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I leaned out of our back door and yelled out into the yard.

"Johnny?"

"Yes Mum?" A little voice came floating down out of the big Maple tree in our back yard.

"Come down out of the tree, honey. It's time to wash up for dinner."

I watched as a few branches started shaking and then the little monkey came into view as he scrambled down out of the tree. I watched until he was safely on the ground – partly because I was concerned that he not hurt himself but also out of pride at the way he moved with such surety and confidence.

Johnny brushed his hands off and trotted up to me. I held the door for him and he slowed to a walk as he went past me and into the house. He didn't say anything to me as he passed me and I frowned to myself at his unusual quietness.

That quietness continued through dinner. He wasn't silent but all we got were one or two word answers rather than the extended monologues we were used to. George raised his eyebrow at me when he noticed Johnny's mood. I gave a little shrug and we filled the gap with conversation between the two of us, leaving Johnny the space that he obviously wanted.

Once we were finished eating, George leaned over and slapped Johnny lightly on the shoulder.

"Our turn to cleanup, tiger," he said.

"Okay," said Johnny.

I relaxed in my place for a moment while the two of them bustled around the table, clearing off the dishes. There wasn't the usual chatter and I could see Johnny had something on his mind. Thinking perhaps he wanted to talk to his dad without Mum listening I made my way into the next room to put my feet up in front of the TV.

The news was on. I turned the volume down a fraction so that I could hear if a conversation started up without necessarily eavesdropping but they continued to work in silence – scraping off the plates and stacking the dishwasher.

I could hear George make a couple of attempts to start something but he wasn't getting anywhere so the two of them settled for working in silence. I smiled to myself. My two men did that sometimes, just working together without talking. Neither of them are what you would call taciturn, and they would normally chat away quite cheerfully, but just occasionally they would spend hours doing something together in what I can only describe as companionable silence. I couldn't do it – the quiet would drive me crazy.

The two of them came back into the room just as the news was finishing up. I flicked a glance at Johnny and quietly switched the channel so that he could watch the half hour comedy show that he liked. George pulled out the daily newspaper and started reading while I watched the comedy with Johnny. I thought parts of it were funny but most of it seemed formulaic – but then I'm not an eight year old boy so what would I know?

Once it finished I picked up the remote and switched off the TV.

I looked over at Johnny. He was slumped back on the sofa, staring at the blank TV.

"It's about time you were getting ready for bed, young man," I said gently. "Go and have your bath."

Johnny let out this huge sigh as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He dragged himself off the sofa as if his limbs were three times their normal weight.

George waited until we could here the splashing sounds of a small body moving in the bath before he looked over at me.

"So what's going on with himself?" he asked, wagging his head in the direction of the bathroom.

"I don't know," I replied with a frown. "He's been like this since we got back from the park this afternoon."

"Did something happen at the park? Did he have a fight with his friends?"

"Not as far as I know. He and his friends seemed pretty chummy with each other when they were saying goodbye."

"Well, something's obviously wrong," said George. "Apart from anything else, he's having a bath without giving us a running commentary about his day."

"Yes. I'll give him the third degree when he comes back after his bath," I said. "If that doesn't work, we may have to resort to more serious measures."

"Not the tickle torture," said George, in mock horror.

"Only if I have to," I replied.

George grinned at me and went back to his paper.

Eventually, a freshly washed little boy wandered back into the room, dressed in his pyjamas.

"Hey, tiger," I called out softly. "Come and give your mum a cuddle."

He wandered over to me and crawled into my lap. I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him tight.

He dropped his head onto my shoulder and a moment later I heard a quiet sniffle.

"Hey, sweetie," I whispered. "What's the matter?"

"Nothin'," he muttered into my ear. Then he sniffled again.

"I don't believe that for a second," I said softly. "Nothin' doesn't stop you from talking all evening. Why, you've hardly said two words since you got home from the park. Did something happen? Come on, tiger, you can tell me."

He was quiet for a moment so I waited him out, gently running my hand down his back.
"You'll think I'm weird," he said, finally.

I smiled. "I guarantee there is nothing you can say to me, nothing at all, that will make me think you're weird. Now Dad over there," I pointed over at George. "Now he's weird."

Right on cue, George looked up from the newspaper he was pretending to read and pulled a silly face.

Johnny chuckled into my neck. "He's such a dag."

"Yeah! He is. But you on the other hand – you are not a dag."

I sat him up on my lap a bit so I could look into his eyes.

"You're not a dag, and you're not weird. But something is bugging you, so spill it."

He sighed and looked down.

"You know when you sent me to get an icecream?"

I nodded for him to continue.

"The man selling icecreams thought I was a girl. He said I was pretty."

I watched his face for a moment, trying to get a read on his emotions.

Eventually, I reached out a finger and lifted his chin up so that he was looking at me.

"So how did that make you feel?"

He looked confused. "I don't know – weird."

I nodded my understanding. "Weird-angry? Or weird-upset? Or weird-happy? …"

He shrugged "Weird-weird." He gestured at the centre of his chest. "Weird in here, weird."

"Okay," I said, nodding.

"Do you think I look like a girl?" he asked.

I looked at him carefully. "You do have a thin, elfin sort of face," I said. Then I reached up and ran my fingers through his silky hair. "… and your hair has grown a bit long. I can see how some people might take a quick glance and think you were a girl.

He scowled down into his lap. "So that's all it takes? Grow my hair long and suddenly I'm a girl?"

"There's a bit more to it than that," I said, not even trying to hide my smile. "But most of the differences aren't really important until you get to be a teenager."

"Oh, you mean puberty and stuff?" he asked.

I nodded. "You don't have to worry about that for a few years yet."

He scowled. "Good."

He was quiet for a moment.

"Girls miss out on doing all the good stuff," he blurted out.

"I don't know what you mean? What good stuff?"

"Climbing trees …"

"Girls can climb trees," I said.

George leaned forward over the newspaper. "I'll have you know that when your mother was your age, she was the best tree climber in the neighbourhood."

Johnny looked at me with surprise.

I nodded. "Your dad had the best tree in his front yard. We used to spend hours clambering around in that old thing."

George held up his left arm and pointed at it. "I broke my arm right here, trying to prove that I could climb better than she could. The truth is, she was better. It took a broken arm before I was willing to admit it. So there you go, girls can climb trees if they want to. In fact, I can't think of anything that boys can do that girls can't do."

"Huh!" said Johnny and paused for a moment. "Girls play with dolls."

I smiled at him. "You say that as if it's a bad thing. Playing with dolls is fun for girls. But boys plays with dolls too."

"No we don't!" he said with a scowl.

"Of course you do," I said. "You've got four or five action figures in your room. Every one of your friends have them too. You all spend hours playing with those things. An action figure is simply a doll designed to appeal to boys."

George chuckled. "She's got you there, champ," he said. "Have to say I used to have a Gumby when I was little. They were these green figures in the shape of a man that was made out of rubber. You could twist it into different shapes. It was fun. I carried it around everywhere for a while. I guess you could call that a doll for boys if you wanted to."

Johnny looked thoughtful. "So dolls are kind of like the girl version of action figures?"

I nodded. "That's what I'm saying. Mind you, most girls will play with dolls differently from the way most boys play with action figures."

"Huh!" said Johnny.

He thought for a moment. "Girls wear different clothes. They wear dresses and frilly stuff."

I nodded. "That's true. But they don't have to. A lot of the time, girls will wear jeans and a t-shirt, just like you, but maybe cut to a different style. Other times they might wear dresses and frilly stuff because they want to look pretty."

I saw something flicker across his face and tilted my head to look at him sideways.

"Would you like to try something on? Would you like to see what you look like in a pretty dress?"

"I can't do that. I can't wear a dress. I'm a boy."

I shrugged. "Okay then. It was just an idea."

He sat still for a moment, but then he shifted on my lap and looked around nervously.

"What dress would I wear? None of your clothes would fit me."

I smiled at him. "I have boxes of your cousin's old clothes in the spare room. She sends them to me so that I can put them up for sale at the Church sale each year. I'm sure we could find something in there that would fit you."

"Huh!" he said and looked down.

He thought for a while and we both sat there and let him think.

"You wouldn't be mad?" he whispered.

"Of course not, honey. I suggested it. Why would I be mad?"

"What about Dad?" We both looked over at George.

George shrugged. "If you want to get all fancied up and try on a dress, it's fine by me. I tried on my sister's clothes once or twice when I was a kid – there's no shame in a boy doing something like that. But listen, tiger. Neither Mum, nor I, are forcing you into anything. If you want to try on a dress, that's fine. But if you don't, that's fine too. I guess the question now is – what do you want to do?"

About thirty minutes later, I sat on my bed and watched as my child stared at himself in the mirror as he ran his hands down the dress I had found for him. He twisted sideways and watched as the dress swished around him and then settled. He raised a hand to the barrette I'd put into his hair.

"I look like a girl," he said.

"Mmm," I said, agreeing but not wanting to force my opinion too much.

I looked at his face, trying to read his emotion, but he was keeping it all inside.

"So what do you think?" I asked after letting him gaze into the mirror for a while.

"So what does this mean?" he asked. "Me wearing a dress and everything."

"I suppose that depends," I replied. "You know what transgendered means?"

He snorted. "Of course." He twisted again and watched the dress swish around his legs. "And look at me, I'm wearing a dress."

"Transgendered isn't about whether you wear a dress or not. Transgendered is about how you feel regardless of what you're wearing. The dress might bring those feelings to the surface but that's all the dress does. Do you feel like a boy called Johnny who put on a dress to see what it was like, or do you feel something different?"

"Like what?" he asked, still looking at himself in the mirror.

"Like, you might feel all tingly from wearing the dress. Or you might feel like tearing the dress off and stamping it into the ground. Or you might feel nothing – as in: 'it's just clothes, so what?' Or maybe you might feel like a girl who's been acting like a boy and now you're finally looking the way you're supposed to look."

I stopped and watched him but he wasn't reacting to my questions. He was listening, just not reacting.

"I can't tell you how you're feeling, honey. You have to figure that out for yourself. The important thing to know is that, whatever you're feeling, it's okay to feel that way."

"Mostly, I feel weird," he said. Then I saw tears start to roll down his cheeks. "Weird and confused."

I immediately went to him and wrapped my arms around him from behind. I kissed the top of his head and then rested my cheek on his head, looking over him and into the mirror.

The tears didn't last that long. I kept him wrapped in my arms and gently swayed back and forth. I had to stop him from wiping his face with his sleeve. I offered him a tissue.

"The thing about pretty dresses, honey, is that they don't stay pretty unless you look after them."

He handed me back the damp tissue and I tucked it away in my sleeve.

There was a knock on our door. "Hey in there. Can I come in?" called George.

"What do you think?" I asked quietly. "Are you ready for Dad to see you like this?"

Johnny shrugged and I stepped back slightly, releasing him from my hug.

"Come in," I called.

George came in to the room. As soon as he saw Johnny, his face broke into a huge smile.

"Well, look at you," said George. "You look wonderful."

Johnny looked down at himself and blushed slightly.

"Do you really think so?" asked Johnny.

George nodded. "Yep! No doubt about it."

"I don't look stupid?"

"Not even a tiny bit stupid," said George, shaking his head.

Johnny looked into George's face for a moment and then stepped forward and gave him a hug. George grinned and hugged him back.

After a moment, Johnny broke away from his dad and looked across at me.

"Can I take this off now?" he asked, plucking at the sides of the dress.

I nodded. "Sure thing, tiger. Just pop into the bathroom and put your pyjamas back on. Hang up the dress the way I showed you."

Johnny blushed again and picked up his little pile of pyjamas before making a rapid exit.

"We'll be along to tuck you into bed in a moment." I called at his retreating back.

George came over to me and gave me a hug. I leaned into him and let out a sigh.

"Well this is kind of sudden," said George. "You've been telling me for three years that this might happen but it still caught me by surprise."

I shrugged.

"He used to get so angry when people took him for a girl," said George.

I nodded. "I know, but today he just felt weird. That's a big change just in itself, let alone volunteering to put on a dress."

"So what do you think all this means?" asked George. "Is this serious, or just an experiment?"

"I'm not sure. Let's see what happens tomorrow."

In the morning, I shook Johnny awake.

"Good morning, sunshine. Get yourself into the bathroom and take care of business. I'll set out some clothes for you while you're in there."

I hummed to myself while I busied myself in Johnny's room. I must have lost track of time because I was still finishing up when Johnny came back.

"What's this?" asked Johnny as he came over to his bed. "Girl clothes?"

"I'm giving you a choice, honey," I explained. "Over there is an outfit like the one you wore yesterday. Blue jeans, your black Ferrari t-shirt, socks and jocks. And here is a different outfit I've put together from the boxes in the spare room. A pair of purple girl's stretch-jeans, a mauve Lucy t-shirt with little ruffled half-sleeves, anklet socks and a new pair of panties."

I watched as Johnny ran his hand over the denim of the boys jeans and then stepped over and used his fingers to trace the floral embroidery on the back pocket of the girls' jeans.

"You get to choose which outfit you want to wear, tiger. It's up to you. But no halfsies, it's either all of one, or all of the other."

"What will my friends say, if I turn up wearing girl clothes?"

"You could just stay at home for the day. But if you did go out with them, you'd have to explain it to them. But you have good friends, Johnny. I'm sure they would understand."

"But what if they tease me?"

"Then look them in the eye and tell them there's plenty more girl clothes in our spare room and they're welcome to come and try some on for themselves."

Johnny laughed. "They wouldn't."

I shrugged. "They might surprise you. But that isn't the point. The point is that friends sometimes tease each other and the best response is to tease them right back."

I smiled at him. "I'll leave you alone, honey. You make your choice and get yourself dressed. We'll see you in the kitchen for breakfast."

I was halfway through the door when I heard a plaintive "Mum?"

I turned back. "Yes honey, what is it?"

"Is this a forever choice?" He gestured at the clothes on his bed. "Am I choosing for ever?"

I shook my head. "No honey. This is just for today. You can have a similar choice again tomorrow if you need it."

I turned to go, but again I was stopped by a soft "Wait!"

I turned back and raised an eyebrow. I could see him trying to work out how to say something. I had to wait quietly and let him figure out how to say it.

"Won't you be disappointed in me – you and Dad? Won't you be disappointed in me if I choose to be a girl?"

"Why would we be disappointed, honey? If that's what you really want, then that's what we want, too. All we want is for you to be happy."

I joined George in the kitchen. He handed me a mug of coffee and I took a sip.

He looked at me. "Not a forever choice?"

I shrugged. "Well it really isn't, but I figure if a girl joins us for breakfast, that would be a pretty strong indicator."

George nodded. "That makes sense."

We sipped our coffee for a moment.

"They told us that some kids who present as transgendered change their minds," said George. "They more or less grow out of it."

I nodded. "But we don't know if that's what this is, yet. He might just be having doubts. He might be trying out Sarah to see what she feels like – like trying on an old coat before you throw it away for good. Only time will tell. We just have to play it cool and let him figure it out for himself."

George shrugged. "The poor kid, either way he's in for a bit of a bumpy time – or she is."

I looked up at the clock and then yelled in the direction of Johnny's room. "You've got ten minutes. If you aren't out in ten, I'm coming in to make the choice for you."

George gave me a strange look. "So much for letting him choose."

I shrugged. "We don't have all day. If he can't decide, I'll put him in boy's clothes and let him think about things some more. After three and half years, if Sarah is going to stop presenting as a boy, it will be her choice and not mine."

We heard his bedroom door open and close. A little voice called out "Coming!"

We heard the soft padding of sock-covered feet coming down the hallway towards us.

With smiling faces, we turned to see who it was.