One Word and One Year, by Karin Bishop

Part 6

Chapter 14: Father and Daughter

Taylor and I had a great time going through her closet and bureau. We decided to list items, like Skirts, and then sub-group them, like School, Church, Fancy, Kicky, and Grubby. We chose Kicky because Sexy was what we meant but knew it would never get past any parents! Then we’d add the realistic number of items that Taylor had in each group. She got excited about the prospect of finally going through her own stuff and tossing things that she’d never wear and also finding out where she needed something. She also made a section of her closet and a space in her bureau for things that she could pass on to me, but we didn’t note those down–it would be a secret supplement. I also knew that if my father vetoed the whole thing, they’d be the only girl clothes I could wear, and only when I visited Taylor.

Please let him agree, I prayed silently. Please, please, please!

Mom finally called around nine; I was starting to get worried. She took a deep breath.

“Well, it’s been a long process, but he’s ready to meet Allison. Oh, and don’t worry; it didn’t take so long because he was hard to convince. There were some other things we had to discuss–some bills and things completely unrelated to you–and then we began talking. I was able to gauge his mood after all our money talk, so I started about you. And, no; I’m not going to tell you anything about how it went because I want the two of you to play it moment-by-moment without expectations.”

“God, Mom, that sounds scary.” Right away my brain began constructing disaster scenarios.

She chuckled. “You only just now realized how scary this whole thing is? Completely altering the space-time continuum would be easier than telling a father his son is now his daughter!” She sighed. “But he’s a good man; a good, good man. But one thing … I said I wasn’t going to prep you or anything but I will strongly give you a word of advice. Two, actually. The first is, be Allison. Don’t try to be Mark and sort-of Allison. Don’t think you have to show your father that his son is still there, to reassure him or something. That will utterly fail, do you understand? In no uncertain terms, not a whiff of Mark; just be Allison as she was with her mother and best friend today, alright? You need to show that this is who you are, the wonderful girl I spent the day with. Her name is Allison Marie Chambers and she’s his daughter and she’s real and she’s permanent and … get the idea?”

I felt a warm rush of happiness. “Yes, Mom. And it’s wonderful to hear you say that about me!”

“I know, sweetheart. It’s actually fun to say, too! Okay, the second bit of advice is, well … Stick to your guns. Don’t back down. Don’t waver. Okay? He might try to talk you out of it, like dressing like a girl is something you could do every so often for fun.”

“But I–”

“Hush, honey; you don’t have to explain to me. I understand, but you must understand that he’ll be probing, testing your resolve. He might try to get you to agree to dress once a month, or something like that, to let off steam or something. Do not give in! He wouldn’t be saying that because he doesn’t think you’re really committed but because he wants you to be really committed. It’s a guy thing, probing for weaknesses. Your father respects strength, in men and women. It’s wishy-washy stuff that sends him around the bend. So be a strong girl and go eyeball-to-eyeball with your father and then we’ll see what’s what … and who’s who!”

She said she’d be over in ten minutes. Taylor and I cleaned up the room, took our glasses down to the sink, and concentrated on talking about the list to keep my nerves down. Mom arrived and we let her in–still no Monica around–and we hugged. Mom smoothed my hair, then asked where the makeup was. We went back to Taylor’s room.

Mom looked around and complimented Taylor on her room. I giggled. “I couldn’t believe it the first time I was here,” I said. “I’d only seen Taylor at school and in her den downstairs, and she was always kind of a tough girl. But she’s a marshmallow!”

“Oh, yeah? Marshmallow this!” Taylor laughed as she shot me the finger and closed it before Mom saw.

“Now, girls,” Mom said calmly, admiring a Degas print, “leave the hand gestures to the boys.” She was grinning as she turned around. She’d done that ‘eyes in the back of her head’ parent thing.

“Ah,” she said, taking the bag of makeup.

I sat on Taylor’s vanity bench and Mom opened the lipstick and then leaned down to me, taking my chin in her hand and holding the brush … and then nothing happened. She pursed her lips and stood straight with an odd look on her face.

I looked up at her, worried. “Mom? Are you okay?”

“Yes, it’s just …” She sniffed slightly. “It’s all becoming so … so real. And, I might as well confess,” she actually blushed, “I’ve always dreamed of putting lipstick on my pretty daughter, and now here I am, about to do it, and I freak.” She shrugged and smiled sadly. “And there’s a part of me saying goodbye to my son, too. That’s something you must realize that your father and I will have to go through, letting go of Mark. Jake will, too. But we’ve got to do it.” She leaned down while she murmured, “We’ve just got to …”

She used the items in the bag to freshen my look, brushed my hair and then frowned slightly. Taylor, always the mind reader, pointed to a bottle of cologne that I’d been wearing earlier. Mom sprayed it in the air and had me walk through it. She replaced the bottle and then said we were ready.

“Wait a minute, Allie,” Taylor said, and hoisted a large pillowcase stuffed with clothes. “These are things we went through. They’re for you.”

Mom said, “Oh, no, we couldn’t accept–”

Taylor interrupted. “Allie and I went through my stuff tonight, as you asked. These are things that I’m never going to wear again. They’re all in good condition; some are brand new. This isn’t charity or anything; if you don’t want it, donate it. But I thought, you know, just to get her started, and money’s always tight these days and …”

Mom smiled. “Thank you, Taylor. It’s very kind of you. And I will repay you–no, don’t object until you hear me out!–I will repay you by taking you shopping with us, first chance we get, and get you the outfit of your choice.”

“Okay.” Taylor grinned wickedly. “Prada, here I come!”

Mom joked, “Er–maybe I should re-think that offer …”

We got to the front door and as I slid my purse over my shoulder, Mom chuckled and turned to us. “I can’t believe it! I’m thinking I crossed every T and dotted every I, and here I forgot to get you your own purse!”

“It’s okay,” Taylor said. “Consider it a gift.”

“Thank you again, but she’ll need one that she picks out.”

“I understand, believe me,” Taylor grinned. “C’mere, babe,” she said, holding her arms out. We hugged and she said, “God, I hope this works out for you. Good luck! Good, good luck!” We separated and she said, “Call me! No matter how late!”

“I promise,” I said, turning and waving as Mom and I walked to the car. I was intensely conscious of the similar clack of our heels on the sidewalk, and got a warm feeling from it.

In the car, Mom said, “And I forgot a sweater, too, besides the purse. You really should have a pretty white sweater for that cami, since it’s nighttime.”

“It’s on the list,” I grinned, reaching in my purse and holding up the pad.

Mom watched me and then focused on the road. “Honey, the way you … well, watching you handle your purse, it’s like you’ve been doing this your whole life. I can’t believe how natural you are. How long have you been doing this?”

I quickly thought how to answer without directly answering, like a politician. I chuckled and said, “To tell you the truth, I’ve only been carrying a purse for less than 24 hours. But feeling like a girl and wanting to do something about it … I can’t even tell you how long that’s been. Most of my life, maybe.”

Although I’d only first put on girls’ clothes 24 hours ago–including, eventually, the purse–it avoided the actual clocking of Allison’s appearance. And the more I’d been experiencing and thinking about my whirlwind 24 hours, I realized that Taylor was right–Allison had always been there, lurking under the unhappy Mark, ready to make her entrance. It took Monica’s off-hand comment yesterday, just one silly word, to trigger things, but if I’d become so natural at girl things, it was because I was naturally a girl … who had been buried under life as Mark.

Mom seemed to accept the answer at face value, because she said, “Well, you’re certainly natural with the purse. And everything else, come to think of it. Did you always have that cute wiggle when you walk? I don’t remember it, but it’s there.”

I realized she wasn’t asking for an answer; just kind of thinking out loud. Then she surprised me and saddened me, because her voice was sad.

“My God; how hard it must have been for you, all these years, going around as Mark but all the time really being Allison inside.”

“Well, I never had the name until Taylor named me, but … yeah. It was kind of lonely.” I looked out the window. Misleading again on the time frame for my name, but still a true statement. The lonely part? With the exception of my friendship with Taylor, that was absolutely true.

“It explains so much,” Mom said. “So many of the questions we had about you–about Mark–make perfect sense now. I hope your father understands that.”

And there was no time for me to back out; we were at our house. I got out of the car, carrying the bag of clothes, and looked at Mom, who smiled bravely. “You’re so pretty, Allison! And you’re naturally feminine; naturally a girl. Remember that and stick to your guns. Don’t be bullied. Your father values courage in men and in women. So …” She took a breath. “Here we go!”

My father was waiting for us in the den, which was his center of power. I hadn’t gotten into trouble very much growing up–getting in trouble was Jake’s department–but I did remember the time I faced my father in his den and told him that I didn’t want to continue with Tee-Ball. I was no good at it and I just didn’t get it. And I had looked at the little boys around me and just knew that I wasn’t one of them–I just hadn’t known why.

That night, he had sat in his great red leather chair, where he would be now, and I’d stood where Jake had many times before and since, and I called my father ‘sir’. That formal situation required it; he was always the former military man, and somehow that form of address came out automatically. Yes, sir, no sir … I must remember that, and be respectful.

We entered the den after I’d left the clothes bag in the living room, and Mom crossed to take a chair to the side of my father, who sat there watching us without expression. I remembered what Mom had said, to be myself, to be Allison, not Mark in a dress. I had to fully feel female and trust in it and that’s the only reason I have for what I did and said.

Because I certainly didn’t plan it …

I walked to the appropriate spot on the rug and stood there, knees and ankles together under my short white skirt. I held my fingers with the other hand and said, “Hi, Daddy.”

My brain screamed, Oh, crap! How could I have done that?

His eyes widened a bit, he frowned, and then nodded slightly towards me. “Is this what you want?”

“Uh, I’m not being disrespectful, sir. I need to know what you mean, exactly, by ‘this’ … because there are several possibilities of … interpretation …” I trailed off, looking at Mom, who sat with her legs wrapped around each other and her hands clasped, her mouth tight-lipped. Did it seem like I was talking back? I really wasn’t …Oh crap, again!

But my father was a very specific man, detail-oriented and frustrated by imprecise language. I knew, instinctively, that I had to speak to my father with detail and precision. I could only pray that I didn’t sound flippant.

He cleared his throat. “I see your point. Is dressing like a girl what you want?”

I swallowed and dove in. “Sir, I’m dressed like a girl … because I am a girl. It’s how girls dress. I’m not wearing these clothes for fun, or for … anything kinky … I’m wearing them because it’s what girls my age wear. Sir,” I added, needlessly.

His frown deepened and then he started to say something but stopped himself and started again, slowly. “Is being a girl what you want? I mean, to live and be treated as a girl?”

“The easy answer is yes, but it’s not completely accurate.” I sighed. I could only hope that he realized I was clarifying and not contradicting. “It’s not so much about what I want; it’s who I am. I don’t have much say in the matter. I’ve always …” My voice caught; I swallowed and started again. “I’ve always felt like a girl. In my mind, in how I see the world, in my emotions … but it’s not been how the world saw me, because I was supposed to be a boy. But we all know that that didn’t work out very well.”

He defended. “Well, it certainly could work out–”

“No, it couldn’t. With respect, sir; sorry for interrupting, but no, it couldn’t work out. It’s like …” I felt a tremble coming on. “Please, could I sit?”

He frowned and then glanced at Mom and back to me. “Certainly. You were saying?”

I walked to the loveseat in the den and sat on the front edge of it, smoothing my skirt behind me as I sat, knees and ankles together, slid my purse off my shoulder and folded my hands in my lap. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a slight nod and slighter smile from Mom.

“I’ve thought about how to explain this to you, because I really want you to understand–I really need you to understand. And the only way I think I can is by some ‘What If’ scenarios.”

My father was big on ‘What If’ scenarios; he used them in his security business and ran them with Jake and me all the time. Of course, the ones with Jake went like this: ‘What if the linesmen leave a hole and your cornerback’s blocked?’ ‘What if there’s a runner on second and there’s a bunt?’ and so on. I had no idea what most of them meant. With me, his ‘What If’ scenarios were more like: ‘What if one action will get you killed but save a life, and the other action will hurt you but someone dies?’ I don’t know why he gave me the heavy-duty things. I’d have much preferred if he asked me, ‘What if your best friend’s boyfriend is cheating with a girl you know; would you tell her?’–something I’d know how to answer.

So by bringing up a ‘What If’, I knew he’d be willing to let me state my piece.

“Okay,” I said with a deep breath. “Before the ‘What If’, some basic statements. This isn’t a lark; it isn’t a phase; it isn’t for fun. In fact, I’m aware of how tough I can be making my life. And … all of our lives. But it’s not something I can turn on or off; it’s hard-wired into my nature.”

“Nature versus nurture?” Dad murmured. He was big on that discussion, too.

“Jake and I were raised in the same environment,” I said.

“Point taken,” he nodded. Mom did the slight nod thing again.

I frowned, moved some hair behind my ear, and began. “I think people are made of body, mind, and spirit, or soul, if you want to use that word without getting too religious or too philosophical. Things like emotions probably could be considered existing in both mind and spirit. I mean, how you react emotionally to what the world … does to you, and how you act emotionally, from within your own spirit or soul, to the outside world.”

I wasn’t totally clear where I was on this since I’d had no time to really think it through; it was forming as I said the words and I prayed that I didn’t philosophically paint myself into a corner. Apparently it was the right approach because Dad grunted and nodded and Mom nodded too, with that slight smile.

I faced him squarely. “Sir, my mind is female, feminine. My spirit, my soul, is female, feminine. I make that statement based on the evidence of males and females I know, from kids at school to you and Mom and Jake. As well as everything I’ve ever read or seen in movies or on TV, or heard people talking about. I don’t think like a male; I don’t feel like a male; I don’t act and react like a male. I never have. And if you step back and think about me over the years, objectively, you’ll agree.”

“I’ll … take that under advisement,” he said, which was one of his standard phrases for ‘I haven’t thought of it before and I will later’. Still, it was better than a denial.

“I am a girl, in my mind and soul. I’m classified as a male because of my body. And we must remember that the male classification was made only minutes after birth. It couldn’t take into account my mind, my thoughts and my actions. But it determined how I was treated for the next thirteen years of my life, all based on one look at my body. But we’ve got to be honest about that–my body is not a typical male’s, and not a typical thirteen-year-old boy’s. It’s just about as feminine as it can be and still be classified as male.”

“Well, your mother already told me about,” his hand waved in the general direction of my chest, “that.”

“Just like any other girl my age,” I said. “And it makes my clothes fit better.”

Mom suppressed a snicker that didn’t go unnoticed by Dad.

He asked me, “Just how much of what you’re saying has been coached by your mother?”

“None, sir,” I said. “Absolutely none. I’m sinking or swimming on my own, here.”

“She didn’t tell you what to say or how to say it?”

“No, sir. Oh, she did tell me two things.”

“Ah-ha!” he glanced at Mom, who sat expressionless.

I said, “First, she said to just be myself–and myself, my … self, is Allison, your daughter. Second, she said to not back down, to stick to my guns and not be bullied into something that’s not right.”

“Bullied? I would never …” He turned and looked at Mom again. “Bullied?”

She shrugged.

“She also said that you valued courage in men and in women,” I added.

There was silence. Then Dad looked at me and said, “Isn’t that a lot of makeup?”

I mumbled, “Sorry …”

Mom quickly said, “Not for girls her age in a formal setting, which this interview certainly qualifies as. And the lady at the cosmetic counter did it, not Allison.”

He grunted. “And these are clothes you borrowed from your friend?”

“No, these are my clothes,” I glanced at Mom, “that I wanted you to see me in, to see how I really am … who I really am. I don’t really have … well, in the past I’ve worn my friend’s clothes.”

“All girls do, honey,” Mom said. “Even at my age.”

I knew that Dad didn’t grasp that concept–it was a fact of life for females but alien to males–but I also knew he appreciated not borrowing from people. I cleared my throat. “I wanted you to see me, Allison, your daughter. Because that’s who I’ve always been but kept it from you. But I’m not keeping it from you anymore. You deserve … we all deserve the truth. I have to be allowed to be myself, to grow as the person I am. And I am Allison, your daughter, for the rest of my life.”

That statement hung in the air and I wasn’t sure why until my father said, in a different, quiet voice, “How did you come to be named Allison?”

“My friend Taylor named me that. She was thinking of Alice in Wonderland, the Through The Looking Glass book, and said that on one side of the mirror I had to be Mark but on the other it was like I could be Alice. Then she started playing around on the name, because Alice seemed too old a name. She tried Alicia and some others. And she called me Allison. And we both just stared at each other because … well, because we recognized that’s who I am. That’s the truth, sir; it wasn’t until this afternoon that Mom told me you’d considered the name, and about your sister, and I didn’t know that, I swear, and I’m sorry …” My voice caught and I was blinking back tears.

Mom had taken out her cell phone for some reason, but put it aside, got up and handed me a box of tissues; I took one, dabbed and sniffed, and folded the tissue in my hand. I was conscious of Dad watching this very feminine display.

After a time, he said, “Well, it’s a very good name …” He changed direction. “What about your friends? What are the guys gonna think when you start showing up in dresses?”

I gave a short chuckle. “First of all, I don’t have any guy friends, if that’s what you mean; and I don’t ‘show up’ for things besides school. Maybe I will once I can be myself, but up to now, no.”

“Of course you have guy friends; every boy does!” There was silence from Mom and me. He got nothing from us, so Dad blustered, “Well, what about, what’s-his-name, the Stevenson boy?”

“Glen Stevenson,” I said quietly. “First of all, we hadn’t been friends since he moved away in fifth grade, and the last time he visited here he said I looked like I was becoming a chick. That’s the word he used.”

“He did? … Hmm,” Dad said. “So you don’t have any friends? I never really knew that.”

“There aren’t any boys that are friends. I have friends, though.”

Mom spoke for the first time. “Maybe you should tell your father the names of your friends.”

“Well, my best friend is Taylor, you know that, but I’m really close with Amy and Chelsea and Amber, the two Jennifers, um … Heather and Hailey, hang out daily–sorry, that’s what we call ‘em.”

Dad was back to frowning. “When you say ‘that’s what we call ‘em’ …”

“I mean the other girls,” I explained.

“The other girls …” he said.

I looked at Mom and we were back to a silent patch.

Dad broke it by saying, “I don’t see how Jake will handle this …”

Mom spoke again. “Jake will handle it fine. Ashley’s told him and they’ve talked it out.”

“Ashley knows?” Dad asked. I knew that he liked and respected her.

“Yes, that’s why I’m telling you now,” I said, and explained about Ashley discovering me and our talk and my decision that I couldn’t keep the Mark charade up much longer.

“Girl’s got a good head on her shoulders. If that boy’s smart, he’ll do everything he can to keep her around,” Dad mused.

Mom surprised both of us. “Ashley has Jake nearby, waiting for you to make your decision.”

“My decision?” he asked.

“Yes, your decision. I’ve made mine; and like Allison said, it really wasn’t as much a decision as it was accepting the reality of the situation. So now it’s your turn.”

He turned back to me. “Back to my original question, and I know about the clothes, and the friends, and the girl inside, and I want you ask you, point-blank, is this what you want?”

“I will answer that, sir, but I never got to my ‘What If’ scenario and I think it’s important.”

“Ah, that’s right. Go ahead.”

“What if your parents had put you in dresses?”

“Come again?” He almost sputtered. Mom suppressed a chuckle, but her eyes were twinkling.

“What if sometime, maybe when you were four or five, your parents decided to give you only girls’ clothes to wear, and they called you Emily and treated you like a girl?”

“That’s absurd,” he said.

“It’s a ‘What If’, sir, and they can be absurd, or real, or … abstract. I know about Aunt Cindy, and I just learned about Allison … my Aunt Allison,” I said with conviction. “I wish I’d known her. So your parents obviously knew how to raise girls. So what if they’d decided to raise ‘Aunt Emily’?”

“It’s absurd,” he said again. “I was a boy. They knew that.”

“But would you have said, oh, well, I’m in dresses and I’m Emily now, so I’d better start acting like a girl?”

“No, because I was a boy. But, anyway, I wouldn’t be able to act like a girl,” he said, then grinned. “I’d probably have looked like a bull in a china shop. I don’t move like a girl; I don’t think like a girl; I would never … oh …”

It dawned on him. I saw his eyes widen as he slowly said, “I could never truly be a girl, because I was truly a boy.”

“Yes.”

“Inside the dress, even when they called me Emily, I was a boy.”

“Yes.”

“And no matter how long they pretended I was a girl, I would never be a girl, because … I was male,” he said, kind of deflating.

“Yes.”

“Wow …”

It was strange watching my father grapple with the concept. I had been searching for a way for him to understand my situation, really understand it, and I had realized it had to come from within him, from within his own experience. That would convince him more than any kind of personal statements I could have made.

I said, “I think you now can understand how it’s been for me. I’m the opposite of you being Emily. So now I’m ready to tell you what I want. I want to be accepted by my family as Allison, the daughter and younger sister. I want there to be no misunderstanding that this is like putting Mark on a shelf, and that at some point I’ll decide to be Mark again. That is over. I’m Allison now and forever. And I know this is a little bit like killing your son Mark, and I’m so sorry for that, but in a sense Mark was never real. It’s maybe better to think about Allison masquerading as Mark all these years.”

I paused to swallow. Mom said, “Go on, dear.”

“I want to meet with the appropriate doctors, psychiatrists, lawyers, whatever … to make my change to female status medically accurate, legal, and unquestioned.” I’d heard that phrase somewhere. “I know it’ll be expensive, and I’m sorry, but it’s the only way for me to survive.”

“No, no; it’s understandable,” Dad said.

“And I want to be able to dress and act and live as Allison from now on, with nobody holding back or being weird about it. I’m your daughter and I’d like to be treated as your daughter, and loved as your daughter. Because … your daughter loves you.”

In a single movement my father got up from his chair and took three steps to me, his arms out. Without thinking I held up my arms and lifted from the loveseat into my father’s arms. He hugged me tightly, his head on the top of mine as I put my face against his chest and tears burst.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy!” I sobbed.

“Hush, hush, there’s no need for that,” he said, but there was a catch to his voice.

I cried, “I feel like I’ve been lying to you all these years, and that I’m such a disappointment. I’m s-so s-sorry!”

“No, no; don’t say that. Shh … It’s not your fault; it wasn’t a conscious lie. You didn’t set out to do it … ssh.” He squeezed me tighter. “And stop with that ‘disappointment’ stuff. I’m not disappointed in you. You’re an honest, intelligent, funny, caring person that gets good grades and doesn’t get in trouble.” He held me at arm’s length to look into my face. “You understand? That’s the person you are, no matter what you’re wearing.”

We came together in the hug again and he said, “And the fact that you’re very pretty, just like your mom … well, that’s a bonus!”

“Daddy!”

“Hush,” he said. “Get used to hearing that, Allison.” And he kissed the top of my head!

Chapter 15: Brother and Sister

I almost shuddered with relief when he kissed me. My hands went to my eyes to wipe the tears with my used tissue. Mom appeared with more tissues and I took them as my father and I dabbed my eyes, sniffing. We stood there for a moment and Mom took charge.

“Let me fix her up,” and she grabbed my purse and led me to the guest bathroom and carefully wiped my eyes, then took the makeup she’d put in my purse and ‘fixed’ me.

“This will give him a moment to digest,” she said. “Honey, you were … you were wonderful. Amazing! I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks, I guess, but I didn’t really do anything; I just told him the truth.”

“Truth is powerful. But calling him Daddy when you first walked in; that was brilliant!”

“I didn’t plan that.” Reacting to her look of disbelief, I said, “I really didn’t! I was remembering the procedure, stand there, call him ‘sir’, and all that, but the moment I got there it just came out.”

“Well, it took all the wind out of his sails. Did you see his face? But you convinced him before you were halfway through.”

“That’s if I convinced him.”

“Honey, do you have any doubt? After that hug and kiss? No, you had him when he asked if you weren’t wearing too much makeup. He’d accepted you at that point.”

“I don’t know …” I didn’t see it.

“If he saw you as a boy, it would have been ‘why’s he wearing that stuff?’ but he accepted you as a girl, and that was the father of a daughter asking about her wearing too much makeup. I know him; you were already home by that point.”

I heard some noises from outside as I said, “I don’t know. There’s still Jake to convince, and he might freak out. I think Daddy might backtrack if Jake has a problem with me.” I was conscious, that time, that I’d called him ‘Daddy’. But it was right, and it was forever.

“I don’t think that’ll be the case. And I believe he’s here.”

I started to panic. “Jake’s here? I thought he was with Ashley somewhere …”

“Calm down. Yes, and we worked it out. She and I spoke with him already.”

“When?”

“While you were at Taylor’s; part of the time I spent with your father and part of the time with your brother and Ashley. He understands and … well, let’s go see.”

Nervously I followed her out of the bathroom and sure enough, there were Jake and Dad talking, with Ashley sitting on the arm of the loveseat where I’d sat. She gave me a radiant grin, her eyes widened at my outfit and I got a thumbs up from her.

My beloved big brother Jake stood in the center of the room, nearly as tall as my tall father standing next to him. Daddy turned and smiled. Jake turned, looked at me and said, “Holy shit!”

“Language, young man!” Mom immediately pounced, but I sensed she was trying to keep from laughing.

Jake sputtered, very much like Daddy had. “You never told me she’d look like that! Wow! Um …” He realized where he was and regained his composure. “Hello, Allison. I’m glad to finally meet you.”

“Glad because you’re glad or glad because you have to be?” I asked, sparring with him the way we sometimes did.

“Mom, you said I was getting a little sister; you never said anything about her being a brat!” He chuckled.

“Brat? I’ll show you who’s a brat!” I said, and once again, without thinking, I launched myself into his arms and he hugged me.

We swayed back and forth and Jake said softly, “It all explains so much, you know? Makes so much sense. I’m proud that you’re my little sister.”

“You’re just not going to drop that ‘little’ thing, are you?”

“Nope. Just like I’ll always be your big brother, and you’ll …” He pulled away from me and looked at me, just as his father had done. “You’ll always be my little sister. And I’ll always love you.”

“I love you, big brother!” I said, squeezing him again.

There were small laughs of relief and happiness from the other three, and my father and mother came close to us, savoring the new family unit. I turned and saw Ashley sitting there with tears of happiness in her eyes, and I stuck out an arm and she came to join the group hug.

We finally sighed and moved apart, and to everyone’s surprise, Mom began speaking in an authoritarian tone.

“I have an announcement, and I’d like everyone to sit down.”

“Oh, God; you’re not going to tell me you’re a boy, are you?” Daddy teased, and I realized that it was a stunning sign of his acceptance of me that he could joke like that.

“Hardly, but my announcement is on that subject. Now, we’re all agreed that Mark, our son and brother, is no longer a presence in this house. Agreed?”

We all looked around, startled by the severity of her statement.

She said, “Oh, there’ll be old family photos and Christmases we remember, but from this point on, in every sense of the term, Mark is history. Agreed?”

We began nodding and said we agreed. Where in the world was she going with this, I wondered?

“Our two children are Jacob Alexander and Allison Marie. Agreed?”

“Mom, I hate Jacob,” Jake said in an old argument.

“Oh, really? That’s too bad,” Ashley grinned, “Because I love Jacob Alexander Chambers.”

“Well, maybe I don’t hate it too much,” Jake said sheepishly, and we all laughed.

Mom continued. “Agreed? Our youngest child is Allison Marie, named for her father’s late sister and her maternal grandmother. We call her Allie, except when she’s in trouble. Agreed?”

We laughed at that but nodded and said we agreed.

“We will support her in all the work and all the problems that face her in the future. I mean not just the medical and legal things, but also defending her against small-minded bigots and any discrimination. Agreed?”

We agreed, and Jake said, “Nobody better say anything about my sister,” with such fierce determination that I loved him all the more.

Mom went on. “There will be some changes in our home. That’s obvious, of course, but I think we should run through things so we’re all on the same page. There will be some cosmetic changes, like painting Allison’s room and getting her a vanity,” she looked at Daddy, who nodded, “and our usual chores won’t be affected too much. Allison already helps me with the cooking and cleaning,” she smiled at me, “and I’ll be teaching her other Home Ec-type skills, like sewing. But that doesn’t mean she’s exempt from some other things. I want you to teach your daughter some of the basics of car maintenance and repair,” she said to Daddy. “Agreed?”

He nodded, but Jake said, “Sure, no problem. If she’ll help me pick out gifts for Ashley!”

There were chuckles all around.

Daddy said, “We understand all that, honey. We don’t have to itemize everything.”

Jake, surprisingly, said, “No, I think it’s a good thing Mom’s doing this. Gets us all on the same page, like she said, but we’ve got this kind of … schizoid situation that other families don’t have. I can’t look at that girl and see Mark or talk about ‘him’, because it’s pretty clear in my mind that that’s not Mark, that’s Allison, my sister. It’s like she was kidnapped by Gypsies or something and just returned to us.”

“Such a romantic,” Ashley teased.

“No, he’s right, actually,” Daddy said. “Returned to us after years in the wilderness …” He chuckled. “The princess reunited with her royal family …”

Mom was chuckling, too. “So I’ll continue, with the permission of the royal family?” Daddy graciously nodded and waved his hand like a king dispensing a favor. Mom grinned. “There are three areas of change that I want to discuss and if they make you uncomfortable, tough. Man up!” she mock-glared at Daddy and Jake in turn, who both held up hands in surrender.

Then she turned to Ashley. “But first, before I forget, I want to thank you, Ashley, for all you’ve done for our family. And I hope that you might help Allison in the future as she adjusts to … well, as she adjusts.”

Ashley was surprised and pleased. “Of course. You’re welcome. You’re my second-favorite family in the world!” Ashley came from a large family, one of five kids. “And I will help Allie all I can. I really like her! Besides, to be totally honest, I’m interested in psychology and your story is a whopper!” She grinned at me as she said this last.

“And I want to thank you, too, Ashley,” I said. “For … just for everything.”

Mom straightened her shoulders. “Now comes the meat and potatoes. The three areas are obvious but I’m going to cover them anyway. And all three are based on one simple foundation–we have a girl in the house, a daughter and sister. But we didn’t have thirteen years of getting used to that. It’s going to be jarring but we’ve got to accept the new way of things all at once. So, first. Allison is a girl and will dress like a girl. She’ll be in skirts, dresses, and so on, things you never saw Mark wearing. Allison will wear nightgowns and lingerie–”

“Geez, Mom!” Jake said. “Duh! You don’t have to creep us out!”

“Yes, I do, and for a very good reason,” she was serious, although she smiled at Jake. “Despite the best of intentions, there will come a time when somebody opens a bathroom door or passes her room–that reminds me, honey, she deserves a lock for privacy; every girl does–and sees her in a bra and panties, or a nightie. Don’t freak out. They’re normal clothes and every family catches glimpses of one another.”

“Agreed,” Daddy said.

“There wasn’t anything to agree to, honey,” she laughed, “but thanks anyway. And this part might be very hard for you because you haven’t had thirteen years of raising a daughter. But she’s a teenager, and she’s going to be wearing things that will bother you, guaranteed.”

“No, I think I can handle it.”

“Do you?” Mom’s eyes had a wicked gleam. “So you’ll handle it the first time she goes out wearing fishnet stockings, a black leather miniskirt and a camisole showing the cleavage of her breasts?”

“Um, Mom …” I blushed.

“Hush, honey. Let’s see your father handle it.”

Daddy was obviously stuck on an answer. “I’d say … do you have something warm to wear for later?”

The silliness of his answer made us all laugh. “Don’t worry, Daddy,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll ever dress like that.”

Mom smiled. “Don’t be so sure. And by the way, you will not be let out of the house dressed like that, young lady!”

“Geez, Mom,” Jake said again. “It’s only a hypothetical!”

More laughs.

Mom said, “To be more realistic, there will be girl things that you’re not used to. Makeup, perfume, curlers, doing her nails … all sorts of typical girl activities that you’ve never seen before in this house. I don’t want her to feel pressured to not do any of these typical things because she’s worried about a male reaction.”

“I understand, Mom,” I said. “But curlers?”

She chuckled. “Yes, on occasion, or at least a curling iron. And shaving your legs, and facial masques, all sorts of new things.” She’d said those last two words with some malicious glee.

“We’ll be okay with it,” Daddy said. “Yeah, it’s going to be radically different all at once, but it shouldn’t be that much of a shock for us.”

Mom continued her wicked grin. “You’re going to see her in clothes that might be a shock to you, like short skirts, bikinis, crop tops, all manner of clothing. When you pass Allison in the kitchen and she’s wearing a bikini because she’s been swimming in our pool, for instance, no freaking about what she’s wearing. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Jake said.

“Agreed,” Daddy said. “Or about what she’s not wearing!” He gave me a sidelong glance and mouthed the word ‘bikini?’ as a joke.

There was silence and I wondered if Mom forgot the other two ‘areas’, whatever they were. Then she spoke quietly. “This family has missed out on so much, not having Allison with us for all this time. Christmas and Easter dresses, ballet class, Brownies and Girl Scouts …”

I thought of what Taylor had said.

“Umm,” Daddy murmured in a low rumble like Homer Simpson. “Girl Scout cookies …”

“It isn’t too late, is it? She’s not too old,” Jake said quickly.

“Don’t worry, Jake; I’ll score you some Trefoils,” I chuckled. Trefoils, the Girl Scout cookie that were shortbread fleur-de-lis, were Jake’s favorite cookie in the whole world. Each year when the Girl Scouts came around, he bought boxes and boxes of Trefoils to nurse until the following year. And I always bought a few extra boxes for him, for when he’d run out of his stash.

Mom resumed after this light moment. “So far we’re all taking this–you’re taking this–very well. The next area might get dicey, and that concerns the changes Allison is going to go through. And all of us will be going through them, in a way, as she does. Now, Monday I begin finding the doctors necessary for her change.”

“Transition,” Ashley said. “It’s the term they use, and it applies pretty well, here. Sorry to interrupt.”

“No, no: thanks, honey,” Mom smiled. “Okay, I start lining up the doctors for her transition. From what little I’ve read,” she nodded to Ashley.

I realized that when they’d talked on my phone at the mall, there’d been an exchange of email info, and I bet Ashley sent her some information about … well, about children like me. I snapped back to pay attention to Mom.

“…usual procedures and protocols. But it’s clear that once she’s accepted into a program–and I have no doubt she will be accepted–then we’re going to experience two things at once, two levels. We’ll be all be experiencing the normal development of a girl in puberty. That means both nasty things like mood swings and bitchiness,” she mock-glared at me, “and lovely things like breast development and, if possible, even softer skin. If anything, she will become even prettier.”

“Aw, Mom,” I blushed.

“Honey, get used to flattery; you’re a pretty girl and just … accept it. Don’t get a big head or anything, but accept gracefully.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Pretty like her mother,” Daddy said with a nod of certainty. It made me love him even more!

Mom smiled at him, too, and went on. “So the normal teen girl madness will be going along with the parallel that … I’m sorry, honey, I’ll have to say it this way. Along with what Allison goes through, like any other teenaged girl, we’ll be dealing with watching our son Mark become a girl. And that might be harder to accept than just seeing a nightgown. Oh, and part of the first area I forgot to mention, besides clothing there will be makeup, so you’ll be seeing your daughter putting on lipstick,” she looked at Daddy, “or your sister might ask you to help her find an earring she dropped,” she looked at Jake. “Alright?”

They both nodded agreement, although Daddy said, “Alright.”

“That is not your son wearing lipstick, and not your brother wearing earrings. Are we clear?”

“We said alright,” Jake shrugged.

“Actually, only your father did,” Mom grinned, “but as long as you both accept it.”

There were two nods again.

Mom nodded once with them, and continued. “Those changes I was just talking about … she’s going to be feminine. She already is, but has kept her nature and her comments to herself. All these years …” She looked at me sadly, shaking her head slowly. Then she continued, “So you two haven’t been exposed to a girl in the house. You will hear her giggle and squeal and be girly–because that’s what she is!–and you might roll your eyes and want her to tone down about ‘just how cute that kitten is!’ but she’s a girl and that’s what we do.”

She mock-glared at them, daring them to interrupt. They knew better and she softened.

“I’ve only spent a few hours with my daughter and already I know she’s a very feminine, graceful, wonderful girl and you guys are in for a treat as you get to know her.”

“A welcome addition to our family,” Jake said loftily, then grinned wickedly. “Even if she thinks she’s all that!” He said it with a comical wag of the head and waved finger.

Without thinking, I stuck my tongue out at him.

Ashley chuckled; Mom gave me a loving but warning shake of the head.

Daddy just said, “I think we get it, honey; she’s a girl.”

“Yes, she is. It’s as simple–and as complicated–as that,” Mom nodded. To everybody, she said, “So, we all understand the emotional changes that our child will be going through and we accept them as necessary and normal. Under the circumstances, of course. Agreed?”

We all murmured agreed.

“I’ll try not to be too much of a bitch,” I said, to general chuckles.

“If I might …” Ashley had a hand half-raised. Mom nodded, and she went on. “I’ve done some reading in this subject and one other thing I want to prepare you for–especially you, Allie–is that the doctors will do all sorts of hormonal testing. And it might seem like they’re trying to trick you.”

“Trick her? How?” Daddy said, and I loved how easily he used the feminine pronoun.

“They might give her female hormones for a time, and she’ll get all giggly and gushy and cry at the drop of a hat … and then they’ll switch to male hormones and she’ll rage and break things and be hell to live with. Don’t worry,” she said to me, “they’ve got to do it and it’s only for a short time. You’re not going to suddenly grow a beard or anything.”

We chuckled–me, not as much.

“Once they accept her and finish that testing period, there’ll be a time for adjusting her dosages, which might be right the first time or could take weeks. I just wanted everybody prepared for … let’s just call it The Hormone Highway.”

“Hormone Highway …” Mom nodded. “Agreed.”

Daddy and Jake and I said, “Agreed.”

Mom smiled. “Thank you again, Ashley. Okay, so we’re ready for her to wear girly clothing,” she ticked it off on her finger, “and we’re ready for her to act all emotionally girly,” she ticked again, “and now the one that might be toughest.” She paused for effect. “The opposite sex.” She looked to Daddy and Jake, in turn. “Specifically, boys.”

“Oh, I think we can cross that bridge when we come to it,” Daddy said.

Jake had a funny look on his face. I couldn’t read him. Was this trouble ahead?

Mom shook her head forcefully. “No, we can’t cross that bridge when we come to it, because I believe we’re there.”

“Huh?” Daddy said.

“Based on things I’ve discussed with Allie, I’m pretty well convinced that she’s a normal, heterosexual female in her orientation. That means …”

“Boys,” Daddy said, his shoulders slightly hunched. “Oh-oh.”

“You bet,” Mom said. “Again, the two levels thing. You’re going to be the father of a normal teenage girl who’s interested in boys and has boys interested in her.”

“You think? So soon?” Daddy said.

Jake said, “Are you kidding, Dad? Look at her! She’s a babe!”

As everybody laughed, I realized with a flood of relief that Jake accepted things even better than Daddy; the strange look he’d given me was because he’d seen where Mom was going, looked at me and for the first time saw me as a male saw a female, a pretty teen girl. It must be hard on older teen brothers when their little sisters started developing boobs and curves, but they had years to prepare. Jake had to assimilate everything in, well, basically, one night. And he was doing great! It was just weird for him–the look I saw–to think of his new sister as potentially sexually desirable. It was way complicated …

Daddy recovered the situation nicely by saying, “And Jake is a proven expert on pretty girls!” as he smiled and nodded his kingly head to Ashley.

Mom plowed on. “Almost done, guys. So there’s the usual level of teen-girl-interested-in-boys and vice versa, crushes, heartbreaks and so on. And there’s the level where your brain,” directed mostly to Daddy but to Jake, too, “might grind to a stop and say, but wait a minute, that boy’s interested in Mark, he must be gay! Or, why is he acting all moony about that boy; he’s Mark! And you’ve got to be absolutely clear that there is no ‘he’, there is no ‘Mark’, there is only Allison, the normal, pretty girl.”

In the silence, I said, “Moony?”

“Moony,” Mom nodded. “Oh, you laugh, but it’s coming, honey.” She grinned and then said, “Moony … or maybe warm and squishy!”

I blushed under her knowing look.

To cover, Mom looked around. “So, that was the last level. Are we agreed?”

“Not sure what we’re agreeing to,” Daddy said thoughtfully. “Am I agreeing to try to be a rational, normal father of a pretty daughter when a boy comes to take her out on a date? Agreed. Am I going to have trouble with it? I hope not but if it happens, I’ll not let it cause problems. It’s something I’ll have to deal with, and you’re right, honey, this will be the toughest of all. Because, I guess, like all fathers, I just want my little girl happy, and that moment when she hugged me and said, ‘I love you, Daddy’ … I want to freeze it and hold onto it forever.”

I smiled at him with tears in my eyes. “I love you, Daddy,” I said, with all my heart.

We adjourned to the family room and drinks, lemonade for most and stronger stuff for Mom and Daddy. They were tired and happy, and I was dazed by how much had happened in the last, well, 24 hours or so. Jake took Ashley home, after she and I hugged, and I sat alone with Mom and Daddy for a bit. I felt good about things, but had to ask something.

“You two … I love you very much, but … you two seemed awfully quick to accept your son turning into a daughter.”

Daddy shrugged. “Might seem so.”

“So … how?”

They looked at each other, and Mom nodded for him to go ahead.

Daddy said, “Because we were always aware that it might happen someday. You know that, if you think back. And I think your mother told you something about that, too. Doctors even prepared it for us, each physical you got. So after years of thinking about it and being reminded about it, I’ve got to tell you it’s a relief that it’s finally come. That our daughter has finally come home … the princess returned to her royal family.”

End of Part 6