In the Episcopal Church, Confirmation is supposed to be a sacrament of initiation that strengthens the grace we have received at our Baptism, it is supposed to be a marking of a deepening of one's own personal commitment to a Christian life. In the bourgeoisie South it's seen as kind of a social stepping stone. A young girl's Confirmation is often seen as a foreshadowing to her own Debutant Ball. A girl from a bourgeois family would often be Confirmated at age twelve, and at age sixteen or seventeen she would become a debutante. What is a debutante? A debuntante is an upper-class woman who is making her first appearance in fashionable society. 

And since the Episcopal Church here in the South is always shackled together with the bourgeoisie of southern society the two seem to hand in hand. And since my transition from James Donald Bell to Daisy Isabella Potter, it was only right that following my Confirmation into the Episcopal church I would be feted in my own Debutant Ball.

That was the thought that filled my head as I peered toward the alter. St. Mary's could seat around two hundred people, on your average sunday about half of the church was filled up. One Christmas and Easter the church was filled to the max. And well, much to my own personal satisfaction the church was filled today.

It was proof, proof enough that soon enough I would bust on the scene and take the fashionable society of Benton by storm. After all, I'd been to this year's 'Hostage' at the annual 'Hostage Exchange' between Benton Academy and its hated rival Manchester Academy. I'd saved the cheerleading program by being covered with enough pudding and cream to float a battleship. And despite having been in a few brutal fist fights before coming out the egg, I'd even been appointed 'Head Girl'.

And of course how could I ever forget about my wonderful girlfriend Cerridwen! Cerridwen Circe Whitethorn was a firecracker. But she had been the first person to believe in me, in the three years we've known each other she has been my sister, nurse, and lover.

“Now,” Father's voice brought me out of my daydreaming. “In a few moments we will welcome a very special woman into the family of God.” His voice was steady and his eyes shone with strength.

“Some people in town have in the past been critical of the small, but noticeable transgender population that seem to call this town home. Many of them have found a spiritual home here, within the walls of this church. This church was named after Our Lady. Who is the mother of all Christians.” Father's voice seemed to rise a little as if he wanted to make his point clear.

“There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bonded nor free, there is neither male or female: For yet are all one in Christ Jesus. And if ye be Christ's, then are ye Abraham's seed, and heirs according to the promise.” Father added. He spoke slow and loud and each word seemed to echo in the crowed nave of the church.

“And that is the last I'm going to say on that matter. Now if Miss. Daisy Isabella Potter will please come forth.” He said as he motioned me to come forward. 

I took a deep breath as I made my way down the aisle. All eyes had turned toward me, I took my time, well as much time as I thought I could take, you see, I'd only cracked the egg a year ago and I still struggled with a few things, one of those things I struggled with was walking in heels. And my blonde, bimbo ass wanted to wear three inch heels where everybody around me suggested smaller heel shoes.

And so I struggled down the aisle, feeling my legs shaking like a jar of jelly. But finally I reached the alter and soon I found myself standing before the priest. The priest then went through the liturgy that was found within the Book of Common prayer regarding the rite I was undergoing and I being a cradle Episcoplain read off all the correct answers and before I knew it the priest was placing his hands upon my head.

Now, I believe in the supernatural. I've had more than my fair share with demons, including a memorable encounter with two phantom nurses. One scolded me for being out of bed and the other I'm sure wanted to drag me to Hell. Or the underworld. What I'm getting at, is the moment the priest finished muttering his prayers and the moment he lifted his hands from my head, I felt a sense that I was finally on track.

On track for what? I'm sure wondering, well I just felt my life was on track. I had been confirmed using the name I'd selected myself. I'd chosen the name 'Daisy' to honor my late great-grand mother who had been among the finest women to ever grace the hollow halls of St. Katherine's Episcopal Academy.  According to family lore she had been a woman with a will of iron.  When most leading white families were playing their maids, yardmen, and cooks around ten dollars a week, she was paying them thirty. She taught children both white and black to read and write.  She embodied the ideal 'Southern Belle' and by that I mean she felt one's worth was not by the balance in their check book, or who they had married. Or how many rooms their house had. Or what model car they drove.

Not, she firmly believed that a measure of a person's worth was the strength of their moral character, of how many people they tried to help, of how many people they could try to lift up, of how many people they strove to help to achieve something of a measured amount of success in.She firmly believed in people helping other people. And that if the Lord God had blessed you with a little more than your neighbor that you needed to use that blessing to in turn bless your neighbor.

I'll give you an example, if the balance on your checking account was a little more than your neighbor, you were supposed to use some of your money to help your neighbor. Either by giving to charity or directly giving it to them. If your garden had done well, and your neighbor's garden had not, you were required to share some of your bounty with your neighbor. You get my drift right?

And my middle name of 'Isabella' had been selected to honor my mother. Who had raised me and my sister. True my mother had stood by while my father and uncle had debated my fate, sure she had stood there with her hands in her dress pockets while it was decided that I no longer belonged in Vicksburg, and that I should be  'hidden' away in rural Benton.

Sure she had not been there for me when 'Cracked the Egg' or when I'd nearly been beaten to death, or when I broke my arm, or had she really been there for me for the last four years of my life. But she was still my mother. And she still had given birth to me, so the name remained.

And last but not least the surname of 'Potter' the name of the family that had taken me in without raising an eyebrow. Not only had they taken me in, but they had even started to treat me like a surrogate daughter. Even going as far as to ground me when Jamie and I clashed one morning! To be fair they had grounded Jamie too! 

And now, I was confirmed that name by a holy man, a priest. Like at that moment in some office in Heaven, some poor angel had to open a huge, and I mean huge ledger, look up my old name of 'James Donald Bell' and heaving a sigh he had to dip his quill into an ink well, and then taking the tip of the pen to that name he had to cross it out and then beside it write the name 'Daisy Isabella Potter'. And for good measure his boss had him shred all my old paper work and start anew. And so that is how I 'Officially' became 'Daisy Isabella Potter'.

The End,