Note from Author: This Chapter is more of an introduction of the Character and her background. I hope this gives a small insite to the mind and conflict grown inside this poor girl.

Becoming Christine -1-

Thinking back on my memories vivid and colorful, I search for answers to help me understand who I am. When I was around 3 years old and helping my step dad cleans the transmission and differential on his new project car, a dune buggy we named Herby. I always enjoyed his attention since my father’s visits were far and few between. I remember Bob telling me that I was doing it wrong. We were using stiff wire brushes, grease remover, and a gasoline mix to remove all the caked on grease in the rear end, wear the motor goes.

Bob said, “Here get the corners like this.” He was using the screwdriver to scrap the gunk out of the corner. Just then, some grease flew out and landed on me. I jumped back and spilled the can of cleaning stuff screaming about how gross it was. Bob yelled at me saying, “What are you doing stop fussing and screaming like a little girl boys are suppose to be tuff, not act like this.” I was not sure what he meant by that. I then went inside to be cleaned up, “I hated being dirty,” and play with my sister.

My sister’s name was Bonita, which meant beautiful in Spanish. She was playing with her Barbie and real life size doll collection. Some of her dolls were as big as I was. I had my toys but they were hot wheel cars, trucks, and stuff I did not really play with. My sister had about 50 or so dolls with at least 5 different outfits for each doll, she enjoyed to change the color and or the style of her dolls often. She disliked when I would go play with her dolls in room without her because I would change their outfits all around. They did not match any more so she would know when I done it due to my lack of fashion knowledge. She was good about how every the matched.

I didn’t have much fashion sense. My sister and I did not have many friends since we moved a lot. That is how we became somewhat close. Mom and bob worked a lot so we spend a lot of time together. My sister loved to play dress up and dress up her dolls. She let me play with her it was fun. She even dressed me up in some of her old cloths mom didn‘t throw out, I loved it. It made me feel pretty; the strange part was that I felt so good somehow. After we were done, getting dressed up and we finished the dolls. I used to dress up our dog. He had a funny waddle when he walked in cloths. Mom used to laugh at us.

One day a few years later I was five or six getting ready to start kindergarten we were playing dress up while mom and dad were at work. Mom must have just gotten home and we did not even notice. Mom came into the room and yelled “Bonita Jean”, mom only used middle name when we were really in trouble, “what do you think you’re doing I told you that he was starting school soon and can’t dress like that anymore”. I walked up to mom and said, “Don’t I look pretty mommy?” Mom said, “Get out of those cloths and I don’t ever want to see you looking like that again.” I was confused and began to cry as she stormed out of the room. I never seen mom so mad before.

My father managed to pick us up that weekend, he was getting married and I had to wear a suit. I hated to wear suits they made me feel disgusting. I remember the suit was baby blue while Bonita was wearing this beautiful white dress with yellow flowers all over it. She looked pretty, which was the way I wanted to look. I wished long and hard that I could have been the flower girl. It would have been better then the baby blue suit I was wearing while carrying a pillow with the rings on it.

By the time I was eight dressing up was trouble that came with grounding. Back then, I did not understand why playing dress up would upset mom so much. I was happy and enjoyed the pure fun of playing dress up. Mom had told me “dress up is for girls like your sister and not for little boys like you”. She then I was forbidden to play with my sister, her dolls, and to play only with my own toys in my own room. ‘My toys’, I thought, ‘you have to be crazy’. As I ran away to my room crying I heard mom say, “Bonita, Shawn is not you personal doll.” We did as she asked but only when she was around.

Our dad had not been around in a while he was busy with work and our two brothers Bradley and Timmy. I remember them throwing toys at my sister and me. One time a toy struck my eye and had given me a nice shiner. When a toy was broken, my sister and I always were always to blame. I did not even play with those types of toys at my house, so why would I play with them at their house. The bad thing was that sis and I were playing house with here dolls in a completely different room. My sister and I hated my dad’s new wife Michelle. She used to tease me calling me a baby because I played with my sister and her dolls. I liked playing with my sister and her dolls, they were prettier to look at and you cannot really dress a truck now can you. We stopped going over to dads for a very long time. Bonita one day asked Bob, Mom’s new husband, to adopt us.

The adoption was final in April of 1984 and along with it new names. My sister’s name went from Bonita Jean Dulin to Bonita Jean Hanzal and mine went from Shawn Earl Dulin to Shawn Michael Hanzal. I wanted Michelle or Marie for my middle name but mom and Bob, now Daddy Bob, were not having that in the least.

By this time, I could only sneak dress up while mom and dad were out together. Mom and Dad‘s anniversary was coming up soon. This fact had me very excited. When they would go out for dinner on their anniversary, they would leave Friday night and not came home until Sunday morning or afternoon. They would always stay in the same hotel, The Star Plaza, being only 10 to 15 minutes away they would be able to come home quickly in case an emergency happened. This weekend would be a good opportunity for me to dress up and try on some makeup with my sister willing. I started to feel all giddy inside. I am not sure why but it did but it was a feeling I seemed too long for.

It was around 6 pm when a full 2 hours after my parents had left when I tried to persuade my sister to do my makeup however; she was on the phone talking to her current boyfriend. She told me, “relax mom and dad would be gone all weekend and you can dress up all day tomorrow, now go play with my dolls and leave me alone my boyfriend is going to come over soon”. We were living in Merrillville now in an old farmhouse. Her boyfriend came over and they watched a movie, kissed, and hugged a lot on the couch. I was able to play all night with her Barbie and even take some to bed with me. I was happier then I had been in months.

The next morning sis woke me up and told me to eat breakfast and take a bath. After I got out my sister told me to get a pair of underwear on then come to her room and she would help me with my hair. When I went in to her room, she had picked out for me a cute outfit to wear then she had me sit down and started doing my hair. I had seen her doing this with her friends all I could do is smile. I was not allowed to look until she was done then she put on some makeup. It was hard not flinching when she was putting eyeliner mascara and eye shadow. It seemed like hours when she said I’m finally done.

She said, “Ok you’re finished you can get up and look in the mirror now”. I was floored with what I saw looking back at me; I could almost not believe what I saw. I stood there in disbelief that I was looking at myself. Bonita said, “You need to be careful before your face cracks from smiling that big”. I giggled when she had said that. I was a mini version of her. The cloths were a little big but overall they looked ok. We had fun for the remainder of the day playing in the yard with our dog Baloo and watching movies. I was having the time of my life.

Soon it came time for us to get ready for bed. Sis told me to clean up before bed. My heart begun to sink and the sadness came over me that I could not control. I plopped myself down on the couch and started to cry. She looking puzzled asked what was wrong. I looked at her with a fountain of tears running down my cheeks and said “I want to be like you sis”. I could tell what I had said shocked her from the look on her face. “Shawn what do you mean you want to be like me”, she asked. I said, “I want to be a girl like you with cloths, makeup, and dolls I’m so tired of wearing the same jeans and red, blue, green, and yellow polo shirts” all which had black stripes mind you.

“These plain white underwear, tennis shoes, and if I have to wear another suit I’ll die”, I confessed. Bonita was completely dumbfounded but stated, “you’re a boy that’s what you’re supposed to wear”. I began to cry harder I was crying so hard I was visibly shaking. I told her “I don’t want to be a boy when I’m all dressed up I’ve never been happier. I hate looking at myself in my boy cloths”. She softly spoke, “don’t cry silly now try and tell me why you feel this way?” I tried to explain it however; I could not explain it better than simply saying, “Somehow when I’m all prettied up it just feels right”.

“Look at what I enjoy doing. I watch She-Ra instead of He-man, Sailor Moon instead of GI-Joe, My Little Pony instead of Thunder Cats, Care Bears instead of Fraggle Rock and the Gummy Bears. I love playing with your dolls instead of the trucks or cars in my room. Sis, my toys are like brand new because I do not play with them. How many new dolls do you get to replace all the ones that we have worn out or broken?” I said. She sat down on the couch beside me and quietly said, “It didn’t even dawn on me that you really enjoyed all that stuff. I thought that I was making you do it if you wanted to play with me. I thought it would make you leave me alone and not bother me so much”.

“What about your friends in school?” Bonita asked. I practically shouted, “What friends they’re all girls. Besides all the boys tease me because I talk to the girls about what happened in Sailor Moon instead of talking to them about what happened in He-Man or what GI-Joe blew up. The boys play soccer and basket ball and I like the swings and jungle gym”. She looked in my eyes then said, “You have to stop crying if you don’t want your eyes to fall out” that made me giggle.

Bonita said, “Let’s get you cleaned up then you can wear one of my night gowns to bed. I’ll get you up early so you can change before mom and dad comes home”. It was the nicest she had ever been to me. After I was ready for bed, we talked about why I did not enjoy watching the other shows and I told her it’s the same thing every day this blows up and that blows up then the show is over. “They are so stupid”, I said. “That is why the boys like it”, she said while I giggled. The days and weeks went by sis was not as mean as she once was to me but she still found ways to tease me. I remember one time while I was watching Sailor Moon she said, “WOW these shows are to girly for even me”. I shot her a look that could have melted the North Pole.

Once Bonita had obtained her license, she was not home much. Since she was always out with her friends, we started to drift apart. It became worse when mother forced her to move out for a reason I did not understand. She took most of her cloths leaving behind only the ones that would not fit her any longer. I quickly put them in the bottom of my toy box to hide my favorite ones from mom. I was lonely without my sister and there was so much I could not do any longer without her here with me. I felt as if she deserted me just when I needed her the most; not to mention all the girly feelings inside me were growing stronger and stronger by the day. I could not talk to mom or dad because I was too scared they would yell at me especially after catching me. My god I they blew a gasket and I thought they were going to murder me with the explosion. Several times they would take turns spanking me before allowing me to go to bed and grounding me for 2 months.

After the bruises faded away, they took me to Charter Mental Hospital. The Psychologist there asked me about all kinds of things from did I like boys, I said “no boys are gross” did I get aroused when wearing girls cloths, “like no duh they just like me feel normal” I said, he asked me what I meant buy normal, I told him I didn’t know how to explain it. I did the best I could and he seemed to just sit there and write down stuff on a note pad. We talked about school and friends as he kept writing. I only saw him that one time. I had to set forever while Mom and Dad to talk with him after I was done. Then we all sat together and listened to the doctor talk about me having an identity problem. Mom was in an up roar dad tried to calm her but she was out raged she couldn’t set still, he talked about something and treatments but it would be kind of expensive. Mom yelled at me then stormed out, dad followed her out. All I could do was sit there is cry.

All the way home they took turns yelling at me they in unison said, “You were born a boy and a boy you will be even if we have to beat it into you”. I cried all the way home and ran to my room flopped on my bed and cried myself to sleep. We never went back to Charter after that day. Everything in my room was gone through, anything that was remotely girlish was thrown out and replaced with something more manly, and my room was made into the most boyish shrine in the world. With each passing change and hateful word my parents made me hate myself even more with each passing day, week and year. The older I became the more I hated myself and the more depressed I felt.