Pigtails Are For Girls — Part 05
Chapters 11-12
 
By Katherine Day
 
Jarod loves wearing his longish hair in pigtails as he grows more and more convinced he should have been born a girl. He finds an unusual friend in Wanda, an athletic 12-year-old girl who lives next door and accepts him for who he is. His mother, who truly loves her only child, is concerned for his safety if he continues to adopt feminine ways. And, his girlish behavior has an impact on others, too. Thus, the conflict continues as Jarod prepares to enter middle school.

(Copyright 2008)Chapter 11: The Soccer Team

“There’s Jane. There’s Jane,” four-year-old Emily Tankersley squealed from the swing set in the backyard of the side-by-side duplex the Tankersley and Pinkerton families shared. Emily and her sister, Angela, 2, lived with their divorced mother, Amy, in one side and Jarod Pinkerton and his mother, Nancy, lived in the other side. The two units shared a backyard and garage.

“No honey, that’s Jarod,” her mother said. She was sitting at a picnic table, watching her two young girls.

“No, mommy, that’s Jane.”

“Honey, don’t bother him now,” Amy pleaded, giving a wave to Jarod as he went to the garage to get his bike.

He waved back, tentatively, still shy about reconnecting with Amy and her children, faced with a court order that her custody of her two girls rested on the promise that there be no contact between the girls and Jarod. The judge had scheduled a hearing on the matter for the last Thursday in August, just a week before school was to resume.

Amy had been reassured by her attorney that the judge would lift the order, which had been gotten by her ex-husband in which he claimed custody of the two girls should be taken from Amy due to the constant contact they had with Jarod. The ex-husband claimed Jarod’s girlish nature was an “unhealthy influence” on the girls and that their mother, Amy, should lose custody because of her negligence in permitting Jarod to spend so much time with them.

“They have no evidence that Jarod did anything inappropriate with the girls and he has a perfect record in school, with top grades and no behavioral issues,” the attorney said.

“Still, that bastard ex of mine will do anything to hurt me,” Amy said.

Amy watched Jarod as he took his bike from the garage; he was wearing new soccer shoes that she knew his mother bought the other day. He also wore athletic shorts that rode high up his slender thighs and a tee shirt. His hair, now cut back to just shoulder length, was tied in a ponytail.

She knew Jarod was trying so hard to become more of a boy, having watched him practice soccer with Wanda, the girl in the house next to Jarod’s unit. The girl had been far more athletic, but Jarod she noticed had picked up some skills in the sport, despite his generally unathletic appearance.

*****
As soon as Jarod closed the garage door, he saw Wanda pulling her bike out; they were both heading to Riverside Park soccer fields where the Middle School coach was to hold tryouts for the school’s coeducational soccer team; there were two teams to be picked, one for 11 to 12 year olds and the other for 13 and 14 year olds. If they made it, Jarod and Wanda would be on the same team.

“I don’t why I let you talk me into this,” Jarod complained as the two headed down the block.

“Oh you’ll do fine,” she said, suddenly picking up speed. “Let’s hurry, so we can be among the first in line.”

“Wanda, not so fast,” he protested, trying mightily to keep up with the girl in front of him, watching her muscular calves and thighs in action. He knew he was not strong enough to keep up with her, but he would try.

But she kept moving, spurring Jarod on. The boy responded surprisingly well, eventually catching up to her. He knew, of course, that Wanda had let him catch her, but she always did it in a manner that would not embarrass him.

“You’ll do fine, Jarod,” the girl said as he approached her and they turned down the parkway, toward the field. “Besides, there’ll be more girls on the team if it’s like last year. You’ll do as well as most of them.”

“Great,” Jarod said. “I play like a girl, eh?”

“No Jarod,” she said, as they pulled up to park their bikes. “I told you that you did good in our practice.”

They put their bikes in the rack, locking them dutifully, and ran to the field, seeing two lines of boys and girls. As they approached they saw a young woman, obviously a coach, wearing sweats and a sweat band, who hailed them.

“You two girls,” she said. “The 11 and 12 year olds are in the line at the right.”

Wanda grabbed Jarod’s arm, dragging him along into the line, as directed. “The coach probably needs glasses, Jarod.”

Jarod was blushing; already he had been pegged as a girl, even though he had worn boy soccer shorts and a shirt. As he looked around, he saw many girls dressed almost the same outfits, and with his long hair in a ponytail, and his slender build, he might be mistaken for a girl, no matter what he did.

Jarod kept his head down, but when he looked up, he noticed most of the potential soccer players were indeed girls.

“You’re next young lady,” someone said, and Jarod felt himself being pushed from behind by Wanda.

“That’s you,” he heard someone say.

He was standing now at the head of the line, it having moved quickly. He was peering into the face of an older man with a kind face; he was seated at folding table registering the applicants.

“Hand me your permission form and doctor’s slip, honey,” the man said to Jarod. “And, what’s your name?”

Jarod blushed, fully realizing the man also thought he was one of the girls. He didn’t answer right away, but heard Wanda say firmly:

“He’s Jarod Pinkerton, coach.”

The man looked up, realized his mistake.

“Of course, Jarod Pinkerton. You’re right here on the list, son. Sorry about that. It’s just we have so many girls here this year.”

Jarod merely nodded, handing the man his slips.

Wanda followed, going through the same routine, and when she was done, dragged Jarod over to a group of about five, four girls and one boy, who were kicking the ball playfully back and forth. As they approached, one of the girls, an African-American with dreadlocks, was suddenly in a fierce battle for control of the ball with another player, a tall, muscular, tow-headed boy. Suddenly, with a quick feint and motion, she stole the ball from him, giggling. “See I told I could do it,” the girl squealed.

“That’s Troy Huggins,” Wanda said. “He’s the best player, but, did you see what LaToya did?”

By then Jarod had gotten close enough to see that LaToya was the same girl he had met in the park while playing with Amy and her daughters.

“I can’t go there,” he said, grabbing Wanda’s arm.

“Why not?”

“She knows me.”

Jarod forced Wanda to the side and said in a low voice. “She thinks I’m a girl,” he said sheepishly.

He had told Wanda a little of his playing “Jane” with the little girls, but never of the incident in the park, nor of how often he dressed as a girl. Now it was time, Jarod realized, to tell Wanda how he refused LaToya’s invitation for a sleepover because he knew it would expose him as a boy; she, however, said the invitation had been refused because she was black. The accusation had stung Jarod badly, thinking that he hated black people.

“You see, I can’t play now.”

“Yes, you can and will. LaToya won’t remember.”

“Oh yes, she will,” Jarod protested.

It was to no avail. The boy, Troy, had seen Wanda and the new kid standing there and he came over, greeting Wanda. He dragged the both of them to the group, and they joined in kicking the ball. Jarod was pleased when Troy said he was glad to have another boy around; Jarod knew at least one person accepted him as a boy.

Try as he might, he could not steer clear of Latoya who soon came up to him as he dribbled, not too badly, he thought. Yet, in a flick of her feet, LaToya stole the ball from him, as she had done from Troy.

As she did so, she noticed Jarod’s face, and her attention sharpened, and she quickly lost the ball to Wanda, as the promptu game continued.

LaToya stopped, came back to Jarod, looking at him, finally saying, “I know you.”

Jarod wanted to run away right now, but he figured he better take a stand. He looked her straight in the eye, saying, “I’m Jarod.”

LaToya eyed him a bit more closely, shook her head, and said, “I sure know you from somewhere Jarod.”

The conversation ended as Coach Lutjack blew the whistle, summoning both teams to the bleachers to begin the session. Jarod joined Wanda and Troy (who had teamed up) and sat on the first row; he watched Jessica take a seat in the row immediately behind him.

“Do you have a twin sister?” LaToya asked, leaning over to speak in Jarod’s ear.

“No,” he said, continuing to look forward. As embarrassing as he felt, he found himself feeling pleased that LaToya had thought of him only as a girl at the Park and the beach; also he enjoyed the times he was mistaken for a girl.

To his own surprise, Jarod made the team; in fact, everyone made the team. Coach Lutjak, who had been the man taking registrations, informed everyone there were three rules that had to be obeyed: “First, you must stop talking when I or Coach Barry blow our whistles. Second, you must never criticize another player for a misplay. Remember, every one of us will make a mistake on the field once in a while and if anyone needs to be criticized, either I or Coach Barry will do it.”

“Isn’t that right, Coach Barry?” he asked, addressing the athletic young woman who had directed them to the correct line.

“Yes, Coach,” she said. “What is Rule No. 3, coach?”

“Rule No. 3 is: We’re all going to work hard to learn the game and we’re all going to have fun.”

One of the girls from the 13-14 year old team piped up: “Coach, that’s two Rule No. 3’s and how can we work hard and have fun at the same time?”

“Tiffany,” he said. “You worked hard the last two years, didn’t you?”

“Yes, coach.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes” came a chorus of voices from the team of older players. And everyone laughed, at what was to become a routine at every practice that autumn.

In the perfunctory early practice session, Jarod realized he was not the worst player on the field. While his weak legs made it difficult for him to kick the ball with any authority, his cleverness and the training with Wanda seemed to have paid off. He would be on defense, it was assured.

*****
“We have to wait a bit. Troy’s going to ride home with us,” Wanda said. “He’s talking with the coach. I think he wants Troy to be team captain.”

“Oh, Troy’s coming with us? Does he live near us?”

Jarod seemed a bit put out by this development, thinking he was Wanda’s special friend. It now appeared that Troy would be her friend.

“Oh, he’s fun, Jarod,” Wanda said, sensing his disappointment.

Jarod had found in Wanda his first true friend; she had accepted him as he was, and he always felt comfortable with her. He knew instinctively that he should have found another boy to be his friend, but so far he never had felt anything but inadequate in the company of boys. He was always afraid of saying something that would prompt them to laugh at him or tease him.

Now, he was finding, Wanda wanted to share her friendship with another person, Troy.

To make matters worse, when the three of them began their ride home, Troy and Wanda rode in tandem, the narrowness of the streets making it impossible for Jarod to join. The trio therefore rode with Troy and Wanda abreast, leading the way.

Soon, Jarod was trailing behind, unable to maintain the steady pace of the other two. He cursed his weakness, and found he was hated the muscular boy in front of him, riding with Wanda.

Troy and Wanda had stopped a block ahead, waiting for Jarod to catch up. They were at the entrance to a parkway that paralleled the lake, and as Jarod came up, already breathing hard, Wanda said:

“Troy and I are going to take the lake road, Jarod. I’ll see you at home later.”

“What?” Jarod said stunned.

Troy interjected: “Wanda and I have somewhere to go, and you can’t seem to keep up.”

“Yes, Jarod. I’ll see you later. Just follow Dempsey Boulevard to get home.”

With that, the two of them were off, heading in a fast pace along the lake road. He could never catch them. He stood, watching them move speedily, and laughing loudly along the lake road, soon to be lost in the trees that lined the route.

Jarod didn’t move for a minute, telling himself he shouldn’t cry. He had never felt so rejected in his life: his one true friend leaving him for another. He pulled his bike over to the grass along the road and leaned it against a tree. He sat down on the grass, and now the tears cascaded down his face, as he sobbed silently, an occasional whimper escaping.

A car pulled up alongside, but Jarod kept his head down, trying to hide his face and expose his tears.

“Are you all right, little girl?” a women’s voice said.

He never looked up, but mumbled a weak “yes.” The woman, whom he realized was in her car, looking at him, had not heard his answer. She asked again: “Are you all right, honey?”

“Yes,” he said, more loudly. “I’ll be OK.”

The woman persisted in her questioning. At last, Jarod said he was merely sad about something and that he could get home OK. The women, said: “OK, honey, but I don’t like to see girls out alone on the street. You be careful.”

Jarod thanked her. He wiped his face by raising the bottom of his tee-shirt and rubbing it on his face. His bike ride home was slow; he couldn’t help but think about the day’s experiences: he had to admit he had fun playing soccer, having found he loved the running about and his modest success at the sport. He realized, however, that his success was due to the fact that most of the players that day were girls of his own age and some were truly dreadful at the sport. There were a number of girls who were far better than he was: Wanda was probably the best girl on the team and Troy easily the best boy.

Then, he realized, he was mistaken for a girl at least half the time. On the field, the boys and girls wore the same team shirt and shorts, their gender distinguishable only by their hair and body mass. Jarod knew his slender arms and legs, along with his long light brown hair flowing down in a ponytail must have made him look more like a girl.

Soon, his spirits lifted as he neared his home. Maybe, he wondered, if his mother was busy with her work, he could sneak into a nice sundress he had hidden in the closet. With that thought he found the sun shining and blue skies opening up. Maybe he could be a girl for a while!

Chapter 12: Getting an Opinion

His mother had other plans for Jarod when he got home. She was having a cup of coffee at the kitchen table, her school planning work evidently completed for the day. There would be no chance for Jarod to wear that lovely light blue and yellow sundress.

“Go take a shower and get cleaned up, Jarod,” she ordered.

When he got out of the shower and had dried himself off, he found his mother at the bathroom door, holding a pair of slacks and a light grey boy’s polo shirt.

“I want you to put these on, along with your good shoes,” she ordered. “I made an appointment with a doctor for you.”

“A doctor? Why? I’m not sick.”

“Just get dressed.” Her voice was unusually firm.

Jarod loved his mother intensively; she was the most important person in his life. She rarely gave such tough orders, and he realized he better obey and ask no more questions.

“We’re going to see a specialist now,” his mother said, once they were in the car heading for the downtown.

“For what, mommy? Ah . . . I mean, mom.”

“He was recommended to me by the lady psychiatrist who teaches at my school. He’s really nice, she said.”

“A what? A shrink?” the boy said shocked.

“Well, it doesn’t mean you’re sick, honey,” she said to reassure him, after she had navigated the off-ramp from the freeway. They waited for a long light to change, and she explained:

“He’s what’s called a gender specialist,” she said. “You know you’ve been enjoying doing girl things, and . . . we just need to see if you need any help to think things out.”

“Mom. Do I have to talk to him?”

“Yes, honey. It won’t hurt to talk.”

“But mom, I’m not crazy,” he said, a desperation tone entering his voice.

“No, honey, you’re not. You’re a sweet, caring and very talented boy, and mommy loves you very much.”

“It’s mom,” he corrected her, reminding her of her request to call her ‘mom,’ since boys don’t say ‘mommy.’

She laughed.

“Yes, honey, it’s mom. He’ll just talk to you. I won’t be in the room some of the time and you can tell him everything you feel, even things you won’t tell me.”

Jarod merely nodded his head, as his mother found a two-hour meter and parked the car. He marveled at how skillfully she navigated the parallel parking move. He looked at her closely, realizing what a truly pretty woman she was. Someday, he was wondering, could he be as pretty a woman? The thought suddenly astounded him: why couldn’t he be pretty like his mother? So talented and marvelous?

*****
His mother, Jarod realized, always looked fresh, usually choosing warm colors that highlighted her fairly pale, mildly freckled complexion. Usually, she wore full skirts that ended below the knees, fluffy blouses and short heeled sandals. He knew she was self-conscious about her weight, always complaining, “I should lose 10 pounds,” but Jarod felt she was just the prettiest of women. Her eyes always sparkled, even in the midst of concerns, of which there were many as she struggled with the demands of single motherhood.

His mother wore a print dress, however, for the visit to the psychiatrist, with a square cut bodice and short cape-like sleeves. Her brown hair was cut at shoulder length, and bobbed, to give her round face a youthful appearance.

Jarod realized, as the two sat in the waiting room that they were sitting in almost identical postures, erect with legs together, hands dutifully folded in their laps. “Like mother, like daughter,” he thought. His mother had told him that he had been acting more and more like a girl in recent months, even when dressed as a boy. He walked erectly, flinging his arms about, causing his hips to move; it was causing many people to mistake him for a girl, even when he was dressed in his boy outfits.

The reflection eased his tension over the visit to the doctor, where he feared he’d be exposing himself and all his feelings to a stranger. In his mind, he wondered: why wasn’t he born a girl? It seemed that’s what he felt he was: a girl. Yet, he sat in the doctor’s office wearing a new pair of boy’s slacks, a button down shirt and his hair in a boyish cut, much shorter than it had been all summer.

Jarod was relieved there were no other patients waiting when they arrived; the receptionist was business-like, barely looking up when she handed his mother the clipboard, asking her to fill out the insurance information form.

“Jarod and Mrs. Pinkerton, the doctor is ready for you now,” his thoughts were interrupted.

*****
Jarod was surprised to see that Dr. Eugene Martin, the psychiatrist, was not a bearded old gentleman, as he pictured all psychiatrists. He was instead a short man, partially balding, wearing a short-sleeved white shirt and a tie. What distinguished him were his pale blue eyes, which lit up when talking with people.

He welcomed both Jarod and his mother with equal openness and a firm handshake; though he seemed sort and slender, Dr. Martin was obviously an athletic man, as his hands and bulging biceps seemed to demonstrate.

He let Jarod’s mother outline her concerns, which she did quickly and succinctly, the doctor asking few questions. He took notes sparingly on a yellow legal pad, rarely taking his eyes off the person speaking.

The doctor said little, until his mother, commented: “Dr. Martin, I wished I knew what I did wrong to cause his problem. Maybe it was because there was no man in . . .”

The doctor held up his hand, interrupting her, saying firmly, but in a measured, slow tone: “His problem? His problem? I think not, Mrs. Pinkerton.”

“I’m sorry, that came out wrong,” she said.

Jarod looked quickly as his mother, who began to cry now, realizing she had seemed to say Jarod was “a problem” for her.

His mother quickly continued: “Jarod’s never been a problem. He’s been a sweet, wonderful child and I love him dearly. I just want what is best for him.”

Jarod was quick to his mother’s defense. He put his hand on hers, saying: “She’s the best mommy . . . ah . . . I mean . . . mom.”

“I can see you two love each other very much, and that’s going to help us figure out what’s going on here,” Dr. Martin said, his tone softening.

*****
The doctor asked Nancy to leave the room, giving her several fact sheets he had prepared outlining the nature of transsexuals and suggesting she look them over while he met with Jarod. Nancy kissed her son as she left, saying softly to him: “Tell him everything about how you feel, Jarod. He seems to be a nice man.”

“I will mom. I love you.” He returned his mother’s kiss.

She left the room, leaving Jarod with this athletic man; Jarod had always been fearful of muscular boys and men, feeling they would judge him badly for his physical weakness. Yet, there was something about Dr. Martin that seemed warm and understanding and Jarod soon began to pour out his feelings to the doctor.

When he told how much he enjoyed being “Jane” to the little girls next door, Jarod grew excited, his hands flitting about as he talked. He truly loved those moments, and he told Dr. Martin how he had been mistaken for a girl while playing in the park and how it made him wish he could always be a girl. “It felt so real,” he explained to the doctor, not really sure whether he was describing it properly.

Jarod was a bit taken aback that the doctor made no recommendations or comments about what Jarod should do. As Jarod was describing how Jessica, the African-American girl he met in the park, was so eager to be girl friends together, the doctor stopped him:

“Was that one of the best feelings you ever had in your life, Jarod?” the doctor asked quietly.

“Oh yes, yes, doctor. The best,” Jarod said. “But doctor, I’m still a boy, and she wanted me to sleep over at her house, and I wanted to, but how could I? She’d find out I was a boy and that would be awful.”

“Yes?” the doctor said, a question that prompted Jarod to tell him how he refused the invitation, and how the girl thought he had done so because of her race.

“I want to be her girl friend, doctor, so bad. She was neat. We could have had such fun together.”

All the doctor said was “give it time, Jarod.”

After nearly a half hour, the session was ended. Jarod realized he had talked almost constantly, telling the doctor everything, even his most humiliating experiences. For some reason, he felt elated by the experience.

*****
“I’ve enjoyed meeting Jarod, Mrs. Pinkerton,” Dr. Martin said as Nancy joined them for a final wrap-up session. “He’s a very smart nice boy, just as you told me, and I hope we can help you and Jarod out.”

His mother smiled, sitting next to her son, and grabbing his hand into hers, looking at his slender forearm, so white and soft. Jarod looked up to his mother, returning her smiles. The doctor had a small sitting area in his office, a winged back love seat, where he beckoned Jarod and his mother to sit, and a winged back chair, which he took. The chairs provided comfort, yet required the person to sit up and retain a certain degree of alertness.

“May I call you, Nancy?” he continued.

“Yes, of course, doctor.”

“Nancy, I’m going to be open and direct with both you and Jarod. I hope that’s OK with you. I think Jarod is bright enough and truly so mature for his age that he will be able to understand this. Is that OK, Nancy?”

“Yes, doctor. Jarod and I have talked about this.”

Jarod nodded his approval and the doctor continued:

“Jarod, I believe, opened up to me fully this morning, and that is rare among such young persons. I found, Nancy, that Jarod seems to be most happy and most comfortable when he was being Jane. He is troubled when he is being a boy, it appears. Now, this is all very preliminary, and we need . . .”

“Oh doctor, I know that, but shouldn’t he be given more opportunities to try to mold his male behavior?”

Dr. Martin sat quietly for a minute, before answering, “He seems sincerely convinced he should be a girl, Nancy.” His words were simple, direct, matter-of-fact.

“I know doctor, but isn’t that because I raised him as a single mother. There’s never been any men in his life.”

The doctor, reached over, gently touching Nancy’s forearm, as if to reassure her.

“Ma’am, I hoped you looked at the material I gave you, and you are aware there are such persons as transsexuals.”

“Yes, doctor, I’ve looked into this on the internet, too. But, doctor, he’s only 11. How can he know that for sure?”

“Nancy, we don’t yet know that about Jarod. We need more sessions and discussions.”

Jarod became tense as the conversation between the two adults continued; he wasn’t quite sure about the transsexual business, but he felt he wished he were in a pretty skirt and blouse at that very moment, and that there would be no need for doctors and psychiatric testing and all that.

“I’m not sure we’re ever certain in matters like this, Nancy,” the doctor continued. “But I do know that Jarod’s eyes brightened when he told me about playing with the girls next door as a girl named ‘Jane.’”

“I know, doctor, sometimes I find myself even thinking of him as my daughter.”

She wanted to add that she thought that Jarod looked so pretty and feminine when he was dressed. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, recalling the moments of joy she also had when watching Jarod as “Jane,” and his dainty mannerisms.

“Doctor Martin,” she added. “I’m so scared for his future. He will have such a tough time if he tries to live as a girl and later as a woman.”

The psychiatrist looked her squarely in the eyes now: “But, Mrs. Pinkerton, if he is forced to live as a boy and he feels that is all wrong for him and if he feels tortured to be a boy, his whole psyche will be in trouble.”

Probably because Jarod was there, Dr. Martin did not add that fact that the suicide rate among youth facing such gender issues is terribly high. It was a fact that was highlighted in the materials Nancy had read.

At that point, he asked Jarod to leave the room so that he could talk with his mother privately.

*****
“All he really did was listen, mom,” he explained later on their drive home.

“That’s what those doctors do so that they get to know you, honey. Did you like him?”

“Oh yes, mom . . .” he said, almost saying “mommy,” but catching himself, trying to keep the more masculine language.

“Well, I don’t know when we can see him again,” she said. “But he helped me out a lot.”

Nancy did not make a follow-up appointment, as the doctor had suggested, largely because she was not sure her limited health insurance plan would cover the visits and that her finances were tight at the time, as she was existing on the limited pay of a community college contract teacher.

“Does he think I’m a girl, mom?” Jarod said as the car continued, his mother driving more slowly than before.

“No honey, you’re a boy, but you do seem to like girl stuff, and we won’t take that from you.”

Jarod smiled. “You mean I can still be ‘Jane?’”

“Sometimes, honey. Sometimes. But, not always.”

“I love you, mommy,” he said, feeling suddenly very giddy.

“And I love you and Jane, too,” she said.

*****
Later that day, Jarod and Wanda took off on their bikes and Nancy joined Wanda’s mother, Helen, for coffee.

“Helen, I’m so worried about Jarod. Dr. Martin was very helpful, but it won’t be easy.”

Nancy had shared with Helen that Jarod often dressed as a girl, loved being “Jane,” sewed dresses and played with dolls. The two had become close friends, Helen often sharing with Nancy the fact that her husband seemed to regularly become enamored of one pretty girl each year in his classes. “Men are no damn good,” Nancy would say, and the two would laugh.

“We’re so pleased that your daughter Wanda seems to accept Jarod as he is, never teasing him,” Nancy said.

“The truth is, she likes Jarod. He’s the best friend she’s ever had.”

“The two seem to get along, don’t they?”

“The odd couple, eh? A tomboy with your Jane.”

“Well I appreciate it that Wanda is so good with him. She’s even got him out doing sports, and I guess he’s not doing too bad at it.”

Nancy explained that based on Dr. Martin’s advice she was going to let Jarod dress as a girl at home and permit him to engage in some girlish endeavors, such as sewing and cooking, both of which he likes to do. “Jarod helps me out immensely at the house, doing things for me most boys would not,” Nancy confessed.

She said Jarod would continue to dress as a boy outside the home and in school. She said she hoped Wanda would continue to encourage Jarod to participate in more masculine activities, but not to force him to do so.

“We’ll let nature takes its course, and see where it goes,” Nancy said.

“I suppose that’s best, Nancy, but it does seem that the boy must truly be transsexual and might be better off eventually as a girl.”

“I know, Helen, but it’s so dangerous. I just read about an 18-year-old who was murdered in Colorado, a transsexual girl,” she said.

“Oh yes, Angie Zapata,” Helen said. “I saw that in the paper.”

“And, then there was Gwen Araujo,” Nancy said, mentioning the 18-year-old transsexual who was murdered and became the subject of a movie, “A Girl Like Me.”

“Newsweek recently had a story about Lawrence King, who was 15 and liked to be called Lucretia. He was murdered because he dressed as a girl,” Helen added.

“You see! He won’t be safe if he continues down this path. Helen, I love him so much and I want him to be safe and happy. Is it too much to ask for both?”

“No, honey, but I see Jarod as a very strong child, whether he is a girl or a boy. I think you’ll be proud of him.”

“Or her,” Nancy said. She said the words with a mix of joy and horror.

Helen nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. “Nancy, I forgot to show you something. Here’s the picture I took the other day when Jarod and Wanda were together here, playing with her dolls.”

The two children were shown sitting on Wanda’s bed, legs tucked under themselves, holding up two dolls they had just dressed. Both were wearing tank tops and shorts, and Jarod’s hair was tied in pigtails.

“Don’t they both look so pretty, Nancy?” Helen asked.

“Oh my yes, and Jarod’s wearing pigtails! I have tried to get him to stop tying his hair that way.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Nancy,” Helen said, growing red in the face. “But, he wanted me to do it so badly.”

“I know, and he looks to cute, and it makes him look so much like a girl.”

“I know you’re trying to change some of his girly activities, Nancy. I’m sorry.”

“Oh Helen, I’m not mad at you. He just seems to want to wear those pigtails, and pigtails are for girls, I’ve told him.”

(To Be Continued)