I groan as I reluctantly wake up. My mother has just given me a good shake before leaving my room. Monday mornings aren’t exactly my favorite. Then I see the outfit my mother had picked out for me today. A nice black A-line skirt and a very frilly blouse. Add to that black pantyhose and shoes with a distinct heel and frilly underwear. I groan yet another time. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean that I’m a girly girl.

You’d think that I should be grateful for the ease with my coming out as girl had been accepted. The problem is that my mother had been a very girly girl and a beauty at that. That has twisted her ideas about girlishness. Ideas more than confirmed by my very beautiful and popular big sister Laura. If possible, Laura is even girlier than mother was. Thus the girly outfit selected for me by my mother today. I’d really have preferred jeans like most of the girls in school wore. No such luck.

Oh, I could have got out my jeans but that would have meant not only reproaching stares from Mum and Laura but grumpiness from Daddy as well. Besides, cheerleaders are expected to wear skirts or dresses. Not a formal requirement but … I hadn’t wanted to be a cheerleader. It was all Laura’s fault.

Well, not only Laura’s fault. Given the geographical location of our mid-sized town you’d have expected prejudices against transgendered people. Surprisingly not. Gender stereotypes is another matter. Binary concept that. Either you’re a boy or a girl. You may switch but then you switch. Certain behavior is expected by a cute girl. Yeah, I’m considered to be cute. NOT a stunning beauty like Mum and Laura. Laura is definitely the most beautiful girl in our high school. She fully lives up to all the gender stereotypes. She’s a shoo-in for prom queen next month. Captain of the cheerleader A-team. Dating the Quarter-back. Taking all the courses traditionally expected by a beautiful girl and so on and on.

So, when I came out as a girl last summer, before my freshman year, everyone expected me to follow in her footsteps (including the very high heels). I really had to fight to be a more “normal” girl. Well, perhaps not exactly normal for our town but if you look at the nation as a whole. I had to fight to keep my name, that I liked; Ryan. There are lots of girl Ryans but Mum, Daddy and Laura didn’t think it was girly enough. In the end I prevailed.

I had to fight to take the advanced science and math geared courses I wanted and not fashion and beauty like my big sister. It didn’t help that I’m considered “cute”. Well, they couldn’t claim that I’m beautiful like Laura and Mum but I can’t deny that I’m “cute”. “Cute” girls don’t try out for the baseball B-team and get accepted. Well, only after a long talk with Coach where I think I mentioned Chapter IX once or a dozen times. I got the spot as Catcher. I was good at it. Nearly as good as my boyfriend is as a pitcher. He’s amazing.

Taylor and I have been friends since kindergarten. He was the first one that I told that I’m a girl. I couldn’t have been more surprised by his reaction. He kissed me. So, he went from best friend to boyfriend in one mind-blowing moment. The problem is that my big sister doesn’t think he’s good enough to be my boyfriend. The main problem is that Taylor also is “cute”. Well, “boy cute”. Laura thinks that I should be dating a more masculine alpha-male type. It doesn’t help that Taylor takes ballet with me. Everyone approves that I take ballet, now. Not so much when I still was a boy. The thing is that now that I¨m a girl I should take pointe. I didn’t want to. I was under heavy pressure and finally gave in. Actually, I didn¨t give in as much as I gave an ultimatum that I hadn¨t expected to be accepted but was. I could remain in the “turns and jumps” class while I’d have moral support in pointe class – my best friend. Actually, Taylor had always been curious about pointe and really did want to try but since boys don’t take pointe… I still haven’t figured out why it was so important that the girl Ryan take pointe that they let a boy into class. Not consistent at all. Especially since ballet is permeated by gender stereotypes. Boys are boys and girls girls which only makes the stereotype of girly boys in ballet rather strange.

Talking about strange my ballet teacher is the one that, after a long time, was the first one to accept that I’m NOT a girly girl. People will be surprised at the recital. A gender-neutral pas de deux partially en pointe by both dancers. Next year I’ll drop pointe. Taylor won’t.

I really love Taylor. He’s so sweet even if he’s not a strong big football player. I’m constantly asked out by that type of boys. I’m one of the popular girls and dating me is seen as a way to raising their status. Well, at least this year. My present status has much to do with my big sister who won’t be here next year. Laura has made sure that I’m included in the “in” crowd. I may not be another beautiful Wilson girl but I am a CUTE Wilson girl. And I’m a cheerleader. Oh, not the B-team as you would expect for a freshman - the A team. I still resent the way Laura tricked me.

Remember that I tried out and was accepted to the baseball B team? Yeah, I absolutely refused to try out for cheerleading. True, I have always helped Laura practice, so I was actually good at the stuff they were doing but I had no wish to be a cheerleader. Waaaayyy too girly! I’m NOT a girly girl! So, what is the cheerleading uniform hanging by the door doing there? I was TRICKED. My big sister stabbed me in the back! I was shanghaied!

I was happy playing baseball. I was happy to be in the same team as my boyfriend. I was doing well. And then an hour before the big homecoming football game my sister came running and told me that one of the girls had sprained her ankle and they needed a replacement immediately. None of the B team girls was up to date when it came to routines. The only one that could do it was I. I have an exaggerated sense of duty. I dearly love my big sister - and I’m a gullible schmuck. I donned the uniform and participated. It went reasonably well. That was until I realized that the papers I had signed weren’t release forms as Laura had told me in the haste to get ready. It turned out that I had signed up for cheerleading. The girls’s coach and the other girls in the squad claimed that I had passed the audition not only with flying pompoms but also flying colors. What about the sprained ankle? Of course there wasn’t any sprained ankle. There was just a girl that wanted to get out of the squad for some reason. It was Laura who told her to pull that stunt. Not that Laura would let me try pulling something similar. Baseball? Everyone was happy to bump me off the team, except Taylor. Cheerleading was much more important. Besides, that was the A team and baseball was the B team and the baseball A team has a fantastic sophomore catcher.

So, now I’m one of the popular girls in the court of Queen Bee Laura. The only non-girly girl in the crowd. Of course, I’m expected to fulfill some expectations when it comes to clothes and make-up. I admit it sometimes feels strange in advanced physics class. Not only the only girl there but on game days dressed in the bordering on skimpy cheerleader uniform with full warpaint. Yep, I’ve become the very girly non-girly girl.

At this stage you probably ask yourself why I haven’t quit that crowd. Well, looking at it objectively I’m not really a high-status girl. I’m not really girly. I’m not even a girl in some people’s mind. Fundamentally I’m a nerd. I’m not beautiful even if I’m reasonably “cute”. My “cute” boyfriend is not exactly a help. Oh, I could dump him and find some hunk instead, - this year. I absolutely refuse to do that. I love him. Even Laura accepts that with grudging respect. So, what happens next year when Laura isn’t here any longer?

Better to be the popular very girly non-girly girl cheerleader (and a good one at that)

At that thought another groan escapes me. I really have to get up NOW otherwise I haven’t time to apply my make-up.

Don’t get me wrong. I dearly love Laura. I know that I owe soooo much to my beautiful and exceedingly girly girl big sister. But sometimes, just occasionally, I wish she still was my big brother Larry.