(Miri returns to telling her story of discovering her child is different and dealing with it. In this chapter Miri and Don try to make some plans for the future and then break the news about their sibling to their other two children.)

Choices

Chapter 21

As it turned out the ominous foreboding dark clouds that rolled in over us as we drove home from Wheeling with the happy boy/girl in the backseat were not just symbolic. They dumped several inches of snow on Moundsville Tuesday night covering the permanent layer of dirt, soot and grime constantly falling on us from the mills and factories of the Ohio Valley. The snow was accompanied by strong winds and near zero temperatures. It was time to have faith, to remind myself that I was a believer.

My husband and I talked at length in bed that night, cuddling close to keep warm in that Victorian house that was never warm enough and listening to the wind and blowing snow, first about our weakness and lack of restraint earlier that day, and then about how we would proceed. We did not, however, second guess ourselves. That would come later. If anything, after going over what Dr. Ellis told us, we accepted we had a very unique child and needed to dedicate ourselves to making a safe environment for him/her to grow and mature, blindly hoping there would be a place in the world for person with a body opposite personality, or gender as we were now aware of. As Don said to me almost religiously in the dark, “We weren’t placed on earth to force any of our children to be what was expected; just to be what they were, nothing more nothing less”. It was rare that Donald Roberts gave any credit to God if that is what he was doing. I felt so warm and secure in his arms that night.

We did rationalize our position, however. We justified indulging Jack, or Becky as Don and I now agreed to call our third child when we were talking alone, on pure logic. If Jack’s firm protestations that he really was a girl, somehow wired female in his psyche, were correct, we would do irreversible harm if we were restrictive, if we tried to change him, her . On the other hand, if this were a phase, or a fantasy, or some other temporary condition, indulgence now would help uncover that, and any harm would, we told ourselves, be minimal and more conducive to correction later. In short, if it were a phase it would work its way out.

We decided our first priority had to be enlightening our two other children. With Becky likely wearing a nightgown to bed and sharing a bathroom with Tim it was just a matter of time before I would be awakened in the middle of the night by screams, and probably laughter. The plan we concocted to tell them was to have a family night out, so to speak, as soon as possible. The plan as we hatched it was to gather the boys after school in Moundsville on Friday, drive to Wheeling and pick up Brenda at the Mount, where she spent the week in boarding school, thankfully, and go out to dinner. In a public place we felt we could quietly explain to Tim and Brenda that their brother felt more like a sister. The atmosphere, we hoped, would dampen the drama Brenda would predictably show, and lessen the hilarious reaction by Tim, the complete and confident boy’s boy.

Next we considered if we should even try to expand the circle of believers beyond the five of us, as well as John Benson and of course Dr. Ellis. We unanimously agreed that we needed as much time as possible before we said anything to anyone about Jack and that if possible, keep what we were doing a total secret.

We agreed that eventually we would have to tell my parents something. I noted rather forcefully my distrust of my mother, The Supreme Methodist, being able to be understanding and accepting, or keeping her mouth shut. Grace would turn on me in a heartbeat and tell anyone listening on the phone, connected in 1956 to at least 6 of her neighbors through a ‘party line’, what an awful sinful mother I turned out to be. And it would kill my father, the wonderful grandfather who doted on his grandsons, whose very existence alleviated his disappointment of fathering only one child, a girl, and who took every opportunity to malign any boy who showed the slightest sissy tendencies. I had no idea how we could keep our secret from either of them but knew we had to try.

We discussed other likely problems, like my Aunt Lottie who lived near us, within walking distance and regularly stopped by, and Don’s mother, who also lived close but never did. And school; what would I tell Jack’s teacher when she inevitably asked about Jack missing every other Tuesday to see Dr. Ellis and why he was looking so different? Of course there was always the problem of church and the nosey Birdie Bozwell, the wife of our minister, John Bozwell. Birdie was like a Christian pit-bull, sinking her teeth into someone’s personal problem revealed by the slightest hint of un-Christian (in her eyes) behavior until every sordid detail is naked before God and everyone else. After Jack’s magnificent performance in the Christmas Play as The Angel, wearing that lacy gown, Birdie would be watching us, I was sure.

Church was the ultimate social microscope. We couldn’t stop attending; that would bring more scrutiny. We had to continue the weekly ritual; Sunday best, same pew, same prayer and those insidious judgmental sermons from John Bozwell. It would be putting Jack on display, and on the spot, every week, forcing him to wear the suit, and tie, and fix his hair with the Brylcreem. We had no other choice.

So with a sigh and clinging to each other, we were resigned to one very real and probable fact. It wouldn’t be long before Moundsville discovered that the Roberts family was hiding something and we needed to prepare for the inevitable. We guessed that maybe we would have a few weeks, perhaps until the end of the school year before someone figured out that we had a “deviate” child and that Don and I were enabling. No amount of explaining would keep us from scandal and ruin. We held each other in the dark daring not to say what that would be like, or what the result would be. We understood, without uttering a word, why parents would take a completely different, acceptably repressive, course with a child like Jack.

That’s when Don said loudly that our only chance was to leave.

“Miri, we have to somehow get out of Moundsville.”

I’m sure he could feel me nod my head resting on his chest. That thought had crossed my mind too but it seemed out of the question. Everything that we were centered on Moundsville, not the least was the business, the thing that paid the bills and allowed us to keep up with the doctors and lawyers. We couldn’t pick that up and move and Don had never held a job, never worked for anyone but himself. Don’s grandfathers, both of them, came to Moundsville and made good. My ancestors literally were some of the first settlers in Marshall County. We lived our whole lives in Moundsville, married and raised our family there, up until now.

Where would we go, the business was there, and even if we did go somewhere, we would still have the same issue, a boy who wanted to be a girl. We just couldn’t go to some other town and try to pass Jack off as a girl, a daughter, especially with puberty just around the corner. Staying seemed hopeless; leaving seemed out of the question. We just couldn’t decide anything until we had more information from Dr. Ellis. When we finally drifted off to sleep shielded from the drifting snow outside our bedroom window, we had made no plans other than to talk to our other children about their brother/sister. We knew would awaken in the morning to significantly different lives.

* * *

But nothing was different Wednesday morning, except the several inches of snow and the bone-chilling wind. I still had to get the boys off to school. Boys? How could I not consider they were both boys when I would be sending them out the door in shirt, pants, boots, gloves, coat and scarves, all clearly made and tailored for boys? Both were reluctant to go but for different reasons. I’m sure Jack wanted Tim to go to school while he stayed home as Becky. Tim looked tired and nibbled at his breakfast and whined, which I took as a ruse to stay home.

Schools closed early Wednesday and Jack came bounding through the back door excited about having ‘Third Floor Time’, as we now called it like it was code from the plot of a foreign film. Tim didn’t come bounding through the door. Tim came home with a fever of 102 and a cough that sounded like a Mack truck. He went to bed; Jack went to the third floor but came back down shortly almost blue from the cold. The third floor had no separate heat and was barely above freezing considering how cold it had become outside. It was not a place at that time of the year conducive to trying on dresses. I let her take one dress to her bedroom and close the door on the condition she stayed there and did homework. With Tim in bed asleep I felt it was safe.

* * *

I called Dr. Benson as soon as I took Tim’s temperature and he said he would stop by to examine Tim later that afternoon. I had not seen John for a couple of weeks but he knew I had been to see Dr. Ellis. He did not know that Don and I had been to see him (Dr. Ellis) with Jack.

I was in the basement doing laundry when the doorbell rang. I forgot that Becky was likely in one of her new dresses, in her room for the first time, and called up to ‘Jack’ to get the door. He was closer than I, and I was in the middle of transferring wet clothes to the dryer. I realized my error and rushed to the front door just in time to see Becky, in one of the long sleeve dresses she now owned and sporting the leggings underneath for warmth, pull the big oak door open.

I guess the good news was that the person on the other side of the door was the only other one in Moundsville who knew our son was prone to cross dressing, and not my aunt or, God forbid, one of the many gossips who roamed the streets of our town. Dr. Benson stood there, frozen, not only by the extreme weather but also by the sight of the person who opened the door for him, a person he knew from birth as a boy. Becky looked every bit a girl and had fixed her hair nicely with a ribbon. I obviously reacted, much too defensively and harshly, telling Becky to go to her room, not allowing for an extended examination by the doctor. He watched her scurry up the stairs before he said anything.

“Well, Miri.” He exclaimed after the door closed stopping the wind and snow from invading the house. “It appears you are not as distraught about Jack as when we talked last.” He said almost sarcastically.

“I’ll explain later.” I said trying not to make eye contact. I knew we didn’t have time to talk. He was busy and was on a house call. I told him about Tim and led him up to his bedroom. Tim was asleep but sat up coughing, with pain, when I awakened him. The diagnosis turned out to be pleurisy, not pneumonia as I suspected. He was given a shot of penicillin and excused from school the rest of the week.

On the way out Dr. Benson gave me a reassuring hug. He told me that he understood and would always support us.

* * *

I called Brenda Wednesday evening at 8 o’clock as I always did; there was only one phone in the dorm and calls from home were scheduled. I told her about Tim and said mindlessly that due to his illness and the weather our family meeting (yes, I used the word meeting) would have to be postponed.

“What meeting?” She naturally asked since I had not mentioned it before.

“Oh, well dear. Your father and I just thought it might be good for all of us to just go out for dinner and talk.” I said. “It will have to be next week now with the weather so bad. I’m not sure you will be able to come home this weekend unless Papa is in Wheeling Friday and can take you to the farm.”

“I don’t want to go to the farm.” She announced and then continued. “Talk? “What’s wrong? Is it Jack? Everything is about Jack anymore?” She fired too rapidly for me to answer any one of the questions before the next hit me. What could I do? I couldn’t lie to her.

“It’s about our family, all of us.” I paused hoping she would be satisfied with that. She wasn’t.

“Ok. It’s either Jack or oh my god, it’s you and daddy.” True to Brenda’s penchant for drama she started crying. “You’re getting divorced, aren’t you?” She guessed.

“No, no. That’s not it at all. Honey, we just need to talk, do some planning for the future, college and things.” I tried. Brenda composed herself showing the range of her acting ability.

“Nope. I don’t buy that. It is about Jack, and what he does on the third floor.” She confidently asserted. So I admitted it, sort of.

“Yes, it is about Jack but it is about how we deal with it, as a family.” I said but couldn’t continue because she reacted so quickly.

“I knew it. Mom, I’m glad. I’m glad you finally know.” I wanted to say something but couldn’t and let her continue. “I knew Jack was doing things, weird things but didn’t want to get him in trouble. I thought he was getting into my things so I arranged things in my drawer, where my panties are, just right and sure enough something had been moved.”

Our scheduled time was almost up so I tried to end the conversation.

“That won’t happen again, Brenda. We’re getting help.” I told her.

“Good, I love Jack and just want him to be ok.”

“We do too, honey, and that’s what we have to talk about, this weekend, weather permitting.”

* * *

The weather did not permit. Actually it got colder on Thursday and a new storm added three more inches of snow Friday. Brenda did not make it home for the weekend. With everyone in Moundsville except Don nearly house bound I was on the phone nearly all day Thursday. Both Jack and Tim were home; Tim still sick in bed and Becky in her room doing whatever pre-teen girls do. I did not see her all day.
What’s important is that I made no phone calls and each time the phone rang I raced to answer hoping it was Don telling me he was coming home. With all the weather related issues to the rentals I hardly saw him until Saturday.

The Supreme Methodist called first, early Thursday morning. I had not talked to my mother since church on Sunday when she asked about Tim’s still black eye. So I listened to her sermon barely saying a word until she turned to criticizing my children and by extension, me.

“He’s so hostile, Miriam.” She proclaimed falsely about Tim. Tim was sometimes abrupt especially to my mom and dad, but hostile he wasn’t. “I worry about him.” She continued. My mother worried about all my children since we left the farm. She couldn’t see how I could raise them by myself, without her, and she looked for every reason to prove her point.

“And Jack.” She said moving on to my next failure. “What in the world is going on with that boy?” I really wanted to tell her about Becky but calculated that doing so would at least bring on heart failure and with the weather so bad no one could get to the farm in time to save her.

“Jack’s fine.” I tried instead.

“Well he doesn’t look fine. Miriam he’s so frail. Is he eating?”

“Mom he’s only eleven and he’s always been small. You can’t compare Jack to Tim, mom. Tim’s a big boy.”

“That’s my point, Miriam. Something’s not right. You should take him to see a specialist. There’s a doctor in Wheeling who helped the Thatcher boy. He wasn’t growing and they found some kind of tumor.”

“Mom, Jack is fine. He doesn’t have a tumor. Dr. Benson looked him over just last month.” I said defensively.

“Well, your father hasn’t said anything to you, yet, but he’s upset that you let Jack wear his hair like some delinquent. Miriam, it would make dad so happy if you cut Jack’s hair.”

“Mom, we are trying to raise our children to be independent. Have you read Dr. Spock?” I asked knowing my mother’s reading was limited to The Readers Digest, The Upper Room and the Bible.

“No I have not. Dr. Spock is just a bunch of hooey. Kids need discipline, good Christian discipline and letting a boy have long hair will lead to trouble. Mark my words. That boy is going to cause you a lot of heartache if you don’t set some rules.” She said emphatically.

“Jesus had long hair.” I countered not really trying to antagonize her but knowing it would. I still do not know how all the depictions of Christ Jesus showed him white, bearded and with shoulder length hair since he lived several hundred years before Kodak started selling Brownie cameras. How did Christians know how he looked, I wondered.

“Don’t be disrespectful of the Lord, Miriam. There were different customs then and you are not helping Jack by letting him look like a….”

“A what?” I interrupted.

“Well, Miriam, let’s just say he's not looking like any of the other boys.” She said and I let the conversation end.

The irony of her chastisement was that during all those years we lived with my parents, when the children were little, my mother gave them anything they wanted (brown sugar sandwiches in their school lunch boxes, or cookies for breakfast) and I was the one who had to set some boundaries.

Hilda Benson then called. I loved Hilda and we were close but it was a little unusual for her to call. I wondered how much she knew and had to assume her husband, the doctor whom Becky opened the door to the day before, had explained things to her. If he did it wouldn’t bother me except that I needed her confidence. As a doctor’s wife I was certain she could keep secrets.

If Don Benson told his wife about Becky she never said anything. We talked about bridge club, her son who was in medical school and her daughter, Joanie whom Jack adored. Jack and Joanie were the same age, almost, and had played together since they were babies. Over the years Joanie had spent the night at our house, in separate beds, and Jack had done the same at the Benson’s many times. It was naturally innocent except for Jack’s revelation that he and Joanie had played dress-up on at least one occasion.

We also talked about PTA (we both had been active but now weren’t), the weather and of course our husbands both who seemed to work longer and harder when the weather was bad. She asked if Tim was feeling better and offered to have Jack spend Friday night with them if that would make it easier for me. I declined. I was so afraid that Jack would be unable to maintain a boy persona around Joanie and needed to keep Becky in our house. Not only that but I knew Joanie had started to develop (she was seven months older than Jack) and besides being socially risky for a boy to be spending the night at a girl’s house, I didn’t want Jack to witness what he would be missing.

Hilda never mentioned anything specific about knowing anything of our trials.

Next, Birdie Bozwell called. I almost didn’t pick up the phone but then thought it might be Don needing something.

“Miri? Hi, do you have a minute?” She asked and then started talking before I could say ‘no, I don’t’. “I’ve had to postpone Bible Study until next week and wanted you to know. Also, I know I can always count on you to send some things for the church bizarre. With this cold weather we could use some warm things, coats especially, for girls. If you have any of Brenda’s old wool skirts or sweaters. We just don’t have much right now and there are so many in need.”

“I’ll see if I have anything.” I answered but knew that I might need to keep some things now that I had Becky to think about.

“Oh.” She continued. “I never told you what a wonderful job Jack did in the Christmas Play. He was the perfect Angel. Please tell him I’m sorry he had to do that part, and wear that gown. That must have been so hard for him and I know some of the boys teased him. To be honest Miriam, Jack made a better Angel than Lorraine would have. I hate to talk about people but well, that girl just is so clumsy and awkward. And she really hated the thought of wearing that gown. For the life of me I just don’t know what’s wrong with girls these days, wearing pants and make-up. Thank God for Jack. He looked so sweet, angelic really, in that gown.” What could I say? I agreed with her.

Don did call, mid-afternoon. He said he was wet, cold and hungry. When he asked why we were living in this crappy, dirty, miserable town, I had to remind him that we had worked hard to build the business in Moundsville and that we lived quite well because of it.

Dr. Benson called late in the day to ask how Tim was doing. I reported that his fever was almost back to normal but that he was still hacking and coughing and had no energy. John asked about Jack and said to call him if I needed to talk. I think he really wanted to know what Dr. Ellis said and what we were doing. I told him very little not wanting to say anything over the phone but did say, in code, that Jack was also feeling better.

* * *

“We know, mom.” Brenda announced before either Don or I could say anything. Don and I looked at each other wondering the same thing. What did they know and for how long? Brenda looked at Tim.

The weather had finally moderated a little after another week and we were sitting in DiCarlo’s in Elm Grove on the second Friday since our session with Dr. Ellis. There was palpable tension in the air after we ordered when Brenda broke the ice with her revelation.

“We’re not stupid.” Tim chimed in. I refrained from arguing that point and maintained my silence. Jack smiled innocently.

“Go on.” Don demanded.

“We’ve talked. Tim called me this week when you weren’t home and told me something was going on. We compared notes. We know you took Jack to Wheeling to see a doctor.” How she knew that I did not know but it didn’t matter. I waited for more. She continued.

“And mom, you just about confirmed it on the phone last week.” She paused expecting her father to say something. He didn’t. Then she looked at Tim again.

“Yah, so we know.” He said backing up his older sister. They still didn’t say exactly what it was they thought they knew. I reached over and put my hand on Jack’s shoulder and looked them both in the eye.
“Then you know there was a mistake.” I said mysteriously watching Don roll his eyes.

“Mistake?” They both asked in unison. “What mistake?” Brenda added. She looked at Jack. “I don’t know about a mistake but Tim and I know Jack is, uh, doing strange things; things boys shouldn’t be doing.” Brenda tried to look like the older accepting adult sister she wasn’t.

“Jack,” she said. “I’m not mad. I understand and Tim and I will try to help you. You don’t have to be like that.”

“And if you are,” Tim chimed in, “you know I won’t let anyone bother you. If you are like that, so what. I’m cool.” He promised. “Look brother, I’ve known you like girl stuff since as long as I can remember.”
“And I know you’ve been into my things Jack. I’m trying to understand but that has to stop. Thank God he’s finally going to a doctor.” Brenda said.

I had let this go on long enough. I had to take charge of the conversation.

“Enough!” I exclaimed too loudly. I lowered my voice, looked at Don, took a deep breath and unintentionally used the other pronoun. “She won’t do that again, Brenda.”

There was complete silence, and disbelief. For a moment, or what seemed like an eternity, the restaurant was quiet almost as if everyone was listening and waiting for an explanation. I stammered without making any intelligent sounds.

“She?” Brenda finally asked turning to her father. “What did she mean? Mom said “she” meaning Jack, didn’t she?” She asked.

Finally Don got involved. “Look kids. She just made a mistake.” He offered but was immediately challenged.

“She who? Who made a mistake? You mean mom? I’m confused. What she made a mistake? Can somebody tell me what’s going on?”

“I can.” Jack, rather Becky, piped up causing the rest of us to stop talking and turn to her.

“I’m a girl.” She announced tilting her head to the side just like a girl would. “I know you won’t believe me but I really am. There was a mistake before I was born. I was supposed to be a girl but it got all mixed up when I was in mommy’s tummy.” Becky explained better than I could, I think.

“Mistake?” Tim questioned while almost laughing. “I doubt it.”

Becky looked at her older sister expecting a reaction. There was one. Brenda laughed, loudly and with a broad smile.

“Funny. You all are just too much. Did dad put you up to this?” She asked in disbelief. “I’m not falling for it this time.” Brenda was as gullible as anyone and Don and Tim many times had fun getting her to buy in to the unbelievable.

“Actually, Brenda, what Jack said is pretty much the truth.” I affirmed.

“Impossible!” Brenda began a series of one word responses.

“We took Jack to a doctor, in Wheeling, and he thinks there is something to it.” Don added.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I didn’t know it but Jack told me he felt this way as long as he, uh, she can remember.” I said.

“Insane!”

“Not exactly.” Don explained. “Dr. Ellis thinks Jack is otherwise quite normal.”

“Normal? No.” She declared adding a second word to her responses.

“You see Brenda, Jack has been going up to the third floor ever since we moved into town and dressing up, uh, in some of your old dresses.. And when I caught him, he started telling me about how he has always felt like a girl and how hard it has been to hide it and…” I wasn’t able to finish.

“Holy shit!” Tim let slip. I reflectively wanted to slap him but restrained myself due to the number of adjacent strangers and the need to stay on topic. Instead I gave him a very disappointed look. He apologized.

“Sorry mom, dad. Let me see if I understand this. You caught my brother wearing a dress and he made up some story about wanting to be a girl. You believed him and took him to a doctor in Wheeling who Jack also convinced. Wow! You’re good, Jack.” I’m sure Tim thought Jack had invented a story about being a girl as an excuse when he was caught wearing a dress. Tim was pretty good at inventing excuses and would admire such a fiction.

Jack frowned and pouted but held his, her ground. “I didn’t make it up. It’s true. Dr. Ellis believes me and I’m going to be a girl. Right mom?” She put me on the spot and as the parent I needed to set the record straight and bring the family together.

“All right. Let’s see if I can clear things up.” I began. “First, she isn’t making this up.” I saw Brenda’s look of disgust at my pronoun. “This is going to be hard for both of you. Tim, you need to listen.” I needed to get the boy’s attention. “But I believe Jack. You all know that we, your father and I, have always trusted and believed in each of you. So when Jack opened up to me, and I listened, I had to give him the benefit of the doubt and well, over time I’ve just been able to see it.”

“Mom, you can’t..” Brenda started but I stopped her.

“Please, allow me to finish, then you can say what you want, or ask questions. Second, we are still sorting this out; what it means and where we go from here. Jack will be seeing Dr. Ellis every other week for a long time.”

“I know you’re wondering why we went with a doctor who believes, who isn’t trying to fix him, well, it just happened. Dr. Benson suggested Dr. Ellis simply because they knew each other and Dr. Ellis turned out to have a different perspective about something like this.” I continued.

“It’s complicated but Dr. Ellis believes that if everything else is normal, do no harm. Let the person explore their feelings, find out who they are, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. That’s what we have done with you Brenda, isn’t it?”

Brenda did not answer but just looked away. I could see the familiar pressure building toward the inevitable explosion.

“Cool.” Tim interjected. “Kinda like what Rueben said.” He added distracting my thoughts.

“What did Rueben say?” I had to ask.

“He said that no doctor could change how he felt, about boys, mom, and that he was what he was.”

“Yes, it’s similar. But not the same. We don’t have all the answers yet and it’s going to take time before we know everything.” I was running out of what else to say.

“The bottom line is that we’re letting Jack explore how she feels, at home sometimes, and we’ll see what happens.” I left it there. I didn’t want to give details. I paused.

“Wait.” Brenda said reading between the lines. “You’re going to let Jack dress up around the house?” She exclaimed. “As a girl?”

“Some, yes.” I answered truthfully.

“That’s just bizarre. I can’t believe this.” Her face was beet red. She pushed away from the table and rushed to the Ladies Room. I started to get up but Don stopped me. I sat back down and looked at Tim.

“This is strange, mom. Jack in a dress. I don’t know. I mean I can see it, but what about his friends? What about my friends? God, Jack you’re going to get your ass kicked if this gets out and I won’t be able to stop it.” The brother predicted. “This is going to be weird.”

“Miri, go see if Brenda is ok. Tim and I will talk. Jack, you get lost for a few minutes.” Don ordered. Jack and I got up and headed in different directions. She went to the lobby to look at the fish in the tank the restaurant had there and I to the ladies room to find Brenda. I pushed the door open and she was sitting and sobbing in a lounge chair. A woman was at the mirror, looking concerned.

“Brenda, honey. I know how hard this is.” I told her noticing the other woman listening.

“What about my friends? They all know Jack. And Gramma and Papa?” My children always called my father that.

“We’re not telling them.” I whispered turning away from the mirror so the woman could not read my lips. “Not yet anyway. We’re not telling anyone. Maybe we won’t have to. Brenda, we’re just trying this. We don’t know much about this. Dr. Ellis thinks it’s very rare but he said it would do more harm now if we tried to repress it. He’s consulting with a colleague, some guy named Rogers in Chicago or somewhere who might know something. I have to trust him.” The nosey woman left not being able to hear what I was saying.

“Brenda, I’ve had my doubts too. There is so much I don’t understand but I’m not paid to understand, just to love and believe. I believe Jack, just as I believe in you.” I said giving her a little hug. Brenda gave me a slight smile.

“I need you Brenda. We all do. Jack needs you. We’re in this together.” I added.

“I don’t want him wearing my things.” She said giving a hint she would not buck us.

“I promise.” I told her.

“I mean not even the old dresses I can’t wear anymore. That would be just creepy.” She continued. I dared not tell her that her brother/sister looked as good as she did in that sun dress the first time I first saw Jack wearing a dress.

“I’ve already taken care of that. We got her some things of her own.”

“What?”

“We bought her a couple of dresses, and some accessories. You know. I bought her some underwear. She had been finding what she could and I didn’t want that to continue.”

There was a long awkward pause, neither of us saying anything.

“God mom. This has to be tough for you.” She finally said. That was the first acknowledgement of how this was impacting me and it came from the most improbable source, my self-centered oldest child. “How can you deal with a boy like that?” She asked as if she was not related to Jack. “I just don’t understand. Does he, uh, look, uh. I don’t know.” Brenda was searching for something. For once she couldn’t verbalize what she wanted to ask.

“I think what you want to know is if your brother really looks like a girl, when she puts on a dress. Brenda that is what convinced me. It wasn’t that she just put on a dress, and I caught her. It was that it was the dress, and slip, and hair brushed like a girl. Everything screamed girl. Of course at first I thought it was some perversion, or some sissy homosexual thing. But it isn’t.”

“But doesn’t it freak you out knowing that that ‘girl’ is really a boy, really my brother.”

“No, not really. I mean of course I’m aware of it. But you’ll see. There’s nothing freaky about it. It just seems natural.”

“I’m not sure I want to see.” She concluded.

We returned to our table and found our food served. Tim and Don were eating, and talking. Jack sat looking a little sad and isolated.

“Look Tim. We really haven’t set any rules yet but the way I see it if Jack feels comfortable then he er, uh she will be girly. You know wear a dress or something.” Don explained to Tim as we sat down.

“And if it bothers you, well, she won’t do it in front of you, or you either Brenda.

“No, I think I want to see this.” Tim told us looking at Jack. “So that’s why you haven’t got a haircut, and use that stuff on your hair.” Jack grinned nodding his head.

“And if someone is coming over, well, just say something so Jack doesn’t screw up.” Don continued.

“And when we have visitors or when we out we will always call him ‘Jack’ and say ‘he’ and ‘him’ just like we always have. And when she is being like a girl we will call her ‘Becky’.”

“Becky?” Brenda and Tim questioned in unison.

“That’s me.” Becky answered.

“Yes, that is the name she has chosen. Rebecca Katherine.” I explained.

Brenda took a bite of her spaghetti looking at her brother. “Becky, huh? I like it but I’m supposed to remember to say “Jack” when people are around but “Becky” other times?” She asked.
I nodded but realized how that might be difficult. “How long do you think it will be before one of us screws up?” She followed up. Again I elected not to answer.

“And what do I tell Alex?” She asked. Alex was her latest love and like long list of others who proceeded him they were deeply in love and were going to be married, after college of course. We had learned to tolerate Brenda’s serial love interests. She had a point; should she tell him she had a sister and brother, or two brothers?

“Just tell him Becky is your half-sister.” Tim cracked breaking into a deep laugh at his humor. It was funny. Don especially appreciated the play on words. Even Brenda smiled, after she realized the joke. Only Jack, or Becky, did not seem to think her brother was cute.

For the longest time no one said anything. I think we were all hungry and just needed time to eat and think. I carefully looked at my children, each wonderfully unique. Tim was not fazed by the news which was consistent to his natural acceptance of all things unconventional. Brenda was skeptical and perhaps a little threatened but she showed some empathy. I had new hope.

The subject did not come up again while we finished eating, and then had dessert. It was as if nothing had changed. We walked out of the restaurant into the cold and snow, full and happy. Don and Tim walked ahead to the car talking about when Tim could start driving. Brenda and Becky walked with me, one on each side steadying me on the icy sidewalk.

Before we reached the car, Brenda started reminiscing to Becky almost as if I was not there. “Remember when I used to dress you up like a doll?” She asked.

“Uh huh.” Becky answered.

“You really seemed to like that.” She remembered.

“I did.” Becky said shivering.

“I’ve always wondered about that.” She added. “We did have some fun, didn’t we?”

“Yes.” Becky answered quickly then added. “I didn’t want it to stop.”

“Do you want to show me your dress when we get home?” Brenda asked sweetly.

We stopped walking and I watched through tears as Brenda and Becky hugged.

“You can bring your dress to my room and we’ll close the door.” Brenda told her sister and then paused. “I’ll make a sign for the door, ‘no boys allowed’.”