(Note: The author humbly appreciates those who may be following the story of Miriam and how she deals with the issue her 10 year old son revealed to her in 1955. I am taking a brief hiatus of posting a chapter each day while traveling and intend to use the time to edit and proof the next few chapters. Thanks to all for the kudos. Posting the next chapter of Choices should resume at the very end of May. Criticism and comments are welcomed.)

Choices

Chapter 7

Little by little I pulled my head back out of the sand. I knew I had to. I needed a plan and actually prayed to God the Controller. It couldn’t hurt but I knew in my heart that it was me who had to discover the reason behind this; the reason why this was happening.

October 14, 1955 – Friday - We’ve been going about our lives as if all is normal. But it isn’t. I know I should but I haven’t talked to Don, yet! I’m hoping I won’t have too; hoping to find a way to stop what Jack is doing or find something that will tell me it will pass. Jack seems fine which almost bothers me. Wouldn’t there be other signs. He’s not moody; just seems like a happy ten year old – boy, a happy ten year old boy. My life is almost normal again. I wish it was but I know it isn’t. Normalcy is just a façade and I fear what might be coming.

The only other things is that Jack has been very needy with me, affectionate, wanting hugs and kisses. I love it but is it what 10 year old boys do? I thought they started distancing themselves from their mothers. Tim did. Is this connected to what’s going on? He continues to visit the third floor and I am terrified when he does. I know what he is doing and I’m doing nothing? Why am I allowing it? Do I have a choice?

What I remember most about those days was the feeling that I had no choice. I saw any attempt to modify Jack’s behavior would bring other, more difficult, problems; confrontation, having to tell Don or others and the dreaded gossip machine. I wanted to avoid all of that.

For days I went back and forth on what to do but ended up with more questions; questions I asked God and myself. Did this happen in other families, to other boys? Or was Jack really unique? Is it natural for some boys to want to experience what it’s like being a girl? But Jack was doing more, and verbalizing more, than just testing. I thought boys didn’t like girls until they both started to develop and then it was pretty awkward. Was Jack going to grow up and not like girls romantically; was he going to be effeminate, or as my Dad often said ‘one of those boys who wore lace panties’, whatever that meant? He just didn’t seem effeminate to me, at least not like Reuben Rogers.

When I talked to Elaine Rogers at Bible study, the details of her son’s ‘troubles’ were not discussed. That would not have been polite. It was no secret that he liked boys. He liked them too much and was caught with a boy in bed. Well, not exactly in bed; but he was doing, according to reliable sources, what the Bible condemns. No one talked about it in the open but more than once I found myself talking to Lib or Hilda about him when it was just two of us. Reuben’s family attended our church and they were so nice. Elaine and Bob Rogers were well known and respected in the community. Bob was a prominent lawyer but the Rogers didn’t run in any specific social circle. Their life centered on the church. Reuben had always been different growing up. He was effeminate, even at Jack’s age. When Reuben was ten everyone knew he had problems. No one thinks that of Jack, at least I hope not.

I kept coming back to what caused Jack to be this way. And all I could think of was that I had caused it. Did Jack not get enough love from me, or did I secretly want a girl instead of a boy, and then send him signals that I thought he should have been a girl? After all, I did tell him that when he was little. But I didn’t act on it, and I haven’t said that since before we cut his hair, when he was five. I couldn’t discount that I was at least partly to blame. Maybe some boys are predisposed to this and I pushed him over the edge. That thought caused me much despair.

Sometimes I had such hope. Maybe Jack was just a little more into it and would come out of it. Did boys become better men by knowing more what girls are like? I kept going back and forth. Nothing seemed right.

I knew I had to get some real answers; I had to find out what this was. I felt so alone with this. I had no one to talk to; I didn’t even feel I should talk about this to Don yet.

My degree was in Journalism and my instincts were to do some research even though I never really worked in the field. (I had never had a paying job, actually). Investigate like a reporter would. I was a frequent visitor to our small local library so when I got the chance I stopped in. I found only one book on psychology, a text book someone had donated from a college course. I was afraid to check the book out; too many people would ask questions, and questions led to gossip in this town. I flipped to the index but didn’t know what I was looking for until it practically jumped out at me. How stupid. I had read about ‘cross dressing’ before. I guess I hadn’t made the connection because the term just sounded so awful. But I remembered that in one of my classes, there was discussion of men wearing women’s clothes in history and the theater. But that was different, or it seemed so. Those men, I thought, didn’t want to be women. They were just pretending for a specific reason. Jack was a boy who thinks he should have been a girl.

I had such high hopes that the book would to help me learn something, not completely deflate me and depress me. I didn’t like the term but knew I had to see what a reputable text book said I flipped to the page listed for ‘cross dressing’. My heart almost stopped. The reference was in a section titled:

‘DEVIANT GENDER-ROLE BEHAVIOR IN CHILDREN: RELATION TO HOMOSEXUALITY’

I quickly started reading and jotted down what the book stated so emphatically:

‘There is ample evidence to show that homosexuality, in a certain proportion of cases, has its roots in childhood. Follow-up observations in the literature, as well as anecdotal evidence, show a high risk of homosexuality in children with deviant gender-role behavior, that is, effeminate or sissy boys and Tomboyish girls, including boys who want to wear dresses and girls who refuse to. Family backgrounds of those children show no consistent pattern.’

‘Boys who wear dresses’? So Jack wasn’t the only one but I couldn’t accept the words ‘deviant’ and ‘homosexual’, especially when applied to my sweet and innocent Jack; he was only ten and he had no sexuality. I felt so alone, so in the dark and isolated. The book didn’t say what happened to these boys but the implication was awful.

I knew I had to talk to someone. But who? Elaine Rogers? She certainly faced a problem with a son and said she would listen as a friend hinting she suspected something. But I just didn’t want to confide in anyone in this little provincial town, especially a parent, a mom, whose son was the subject of so much gossip. The association would be so revealing. I felt lost with nowhere to turn. I had a child who had a problem and I couldn’t help him, and what I was doing was probably making it worse. I was afraid to ask for help. Who could I trust? Who would listen and try to understand? I considered seeking help from our pastor but while he probably would be discreet, I couldn’t take that chance. And what could he do; pray; tell me Jack was sinning and he must stop and repent? I knew what the Bible said. That wouldn’t help me help Jack.

So I did what I didn’t want to do. I confided in a friend. Libby and I had been friends since high school and her husband, another Jack, and Don and I were very close. She had two sons, and Lib and I were as close as could be before they moved to Pittsburgh. We had a lot in common, not just school but she was also an only child who now was the mother of sons. And she lived in Pittsburgh. Surely there were more resources in a big city. So I called her.

October 19, 1955 – Wednesday – I told myself I would not say anything to anyone until I figured out more about my Jack but called Libby today. I hoped that she would tell me it’s just what boys go through; that either her Steve or John, a little older than Jack and Tim, went through something similar. They haven’t and she didn’t help much. She felt I have a real problem on my hands and that I should take Jack to a doctor in Pittsburgh.

I can’t do that, yet. I trust Lib but hope she doesn’t say anything to her Jack, or anyone.

“Libby. It’s Miri. How are you?” I started.

“Miri, this is a surprise. Everything o.k.?” I guess it was a little unusual to call long distance in the middle of the day.

“I need to talk to you about Jack.”

“You want him, don’t you Miri? You’ve always had your eye on my husband.” She and I always teased each other about our men.

“Not your Jack! My little Jack.” I tried not to sound too frantic.

“Oh, what’s up?” She asked now serious also.

“You’ve got boys. Have you had any issues about, well, I don’t know how to say it, about wearing your things.”

“What?” I almost heard her chuckle through the phone. “No, no. I don’t think so. No, I know there’s nothing. Are you saying that Jack…”

“Yes, I caught Jack wearing something of mine, a slip. And he’s been into one of Brenda’s dresses up on the third floor. And…” It felt good to actually voice what had been going on to another person but before I could finish Lib interrupted me.

“Miri, I hope you put a stop to it. Have you talked to him?” My heart sank. I had feared that no one would consider, even for a second, letting it continue a good thing.

“I did.” I quickly answered meaning that I had talked to Jack. “And I tried to put a stop to it but it’s deeper than I thought and I just don’t know what to do. I can’t find anything on this and I am losing my mind.” I explained.

“What did he say? Did he deny it? Did he tell you why? He’s too young for it to be..” If I wanted questions I wouldn’t have called.

“I know. But that’s just the thing. I got him to talk, gained his trust and he says he wants to be a girl or should have been a girl. It’s driving me crazy.” I was regretting calling Lib and deeply regretted telling her that much.

“Wait a minute. He told you that. That doesn’t sound normal, Miri. What are you doing? What are you going to do? You told him to stop, didn’t you?” I had no idea how to answer her and just hoped the operator was not listening in.

“Well, sort of. I don’t want him to withdraw. I need to keep his confidence. And no, I don’t know what to do. That’s why I need you. I need your take and advice. And I need your confidence. I haven’t even told Don. You cannot tell your Jack.”

“You have my word. But Miri, you’re letting him continue to do this? What’s he doing?”

“He goes to the third floor and dresses up, I guess. I haven’t seen it but that’s what he tells me. He plays up there, reads and does his homework.” I confessed.

“Miri, this doesn’t seem good. I have a friend who has all kinds of problems with her 12 year old boy. Not this kind of problem but she swears by a psychiatrist she takes him to. I really think you should take Jack to see him.” My good friend was reacting exactly the way I guessed anyone would and she was giving me advice I just didn’t want to take, not yet.

“I’ve been dreading doing that. I really just want this to go away. I don’t know what to do. I’ll think about it.” I told her. Lib pledged her sympathy and support. She told me she would pray for us. She gave me the name and phone number of the Pittsburgh psychiatrist and we ended our conversation. I hid the paper I wrote the information on in my purse and hoped I would not need it. Lib never asked me about our conversation again, which I suppose was strange, and I never brought it up to her again.