One of the differences in my story is that I don’t have a sense of another self; there is no doppelganger of another gender that you’ll ever hear me refer to. I’ve always thought of myself as a male. There is just a brief period where I was forced to wear a costume in the name of conformity, but nothing more than that. I hear just the opposite in many M2F stories, but I also recognize that my upbringing was a bit unusual. For the first twelve years of my life, my mother indulged my wishes and raised me as a boy. I have a brother one year younger than myself and we were usually dressed the same. We were a mischievous pair, a couple of Dennis the Menaces; you could tell us apart by my smirk and his shaved head (my hair was just short).

My childhood was a relatively happy one, but I knew that I was different and learned early to keep quiet about some things. For the most part, the differences were catered to and wasn’t treated any better or worse for them. I was loved by his family (and still am) and had good friends. Even at a young age, I was passionate and curious about everything.

I also grew up with a very special gift…one that God gave me and my mother helped me to appreciate: many different kinds of people who filled my world. There were lesbian relatives, gay neighbors, transgendered friends of the family and I knew people of every available ethnicity. As I encountered each new thing, my mother provided any explanation needed; words without bias and delivered with great care. The only thing she never told me were the reasons for the differences, so I simply assumed that there weren’t any (after all, some things just are).

One day, when I 12-years old, I shared my biggest secret with my best friend, Christian, and was astounded when he told me that they had the same secret…and if you’re not the only one, how weird can you be? True, I knew about my mother’s friend (Kathy who is now Scotty), but that was an adult; when you’re twelve, it’s hard to think that their world and yours are alike. As thrilled as I was to have this exciting new thing in common with another being, I was smart enough to keep it quiet. Christian made up for it by telling everyone (okay, not everyone, but when you’re a kid, teachers and yard-duties are a pretty big chunk of your world).

In short order I was introduced to what they called a school psychologist; they didn’t tell me what that was exactly, but it got me out of class twice a week and away from adults who now knew about me. It seemed strange, being seen only as what one is instead of whom…maybe that is why my mother was so thoughtful in her explanations about other people. This new adult was a woman and her tone with me was funny…I didn’t yet understand what condescending meant, but that’s what it was. She told me that my mother knew where I was twice a week and why; I knew it wasn’t true, but kept it to myself. Better to just go when I was told and make up interesting stories for her to hear.

In the years that followed, there were new schools where no one knew about the secret. I learned to have friends again and to see life with a great sense of humor. The past will not intrude on this new life; I would just be more careful. Yep, careful. Blend in a little…androgyny is kind of acceptable. Sounds good…

Before I was 18, I’d also admitted to myself that I liked girls; but telling or trying to do anything about it sounded a lot like telling Christian another big secret. I found an emotional outlet in theatre (a wonderful place to hide if you don’t like your current disguise), art and academics. I’d also discovered the joy of staying very busy; idle hands…well you know.

After graduation, I got my first girlfriend and was so happy in such a new and different way that I thought for a few years that this must have been the missing element. Perhaps all if that other wanting to be a real boy was childhood silliness; thank God, too, because that sure sounded like an awful lot to go through. Yep, life might just be okay.

Problem was that damned pronoun kept popping up. It was in my head when I thought of myself and other people saw me as a young man, too (didn’t seem like that secret would lie still after all). I began to think of myself as Pinocchio with a demented Gepetto at the helm. Choices seemed to evaporate…time to look for those wire cutters.

At age 24, I remembered my mother’s friend Scotty; and something Scotty had said about a place to go get help if you needed to change into a real boy. No more secrets…no more costumes. I lost my girlfriend, but gained a true compass; it wasn’t brave, it was necessary. I’ve been living as a man ever since without one iota of regret. Over the years, I’ve had questions for God, but no answers have been forthcoming. Maybe some things really just are.

Now, some of you might say that there are negative elements to this story. While that may be so, I think it’s important to point out that I see a great deal of humor in some events as I’ve looked back over them. For instance, I was determined to have my transition be as orderly as possible, so I phoned each of my relatives and told them. Their reactions ranged the gamut from "Oh, so that’s the missing piece; now we understand you" to my Grandfather’s unbridled relief that I was no longer gay. All said, my family has embraces me as always, never missing a beat. When I brought Robin (my fiancée) home to meet them, she was also greeted with open arms.

One eventuality that I hadn’t planned for was funerals. Seems nothing draws long-lost relatives out of the woodwork like funerals (and wills)…

I remember being at my Great-Grandfather’s funeral and meeting my Mother’s cousin, Ruth (she hadn’t seen me since I was three). A very nice woman, although she’s always had that wide-eyed kind of look that makes her appear perpetually startled. Anyway, I’m standing there beside my mother and sister, when Ruth begins going on and on about how Tony (that’s always been my name) was such a cute baby and about changing Tony’s diapers, yadda, yadda, yadda…(she had assumed that it was my brother, Jerry standing before her instead of me). She suddenly looked around and asked where Tony was. All I could do was crack a wane smile and raise my hand. She never said a word…just turned and left. Now I know that that woman went back and questioned the lucidity of her memories about those diaper changes and for all anyone knows, is currently in therapy.

Life can be funny, but it can be wonderful. When my 10-year high school reunion came around, I decided that I was going to go. I’ve always been a private person about being transgendered, but decided that this was one thing I wasn’t going to miss. I’d kept in touch with some friends from that time in my life and they knew my situation, so I phoned up my friend Dwight and asked him to go with me (as determined as I was to do this, I was still a little scared). I could have gone completely unnoticed because I’d physically changed so much, but I wanted to chat with my old friends. So I phoned the company putting on the reunion and apprised them of the new spelling of my name and asked to have my yearbook picture omitted from my nametag. When I arrived, there was a table of a dozen or so of my friends…and they already knew! (The emergency broadcasting system can’t hold a candle to some of the gossips in my graduating class.) They’d been afraid that I wouldn’t come and were openly pleased to see that I had. "Wow, you’ve really changed!" they said. "Keen eye for the obvious" I countered with a smile, and said that if I got the award for the person most changed, I was walking out. That wasn’t it at all; they said I finally looked really happy.

A person can be blessed with many things, but it’s easy to lose sight of them in the face of adversity. If the measure of a person’s life lies in their friendships and the love bestowed upon them, them I must be a wealthy man.