might consider?" he asked.  

I said, "If you can find a place where she will be protected from being beaten, or made fun of, and preferably, where she won't have to take PE, let me know.    Since the school principals aren't around yet, it will be hard to talk to them.   "

He added, "I need to talk to one other person about the alternative school.    Maybe there is some hope of getting her in if that person talks to the principal.   "

So it was still a very frustrating waiting game, with time getting shorter.    At the beginning of August, I had given my 30 days notice to the apartment manager, so we had to move soon.  

In talking to friends and teachers, I discovered there were quite a few of the teachers' children in this alternative school program.    I wondered how long they had been on the "list.   " A week later, when I was reaching the end of my patience, I talked to David about the alternative school where I thought Danielle would be safe.    My plan was to ask the school district to provide me with information on the length of time every student in the school had been on the waiting list.    Then I would say I thought they were playing favourites and would loudly demand justice.  

David said, "Mother, Mother.    Go down to the school district again and tell them you are on the verge of going crazy because you are so worried about your new daughter.    You don't want her to be hurt or commit suicide and you don't know what to do and pour on a few tears.    "

Although I hate to stoop to such feminine tactics, I did what he said.    The tears did come easily, and it worked.    School administrators came back from vacation, strings were pulled, and they finally told me I could register Danielle the next Friday.    They suggested I register her by her new name and not give too much information.    The school principal knew about Danielle's situation, and suggested that the school guidance counsellor be told also.    He also told me that another transsexual student had attended the school the year before, so I asked if there was any way that I could talk to the parents.    The school administrator agreed to give the parents my number, and they could contact me if they wanted to talk to me.    It seemed that the school district actually had a heart after all.  

While Danielle was having her first appointment with the endocrinologist, I registered her for school.    There were the usual numerous and redundant forms to be filled out, and the request for previous records.    I told the registration clerk that Danielle had been to school in Canada, and I did not have the address with me.    This was partly true for she had attended a few months of school in Canada while living with my brother a year or two earlier.    Danielle and I had decided to change her birth date by a year so when her previous name and her new name appeared together on the computer listing, it would not be a cause for suspicion.    We had doctored the name on the immunization card by adding more letters of her new name to the handwritten form.    And this time I didn't make a fuss about the race question.  

We forgot to change dates on the immunization papers, and that came back to haunt us a year later when someone noticed she was immunized before she was born.    I claimed I just couldn't keep track of all my children's birthdays.  

In my own mind, when I tried to justify the lying about names and gender, I decided it was necessary to make the corrections now because the true facts were not known when she was born.    I began to call it truthing - the truth as I saw it.    Sometimes you have to do what you have to do.    Getting her safely situated was more important to me than the information the school officials or the state bureaucrats needed to know.    When we claimed Danielle was a new student, all her previous records went to the unclaimed record file, wherever that is.  

There were other reasons to be apprehensive about Danielle's schooling, for Daniel could never quite keep up with his class in school.    Even during his pre-school years, it was evident that he had trouble with numbers and money.    He wanted to play card games and was quick to learn the rules, but could not count the spots on cards above six.    When he went to kindergarten he could only identify his lunch money as the big coin, the middle sized, and the little one - meaning a quarter, nickel and dime.    We thought he was colour blind because he could not learn the names of colours, although he noticed and remarked about colours and textures more than most children his age.    When he was asked what he liked about the new kindergarten he was attending, he said, "I like it because it has such nice colours.   " On the first day of school, he had noticed that the door to each room around the court yard was painted a different pastel colour.  

Even though the school promoted him, I held Daniel back to repeat the first grade.    He was still struggling with the letters of the alphabet, but not because he didn't try.    He loved his teacher and she loved him, and there was no disruptive behaviour.    He seemed bright enough, but because of his confusion about letters and numbers, we suspected some learning disability.    I had him tested by an educational psychologist at a university.    The results were that he had no learning disability, but was not as mature as one would expect at his age.    He was tested again at the end of the second year of first grade when he had still not mastered the basics.    The result was the same - he would be all right when he matured a little more.  

As he progressed in school he continued to have difficulty with letters and numbers, and particularly in learning the multiplication tables.    He would learn the sixes, but by the time he learned the sevens, he had forgotten the sixes no matter how much I helped him or how hard he tried.    He was such a loving and happy boy that I couldn't get impatient with him.    He did very well with colouring and crafts, and had an extraordinary appreciation for art and beauty.    He was very sensitive to the feelings of other, and always noticed when someone felt sad, ill, or unhappy.    I had read that such sensitivity is common in girls, who are able to pick up subtle clues and notice small change of facial expressions, but is unusual in a boy.    But Daniel had no idea about yesterday or tomorrow, or the meaning of night and morning.    He used the words interchangeably.    He liked to cook and learned to read enough to follow a recipe, but I didn't think he would ever learn more fractions than those used in the cook book.  

Daniel's feminine demeanour and behaviour had, however, been of some concern to a few of the teachers and counsellors in the school system.  

"Your son swishes when he walks," said Daniel's third grade teacher.    I knew she meant that his hips swayed and he walked like a girl.    "Every time the children are walking in line to and from the classroom, I tell him to quit swishing.   "

I knew he "swished" when he walked.    I was just sorry that Daniel had to be hassled by this thoughtless teacher.    I told her, "If it is not getting in the way of his learning, please ignore it.    Please stop pointing it out and just leave him alone.   "

She seemed to have little understanding of children, and we had no choice of teachers because she was the only one for that grade.    So we moved to another school.  

It was a school counsellor who called the next year.    "Do you know your son is playing with girls on the playground at recess?" I thought, "Why is that harmful? Girls are people, too, and why should it matter that he wants to play with them.   ?"

The counsellor went on to say.    "Your son has been overheard saying that he wants to be a girl.   "

What do you think I should do about that?" I asked.  

"Well, don't encourage it," was his answer.    "Ten is way too young to know about sexual orientation.   " I did mention the conversation to Daniel, but he evaded the subject.  

When Daniel was in eighth grade, I was called to the school for a conference with both the school nurse and the counsellor.  

"Your son needs counselling," was their advice to me.  

"Why do you think so?"

"Because he cries when the other children make fun of him.   "

It sounded to me as if they were trying to treat the symptoms without treating the disease.    I figured they were advising counselling for Daniel so as to change his behaviour because they could not control the children who were teasing and calling him names.    They never came right out and said he was gay, but they beat around that bush for awhile.  

When I asked for a referral to a good counsellor, they did not know of any, and the school district had no such counsellors.  

* * * * *

When I talked to the endocrinologist after Danielle's first visit, I was pleased to find that he had a positive attitude although he had not seen many transsexuals as young as Danielle.    He gave her the prescription for hormones, and had blood drawn for lab work.    Danielle was thrilled to have reached that important milestone.    In the waiting room were two persons I had previously met at a support meeting, and they were very much impressed that Danielle passed so well already.    Comments like these made me teary-eyed, but I tried to keep from crying in front of Danielle so as not to worry or stress her.  

From the doctor's office, we went to the new apartment to sign papers, then we headed for the drug store.    I had just said to Danielle, "I can't handle anything more today," when I noticed that the gas gauge was on empty.  

It had been a good day overall, but dealing with school registration, appointments, forms, money, and decisions had drained me emotionally.    At the service station, I went to use the phone to answer a page while Danielle pumped the gas.    When I jumped out of the car I locked the keys inside.    That was the last straw.    I walked toward the back of the station, sat down in a flower bed, and cried and cried.    Poor Danielle! The men at the station were trying unsuccessfully to unlock the car while casting quick glances my way wondering if they had a crazy person on their hands.    Meanwhile, Danielle was cool and calm.    She called the automobile association and soon the mechanic arrived to unlock the door.    By then I had gotten the storm out of my system and we went on to get her hormones - ironically, the same hormones I was struggling to keep under control.    Although we had been told that hormones would not make immediate changes, she was still very anxious to get started.    We have since had several good laughs about my sitting in the flowerbed at the gas station crying.    The way she handled the stressful situation and a mother "on the edge" demonstrated her maturity.  

We had to solve the problem of filling Danielle's empty bra.    Teen girls pad with Kleenex, and there are prosthetics to use following a mastectomy, but Danielle needed something in between.    Even the bras with the most padding were not full enough to suit her.    We tried several homemade remedies such as shoulder pads cut down to the right size, but Danielle had the feeling that people could tell because they didn't look real.    She thought people were looking at her breasts everywhere she went.  

What were others using full time and successfully? At my first meeting with the Neutral Corner support group, I asked two friendly persons how they padded their bras.    They realized it was a very serious question, and gave me good information.    The pads are called breast forms.    There are several options on the market, and they each used a different kind.    Since breast forms are expensive and not easy to find, they volunteered to meet with Danielle and show her the kind of undergarments they wore.    These two people accepted my invitation for coffee later in the week.    One person came dressed as a very proper mature female, and the other in business attire with white shirt, tie, and his boobs in a box.    The scene was so humorous to me, that I could hardly keep from giggling.    Two grown men, one dressed as a woman and one as a business man showing what looked like a teenage girl the differences in fake breasts.    But I knew this was a crucial matter.  

One set of breast forms was silicone and looked much like a post-mastectomy breast prosthesis.    It felt best to the touch.    The other was a breast shaped pocket with little round bags filled with sand.    The breast shape could be enlarged by adding more sandbags or made smaller by removing some of the little bags.    We chose the second type, called "Bosom Buddies" because it appeared to be more durable which would probably be best for an active teenager.    We learned how to purchase them at a cost of just over $100.   00 a set.  

When Danielle started wearing "Bosom Buddies" she still felt insecure as they seemed to move around.    She was afraid they might come loose from her bra and become lodged where she did not want them.    To solve that problem, I sewed snaps on the cloth outer pocket and placed snaps in her bra to match.    These have worked satisfactorily for more than two years now.    As the hormones kicked in and she grew small tender breasts of her own, she just took out some of the little sand bags.    These were difficult to use for swimming because she only had one set and they required several hours to dry.  

I will long remember and be grateful for the help that those two cross-dressers gave us.    It was comical, but most beneficial.  

Danielle used tight girdle type underwear, sometimes two or three pair on top of each other to give her confidence that hidden parts would stay hidden.    The term for this is tucking.    Hormones do help in keeping things under control as well.  

Just before school started, the parents of a transsexual teen the same age as Danielle called to invite us to their home, but I went alone to protect Danielle from any unforeseen difficulty.  

Laura and her parents showed a great interest in Danielle, and Laura was very much disappointed that Danielle had not accompanied me.    Her mum and step-dad seemed pleased to talk with me as we discussed the way we had each raised our special child.    We agreed that there was no reason for us to feel guilty.    Laura's mum had wanted a girl, but knew that simply wishing did not cause her son to be a girl.    I had always been glad that I had boys.  

As we talked, I learned that Laura's favourite movie was Cinderella, while Danielle's was Pretty Woman, both movies showing a woman taking on a new identity.    Laura had tried to make her transition while attending her local high school, but when that proved to be unsuccessful she transferred to the same alternative program that Danielle would soon be starting.    Since Laura did not do very well at that school either, she was doing home schooling.    She was very frank in explaining the changes that hormones had made in her body - enlarged breasts, redistribution of fat, no erections.    Luckily she had never had much facial hair.  

It was reassuring to me to see her parents handling the situation with understanding.    They made it all seem so easy.    They were not involved in the Transgendered community.  

When I returned home and gave Laura's telephone number to Danielle, she immediately phoned her.    They talked for hours that first day and they have been talking ever since.    They shared clothes, makeup tips, and friends.    Laura had a collection of Barbie dolls that kept them occupied.    Laura had blond hair, a low sexy voice and looked like a movie star.    And she liked to change the colour and style of her hair weekly.    She seemed to need more attention and excitement than Danielle, so she always knew where things were happening, and wanted to be there.    She was more emotional than Danielle, and was quicker to tell people that she was transsexual, but didn't "out" Danielle - that is, didn't reveal that Danielle was also a transsexual.    I sometimes wondered if Laura's influence was entirely good for Danielle, but thought perhaps Danielle was good for Laura.    They formed a close bond because they shared a unique experience.  

As soon as Danielle got her driver's license, she and Laura did something together every weekend.    They explored the coffee shops in the gay-friendly part of town, but Danielle quickly tired of that because the men paid no attention to her.    They also visited the nightclubs in Mexico where Danielle could flirt her way in with no identification.  

I didn't see Laura's parents often, but we knew a lot about each other's teenager, and we knew where to call when they were late getting home.    When Danielle was out too late, I just hoped she was having fun because she deserved some happiness.    The girls spent many nights at the home of one or the other - that was their story anyway.    I hoped that they wouldn't get in trouble with the law, because in our town there is a law against Cross-dressing during the committing of any other crime with the intent of fraud.    Most jails will put pre-operative transsexuals with those of like genitalia, in other words both Danielle and Laura would have been put in with men.  

Danielle never felt a need for the support groups with which I was involved, but she and Laura stopped by occasionally to humour me and show off how well they were doing.    They enjoyed being told how cute they were.  

I felt that Laura's parents had a tendency to spoil her, and realized that I did the same with Danielle.    One instance was while we were shopping for jewellery for Danielle's prom.    She liked a set that cost $80, and I had justified in my mind that she deserved the expensive jewellery.    She then found a very similar set that cost only $20 which we bought.    As we left, she said, 'Now we can spend the $60 we saved.   " We didn't, but I thought to myself, she is a true female.  

Life had dealt both Danielle and Laura a difficult hand, so as their parents, we wanted to do all we could to make it easier for them.  

* * * * *

We had found an apartment that looked like a decent place to live near the new school, and started the moving process.    We were good at moving because we did it so often.  

But this move was different.    I had to chuckle to myself when I realized my attitude toward my daughter had changed.    In the past two moves since Ben and David had left, I had let my youngest teenage son carry heavy things, and take on the weighty tasks.    Now I kept wanting to tell my new teenage daughter to be careful when lifting heavy items, and I was willing to shoulder more of the load to spare her.    Until then, I had been unaware of such gender-biased attitudes, but now they popped up once in a while.    Danielle, on the other hand, felt just as strong as ever, and was just as willing do her share and more to spare me the heaviest work.    She wanted us to make the move by ourselves without any help from men.    She had not adopted the attitude of a helpless, defenceless female, but rather wanted to be an independent woman.    I had prided myself on having this same attitude, but that day I would have gladly accepted help in moving.  

Another instance of having to examine my attitude toward my new daughter was that I did not want her to drive in Mexico even though her brothers had at the same age.  

As the first day of school neared, I was very apprehensive for Danielle.    One of the reasons we chose this new school was because of its open campus policy so she could come home anytime she felt uncomfortable.    She was still self-conscious, and she felt she had to come home at noon and shave.    She wasn't self-conscious about her wardrobe however.    She had all of the latest fashions and wearing these clothes helped boost her confidence.    She was also very unsure of her voice.    Since she has started hormones before a deep male voice evolved, she had a better chance of maintaining a more feminine voice.    Her voice was at the lower range of female and to my ear, very acceptable, but a source of concern for Danielle.  

At the end of that first day of school, I was very much relieved to learn that all had gone well for her.    She was happy with the situation, and no one had guessed that she had attended school as a boy the year before.    She had the option of using the nurse's restroom, but was afraid it would arouse attention, so she used the girl's restroom.    If there was ever a problem, she took comfort in knowing that she could reach me through my pager at any time.    Since I am self-employed, I make my own hours and can leave at a moment's notice.    She tried not to worry me, but there were several occasions when I went home to be with her.    She still needed frequent reassurance and hugs.    The hormones seemed to cause a roller-coaster of emotions.    Some days she just cried.    I told her, "Sometimes women have crying days.    It is called water build-up, and sometimes you just have to cry before you feel better.   "

She called me once when she came home early from a school dance because she had a zit on her nose.    The next time she danced until they turned out the lights in a new dress she made for the occasion.    I was glad that she was having the opportunity to be a girl - zits and all.    She and I often went Country Western Dancing together and then, as she met other teens, she attended dances for teens only.    When I picked her up one night after a dance, the adult chaperones told me they thought Danielle was a sweetheart and very mature.    People often said that about her, and I always thought, " You have no idea.   " On the way home she told me of an ugly scene that occurred.    "Some older girls were mimicking other kids and making fun of them," she said.    "They kept pointing at me while I was dancing.    I stopped and faced them and told them I was tired of them making fun of everyone.    They called me names and asked me to go outside and fight.    I told them I didn't want to fight.    I was just tired of them making fun of me because they were jealous of how well I danced.    Danielle felt she handled herself well, and thought the other girls made themselves look stupid.    They left after making threats to harm her and even kill her.    She explained to me, " Fifteen years of pent up anger at people making fun of me came to the surface and I took it all out on those two girls.   " I was proud of her and sad that her earlier life had been so hard.  

 Sometimes women have crying days.  

* * * * *

My work took me out of town overnight twice a month.    I used to leave Daniel alone, but now it was different leaving Danielle.    She assured me that she would be all right alone at night, but I wanted to be near to protect her.    When I couldn't be there, I arranged for friends to come stay with her.  

She had a great desire to have a girl's bed.    I didn't know that beds had gender, but we went looking for a feminine bed.    We found a single waterbed with a pretty headboard with mirrors and shelves.    I had to admit that it did look as if it belonged in a girl's room.    When we got it home, we struggled unsuccessfully to put it together, so we finally swallowed our pride and asked for help from a man.    My sister's son, who is the same age as Danielle, sent her a pretty blown-glass bottle from a trip to Europe, which she put on this headboard.    His gesture of love and acceptance meant a great deal to Danielle.  

The first school year went quite smoothly, and she made amazing advances in her school studies.    I was sure that I would have to help her with algebra, but she did it by herself from the beginning.    Her English and writing improved, and she advanced by leaps and bounds in all her work.    It was as if someone had turned on the lights.    Things were suddenly making sense.    The teachers were talking her language.    Now she could think about school and learning instead of being overloaded by unexplained feelings and emotions.  

One day I met some of Danielle's teachers in a coffee shop before school.    They were very complimentary: they praised me for the way my daughter had been raised.    When they told me what a good teenager she was, I had to bite my tongue.    They never could have imagined the handicap with which Danielle was coping.    It became a part of my life to accept the praise without revealing her secret.  

I wanted everyone to share with me the joy and beauty of this new person, but Danielle didn't want everyone to know so I had to keep it to myself around her friends, her teachers and the neighbourhood.    The Neutral Corner support group was one place where I could share my feelings and pride in Danielle's accomplishments.    They knew what a struggle it had been, and I knew they could keep secrets.    I hoped my need to tell others would eventually fade - but it hasn't.  

Physical Education had been a major concern when we were choosing a high school for Danielle.    Counsellor Hunter recommended that we have a family doctor write a medical reason such as a heart problem to get her excused.    We have a doctor in our family who said he would be glad to do that for Danielle, but as it turned out we did not need to go that route.    At the alternative school, students were not required to dress down for PE except to wear tennis shoes.    As Danielle gained confidence in herself she even began to enjoy PE, a class that she had never liked before.  

She once mentioned the Presidential Fitness testing program, "I am trying to do more than is required by the girls because I feel like I am cheating a little.   " She was still adjusting her thinking to accommodate this new gender - relating her performance to the previous male requirements, even though she looked like a female.  

The second year she wanted to attend a mainstream school and be in regular PE classes, changing into PE clothes with other girls in the locker room.    I wanted to save her from possible embarrassment or problems, but again I bit my tongue and let her attempt anything that she was brave enough to try.    I did not want to slow her down, or make her paranoid because of my fears.    Thinking about another mother finding out about Danielle gave me nightmares.    If the school district's policy had allowed her to substitute dance for PE, or not to take it at all, I would have been more comfortable.    We decided that we could move to another part of town if she were discovered.  

We asked about showers before making our final decision about tile Mainstream school.    Showering for PE was optional, due to the parents of Eastern religions not allowing their sons and daughters to undress in front of anyone.    This was one of the few religious rules that I ever thought made good sense.    As far as I am concerned, it is a barbaric practice to have self-conscious teens, at different stages of puberty, undress in front of one another.    Danielle wore a halter top over her bra, and her usual girdle type underwear to maintain modesty while she changed.  

As the year progressed, she even joined the track and field team in an effort to maintain a healthy body.