For all his young life, Merritt Lane McGraw had tried to hide from others, to stay lost in the backgrounds of school life and the antics of other neighborhood kids.

Frankly he was frightened of other people, awed by the confidence of other boys who loved to flex their muscles and push each other around, wary of what others thought about his slender under-developed body and pale complexion, and concerned that he would blunder into some comment that would bring derisive laughter and cutting remarks.

Merritt had many reasons to remain out of the spotlight. First of all, he was the only son of a single mother, a situation that was viewed as “not normal” in the 1940s. To make matters worse, he had no father that he knew of, making him a “bastard” in the eyes of many socalled upright, moral citizens of the community. He also lived with his mother in a second-floor apartment over a fabrics store along a busy street in the “flats,” a low-lying area along the Indian River that rimmed one of the poorer neighborhoods of the city.

“Give mommy a hug” were the first words Merritt heard from his mother as he got home from school on those days in 1947 when his mother was home and not working.

He loved the clean, soapy smell of his mother as he surrendered his body into her arms and the two kissed. Merritt found protection in her arms, a comfort and sweetness that he needed so badly after the challenges he felt in the alien school environment.

It was a scene the two continued throughout his school years, even into his senior year in high school. After a particularly fearsome day in the city school where Merritt would have experienced verbal taunts or even mean pushes and punches, the boy would burst into tears that he had held back during the day. Other days, when there had been no terrorism foisted upon him, the boy would display an eagerness about something he learned that day, or some project. For the truth was, except for the badgering and horrors he faced from other bullies in the school, he loved school, most of his teachers and the overall atmosphere of learning.

“Come, let’s see how pretty you can be now, Merritt, dear,” his mother would say on the days when he cried over the harassment of the school day.

“OK, mommy,” he’d say, drying his tears.

“It’s Marilyn time,” Evelyn McGraw said.

It was Merritt’s and his mother’s deep secret! The boy would be Marilyn for the evening, complete with panties, bra, slips and either a dress or skirt and blouse. The boy loved these nights, feeling so natural and comfortable as a girl. As Marilyn, he helped his mother prepare their supper, moving daintily and sometimes with flourishes. His slender, smooth arms and lovely legs always made Evelyn realize that for a few hours on some days she had a lovely daughter.

He was 17 now, of moderate height and a slender, almost fragile boy with hair that was kept unusually long for boys of the era. The hair could easily be bobbed in the style of teen girls of the 1940s and with a hair band and his naturally soft, round face, he could easily be taken for a cute Irish lass. While he cursed the weakness of his male body because of the scorn it caused him to face, he loved how easily it permitted him to transform into a girl.

After supper, Evelyn McGraw and her part-time daughter found time to listen to “One Man’s Family” on radio, a popular soap opera that came on the air at 6:45 each weeknight. They shared in the joys and troubles of the Barbour family of San Francisco, often crying together at some tragic episodes. Later, they might work on sewing some dresses or reading together, usually the “hot” romance novels of the day.

“Mommy, why can’t I live as a girl?” he asked often, fully knowing the answer.

“You’re born a boy, Merritt, dear. You must live as boy and then a man and do what men do,” Evelyn usually replied, hugging the boy, her hands caressing his head gently.

“I know, mommy, I know. It just doesn’t seem right. I feel like a girl.”

Merritt fully realized the truth of his mother’s words. After all, now at age 17, it was 1947, and soon he’d have to register for the draft and likely end up serving time in the Army. How could he, being so weak and girlish, possibly survive such an experience? And who ever heard of boys becoming girls in the 1940s?

“I know, honey, but boys have to be boys.”

Merritt, often wearing a flimsy nightie, would curl up next to his mother, and dream of being a lovely young woman, like Dona, the Lady St. Columbo, in Daphne DuMaurier’s novel, Frenchman’s Creek, being pursued by pirates and adventurous men.

“Mommy, I know I could be a pretty woman, I just know it.”

“I know dear, I know. Kiss me now, and go to bed, darling.”

On those nights, his mother usually slept uneasily, wondering about the fate of her lovely child. How could this fragile, caring child move into the competitive, demanding world of men, when his whole life had been among women? She loved Merritt for his tenderness, his soft beauty and his kind nature, but could he survive in the cruel world? She blamed herself for putting the boy into this predicament.

(Stay tuned for Chapter One, to be here soon)