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This story is now contained/updated/superseded in the full-length novel

Honor First, Honor Last, Always Honor

(I thought you might like to know (Smile))

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My name is Beth Williams

I don't know about you, but as I look at my life during the holidays I have to admit I've many blessings. I've three loving and responsible kids; a spouse who's shared my ups and downs; a great career; a good retirement; and a brand new grand baby.

As I look around, even with my physical setbacks, I have to say I am truly blessed.
It wasn't always that way.

It was 1973. I was 20 years old, and I was close to killing myself. I was depressed all the time. I didn't know what to do. My mom would stay up late at night making sure I got home safe. She knew I was down, and she often blamed herself. I'd cry myself to sleep, begging God to change me. I knew I was a girl and it was tearing me up inside. Oh, let me explain. I’d been born as Michael James Williams. Yes, when I was born the doctor told my parents they had a little baby boy. They just didn’t have a clue. Trying to live as a boy was killing me slowly.

I had been cross dressing since I was five, when my babysitter, her boyfriend, and I would play “games,” That episode in my life ended when my mom found out the truth. She should have guessed something was wrong when she found her underwear under my bed. When asked why it was there told her,

“I don't know, Leslie (my babysitter) always dresses me up in her clothes." Mom just brushed it off until a few days later when I asked why girls died if boys didn't pee in them?

That got her attention. Under questioning, it came out that Leslie not only dressed me as a girl, but had played some pretty sick games with me and her boyfriend. Games I really don't remember — my brain won't let me. I would “pee” into Leslie, then Leslie would dress me and I would go out with her boyfriend where I became both of their toys. My mom listened intently, and then dismissed it as the overactive imagination of a child; right up there with my imaginary friend. Why is it adults don’t want to listen to the truth? Then when it bites them in the ass they blame the victim. An overactive imagination? I knew better, but then I was just a child.

As I grew older, I continued. I knew what I was, but had no idea what to do about it. I'd dress in my mom's clothes — so what if they were too big? I would dress up whenever I could — especially playing with my female cousins, snatching a pair of panties that I wore 'til it was time to leave. But it was ALWAYS kept hidden. The pain I'd endured with Leslie and the punishment I'd received left their mark on me. DON'T GET CAUGHT!

Twice I almost WAS caught. The first time my mom, (not thinking about the past), suggested I dress as a girl for Halloween and go trick or treating with my girl friend (as opposed to “girlfriend”) across the street. My mom and her mom were trying to convince me as I stood there, made up and wearing one of my mother's dresses. I refused, as I was blushing, dancing from foot to foot, stuttering, crying, and arguing against it so strongly that Mom gave in. Thank goodness she didn't see my eleven year old erection as I ran away to my room scared and embarrassed. Come to think of it, maybe she did notice. But I couldn't wait to remove the makeup as I silently rejoiced in the experience.

The second time, I was 15, still wearing my mother's clothes on the sly. As I started to apply makeup, my adopted sister walked into the house. I ran to my room screaming for her to stay out. I managed to change before she could catch me. For months, I lived in fear that she had seen me — and would expose me. I got my revenge by slipping the lock to her house and wearing her clothing when she was away. That led to smoking her marijuana — she never figured out where it went, but I laughed as she blamed her sister anyway.

I knew what I was. A girl trapped, unable to get away. I still didn't know what to do.

In 1970 Billboards appeared advertising a movie I thought might contain the answer. So … in a supreme act of bravery I snuck out of my second floor bed room and went to see The Christine Jorgensen Story. I was totally scared to death of what my father would do if he knew, so I pushed my Honda 90 motor scooter half a mile down the road before starting it, and rode to a nearby town - riding to a theater that openly catered to queers. There was even a gay bar next door. I was scared spitless. I wasn't queer; I was a girl in a boy's body. I guess I looked like fresh meat. A couple to guys tried to talk to me in the ticket line, their attempts turned to taunts as I stood there, head bowed ignoring them till I could purchase my ticket. Inside, I felt safer, but sat in an aisle seat away from everyone else in the sparsely attended flick. The movie wasn't very good, but I learned more than I'd ever even dreamed of.

Three years later I was a sophomore in college. The school offered counseling services as part of Academic Admissions. So … … I mustered my fear and turned to a college counselor for help. It wasn't very helpful. She told me I was a queer and I about died. I tried to correct her, but, she kept blithering on that I subconsciously tried to express homosexual feelings through the clothing I wore. Finally in anger and frustration I left. On the way out she suggested seeing a doctor or psychiatrist. Crap!

Just freaking great! If I went to the doctors, all I would get, as my dad constantly told me was a shot in the ass, and a bottle of pills. So I went to the shrink anyway. The school also offered genuine psychiatric help through the student health services. The psychiatrist and I spent several sessions though the semester. The sessions seemed to always be the same damned litany of questions:

“Why do you think you're a girl?”, “Have you spoken with your folks?”, “Why can't you just admit you're homosexual and then we can work on curing you.” Yada, yada yada, over and over again. Crap!

It all came down to If I mentioned it at home, my old man would blow a gasket - his response would have been somewhere between disowning me, or kicking my ass, hell, he might even put a bullet through my head. He was sure loving and supporting. When I was fifteen my brother and I argued about who would wash a dirty skillet. My dad in frustration, took the pan, and threw it into the back yard where we argued. We stopped, stunned when he lifted a shotgun to his shoulder and shot the skillet. Don't get me wrong. I loved my old man more than I could, (or would), ever say. But, when he was drinking, frustrated, or angry, I knew to stay out of his way. Crap!

At the time, my mom wouldn't have handled it any better. When I was about 17, after a glass of wine she confessed to feeling terrible because I was “different.” She had apparently read a story of abnormalities being discovered in children whose mothers took amphetamines during pregnancy. The reason? Drugs, Speed to be exact. To control weight gain, her doctor prescribed massive amounts of amphetamines to keep her weight gain to 20 pounds. Gee, I thought, there IS a reason. Before I was born I was a junkie; that'll screw anyone up. A year later she reminded me of the repeated abuse by my babysitter. She blamed herself for it. And I started to see a pattern.

I suppose I should round out the years before this came to a head.

Like many kids, I'd played sports growing up. I loved baseball, and played well. I hit the ball well with a .360 average — mostly multi based hits. The only trouble was I couldn’t run worth a damn. My dad, coach of the Little League team used to call me “lightning.’” He would constantly taunt me at practices and at the games. If he wasn’t calling me “lightnin’” he would shout at me to run faster, and that I ran like a girl! No duh! If he only knew!

I did manage to impress my dad. I could shoot. In fact I was good, very good. When I was eleven my dad took me to the firearms safety course for kids; we were going hunting, and he wanted me to have a license. That way we would be able to kill and tag twice as many deer; at least that was his idea. The instructor also made us shoot from three or four different positions. One was kind of sitting and kind of kneeling. You had to twist and turn to get in position. The instructor turned to my dad and said,

“Your son’s doing great, usually it’s only girls that can get into that position so easily.”

My dad turned red, I hung my head, but inside I was grinning. I didn’t tell anyone the reason I could do what girls could do was because I was one!

Jr. High sucked. I couldn't seem to do anything right, and hung with the geeks out of self defense. I didn't like to fight, and the assholes took advantage. In High School, the specter of Jr. High followed me. It was important to my father that I play football. He'd played in High School and I was expected to follow in his footsteps. I didn't really want to. I wasn't really big enough. Nevertheless, there I was in football camp, suffering twice a day morning and afternoon in the arcane rituals of high school football.

Camp finished, I quit, and there was hell to pay. My dad looked at me as though I wasn't somehow a “man.” Unable to take it at home, I returned and begged the coach to let me play. He'd seen it before, and kindly reopened the doors to Hell. The next year the school district transferred me to another school. There I played on the Varsity team, again subjected to the rigors of Hell. This time my brother got to join me as a freshman sacrifice on the altar of school spirit. After a few weeks he quit. Being somewhat tougher than I, he managed to make it stick in the face of my father's wrath. Tables were turned when we discovered the kid had mono. He was off the hook, so the honor of the family again rested on me.

Now I want it understood, I wasn't very good. Strong — yes, coordinated — very, but I never put it all together. I never looked like a football player, never bulked up. And another fact haunts me. My father came to two games. In three years as I maintained the familial glory, my dad didn't really seem to care. I HAD to play football, He didn't have to watch. Fortunately my Senior year, I was injured sufficiently that the coach dropped me from the team, and more importantly, my dad didn't throw a fit.

The rest of the year the school jocks played smear the queer, and I was IT. The hell of it was I wasn't, and “proved” it by their standards the last day of school. I challenged the big bastard who'd bothered me the most, and coach, laughing all the way, got out the boxing gloves. All the pent up anger and hate rose up and I lashed out. I pounded his ass. Oh, the coach stopped laughing, but that was later … I survived the last year through hiding in the science classrooms. Girls were important, but I never seemed to “make it.” The girl I took to the Junior - Senior Prom my junior year was my father's boss's daughter, yuck.

My senior year I took a girl I barely knew (as a favor to a friend), and found myself running away when she told me SHE was the victim of sexual abuse, but would I like to take a shower with her? Then maybe take her to bed? I just couldn't put it together. Besides, there was something vaguely disturbing when I thought of taking a girl to bed.

My first year in college I went to a great school as a scholarship student. I flunked out after developing pneumonia. Argh … After 14 days of suffering alone in bed, staggering downstairs to the cafeteria to eat, my girlfriend asked why I hadn't called her. I told her I was sick and she said she would have stayed and nursed me to health. How could someone so smart be so stupid with girls? Oh, forgot for a minute, I am one. So there I was, if the depression deepened much more, I'd wind up dead — I'd kill myself. If I told my folks, I'd wind up dead as my dad “fixed” his queer son. If I talked to anyone else, I'd most certainly have been outed, and, and if lucky, thrown in jail for trying to avoid the draft (Ooopss … did I mention Viet Nam?). Damn!

I was getting desperate when my shrink came across an article on the transgendered. He told me about something called the “Standards of Care.” Finally, maybe, I had an answer. He consulted with an endocrinologist, and blood was drawn. Then, together they prescribed the hormones suggested. Like my dad said; “a shot in the butt and a bottle of pills.” I'd decided to pick a fight with my folks, get thrown out, and pursue my dream or at least survive. What was my dream? I don't know if I'd really sorted that out. Babies were in it, I loved the little critters. I'd babysat when I was 11 and 12 and loved it. I guess my ideal job would have been child care — at least till I had my own. But I knew it was a dream I'd never fulfill.

Quietly I gathered a few very basic pieces of clothing. These I hid in my car, an Opel cadet. I started leaving my guitar in the car. I played pretty well, having played off and on since I was 12. I hoped I might be able to “sing for my supper” while waiting. I installed a CB radio in the car; the CB craze was in full swing! But remember, there were no cell phones.

I'd had my second estrogen shot. It was the second week of Winter Break. I really wish I could remember everything that happened, but my emotions were really swinging.

“Christmas is a week away,” I told my mother as I placed my presents under the tree. “I really want to go camping with my new girlfriend for a week or so, up in Yosemite.”

My mom was really upset with this, as “Christmas is ALWAYS family time!” (You could hear the capitals in her voice) — Which was just what I'd hope for. We argued and screamed at each other while I quickly packed a duffel bag with things and clothes I thought I'd need; some clothes and toiletries. I grabbed a couple of sleeping bags out of the garage along with Dad's brand new self standing tent for four. I laughed as I thought of his anger. At least it would be directed at me after I was gone. I drove down to the bank and withdrew the $2,720.73 that and 19 $100 savings bonds, one for each birthday, was the sum of my savings. I stopped at a camping store and bought a week's worth of freeze dried food for me and my “girl friend.”

My dad had been home just long enough to hear the story from my mother and start in on a slow burning anger. He started going ballistic as I walked in the door.

“What in the hell are you doing, boy? You go and some slut comes along whispers in your ear and suddenly you're all hot and bothered to get your rocks off! Who is this slut and HOW can you forget about your family and Christmas? Go to your room, you're not going anywhere!”

I was feeling pretty bad at the way I’d screamed at Mom, but on the other hand he WAS treating me like a kid. I'd rather walk out over this than to tell them the truth of my problems. So, I let go with my final shot.

“Pop, I'm outa here. You treat me like a five year old. You call my girlfriend, and your possible daughter-in-law, a slut. You send me to my room? Well I can't take it any longer. You KNOW I've been seeing a shrink. You KNOW that I've just been hanging on by the skin of the teeth. Before you guys kill me, I'M OUT of Here!”

Wow, what a speech, what a performance! I practically skipped out of the house, slamming the door on my way out. I quickly started the car, and I was gone. Well, first I stopped by my shrink. I told him my plans. I admit he wasn't happy, but he recognized the truth. If I continued the way I was going, the only way he'd see me was in a grave. It was a few days early, but Dr. Saunders went ahead with my next shot. We agreed I'd be going to the Stanford area, and enrolling in their transgender program. I left with a bottle of hormones, and a bottle of anti-androgens. I promised to call him every week until I was firmly established at Stanford Medical Center. He promised to write my folks, telling them in outline what was going on, he would also drop them a note each week.

I took off north from San Diego on highway 395. In Escondido, I stopped at Sears for a little shopping. It was nothing fancy, a pair of bell bottom jeans, a tie dyed shirt and a cardigan. I picked up a package of hip hugger panties, a nightgown and a couple of plain white bras. A pair of floppy boots and a pair of platform sandals rounded out my purchases. In the mall, I stopped at May Company and had my ears pierced. It was five years after the Summer of Love, but earrings were still the sole province of women. No one said anything. My long hair, fair and hairless face combined to convince the woman at the jewelry counter; and my ears were pierced with a snap. As I was leaving, I dared to stop at the cosmetics counter to buy a lipstick, nothing outrageous, basically a neutral color, but it did wonders for my confidence.

Back on the road, I drove north through Los Angeles, stopping at the top of the Grapevine. I found a cheap motel (would you believe $7.00) for the night. Yum, freeze dried dinner, chili and blueberry cobbler, and a Tab from the vending machine. I left the next morning, wearing my new clothes. The drive was boring, I was driving north. At the bottom of the Grapevine, I branched off Highway 99 onto the brand new highway 5. This was almost 200 miles of arrow straight “super highway.” North to Highway 152, just west of Los Baá±os, West over the mountains to Gilroy, then north on 101 to Palo Alto. This would be my new home.

HOME? Merry Christmas. Tears began to fall

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Sunday December 16, 1973

I dried my eyes and pulled into a gas station. After filling my Opel, I looked in the phone book for an inexpensive motel. Driving on, I pulled into the Motel Sixâ„¢ I'd found. It was Sunday, and I figured I'd not be able to find any permanent place to stay, or to work. I unpacked the car, and spent some time planning my afternoon and plucking my eyebrows. I looked into the mirror, and saw a plain looking girl. Since I was stuck until Monday, I thought I should look into some more clothes, and the things I'd need to live so I headed for the closest Goodwill. I won't bore you with the details, but, I wound up with a few outfits, some house wares, and a set of nearly new sheets, a blanket and pillows. The mall was my next stop.

I suppose I should take a moment and give you my physical characteristics. 5' 9”, a padded B cup, and about a size 14/16 overall. Green/hazel eyes, an oval face, and hair that reached my shoulders. I know men often have a hard time passing as women. I've never had that problem. I was a girl, and had been dressing as one for years. I wrote of almost being caught. What I didn't write about were the times I dressed and went out for the day. Sure, the first few times my heart was in my mouth, but I quickly realized there was nothing to fear.

When you act appropriately to the time and place, walk like a girl, talk like a girl, look like a girl, smell like a girl then you must be a girl. Score! Fear meets reality, and reality wins. It helped immensely of course that I was a girl, duh. I think most of “passing” is attitude and being appropriately dressed. Little things, like, you don’t wear Anime “schoolgirl” clothes to church.

There's also an immensely important fact most pass over. Women come in all shapes. Men are basically rectangular. Women can be shaped like an hour glass, or an apple, of maybe a pear, or a triangle, broader at the top, or at the bottom

This is one of the reasons we love shopping. There's the thrill of the hunt, and the euphoric feeling of winning the Lottery when we find something that's just right. All of which is compounded when you find it on sale or have coupons that reduce the price by some ridiculous amount. FYI, do NOT get in the way of either my SO or me when there's coupons involved. Savings are a matter of pride. Usually she beats me by a significant amount. I don't mind THAT much, as she frequently gets away from the grocery store with her loot, having saved 25-45%, sometimes significantly more. My SO recently went shopping with $200. When she got home the house trembled as she danced her way up the stairs. The final total: 5 complete outfits plus a jacket and accessories, and 4 pair of shoes — and she had money left over...

Sorry, End of lesson, back to the story.

I entered the mall, and went straight to the directory. I struck gold when I discovered two salons. With my hair in a pony tail I entered the first and asked if they had any openings? Of course they did, but I had to ask. I undid my pony tail and asked for a haircut. Gayle, the stylist, clucked over the condition of my hair, but accepted my story I'd been camping and had singed the ends, which I had to cut off without a mirror. She asked what I'd like her to do. I told her I'd like to keep as much length as I could, but could she feather it to frame my face? Gayle smiled. Apparently I was asking for the same style many of her customers were wearing. It was basically straight, but curved in gently to frame my face. And I still could pull it all back into a pony tail! She insisted on washing and conditioning my hair, telling me it was dreadful what I'd done to it. My hair was thick and full on its own, almost too thick, and Gayle professed enjoying working on such luscious hair. Hey! Those were her words, not mine.

I was really happy with my cut, and I didn't mind paying extra for the salon's hair products, and a curling iron. I walked on to the next salon. I didn't want to be too obvious in my personal makeover. I asked for a manicure, and nail extensions. The manicurist also managed to up sell me to a pedicure. Here again I caught hell for the condition I was in. Like Madge on the detergent commercial, she set my fingers to soak, then pushed back and trimmed my cuticles. She used fiberglass extensions and I won't bore you with the details of her work on my nails. The pedicure was great! I'd never had one. My feet were left to soak while she finished my hands. She then began on my feet. She scrubbed my feet, removing all the dead skin. Then, like my hands she groomed the cuticles and toe nails, and then applied several coats of a pearly pink polish that matched my nails. Ah … bliss.

Floating on cloud nine I walked down the mall, window shopping, looking for a dress I could wear to a job interview or a social event. I got distracted passing the Merle Normanâ„¢ store. Walking in with my plain face, gorgeous hair and killer nails made the sales lady drool, relishing a sale. 30 minutes later, with a fresh makeover I looked GOOD! I even bought the cosmetics to repeat the look,

Someone had raised my cloud, so I'm sure everyone was looking at me as I floated by, or at least I hoped so. Walking to the end of the mall I entered JC Penney's. I finally found a dress that that was nice, not great, nice. It was a red heather Princess-line double knit that came to about three inches above my knees. I combined it with red, green and white bodysuits. There was a nice flexibility to it. I also found a pair of slacks in green heather that would match the body suits. I finished the day with nylons, opaque tights, and a pair of slippers, as the floor was cold on my tootsies.

Back at the motel, I hung my meager wardrobe, and put everything in the room's drawers. I walked down to the office and asked if they had a weekly rate. The manager looked up at me, did a double take and smiled.

“That's quite a difference, Hon.” She asked that I twirl around, “I was worried about you, earlier, we seldom get single girls your age staying here” she said, and we began to chat.

I found out her name was Noreen, and that she and her husband, who was a Palo Alto policeman, owned this Motel 6. She asked what I was doing in Palo Alto, and I told her I hoped to enter a medical program at Stanford. I discovered she and her husband were from Tulsa, Oklahoma, which was just east of the little town my mom grew up in.

She smiled and said, “That’s nice,” but every time the conversation wound down Noreen would pick it back up. Her husband Rex walked in as she mentioned, “Oh, my favorite show is coming on,” she said, walking over to the TV, changing the channel.

”Rex, why don't you go get Pizza, so we (we??) don't miss our show?"

Rex asked what I liked and I replied I like Hawaiian - pineapple and ham, wondering what our “favorite show” was.

Rex had been gone about ten minutes, we were watching Wonderful World of Disney when the front desk bell rank.

“Okay Hon, here's your first customer!" Nor said as we walked behind the counter; it was two adults and two children. The children were, I'd guess, less than one, and about three, and whimpering nonstop. What did she mean, MY ”first customer?” I figured it best if I continued to play along with her.

“How can I help you folks tonight?” I asked. The man in camis wore railroad tracks and said they'd be there until the day after Christmas when he shipped out from Moffet Naval Air station. I filed out the paperwork. Then, while they were paying for it I took the little one in my arms.

“What's her name?” I asked.

“That one's Jillian, named after her mother, and her sister is Amanda." After a few seconds Jillian stopped crying, deciding pulling on my hair was more fun! I handed Jill back to her mom, and placed the bills in the drawer.

“If you'd like to one night I could watch the little ones and give you guys some time alone together …” Nor smiled at me and nodded.

The captain, obviously wary, asked “Why would you do that? You don't know either of us …”

“No sir, I don't, and maybe it's a bit old fashioned, but I believe we should support our men in uniform.” It was obvious he hadn't heard that in a while.

“We might take you up on that offer, but believe me; the offer alone has made my day. They took their key, and found their room. In the meantime, Noreen took me into her arms.

“Thanks hon, that was a very sweet gesture.”

About then Rex returned. ”Hey, I thought you guys were watching TV.”

“Yep, then the desk bell rang and I had Beth take care of an Air Force captain and his family. Offered to watch the kids before he shipped out to Nam. Poor guy started leaking tears.”

“Did NOT,” I protested..

“Beth,” Nor reached out to take my hand. “Maybe you didn't see it, but he was definitely crying. Soldiers aren't very welcome in the Bay Area.”`

“Well, that sucks!” We went back to the TV and our soda. Sensing my funk over the soldier, they didn't bring them up again.

Disney was over, so we changed it at 8:30 to Mannix.

Monday, I dressed early, wearing a blue skit and a cable knit sweater. After drying my hair, and getting it right with the curling iron, I grabbed my purse and headed out. I had a quick breakfast at the Sambo's next door, and I felt ready to face the day.
The first thing I did was open a bank account. The account had the names Michael James, and Linda Elizabeth. The checks were all made out to Linda Elizabeth “Beth.” I drove over to the Stanford campus only to find it closed tighter that a rain soaked drum. There was NOBODY there, except the library. The campus police were helpful, AFTER I'd purchased a parking permit day pass. I managed to find the housing office, which was closed, but, there were several listings of private houses with rooms to rent. With hope, I dialed the 8 or 9 listings I'd copied. Most were gone, and of the few I did reach, all were taken.

Discouraged, I bought the paper (The San Jose Mercury). There were a few jobs flipping burgers, but that was about it, unless you were willing to work construction, or some other food service, Hey here's one, ticket taking at the movies. Argh … I was really miffed. After all, this was the Big City, part of the San Francisco Bay Area; and not just any City, but THE CITY, San Francisco. Determined not to waste the day, I got directions to Foothill College. Whatever else, I planned on taking classes and working on my degree — whatever it might be … They too were closed, but I was able to pick up a catalog, class list, and book list. I drove around, and came across a movie multiplex. It surprised me that “The Way We Were” was still showing. I needed distraction so I pulled in to watch it. A small popcorn, large Cokeâ„¢, ticket, and two hours later I felt refreshed. I was really worried about what I would do, but I wasn't getting ready for a panic attack. On the way out, I bought two tickets for Thursday night and a gift certificate for popcorn and Coke.

That evening I stopped in again to chat with Noreen. I learned she and Rex had been married for twenty six years and had no children. Every summer either she and Rex traveled to Oklahoma, or her sister and nieces would travel to California to see Noreen. Noreen then introduced me to one of her passions, Scrabble. It was fun, but I got creamed. Noreen was a Scrabble genius. I told her about Thursday evening, that I had bought tickets and snacks. She asked if I would watch the kids at her place. Noreen hugged me, and said she'd love to help. Nor asked me to help with dinner, When Rex got home he was impressed with my plans and suggested dinner at a local place I knew nothing of. It still being relatively early, the three of us went out on our mission of mercy.

Fortunately the Captain and his wife were in. Like proud parents, Rex and Noreen pushed me forward.

“Captain Edwards,” I began. “I had the opportunity to pick up tickets to a really romantic movie that I'm sure your wife would love to go to, along with snacks for Thursday evening. Noreen has agreed to help me keep an eye on the kids and Rex has suggested a really romantic dinner for the two of you. I'd REALLY like to do this for you. I think more people should be thankful for our men in the service. What do you say?”

He chuckled. “Thank you, young lady; we'd love to take you up on your offer. But, I have to ask, what IS your name?”

I was mortified and felt about 12 yrs old and began to blush really bright. “Oh, I'm sorry Captain, I'm really nobody, I mean, my name is Beth. Well, actually, it’s Linda Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Beth.”

Captain Edwards, with his wife beside him turned to Rex and Noreen, “You must be very proud of your daughter.”

With a twinkle in her eye, Noreen said “You have No idea how much we are.”

Thursday I again called the houses I had not yet been able to reach listed with a room to rent — nothing. Either they didn't answer or the room was no longer available. I was getting scared, and had a crying jag. I picked up a paper at the office where Noreen noticed the red rings around my eyes. She invited me to stay and help pick up for the kids. There was an entire bedroom that we cleaned out. We made up the bed, and moved it so that two sides of the bed were against the walls, and the third blocked with a dresser. Nor pulled out a box of toys they kept around, and I washed and dried them before putting them on the bed.

About 5:50 the Edwards showed up to drop off the kids to play. Boy, did I need those kids. That evening I cheered up a bit playing with the babies. After they were asleep, Mary Tyler Moore, and Carol Burnett were on TV. About eleven the Edwards returned, a smile on both faces. Both were grateful for the night out. After hugs, they left, and few minutes later I said good night to Noreen and went back to my lonely room. The next day would be better. It HAD to be.

Nothing. No one was home. I wound up going to Smart and Finalâ„¢ with Nor. She was all bubbly and I have to admit it was infectious. With nothing really to do I agreed to go to the mall with her. It was weird. She'd point out a dress to me, and it was YECH. I'd point one out to her and she'd look at the hem and blush down to her ankles. At least we agreed (sort of) on shoes. Nor had to find a present for Rex. We wound up in “Things Remembered” where she picked out a pair of bronze baby shoes. She wouldn't let me see what was engraved. She just told me to mind my own business; it was going to be a surprise and she didn't want me to accidentally spill the beans. We had a light lunch at the food court — yes it is possible to find one — try sushi! I wanted to stop at TOYS R USâ„¢. Inside I found a couple of plushies that would be nice for the little Edwards girls, since they were going to be here for Christmas. We then headed back to the motel. I helped her unload the car; she insisted I stay for dinner. The menu? Meatloaf and baked potatoes. It was incredible. We traded recipes on meatloaf, using mine for dinner, and she showed me how to use a Radar Range. It looked like something from Mars. The range hummed like a plane taking off, but the potatoes only took 6 minutes each. Together we tossed greens and things in a big bowl for salad.

Rex walked in, still in uniform and stopped dead in his tracks as his nose sent heavenly messages to his brain. Rex changed, came in and hugged Noreen, and asked what smelled so good as he sat down to dinner. I helped Nor bring the food to the table. Inevitably, I suppose, and I'm sure you've guessed it, the meatloaf was a hit. We sat around after dinner. They told me of the many places they'd been, the baby they'd lost, and the joy they found in each other. Half the time I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Rex turned on the TV and I helped Nor pick up, (can you believe they had a dishwasher?) I walked on down to my room, got into bed, and prayed for my friends, and their poor little one who never had a chance to live.

I got up and dressed as nice as I could. I was going to church that morning. After all, Christmas was only in two days. I wasn't a religious fanatic or anything like that, but I thought it was the thing to do the Sunday before Christmas. I looked in the phone book and chose Peninsula Bible Church in Palo Alto. It was by far the largest church I'd ever attended. Imagine my surprise when I discovered Noreen and Rex were there. Noreen made room for me between them and gave me a little hug as the service began. I started crying. I'd just realized Nor had hugged me more in one week than everyone else in the previous year. I got a strange look or two from Rex, but Nor just held me closer. As the service began, I finally managed to dry my eyes as I enjoyed the Christmas Hymns and found myself relaxing for the first time in weeks. After the service, Noreen and Rex insisted on my going with them to lunch.

Rex took us to a “Sizzler,” kind of a fast food steak house where everything except the steaks was served buffet. I wound up with a petite fillet mignon, broccoli, cauliflower and a baked potato, with a Tab to drink. Nor and Rex both piled it on. Rex really opened up a lot, explaining He'd met Nor during the army just after returning from Korea. I mentioned my dad had been in Korea, serving in I Corps; Rex continued, talking about witnessing several of the atomic tests. As he said that, a cloud passed over Noreen's face. They were going to have a baby, he explained. When the baby was born it was seriously deformed. All because of the tests Rex had been ordered to observe. Rex then mentioned their child would have been about my age had she survived.

I mentioned I too had been born with a birth defect, that was the reason I was going to Stanford. When pushed, I admitted my defect had to do with my reproductive organs, and that even with the best care I'd never be able to have babies. At which point both Nor and I began to weep. Rex sat looking dejected. I had an idea. Noreen and I excused ourselves to the ladies room. I suggested a “family portrait” if they didn't mind my sitting in for the child who had passed away. Noreen was ecstatic. We walked down the mall to the Sears photo studio. On the way Rex, of all people, suggested matching “Mother-Daughter” dresses, and by the way, he would pay. I won't say we were QUICK or anything, but an hour later we were sitting for a portrait. Rex and Nor sat, while I stood behind them. It must have been a miracle, neither of us cried.

All of us were thoughtful on the way back to the motel. There were a lot of telling glances taking place in the front of the car. When we arrived, Nor went inside. “You two have a good chat,” she said, leaving Rex and I in the car.

“Beth,” he began, “Life has not been nice to my Noreen. Now as I see it, for whatever reason, you and Noreen have clicked together. This is good. She NEEDS a daughter. I just want you to know how I feel. I think you're a sweet girl either running from, or running to something, maybe both. As long as you are honest with us, we'll treat you like the daughter we never knew. If you try to use us, or hurt Noreen, you'll be looking at a world of hurt. Do you understand?”

You should also know I’ve checked your car out; I was surprised to see the name on the title. I never would have guessed. I think there’s something you need to tell us, but I’ll wait till you’re ready.

That scared me. He knew about me? He KNEW about me?? I looked somewhere down around my toes while shaking furiously.

Rex reached out reassuringly, “I know about the Stanford program for people who are in the wrong body. All I ask right now is your promise not to lie and not to hurt my Noreen”

Finally I nodded yes.

“Is this something you'd really want to do — not just pretend, but actually be our daughter?”

”Yes, I'd like that very much,” I heard myself say as I look into his eyes. I realized I’d had more genuine love and affection in the past week than I've had in forever. “Why me?” I asked, tear rolling down my cheeks, staining my dress. “I'm a nobody who checked into your Motel,” I sobbed.

“Because you are who you are.” I looked puzzled as he said that. Rex chuckled as his tears began. “I could say you remind us of our daughter, Or that you seem like a desperate girl on the run who needs someone. Or maybe it's a Christmas Miracle. I don't know why, I only know what is.”

I puzzled through that and found it matched my own feelings. “ Daddy … Yes?”

It was his turn to search my eyes. ”Okay, we’ll keep the secret between ourselves, but you are going to have to tell your mother soon.”
I nodded, too scared to speak.

“Okay, Princess, let's go tell your mom.”

‘God,’ I prayed silently, ‘don't let me screw this up!’

Nor was puttering around the apartment. As we enter, she turned quickly to Rex, who nodded. “Yes!” she screamed, running across the room to take me in her arms. This was going way too fast. But I loved it! I'd never been shown this much affection before. But first, they deserved to know the nature of my birth defect. I decided I couldn’t keep it a secret.

---

“Mom, Dad, before you say yes, you need to know something about me. I won't blame you if you decide you don't want me. Please let me tell you my story. I told you part of this, but you have to hear the rest.” I don't know what it was, maybe the pleading in my eyes, but they sat close together each holding one of my hands. “When my mother was pregnant with me the doctor tried to keep her weight gain down to 20 pounds. To do that, he gave her amphetamines. The amphetamines damaged me in the womb. When I was born, the doctor saw nothing wrong. He thought I was a boy. I don't really blame him, there were no outward defects, so I was raised a boy. This was absolutely the wrong thing to do,” I started to cry.

Nor and Rex watched my familiar face disappear, as it became still, pale, almost mask - like. They say I looked almost like I was in a trance, if you didn't count the tears.

“From my earliest memories I knew I was a girl, so I thought it great fun playing dress up with my babysitter Lisa. It was the fall of 1960. I know this because I remember seeing one of the political conventions on TV at Lisa's house. This fun didn't last for long. it was my sixth birthday when she introduced me to tampons. Lisa told me now that I was older I had to wear one 3 days every month or I would get really sick. When I asked why, her answer was, that's just one of the things we had to put up with, being girls. I didn't believe her, and I got sick, it was the mini epidemic of 1960-61. LOTS of GI tract misery. As soon as I was well enough for her to babysit again, she said, “I told you so. Next time it could be worse. I never doubted Lisa again. Much of what she told me I'd not heard before, but I was a girl, and I knew my body would change as I grew older. I could hardly wait to grow my own boobies, and I didn't want to get sick, so I did what she told me. I was uncomfortable at first, but after a few times, I found it felt strangely pleasurable. I suppose it was pressing against my prostrate.

“Things got worse. She would give me a shower, always talking about how soon I'd grow my own boobies. She never made reference to my genitalia except in female terms. This made sense to me. I was a girl. Of course I would grow my own “boobies” It never occurred to me that Lisa was anything other than my babysitter and my very best friend. She thought it funny that with falsies, and makeup, I could pass as a very young teen. And that led to my next step down the stairway to hell. Lisa would sometimes have me tag along when she went out with her boyfriend. She was supposed to be watching me, and I guess you could say she did.

“We were taking a shower when she told me her next lie. I'd just gotten out when Lisa told me it would soon be time for me to find a boyfriend. I told her I didn't want a boyfriend. Lisa looked at me with absolute terror on her face, “OH NO” she said and started crying. “Don't you know girls have to have boys pee inside them? If not, they get sick and die. I started crying too, and asked Lisa to help me. Lisa asked about my mom, and I told her my mom kept telling me I was just a boy, but I wasn't, what was I going to do? Lisa wrapped me in a towel and said of course I was a girl, and she'd help me. Maybe her boyfriend would help till I was old enough to find my own. I threw my arms around her crying and thanking her. Her boyfriend was all too willing to help. Looking back I guess they made the whole sick thing up.

“They did play a lot of really sick games with me. I trusted Lisa. I knew that even if I didn't really like it everything would work for the best. She showed me how to lick her boyfriends thing until it was hard and white stuff came out. This was the stuff girl's needed. She would show me how to lick my best girl friend so that she felt good. It was all gross, but of course Lisa told me to do it, and Lisa would NEVER do anything to hurt me.

“Everything came to a point one Friday night. Lisa and I got dressed, skirts flared out with crinolines, and lightweight sweaters. A little makeup and we were off with Steve, at least that's what I think his name was. He took us to a drive in. Instead of getting in the back with Steve, Lisa stayed in the front seat, watching, but also keeping watch. Steve kissed me, which was okay, Then he kissed my boobies. That felt even better. He reached down and took off my panties. “Please Steve, I don't want to die, please come inside me. And then he did. It felt like I could feel him all the way to my belly button. It hurt worse than anything I could remember. I screamed, I pounded against his chest, I cried but all that just seemed to make him more excited. After forever it was over. If this is what it took to stay alive, I thought I'd rather die. I pulled up my panties and just huddled in the corner while they talked about it. Lisa got really pissed when Steve told her how tight a fuck I was, and how she should take lessons.

After a bit, I told Lisa I had to use the toilet. As soon as we were outside, I started crying, and Lisa started looking really sad. She took my hand and led me to the ladies room. I got really scared. The white pee was dripping, but so was blood. I screamed and Lisa came in. After using the toilet and some wet paper towels I got pretty cleaned up.
“Lisa and I started to make our way back to the car when we ran into my mother, and another man. “Lisa! You're supposed to be watching Mi … Michele? Is that you honey?” I just looked down at the ground. “Glenn, hon, you've heard me speak of my kids. Well, this is Michele, and her babysitter. Could you give me just a couple of minutes?”

“Sure Teeny, I'll just get some sweets and popcorn for us all,” he said watching as he walked in the snack stand.

“What the hell is going on here?” she demanded.

“I thought she was talking to me. “I keep telling you I'm a girl, but you won't believe me mommy. Lisa told me about how girls HAVE to have boys in them or they'll die! Lisa helped me so I wouldn't die. YOU DIDN'T! Don't you love me anymore mommy? You were just going to let me die!!” I screamed.

“Oh, baby, of COURSE I Love you.” She took me in her arms and held me as we both cried. Then she stood up and asked Lisa if I had anything in the car we were in. Lisa told her,

‘No’, then my mom did something I'd never seen before. She wound up and slapped Lisa so hard she fell to the ground. “Is Timmy still at your house you slut?”

“Yes, Mrs. Williams.” By this time the man who'd brought mom to the drive-in was back and mom said we had to go RIGHT NOW. The man was mad, but I don't think it was at mom.

As we started to leave Lisa told my mom, “Mrs. Williams, please don't do anything rash. Remember I saw you at the drive-in with a man not your husband.”

Mom just hauled off and hit her again, even harder than before. “You stupid little cunt, that's my brother-in-law. My sister's in the car.” She leaned down and said something I couldn't hear, but Lisa turned absolutely white. “Glenn, would you take Michelle to the car, then come back here? I need your help. After having seen his little sister-in-law deck the much larger girl, he cracked his knuckles, grinned, then took me by the hand to the car where I saw my Aunt Betty. Aunt Betty was surprised, but she got a good look at me, and pulled me on her lap. “That's a very pretty dress, honey. What's your name when you're all pretty?”

“Lisa calls me Michelle, or Shelley.”

“Who's Lisa, Michelle?”

“Lisa's my babysitter and my bestest friend in the whole world.”

“Where's your mom and Uncle Glenn, honey?”

“I think they're talking with Lisa, and maybe with Steve.”

“Wow, you have a lot of friends. Who's Steve?”

“Steve's the guy who saved my life. He came inside me and gave me the white pee that girls need to keep from dying. Lisa told me all about it, and we came to the movies so Steve could come inside me.”

“For some reason Aunt Betty turned white, pulled me closer, and started to cry on my sweater. “I don't understand Aunt Betty, why are you and mommy so mad at me? I'm a girl, but I got the white pee inside me, so I'll be okay. It hurt a lot, but it's getting better; and I'm not bleeding as bad as I was., Don't worry, Aunt Betty.” She just pulled me closer. She began to hum a lullaby, and rocking back and forth. Mom and Uncle Glenn must have gotten into the car 'cause the next thing I remember we picked up my brother and went home,

Things just got worse when I finally realized exactly what had happened. Lisa was not my friend. She had lied to me. I'd been raped. In my mind I knew only girls were abused or raped. Just like what happened to me. Mom never said anything to dad, so he never knew about me being raped.

My mom went away one weekend for a PTA meeting. My dad, not knowing about the problem with Lisa, called and had her come to our house to sit with my little brother and me. I tried to tell my dad the Lisa wasn’t a good babysitter. He just laughed and said everything would be alright. At first everything was okay. Lisa brought clothes to play dress up in. I tried to say no, but she kept at it till I gave in. About an hour later Steve came by. As soon as I saw him I started screaming. I ran into the backyard and hid in the big brick barbecue. People could hear my screaming and eventually the cops came. My dad got home about the same time as the police. Pulling me out of the barbecue, he saw me in a dress, thanked the policeman threw me in the shower, and ripped the clothes off of me and left me there.

Meanwhile, Lisa was telling my dad she didn't know where I got the clothes. My father paid her then came back to me. He started yelling at me, calling me names and sent me to bed without any dinner. My mom came home later that night. She screamed at daddy, told him all kinds of things. Soon after, my mom and dad split. And for me, it was from the frying pan into the fire.

My parents refused to acknowledge what had happened. I knew I was a girl and continued to dress as one whenever given a chance. My life kept slipping downhill, and during High School, I began to think of suicide.

At first my psychiatrist kept telling me if I'd just acknowledged that I was homosexual then he could start at “curing” me. Then he read about a program at Stanford that would correct as much as possible. I started seeing a psychiatrist and an endocrinologist, trying to correct the damage done at birth. I'd never be a mother, but I could adopt. At the same time things kept getting worse. My father's idea of a cure would be to beat it out of me, or maybe even kill me. So I had to leave or die. So at the beginning of last week I left home. I screwed up, not really thinking of when classes would be out of session. So here I am, this last week I even discovered I wanted to live. I wouldn't blame you if you hated me, but you've been so nice I had to tell you the truth.”

---

With that, I ran out of the room and back to mine. I threw myself on the bed, bawling into my pillow.

Later, Rex told me what happened after I ran out. He’d turned to his wife, “Well, you were right, she does need us, badly. I thought it was something like that, but Lord! How could anyone possibly hurt that child so cruelly?”

“I can't see any boy at all in her, can you?

“Honey, whatever quack that said she was a boy ought to have his license revoked!”

“Sweetie,” Noreen teased her husband, “Can I keep her?”

“Nor, you can't just “keep” people. But the two of you seem made for each other. You know she looks a LOT like you did at her age. I'll be proud if she'll have us as parents. We better get down there before she does something foolish.”

“Thanks, Rex. And you look as handsome as you did when you retired from the army.”

There was a knock at my door. “Beth Honey, please open the door.” I could hear Noreen through the door..

”Young lady, please listen to your mother. We'll make it all work out.

‘Both of them? Could they really mean it?’ I opened the door and they both WERE there.

“Beth, let's go down to the apartment. Their apartment was spacious. A full sized kitchen, living room, two bedrooms, and two baths. Nor lead me to the back were I'd kept the Edwards babies. “How about we move you in here?” Rex asked. Nor nodded. “You'll have your own bathroom and bedroom. If you want, we can re-key the back door to give you a private entrance.

Rex moved into the living room, and called both of us. “I figured out how to do this.” In front of him was a large new unlit Christmas pillar candle, surrounded by three lit candles, one pink, one blue, and one white. In front of the candles was a family bible that Rex said had been passed down four generations on his father's side.

“It's a lot like a marriage, but even more so, for you carry on for those who have come before you.”

“I, Rex Morgan Pruett, ask you Linda Elizabeth to be my daughter. I promise to love to care for, to guide, and if called on, to lay down my life for you.” Rex took the blue candle, and held it in his hand.

“And I, Noreen Constance Quayle Pruett ask that you Linda Elizabeth join our family. To be my daughter. I promise to share those things passed from my mother and my mother's mother with you. I promise to nurse you in sickness, to guide you in all things, and to love you unconditionally.” Noreen picked up the pink candle and held it in her hands
“Beth, it's up to you hon. If you need time to think about it, take it. Nor and I will always be there for you.”

With that, I picked up the white candle, “I, Linda Elizabeth Williams, accept you as my mother and my father. I promise to love, honor, and cherish you. I do this happily, for you have given me back my life.”

With the last commitment made, Rex indicated we should join our candles in lighting the pillar. Then one by one we extinguished our candles, and in the family bible, in the lines for the offspring of Rex and Noreen, it read

“Amelia Constance Pruett. Born August 11, 1953, Died August 12, 1953. Below that I wrote Linda Elizabeth Williams Pruett, Born August 11, 1954.

Rex went to their bedroom and returned with a small jewelry chest. “Honey, these would have been Amelia's, or the oldest daughter in the family. We'd given up hope of passing these on. Please, open it.”

The first thing I saw was a lovely locket. I pulled it out and opened it. On the left was a picture of a much younger Noreen in a lovely white wedding gown. On the right was a handsome man with a chest full of ribbons. And the insignia of a Lt. Colonel,

“Mom? Dad?”

They both nodded. I handed it to my daddy to fasten. Mom smiled as the two shared passed memories.

“Honey, are you willing to work in the motel? I can pay $5.00 an hour, plus insurance. That being about twice what I'd expected, I started tearing up. “But, but you guys hardly know me!” I protested, overwhelmed.

“Well Sweetheart, that comes with having a police lieutenant for a father. I checked out your car, then checked you out. When your Mom got serious, I called your high school. I was glad to see my “daughter” was interested in law enforcement, (It was true, I'd spent a year as a police cadet in High School.), as well as Home Ec. By Saturday I thought I was getting to know you pretty well. Your psychiatrist was glad you'd found a safe and stable environment. He said to tell you he was no longer speaking with your “real” parents after his one and only conversation.

“I also think I might just be able to provide you with a new birth certificate, and a new driver's license. “After all,” he grinned, “nothing is too good for my daughter.”

Christmas Morning

I got up early to make coffee, only to find my new folks had beaten me to it.

“Merry Christmas!” they shouted. I sat down on the couch as mom handed me a cup of coffee. Her smile nearly split her face in two. I wasn't sure what to expect, and neither were they. Mom pulled a package out and handed it to me, I pulled a package out from under the tree, and handed it to my newfound mother. She watched as I opened the package which contained a Barbie.

“I figure every girl should have a Barbie to play with.” I just laughed.

She opened hers to find a Christmas sweater, and inside a finger painted picture of a Christmas tree. To: Mom, Love: Your daughter Beth. It was really corny, but she began to weep, then wrapped her arms around me.

“I've never had refrigerator art before. Thank you so much!”

Dad came over and hugged me, whispering in my ear,

“Ya done good, kid!” Both of them made me feel so good about myself.

Then Dad handed me a package. I opened it and found a new wallet. Inside the wallet were all the documents that make us real to the world. Driver's license, Social Security Card, CPR, First Aid, Bank Americard, Sears card, and in the billfold area, a birth certificate. All in the name of Linda Elizabeth Pruett. Now it was my turn to cry.

“How did you ever get it all done so quickly?” I asked.

“Oh, Christmas Elves I guess,” he replied. “After all, my daughter's name should be the same as mine, don't you think?”

This time it was me doing the hugging, “Thank you, Daddy,” I said. He just glowed. I looked closer at the driver's license. “Hey, I'm Legal!” I cried.

“Well, Princess,” (I grinned at the nickname), “I know your mom said you could work at the motel, but I thought you might like to work as a policewoman.”

Mom just shook her head.

Mom reached under the tree and handed a package to dad. Inside were bronze baby shoes, inscribed: