Chapter 1 – The Storm
Bleep... bleep... bleep.

The following is an advisory from the National Weather Service. Winter storm warning remains in effect until 1 pm Eastern Standard Time this afternoon. Snow and blowing snow. Accumulations of six to ten inches with locally higher drifts. Winds North fifteen to twenty-five miles per hour with gusts up to thirty-five miles per hour. Wind chills from five below zero to fifteen below zero this morning, increasing to around zero this afternoon. Visibilities one quarter mile or less at times. Temperatures six to sixteen above. Heavy snowfall and blowing and drifting of powdery snow will create dangerous travel conditions. Wind chills below zero could lead to frostbite or hypothermia for anyone exposed to the cold. A Travel Advisory is in effect, do not leave your home except in cases of extreme need.

Bloop...bloop... bloop.
 

"Yeah, right" Karen muttered at the radio, staring through the icy windshield at the tail lights of the car crawling ahead of her. There was a lump of ice on the wiper that was smearing semi-frozen goo across her line of vision despite the defroster's best efforts. There were a few vague stripes on the rear window where the heater was trying to melt the snow as it fell.

"Why didn't you activate the Emergency Warning System before I left the house?" she asked the radio. "Hell, why didn't I activate my own emergency warning system? After 86 years I should know better than go to out in this crap, but then I should have gotten that prescription filled before it ran out. Karen, honey, you're getting old."

She took her foot off the brake and eased a few feet foreword, then stopped again. And again. And again.

Ten minutes later she could see the sign of the drug store ahead. Another ten minutes later she could still see the sign, for all the good it did her. She could close her eyes and see the beach in Miami, but it didn't get the traffic moving. Some idiot had stopped in the middle of the intersection, blocking traffic both ways so she was stuck watching the open road on the other side of the idiot.

Eventually she made it into the parking lot, having no trouble finding a space. "Guess I'm the only old fool stupid enough to want to go shopping in this crap," she muttered as she snapped the ice tip in place on her cane and walked very carefully to the door. A short time later she emerged with a small paper bag in her hand. "Not going to be fool enough to go shopping and have to carry anything else in this godawful mess."

Living alone, Karen had taken to talking to herself. "Only way to get an intelligent conversation these days," she told no one in particular. "Good thing I just filled the tank, I may just need it all to get back home."

Nearing home she saw a lone figure trudging slowly at the side of the road. It looked like a young girl and she was wearing a mini skirt and walking in high heels. "Guess I'm not the biggest idiot out on the road today, that little slip of a thing has to be worse off than me." As she slowly passed the pedestrian, she glanced over to see the girl was crying. At least she thought it was tears, hard to tell with the snow melting on her face. When Karen stopped the girl passed her, and they played catch up several times as the traffic moved at about the same pace as the pedestrian.

Karen was sure the girl was crying after a few more glances and rolled down the passenger window the next time they met. "Honey, are you OK?" she called to the girl.

"Huh?"

"Are you OK. You're like to catch your death dressed like that."

"My folks just threw me out, I don't have anything else."

"What? In this weather?"

"Yeah."

"Young lady, you get inside this car this instant. I'm not going to let you freeze to death no matter what kind of crazy mother you have."

The girl just stood there, staring. It didn't take long for car horns to start honking.

"Come on, get in. I'm an old lady, I don't bite, mostly."

The lame attempt at humor broke through the girl's daze and she reached for the door. She quickly climbed in and sat hugging herself for warmth. Karen switched most of the heat to the floor despite the icy windshield to help warm the girl's near naked legs. Stockings in this weather!

"Where are you going?" Karen asked.

"I don't know," came the reply.

"Good heavens, girl!"

"I guess I'm homeless now."

"OK, darlin'. You want to tell me what's going on."

"Not really."

"Your choice. The way the traffic is moving you have about half an hour before I get home. We can figure out what to do then."

"Thanks. I really need to do some thinking."

"Then put your thinking cap on, darlin'. You can use all the clothes you can get in this weather."

Even though her curiosity was running at full force, Karen knew better than to press her unwilling passenger. She would talk when she was ready and no sooner.

She snuck a few glances at the girl huddled in the passenger seat whenever traffic came to a halt. It didn't take long to decide she was wearing a not very convincing wig. Really, Karen had seen better wigs on a Barbie Doll. Her clothes were pretty tight, not so much outgrown as a poor sense of fashion. Of course anyone who saw the pictures of herself at that age would have had a good laugh, fashion was such a fickle thing.

Was she really once so young that she would have dressed like that in weather like this? Well, not really. When she was that age a skirt like that would have been unthinkable. Hell, when she wore trousers and climbed into an airplane it like to caused a riot.

Those were the days: biplanes and canvas wings, not the streamlined airborne buses they had these days. The wind in your hair and the ground a few hundred feet below as she danced on the wing while the yokels gawped.

Speaking of yokels, what were the local yokels going to say if she took in this waif? She had no doubt in her mind that she was going to take her in, at least until she could find out what had possessed the girl to run away. And then she had to figure out what to do about it. There was no way she could toss this kid back out in this storm.

Karen finally made it home and pulled into the garage. Turning to her unexpected guest she said "Well, this is the place I call home. You got any ideas about what you want to do?"

The poor kid just sat there and shivered, looking terrified to say anything.

"I expect that means you haven't got a clue, right?"

The girl nodded slowly.

"Well, come in and warm up for a while and we'll think of something."

"Uh, thanks."
 

In the kitchen Karen busied herself making tea and thawing a couple of cookies in the microwave. Living alone she kept such things in the freezer so they wouldn't go stale before she could finish them. She set a box of assorted teas on the table and let her guest pick out what she wanted, then poured the hot water. Such routine bustle seemed to have given the girl time to relax and look less like a frightened calf.

"I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Karen, a sarcastic old woman who specializes in lost causes and Quixotic rescues. I left my shining armor in the closet and I haven't rescued a damsel in distress since my granddaughter had a friend who ran away from home years ago. That was a home that needed running away from, mind you, but that one stayed 'till she graduated high school. Not that I'm expecting you to hang around that long, but stranger things have happened. I suppose you have a name, too."

"Tim-. Uh, Tamar."

"You can kick the kid out of the Bible Belt but you can't kick the Bible out of the kid, eh?"

"Well, I did have to read it an awful lot."

"Tamar? Didn't she pull a fast one on one of those old time hypocrites that the Bible loves to hold up as examples of virtue?"

"Jeez lady. If my mother heard you say that she'd about turn purple."

"I should hope so. Back when I was your age, I had to sit through a whole lot of crap in church 'cause that's what respectable people did back in the thirties, some of it must have stuck. Didn't the old dog get his daughter-in-law preggers and then try to kill her or something like that?"

"I don't believe this! How did we end up doing a Bible lesson?"

"Because an old Catholic heathen like me is always interested in religion. The crazy things that some people believe have always made me curious. What was the original Tamar like?"

"She married Er, one of Judah's twelve sons, but God got pissed at Er and killed him just after the wedding. They had this crazy custom that when the husband died the widow had to marry her dead husband's brother and have children by him, so the firstborn child could be legally the son of the widow's first husband."

"These are the same people who think gay marriage is a sin? Don't that beat all?"

"So anyway, Judah offers his next son, Onan, but Onan didn't want kids so God up and croaks him for pulling out too soon and 'spilling his seed.' Of course the woman got blamed and Judah won't let her marry the last son, Shelah. I suppose he had second thoughts and was running out of sons, anyway. But Tamar still wants to have kids so she disguises herself as a prostitute. She lures Judah into sex so she can get pregnant with her first husband's bloodline. I gotta admit that don't make a lot of sense to me - why would she be so hot to become a single mother or else to be second fiddle to Judah's other wives?"

"Don't ask me, honey. Raising two boys was no picnic even with George around to help. So what happened to Tamar?"

"Oh, she gets her wish and gets knocked up, but old Judah decides she ought to burn as an adulteress. Then Tamar comes up with Judah's signet ring, his staff and the belt that he gave her when he - er - did the deed with her, so old Judah suddenly decides that she is more righteous than he is because she fulfilled a widow's responsibility to see her husband's line carried on. He decides he was in the wrong when he tried to stop her. Of course he kind of neglects to talk too much about him screwing a prostitute..."

"I get the feeling all those Bible lessons haven't really taken on you."

"Yeah, you could say that. Seems most people use the Bible to tell you that everything you want to do is wrong."

"I've noticed that, too. Well, we can while away the time discussing religion some other time. Right now we need to talk about just what you are going to do with yourself for the next few days. You can stay here a while; I have a history of taking in strays, as my late husband called it.

"Thank you, Karen. I really didn't think about what I was going to do when I left the house."

"You're damned lucky you didn't freeze to death."

"I know, but I didn't have a lot of choice. It was get out or get beaten."

"But how could your parents let you go out dressed like that?"

"My parents take 'Spare the rod and spoil the child' seriously. When Mom came home early and found me dressed like this she flipped out." The bitterness in her tone was downright painful.

"Honey, what you're wearing would have caused a riot when I was a girl, but it don't look so outrageous to me." Karen was confused. "How can they get so upset about how you're dressed? You look better than a lot of the young girls running around these days, even if that mini of yours is a bit light for the weather."

"Karen, that's just it, they won't accept I'm a girl - that's what gets them so upset."

"Some people are powerfully squirrely, I suppose. So what do they think you are? A space alien or a robot?"

"Worse. They think I'm a boy."

"Honey, you both got problems if they think that."

"Yeah! But I don't know you at all so I guess I can tell you that they think that way 'cause I was born with boy bits."

"You what?"

"The doctors told them I was a boy. They don't believe me when I tell them it isn't true. They just say it isn't natural, but they never bother to listen to anything I say."

Chapter 2 - Tamar's Story

Karen sat at her kitchen table at a complete loss for words. Her late husband, George, had always told her that taking in strays would surely result in a case of fleas or maybe the worms. It seemed he may have been right, this was quite a can of worms.

"Don't that beat all? I suppose we need to book you on one of those TV talk shows to tell your story. I wonder how much they pay and how good you'd be at wringing tears out of the audience?"

"Are you crazy, lady?" The girl looked poleaxed.

"Probably, at least that's what I keep getting told."

"I couldn't do that!"

"They'll probably want your parents to sign a release, anyway, so that wouldn't work. By the way, how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Tamar?"

"Sixteen in a month or so."

So if your parents want you back, the law will say you have to go back. Well, unless you get married or join the Army or something."

"Yeah, as if anyone would marry me - or there's anyone I'd want to marry. And like the Army is going to want me. Anyway, I've been disowned and I don't want to go back."

"And have you given any thought as to where you are going to live?

"Uh, not much."

"I suspect that things were a bit, shall we say, emotional when you left? Most folks will calm down and regret the words they shouted."

"Emotional! You could say that, kind of like a hurricane is, shall we say, a bit of wind and rain. As far as they're concerned transgender is evil and needs to be beaten out of a child for his own good."

"I hate to ask, but is that hyperbole or can you produce some bruises?"

"I didn't produce the bruises, I received them, but yeah, I have the bruises to prove it." She lifted her blouse and there was no doubt of her story. "Not that it does any good, the nurse at school kept finding ways to not get involved. Our wonderful Christian schools don't have parents that abuse students."

"So the Bishop told the Cardinal. But I doubt you're Catholic or you would have called it a 'Parochial School'. Speaking of school, you do know you have to go to school for a couple of more years even if you ran away from home? At least you will if you want to get anywhere in the future."

"Yeah, I know."

"Don't sound so enthusiastic. I suppose that's another one of those things that wasn't important at the time. And that's a rhetorical question so don't bother to answer. Good thing it's school break, so we don't have to worry about that right now."

"I wasn't thinking about much besides getting out NOW."

"Survival is like that, and most times that instinct is the right one. Just like I didn't stop to think when I picked up a crying young woman in a snowstorm. I think that was the right decision to make, even if it will make life a wee bit more complicated for the next few months."

"Months?"

"You didn't think I was going to throw you out, did you? You can stay with me while we figure out what you're going to do with your life."

"I can?"

"At the risk of quoting the Bible again, just think of it as my turn to be the Good Samaritan. Tamar, honey, you're out on your feet. What say I scare up an old nightgown and you crawl into bed for a few hours and try to get some rest? For that matter, at my age I find I have to nap a lot more often than I used to."

"Nightgown?"

"What else would a young lady wear in bed? As long as you're my guest you will be a young lady. We'll work on the complications later, but I've watched enough daytime talk shows to know that you wouldn't have walked out into a snowstorm if you weren't sure you belong on my side of the gender fence. Now off to bed with you, young lady!"

Karen's character was inspired by the wonderful women in Fanny Flagg's The All-Girl Filling Station’s Last Reunion.
 

Thanks to Alys for her input and proofreading. The story was much improved by her advice.

Chapter 3 Karen's Story

It was dark when Tamar woke from her nap, what with the short winter days. Consciousness returned slowly, battling with the feeling of warmth from the quilted bedspread that covered her. Her... How many times had she wished to sleep in a nightgown, to feel like the girl she knew she was. If her father had found her wearing a nightgown again it…

She wasn't going to think of that, not now. It was tempting to believe that Karen was her shining knight who would rescue her, but the innate distrust of the adults in her life made that an uncomfortable thought. Then again, she just might be no more than a crazy old lady. As Tamar lay there, the warm cloud of feminine comfort dispersed as cold reality intruded.

What was she going to do? There was trouble ahead. School, finding a job, getting a license to drive, doctors... The list seemed endless. Why would this old lady want to do that for her?

But right now she could be Tamar - she was Tamar and that had to be enough. Hesitantly she removed the quilt and stood, realizing that she needed to find a bathroom soon. At least that should be within her powers. Slipping into a fuzzy robe and wondering at the bunny slippers Karen had provided, she followed the hall to the open door and relieved herself.

She padded her way to the living room where she found Karen curled up in an easy chair, fast asleep. While she waited she picked up the photo album on the coffee table and paged through it. The photos were obviously old, black and white but hardly faded.

There were a few shots of a family group that looked to be from before the Second World War. History wasn't her strong point, but they had to be pretty old. There were several pictures of really old airplanes, wooden things with two sets of wings. Some of them had a young woman with curly hair in the pilot's seat - obviously Karen - and some of them had a pretty good looking guy. They were the same airplane, so they must have been friends. Maybe her husband?

Then there were several of her standing in front of old fashioned warplanes with those crazy cartoons they used to paint on them; one of them even had her with her head poking out of the cockpit. Anyone who had watched the old movies late at night would know these came from WWII. Great grandpa liked to tell stories about that war, but her grandfather wouldn't talk at all about Viet Nam. Her father hadn't been in the service and she had zero interest in claiming any war as her own - the military was completely off her radar screen.

After a while there came some color pictures of newer, smaller planes - She knew one was a Cessna because the name was painted on it. That had to be the same man standing with her in front of the plane, it must be her husband.

"Looking at my past, Tamar?"

"Oh! I hope it's all right to look at these. I didn't want to wake you up."

"I wouldn't put them out if I didn't want folks to see them. Those planes are as much my family as the people in the pictures."

"Was that your husband in the pictures with you?"

"That's George. He was a barnstormer. You know what that is?"

"No."

"Back in the stone ages, when airplanes were so new that most people had never seen one, we flew our own plane. We would buzz a town somewhere and land in a farmer's field by his barn and talk him into letting us use it for a show. We'd sell short rides to the locals and do a few tricks for anyone who paid to watch. It was a good life, but when planes got more common and they started making safety regulations that sort of thing died out.

"Oh."

"It was fun, but we did some really stupid things, things that would give any modern pilot with a lick of sense the willies. Sometimes regulations are a good thing; sometimes they are a major pain - like now. You can be sure some bureaucrat somewhere is going to object to having you stay with me."

"I - I..."

"Don't worry, hon. I've been outfoxing bureaucrats since I was a little girl. You don't think they wanted to let me fly one of those planes when I was younger than you are now? I was thirteen the first time I soloed."

"You were?"

"I was. Scandalized the town, I did. Scandalized 'em again when I joined the WASPS and started flying military aircraft around the country all by my lonesome. Women just didn't do such things back then, but there was a war on and they needed more pilots than there were men. They dumped us pretty quick when the war was over, but for a while we flew the big stuff."

"You walked on the wings while the plane was flying?"

"Yup! Back then airplanes were brand new, my boyfriend and I made a pretty good living flying around the country. Don't look so skeptical, those old planes couldn't go more than 50 miles an hour so you could walk on the wings while it was flying if you had the nerve. Hell, I even skipped rope and stood on my head."

"You're crazy!"

"No crazier than you. I was never afraid to try something new and do the things they told me girls couldn't do. Our best trick was when George got up out of the cockpit and jumped off the plane with a parachute, then I danced my way to the controls and did loop-the-loops and barrel rolls all the way to the ground."

"I still say you're crazy!

"I do believe that at this very moment you're doing something that most people would say is crazy for a boy."

"Oh."

"Don't look like that, Tamar. You do it well enough that I didn't know out there in the snow. I bet that took a lot of courage."

"I try to think of how Tamar would do things when I get confused."

"Good notion, honey. You'll need to be a strong woman if you decide that's what you want to be. I never let some man tell me that I couldn't fly, and I spent years flying in the WASPs during the war. That's World War II, Tamar. When I say 'the War' that's the one I mean. Anyway, there weren't enough pilots back then, so a lot of women volunteered to ferry planes around the good ol' USA so the boys could go overseas and get themselves into the war. Honey, believe me there were a whole passel of macho jerks who got upset, but they needed us and we flew every stinkin' plane the military had and did it just as well as any man. You ever heard of Rosie the Riveter?"

"No. Who's she?"

"The things they teach kids these days! During the war there were women in all the factories, welding, driving trucks and doing whatever needed to be done so the men could go off and fight. Rosie the Riveter was sort of a recruiting tool to get more women to do the work, she was on posters and advertisements urging women to work. When the war ended they kicked us all out and did their damndest to forget we ever existed, but we didn't forget. My brother didn't come back from the war, but a few of us girls got together and had our own flying circus. Those were fun years."

"I'll bet. Why did you stop?"

"Planes got better, commercial flights came along and there just wasn't the audience for the old fashioned barnstormers any more. I flew a crop duster for a while and things like that because the jerks that ran the commercial airlines wouldn't even let a woman apply as a pilot. If you ever wonder why women's lib came along look no further than that kind of nonsense. No matter where you go there's always The Authorities.

"Speaking of The Authorities, you realize they are going to have to be involved with you. You say your folks don't understand you're a girl. I suspect The Authorities are going to be just as skeptical, and I have to admit I don't understand it much myself."

"Nobody does! I try to explain but nobody listens!"

"I'm listening. Try to explain it to me."

"Nothing's ever been right. I don't like the things that boys are supposed to do. Sometimes it seems like everyone in the universe knows all the boy rules except me. Kicking balls around a muddy field, getting all sweaty and bragging about how strong you are, talking about fast cars. I just don't care about that stuff!"

"Then what do you care about?"

"I want to just read a book without somebody telling me I should do something more manly. I'd like to be able to embroider like my mom does, I want to have pretty clothes. I don't know! I sounds silly when I try to put it into words."

"Honey, all my life people have been telling me what girls should be doing and I thought it sounded just as silly. Why my own father figured that educating a girl was a waste of time, she should get married and let some big, strong man take care of her while she has babies for him. I was even younger than you when I ran away from home."

"You did?"

"I surely did! He told me it was time to stop with this airplane nonsense and start acting like a proper girl. This whole 'boys must not cry and girls must bake cakes' business never made sense to me and I wouldn't put up with it. Now, I have to say I don't understand why you want to be a girl, but I can understand how you feel when people tell you that you can't do something just because you are a boy."

"But I'm not a boy!

"Then the both of us are going to have to learn what we can do about that. We have to work something out or The Authorities will be knocking at my door and accusing me of kidnapping or some such thing.

"Then there's school. You have to go to school, but I can just see what would happen if you showed up at your old school in that miniskirt after the break. We have to do something about getting you into a different school. And you're going to need clothes and, forgive me for saying it, a more convincing wig until your hair grows out a bit.

"I... I... I..."

"Yeah, it's a tall order. I can maybe pull in some favors to get you into school and take you to Mary's Closet for clothes. You're going to have to see some sort of doctor who knows about such things, but that's going to be a problem. I don't see any way around getting your parent's permission for that until you turn eighteen."

"Like that's going to happen!"

"Have you heard the expression 'Old age and treachery will triumph over youth and inexperience?' This whole Authority crap works two ways. I intend to wave the threat of 'The Authorities' over your parents and scare the pants off them - or the skirt off your mother, I suppose. You ever watch that social worker show on TV, Tamar? Want to bet I can channel my Inner Nasty Social Worker and lie my head off until your parents sign the right forms to emancipate you?"

"You wouldn't?"

"I would, and I'll enjoy the hell out if it while I'm doing it! Now, are you feeling hungry? Challenging Authority always makes me hungry."

"Now that you mention it, I kind of skipped lunch..."

"Well, that's one way to keep a girlish figure, I guess."

"If only it were that easy!"
 

Heading for the kitchen, Karen firmly put the future in the future and concentrated on the present.

"Since you're still in your nightgown, what say we have breakfast for dinner? Up for bacon and eggs?"

"Sure. Can I help?"

"Yup. Grab that skillet over there and put it on the stove, I'll raid the refrigerator. Do you drink coffee?"

"It's a little late for caffeine if I want to get to sleep."

"Well I have juice and milk and maybe a bit of soda around here somewhere. Name your poison."

"Milk is fine."

"Fried, scrambled poached? You got a preference?"

"Whatever you're having. I don't want to be a bother."

"No bother, it will be nice to have some company. When you hit my age your friends keep dying off and you have to keep finding new ones or it gets lonely."

Not sure how to respond to that, Tamar asked where to find dishes to set the table. Karen, deciding something a little bit fancy was in order for her first meal with company in some time, set about making a spinach and feta omelet.

"There's some jam on the door of the fridge and bread in the freezer. Want to get a couple of slices out and pop 'em in the toaster. Let them thaw while the bacon fries and put 'em down when I turn the omelet over."

Companionably, the two women worked together in the kitchen and then sat down to eat. There wasn't much conversation for a while, but when the plates were clean Karen decided it was time to figure out what to do with the waif who had ended up at her door.

"So Tamar, are you willing to stay here with me while you figure out what to do with your life?"

"Yes, Karen. I can hardly believe how kind you have been to me. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before."

"Then we have to do something to make it at least semi-official. That means I have to talk to your parents and get them to cooperate, at least far enough to get some of your clothes and stuff. I want you to make a list of the things you need so I can be sure to get all of it."

"I'm not sure I want anything from them after the way they treated me."

"Well, I can see how you could think that way, but you still have to go to school, do homework, read, whatever. I bet you have a tablet and a cell phone and a couple of those beepy-bloopy games that you don't want to give up. I know you want to be Tamar but we can't just up and change that overnight. I promise you we'll find a way to get you where you want to go, but right now you need to be patient."

"Yeah, patience is a virtue. But why are you helping me?"

"Because a lot of people helped me over my life. You have any idea what people in the thirties thought of a girl that wore trousers and wanted to be a pilot? Tamar, everybody just plain knew that I wanted to be a man if I wanted to fly. Women didn't wear trousers, women didn't work on engines or get themselves covered with oil. I suspect you've heard a lot of 'men do this and don't do that' because you don't feel like a man. In some ways I know what you're going through.

"I'm not saying I understand, I never wanted to be anything but a woman, but the news is full of gay rights and I know that LGBT includes you. Comes with being an old woman who doesn't have the energy to change the channel, I guess. Never thought it would have any real effect on my life, but here we are. You're old enough to have a pretty big say in how you live your life, but young enough to need some help and guidance to get there."

"Now I don't know your parents, but if they threw you out in a blizzard dressed like you were there is a mighty big problem there. For now I'll take your word that your problems are real and I'll try to help you find a way to make things better. The only thing I ask is you try not to lie to me or just tell me what you think I want to hear. The truth always works out best in the long run, even if sometimes you have to bend it in curlicues for the short term."

"That sounds like a great excuse for lying."

"Caught me. What I mean is only lie when you have to, then make the lie simple and get the hell out before you get caught. Always remember there are better liars than you out there who will not be fooled."

"I'm tired of lying, Karen. I've had to lie to everyone and tell them I'm a boy. I'm not, no matter what anybody else says. I never felt like a boy, I want to cook and sew and wear pretty clothes. I want to dance and read romances and..."

"Tamar, boys can do all of those things. Men can do all of those things and so can women. I've spent my life doing what most people think men should do and I'm very much a woman."

"But I feel like a woman. Inside. I want to be a woman no matter what body I was born with. Even if I can't wear pretty dresses I want to just be a girl. I get scared that it may be too late to see the right doctors before my body decides to grow into some grunting hulk but my folks won't let me see anyone because they don't understand. I know that there are drugs that can stop puberty until I'm old enough to tell them what I want, not what some damned gay basher wants me to be."

"That's a heavy burden, Tamar."

"I can't stand it, Karen. I've been hiding dresses and bras and panties ever since I got a some money doing yard work and such for neighbors. I can only wear them when my folks are gone and for those few hours I can feel like the girl I am inside. They came home early because of the storm and we had a big fight and threw me out. Not grabbing my winter coat wasn't the smartest move I ever made, but I couldn't stand another lecture on how I had to be a man. I'm not a man and I never will be!"

"Well, you know you're really a girl and I know that's your choice - now all we have to do is convince the rest of the world.

Chapter 4 – The Social Worker

Pulling up in front of the nondescript suburban home Karen took a moment to ready herself. Just what was she doing here, skirting the law for a kid she had found walking in a snowstorm? Simple - she was pissed off at the kind of parents that would treat a kid like that. So the boy wanted to be a girl - when she was that age she wanted to be a pilot and everyone told her that girls just didn't do that! So she did just that, and so would Tamar if that was where she wanted to go.

Karen didn't have too many dresses in her closet, but there were always times that she needed to act like a lady. She found the most official looking piece of clothing that involved a skirt, put her hair up in a prim bun, and added a few touches of makeup. Looking back in her mirror was a no-nonsense civil servant that looked like every TV show's idea of a dried up old prune who just loved to take children away from their parents.

Yup, look the part and you're halfway home. Too bad she didn't have a boat of a Buick with tailfins to bolster the image of an old woman who never caught up with the times, but the little Honda was much more her style. She would just have to keep her victims – er clients – too busy to notice what she was driving.

She got out of the car, clutched a briefcase filled with mostly nonsense meant to be impressive, but holding several forms she had gotten off the Internet after consulting her lawyer and her friend Sarah, who was a by-gosh real social worker.

Sarah was upset about the parents when she heard the story, but had advised Karen to stay out of the family court if she could. "Sure the parents would be indicated for child abuse, but what would happen to the kid? Some judges might actually help the boy to realize his dreams, but if you ended up in front of someone like Judge Kohut the poor kid would be remanded to his father's custody and probably end up in psychiatric treatment. Kohut never met a father who ever did anything wrong. Remember when she was seconded to a normal courtroom and let some guy off after he beat his kid half to death because the prosecutors couldn't produce the belt he beat him with? Never mind the scars and bruises - no belt, no crime. Believe me, she has done much worse in family court, but no one knows about it because family court is confidential."

Well, if all went well, she would have signatures on forms assigning her as a temporary guardian for Tamar, allowing Karen to take her charge to doctors, talk to her teachers, and other vital tasks needed to raise a teenager in the modern day world. They probably weren't worth the paper they were printed on, but she had decades of experience getting what she wanted from officialdom; a firm attitude of competence and authority went a long way.

It was a good thing the storm had abated, she would have a hard time exerting authority looking like a half-frozen Eskimo seeking shelter from the elements. She rang the doorbell and waited until it opened.

"Mr. Nathaniel Phillips, I am Karen Walters. I am here to investigate a report of felony child neglect and abuse. We have information that your son Timothy was forcibly ejected from this house in the recent blizzard without adequate winter clothing and his life was placed in jeopardy as the result of these actions. Before we press charges I would like to confirm these allegations. May I come in?"

Hit 'em with both barrels, and to hell with the actual law. I want the bastard reeling and confused.

Nathaniel stood there looking confused and angry. He made no noticeable effort to open the door to admit her.

"Mr. Phillips, if I am not admitted immediately I shall have no choice but to have you and your wife charged with felony child abuse and let the courts decide who is responsible. Open this door now."

"What?"

"You heard me, let me in or you get arrested."

"You're crazy!"

Pulling out her cell phone, Karen pushed a few buttons and faked a call. "Sergeant, this is Case Worker Karen Walters. Would you send a car to 23 West Street? I am pressing felony child abuse charges against the occupant."

"Nate, let her in!" came a voice from behind the man blocking the doorway.

The man reluctantly moved aside and Karen entered. It was a pretty typical home, nothing unusual but Fox News was playing on the TV. Not hard to figure where their troglodyte attitudes came from. It was scrupulously neat - Karen would have gone mad living in such rigid order.

"Sergeant, it appears my clients have decided to cooperate, If I have any further trouble, I will call back. Thank you for your time." Karen ostentatiously put the phone back into her official looking briefcase.

"Mrs. Rachael Phillips? She queried, looking at the woman.

"Yes. What is going on?"

"Your child was picked up in clothing completely inappropriate for the blizzard and told us that he had been forcibly ejected from his home. This is clearly child abuse and we will not tolerate such actions in this community. He has been placed in a foster home pending court action. I have come to retrieve his clothing and personal effects and to inform you of your rights and responsibilities pending prosecution."

Any real social worker or cop would be apoplectic at her high handed actions, which were completely bogus, but since most people only knew what social workers did from bad novels and hyped up TV shows and, from what Tamar had told her, she was pretty sure the Phillips were not exactly knowledgeable. Fox News indeed!

"The little pervert ran out the door in a miniskirt. We didn't throw him out!"

"Nonetheless, you are responsible for him until he reaches his majority; allowing him to leave in clothing unsuitable for the weather is clearly child abuse, which I am here to investigate. You have clearly neglected your responsibilities as parents."

"The damned pervert deserves whatever he got!" Screamed the father. "He's no child of mine any more!"

"I see. Are you relinquishing your parental rights over Timothy?"

Was it going to be this easy?

"Lady, you can take your rights and…"

"Nathanial! Keep your mouth shut! I don't want to end up in court or go to jail!" cried Rachael.

"I believe you should listen to your wife, Mr. Phillips. I am an officer of the court and will not tolerate any abuse from you, sir. Disregarding your invective, am I to understand you are prepared to sign a document relinquishing your parental rights and freeing your child to be cared for in a foster home?"

Silence greeted her inquiry. She thought to herself, 'Go for broke, Karen, you got him on the ropes!'

"We are prepared to see that Timothy is placed in a loving foster home where he will be respected and nurtured. It is obvious from your statements that he is not safe in your care, but We are prepared to forgo any legal action so long as you cease your abuse and allow him to develop without interference."

Hit 'em with the 'royal We.' It works every time!

"I don't know…"

Karen again pulled out her cell phone and began to dial. Marvelous tool, the cell phone. It can be quite intimidating."

"No! No… He refuses to listen to the word of the Lord, defies us at every turn. She can take the little pervert and be done for."

"But he's our son! We can't…"

Looks like the parents can't agree about the kid. Karen was almost sorry for these people. Almost. How is it that supposedly Christian people were so quick to hate and hurt people who didn't agree with them? This time they gave up when the phone reached her ear.

"Look, lady, put that thing away. You want him, you can have him. He isn't ours any more, Nathan. We'll sign your papers."

And so they did, but Karen was finding it a trial to maintain her pickle face through the process. It was not an expression that came naturally.

"In that case, I would like to retrieve his clothing and personal effects. Timothy has told me he has a suitcase in his bedroom closet…"

"Just get it over with and get out. His bedroom is back here."

"I appreciate your cooperation, Mr and Mrs Phillips. I will also need his birth certificate and Social Security card."

Little did they know that that suitcase already contained Tamar's wardrobe. Karen hefted the suitcase and found it empty. Oops, I guess they did know. Well, whatever the kid had accumulated was gone now. Karen had come prepared with several garbage bags in her briefcase, and they were soon filled with whatever was left of Tamar's boy clothes. Karen bid the couple an icy goodbye while maintaining her pickle face.

'Thank whoever that's over,' thought Karen as she climbed into the car, suddenly weary with the effort she had put in. Her heart thumped and she was breathing harshly. She was old, much too old for this.

Chapter 5 - The Shopping Trip

"Well, young lady, your worldly possessions don't amount to much, do they? And I'm afraid what you had hidden in the suitcase was gone. You'll need these for school, but Tamar's is going to have to go shopping.

"I guess so."

"Then, let's see what we can find suitable for a young woman to wear in public at Mary's Closet. You don't mind shopping at a Catholic Church, do you?"

"What?"

"The good people at St. Vincent DePaul run a place for low income people to find clothing at prices they can afford, sometimes even free in an emergency. I suspect you quite readily qualify as low income and this is an emergency?"

"Probably no income. I just made money doing odd hobs for neighbors. I'd love to work as Tamar, but I don't think that's possible right now."

"You're probably right, you need to learn how to be a young woman before you try to go public in weather that isn't going to freeze your buns off."

"Don't remind me!"

"Ok, only three or four more times should satisfy me."

"Thanks!"

"Tamar… What you were wearing when I found you isn't the kind of thing you want if you're going to blend in."

"I…"

"I know, you probably didn't have much choice in what you could get, but we need to think of what a girl your age would wear to school or, if you'll pardon the expression, church. You don't want to draw attention to yourself."

"I suppose so."

"Don't sound so enthusiastic. It takes a born woman years to figure out her style, you haven't had that opportunity. So you get a crash course in wardrobe from an ancient crone who is trying to think like a modern teenager."

"You aren't an ancient crone, Karen."

"OK, skip the crone part but I do qualify as ancient. I think this may be a job that calls for my great-granddaughter's talents."

"Great-granddaughter?"

"Told you I'm an old crone. She's about your age and would probably be a better guide to fashion. You game to have me give her a call?"

"Do you have to tell her about…"

"Nope. From this point forward you're a young woman as far as anyone except your doctors are concerned. I'll just exaggerate a little bit about your parents to explain why you aren't up on the latest fashions and one name stars on the covers of the checkout magazines."

"Really?"

"Really. I think I may have a wraparound skirt somewhere in my closet that might do well enough to get you to Mary's Closet. Kind of ironic, that , since the whole purpose of this trip is to get you out of the closet?"

"Are you always this crazy?"

"Nope, I'm still taking my meds and they only look in on me every couple of days. I'm almost normal today."

"What?"

"It's a joke, girl! I'm unconventional, but saner than most of the yahoos running for office."

"That wouldn't take much."

"Tell me about it."
 

"Hi Grams, what's up?"

"According to the Dictionary.com it's the opposite of down; 'toward, or in a more elevated position'; even 'into or in activity' "

"You swallow the dictionary or somethin'?"

"Look it up on line, sprite. Dictionary.com. You asked, I told."

"Jeez!"

"In this case, the idea of 'to a more elevated position' is exactly what my young friend requires. I have a mission for you."

"Wow! Do I get to be a spy?"

"Better yet, you get to go shopping."

"Cool! What's up?"

"I already told you, the opp…"

"OK, OK, I get it."

"In this case, I have taken in a teenage girl who was thrown out of her house and has very little to wear. Her parents could best be described by one of your favorite words: dorks. She has the fashion sense of a droid."

"Break out the credit card and let's do it, Grams!"

"I'm afraid the budget is quite limited, Kayla. No job, no funds. I'm taking her to Mary's Closet."

"You want her to look like a nun? C'mon Grams!"

"The nuns only started the place, the people who donate the clothes have color vision, my dear. And besides, nuns haven't worn those black and white monstrosities in decades. You're behind the times."

"Behind the times, Grams? I'm not behind the times, I simply appreciate tradition. I love a challenge."

"So do I and she is one."

"I'm not going to have to listen to Grandpa go off on you taking in strays again, am I?"

"Probably. Your 'Aunt' Lisa turned out pretty well and don't let your grandfather fool you, he's taken a few strays in his time even if he likes to play the curmudgeon. I raised the boy right."

"Hard to think of Grandpa as a boy, Grams."

"I was there; he was an exasperating boy, and you seem to have inherited far too much from him."

"I get it from the same place he got it from. So when do I get to meet this mystery girl?"

"How about in half an hour? I'm afraid it's rather urgent, she's wearing one of my old wraparound skirts right now for lack of anything more suitable."

"Not to say anything about your fashion sense, Grams, but you'll scar her for life."

"Then, Dr. Kayla, you will have to perform emergency surgery so the patient can appear in public without the scars showing."

"Got it. I'll be waiting with a pile of Cosmos to begin her education."

 

"Hey Grams! This place isn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"Most things aren't. You learn that when you get ancient like me. Tamar, you and Kayla go exploring while I talk to the people here."

"C'mon Tamar, I can't wait to be a fashion consultant. I wonder if they have any jeans that won't look like farmer pants?"

"Jeans?"

"Yeah, you want to look good you got to have some jeans that show your ass off right."

"Kayla, look at my ass and tell me if it's something I want to show off."

"Well, you do seem to be a bit low on ass, now that you mention it."

"I kinda prefer skirts so it doesn't show so much."

"OK, but you gotta have some jeans. No one wears skirts unless they're trolling."

"Trolling?"

"Ya know, like fishermen? Throw a hook overboard and cruise 'till you get a bite."

"If you say so."

"Jeez, were you raised in a convent? Trolling for boys! A little booty shaking goes a long way."

"Right now I'm not interested in fishing. I just want to look nice."

"And I'm the girl to show you how. What d'ya think of this one."

"It's nice."

"Into the pile it goes. See anything else you like?"

"Is that velvet?"

"Probably some imitation, but it does look good. Sunday-go-to-meeting good."

"I don't intend to go to any meetings on Sunday any more, Kayla, but I do like it."

"Then call it Saturday-go-to-the-dance. We're flexible, here."

While the girls were happily discussing the merits of each piece of clothing, Karen had a talk with the people running the place. Without mentioning the transgendered nature of her newly acquired great-granddaughter, she explained her circumstances. This wasn't the first time they had dealt with this sort of problem. Mary's Closet was a local version of a charity found in many cities, serving the poor and immigrant population. They were good people who tried hard to make life better for those who had been handed the short end of the stick.

Karen found a seat and mused as she watched girls tear through the piles of clothes. Tamar was torn between boyish embarrassment and girlish wonder at the choices.

°°How is it that there's only a year between them and Kayla looks so much more mature? Obviously the Puberty Fairy had missed her appointment with Timothy, but if she was wanting to make a change that might be all to the good.°°

°°Unless there was some medical problem. Better call the insurance people and find who they'll accept as a GP. Wasn't that a whole ball of worms? I hope the family's insurance is liberal about gender issues, such things don't come cheap and Tamar's resources were limited. Too bad you can't fake the medical establishment as easily as you can fake most people.°°

°°Ah, Kayla has her over to the jeans and slacks. Good, the poor dear wants to wear skirts but how many women wear skirts these days? Lord knows I gave them up long ago for something more practical in the air. Still, it is nice to go dancing and flaunt your legs. Damn, I miss George! He wasn't Fred Astaire but he was a fine partner for the tango!°°

°°Looks like they're finally at the tops. That's quite a pile they have there, it's going to take forever for her to try them on and show them off. Oops! I forgot that two teenage girls will want to giggle and share a dressing room. How is Tamar going to handle that? What's she using inside that bra? How is Kayla going to handle that?°°

°°I guess we'll find out soon - there they go into the changing rooms. I can't believe I've gotten myself into this. I can just hear George telling me about picking up strays like he used to. Not that he didn't do it too, but he had so much fun twitting me. Wonder what he'd think of Tamar? He had no problems with me wearing pants way back when, would he accept a boy in a skirt?°°

°°Ah, the enthusiasm of youth. I hope I can make it through raising another child, even if she's mostly raised. Do I have enough energy to cope with a teenager?°°

°°Oh! Here they come. Tamar looks like she's died and gone to heaven. Funny how I fall back on those kind of allusions even though I haven't believed in that stuff since I was a little girl. Looks like Tamar is getting to be a big girl today, I'm going to have to give Kayla a big hug. That girl is the perfect person to help a poor, lost chick.°°

"What d'ya think, Grams?" Kayla asked.

"Tamar, you look lovely. How's it feel to have a personal dresser?"

"Great! C'mon Kayla, let's try on the rest of this stuff!"

"Kayla, I knew you couldn't resist trying on something yourself, but I doubt your mother will be thrilled with your belly button hanging out. Not that it isn't a nice little belly button, but old folks can get crotchety about such things."

"Oh, Grams!"

"Oh Grams yourself. If you can get away with it , I'll look forward to seeing it on you next summer. I doubt you want to wear it home today."

"No way! It's still snowing, but the beach is waiting, Grams!"

°°They are having fun, aren't they? Good thing the ladies are into charity since Tamar has to have a complete wardrobe from scratch. George left me well off, but I'm still going to have to spring for bras and panties and such, those I'm not getting second hand!°°

°°Have they finally finished? I hope so, this chair is getting hard. This getting old stuff is a pain, I miss my afternoon nap. That wig has got to go. What are we going to do about that? °°

"They're having a great time, aren't they Karen?"

Christine, one of the church ladies, had come over to where Karen was sitting.

"Oh! I do believe they are. Nothing like teenagers let loose in a clothing shop."

"As long as they're girls. You wouldn't believe how many boys come in here with their moms and act like they're being tortured."

"I remember my own son - he hated shopping. Don't know where he got that from, his father loved to take me out dressed to the nines. A shame George isn't here to see this, he always wanted a girl to spoil."

"Well, your granddaughters are trying to make up for it."

"Great-granddaughters, dear. Good thing I have Kayla to help, I'm too old to keep up with outfitting a teenager."

"You'll never get too old, Karen."

"Tell me, who but a dotty old woman would pick a teenager off the street in a snowstorm and take her in?"

"Anyone with a heart, Karen."

"When you get to my age you start worrying about heart failure."

"Not that kind of heart. The kind of heart it takes to help someone will never fail."

"Let's hope so."

"Karen, if it's not too impolite to ask, why is she wearing that awful wig?"

"Let's just say that teenagers can make some awful mistakes in the pursuit of beauty if their parents are not around. I know I need to find her something better, but I haven't a clue how to do it."

"Perhaps I can help. Let me call Sue, she works with the people who find wigs for women who are going through chemo. They might be able to help."

"I should have known there would be angels hanging around a church. Would you?"

"Of course. I'll be back in a minute."

°°Look at them, if Tamar tries to walk in those heels she'll be flat on her face. Whew! Looks like Kayla has some sense after all, she's putting them back. Girl's going to need something sensible for school.°°

°°School, I had to think of that. How the devil am I going to get her into a school? Oops, I suppose I shouldn't be invoking the devil in a church - then again there are some preachers that positively delight in invoking the old sod. Guess the big guy will forgive me.°°

°°Damn! I derailed my train of thought again. Who do I know can help me there? This whole thing keeps growing, doesn't it. Hmmm… Maybe Bruce? Talk about stereotypes - call a gay man to ask about a boy who wants to be a girl.°°

°°Oh-oh. Kayla's got her phone out. I suppose I've been lucky she hasn't been on it so far today. What happens when two competing needs collide in a sixteen year old. Can she shop and talk at the some time? Maybe I should call Bruce while I'm sitting here waiting. No, I need to wait so I can give Bruce my full attention, I'm not sixteen years old. Boy, is that an understatement!°°

"Karen?"

"Oh! What did you find out?"

"Sue thinks she might be able to help. Let me give you her address, she's just hanging out and cleaning house today. She welcomes any excuse to stop cleaning. And she's only a few blocks away."

"My kind of woman. Thank you, Christine."

"Hey Grams!"

"Hey yourself, child. Have you sated your appetite for fashion?"

"For a few hours, maybe even a day or two."

"Good, when you get hungry for fashion you're your mother's problem. You have more stamina than I do. It looks like Tamar will be able to show her face in public now."

"Uh Grams? That wig has got to go first. No way it works."

"I had noticed that, my eyes haven't started to fail completely. Christine over there has made arrangements to help. That's our next stop."

"Grams?"

"Yes?"

"You do know that she's not really a she?"

"Of course. I suppose it wasn't hard to figure that out with her in the dressing room."

"Didn't take that long. A girl can tell."

"In this case the girl shouldn't tell."

"Jeez, Grams, I'm not stupid!"

"I know you aren't, but when people say 'it goes without saying' it often needs to be said."

"Philosophy, yet! You do hang out with some interesting people. Can you tell me what's going on?"

"I'm hoping you can be friends with your new cousin and help her out. She's had some pretty nasty things happen to her. Let her tell you what she feels comfortable sharing, give her some time."

"Sure! She'll fit right in at school. We got Goths and Dykes and some really weird types in my class; we got the whole lecture on diversity last semester. There's still some jocks and holier-than-thou types who don't get it, but I don't hang around with creeps like that."

"That's good to hear, but it will be Timothy who starts school as long as I can get the paperwork sorted. I hope you'll be his friend as well."

"You don't ask much, do you Grams? You should have adopted a cat, it would have been a lot easier."

"Now who's being catty, great-granddaughter?"

"Meow. Life sure gets interesting with you around. I mean, we've only known each other for a couple of hours but I have a hard time thinking of her as a Timothy."

"Which I'm sure will make Tamar happy. She needs a friend, he hasn't had very many and she hasn't had any."

"I'll just think of him as her secret identity, camouflage during the day until Tamar gets a call on the super-hero hotline."

"Have you been reading my mind, youngster? I've been thinking of Batman and his ward, Robin."

"Maybe you should think Wonder Woman. Now that she has something besides your baggy old lady clothes to wear she might make a go of it."

"I suppose you'll want to take me shopping now. Baggy old lady clothes indeed!"

"Can I? I could add 'fashion consultant' to my resume."

"Since when do you have a resume?"

"Since we had to make one for Intro to Business. I figure I can use it again in Creative Writing."

"You young people are all into recycling, aren't you?"

"Got it in one. Here she comes, Grams, she does look a lot better."

"Thanks, oh youthful fashion consultant.

Chapter 6 - The Learning Curve

For Karen, January was a busy month. When the new year rolled around she had expected it to be much like the old. When you've celebrated the new year 86 times, you get to have a feeling for the process.

That is until you do something like raising a transgendered great-granddaughter. Karen's sardonic humor had her comparing herself to Batman - Bruce Wayne had a ward; now so did she. She found herself wishing she had her own Alfred many times. It was unbelievable the number of phone calls she had to make: doctors, psychiatrists, schools, support groups, various friends or friends of friends that could help her and Tamar navigate the path to femininity.

There were times when Karen wondered if she needed to see a shrink herself. What kind of fruitcake would turn her life upside down for a boy that wanted to be a girl? It was at times like these when she remembered all the people who told her that girls didn't fly airplanes! Even after all these decades of proving the cursed buggers wrong it still rankled.

She remembered training in Houston for the WASPs, the sticky mud, the fog, the crap from the men who wouldn't admit a woman could be just as good a pilot as they were. She and the girls showed them how wrong they were, but it still rankled how quickly they were dumped when the war was over. It took 'em until just a few years ago to admit they deserved some recognition. A Congressional gold medal is all fine and good, but half of us were dead by the time they got around to it.

Then there was the fight against the stupid airline rules that made stewardesses retire at 32 because they weren't sexy enough. In the sixties the buggers found lots of ways to keep women out of the cockpit, but she was out on the line fighting for the stews all the same. By the time there was a chance for her to fly commercially she was too old to do it.
 

That first semester was hard on them both. The poor kid practically had an identity crisis changing between Timothy and Tamar. The rush to change clothes every day after school always left Karen smiling, Tamar was so much more relaxed and happy when she came out of the bedroom than she was when she went in.

Getting Timothy into the public school only required a few hissy fits with the bureaucracy. Sure, Tamar wanted to be Tamar right now, but a couple of weeks just wasn't enough time to make the change.

Her geriatrician was amused by her request for a referral to a pediatrician, but after the explanation it turned out there was a doctor in his practice that was willing. Insurance wasn't the hassle she had feared, Obamacare had its advantages, but she and Tamar were skating on some pretty thin ice.

The GP opined that Timothy was in good health, even if puberty was rather late for him. When he learned of the gender dysphoria he asked quite a few questions and then provided a referral to a gender specialist.

Then it got trickier; the semester was almost over by the time Tamar had an appointment. By this time Tamar was attending a support group regularly and the consensus was that Dr. Villanova was one of the best in the area. She was eventually willing to prescribe antiandrogens but nothing more until Tamar was legally of age, which was 18 in New York.

Karen was still questioning her sanity for getting herself into the situation, although she questioned her sanity each and every time she had 'taken in a stray,' as George had so frequently put it. This time was a bit different, she was at a loss to know what was right with a transgendered boy, so she called upon her friend Bruce Nelson for help. Bruce was a fellow pilot. Although two generations younger than Karen they had become fast friends. Bruce's other significant attribute was that he was openly gay. By this time she knew that gay and transgender were not the same, but they were related somehow.

"What's up, Karen?"

"Not me since I grounded myself. Too old to go up safely anymore, my reaction times are pitiful and I sometimes wonder about the old ticker."

"Life's a bitch, ain't it? You can go up with me any time, old girl."

"Thanks, Bruce, I just might take you up on that someday soon. Anyway, I'm up in the air about something else: I've somehow fallen in a bowl of alphabet soup and the letters have come up LGBTQ."

"And you think Queer questions are my stock in trade?"

"OK, I deserved that, but I need some advice on the 'T' part of it."

"How trite - a little old lady throwing a 'T' party!"

"These days that would be pretty easy as I have a 'T' living with me. I need some advice on raising a teenager with a 'T'."

"Wait a minute! You can't be telling me you have a tranny teenager living with you?"

"You aren't old enough to be losing your hearing yet. I plucked her off the streets in a snowstorm."

"Karen, you don't need my advice, you need the men with the butterfly nets."

"You may be right, but until they show up I could use some advice with a little more authority than the talk shows. I don't want to screw the kid up any more than she already is."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you need professional help."

"I understand that, and she's got an appointment with a specialist and we've found a peer counseling group for her. The thing is, I need to understand the whole transgender thing a lot better. I don't think Tamar would be comfortable with me in her group just yet."

"Have you ever heard of any teenager who would be comfortable with grandma around in a self-help group?"

"Great-grandmother, so I called the nearest thing to an expert I knew."

"You must be desperate!"

"You're the only gay man I know who's open about it, and I know there is a big difference between gay and transgendered. I believe the buzzword is on the spectrum.

"Which is why being gay no longer gets you thrown into prism."

"Bruce! Are you ever serious?"

"Only in the cockpit, my dear. Let me cogitate on this a while, there is someone I met a while back, but it was after quite a few beers so the memory is as fuzzy as the foam on my glass."

"Through a glass, darkly… How appropriate, as my ward takes her name from a Bible story. If you remember when you sober up let me know."

"I'm sober now, just memory impaired. I'm flying this afternoon."

"Go ahead and rub it in, with me sitting here on the ground."

"I know it sucks to give up your license, but I'm glad you did it before someone had to force it on you. My parents went through hell when my grandfather got so bad he couldn't drive. Must be worse for a pilot who has to give up a license twice."

"I can see it coming, Bruce, but I'm not there yet. I hope I'll be clear enough to know when the time comes."

"Maybe that new great-granddaughter will keep you young for a while longer. Listen, I meant it about going up with me. There's a fly-in breakfast this weekend, I could probably smuggle you two on board if you want."

"I want! Tamar is still a bit rough around the edges, but it will do her good to get out and mingle and it will do me a world of good to be in the air again."

"I'll give you a call when I know more, and I'll see if I can find a mentor for you."

"You're a gem, Bruce."
 

A couple of hours later the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Mrs Walters? This is Wade Robbins, Bruce Nelson asked me to give you a call."

"Oh yes, I'm glad to hear from you. I certainly could use some advice."

"I understand you have taken in a transgendered girl and are feeling a bit overwhelmed."

"That's a nice word, overwhelmed. It fits pretty well, too."

"Doesn't it! The whole idea of the child you thought was a boy is really a girl is quite overwhelming. We've had quite a few years to process the whole thing, but for you to have to become an instant parent to a transgendered child must be difficult."

"Difficult but rewarding, Mr Robbins."

"Wade, please!"

"And I'm Karen. Tamar is becoming a lovely child now that she is in a place that isn't trying to force her to be something she isn't, but I don't want to do anything to harm her development. I just don't know enough on the subject."

"Does anyone? It's one of those 'on the job training' kind of things. Let me tell you just what happened to us…"

An hour or so later Karen felt much better, Wade had given her a lot to think about and his support was very encouraging. A transgendered child is still a child, she had raised two of her own and could do it again. At least this time she didn't have to change any diapers.
 

Early Saturday morning found Karen and Tamar at a small airport in the nearby Town of Clarence. Tamar was as nervous as Karen was excited; this was both Tamar's first real outing and the first time she was in an airport. On one hand it was wonderful to be wearing a skirt and feeling like the woman she knew herself to be, but there was that nasty fear of exposure simmering just below the surface. She had chosen a simple white top and knee length black skirt for the expedition and was very aware of the bra with its two small bags of sand giving her some modest curves. She was disappointed to be wearing flats, but Karen had pointed out that high heels and grass runways were a poor combination.

Fortunately, there were only a few people in evidence so early in the morning and none of them seemed to be paying her any particular attention. They met Bruce, looking very much the part in a leather bomber jacket, baggy pants and WWI vintage flight goggles and a long, white scarf wrapped around his neck.

"What's with the getup?" asked Karen.

"You know how us queers love leather!"

"And I suppose you have a Jenny waiting for us to go with the outfit?"

"Wouldn't you love it if I did, but no such luck. Besides, the Curtiss JN-4 was a two-seater, someone would have to stay behind. I do happen to have a Piper Cherokee, which should do the job nicely and won't ruin your hairdo in the wind.

"Then quit flappin' your gums, old buddy, and lets get up there!"

There comes a point in stories like these when the young crossdresser learns to enter and leave a car without embarrassment, but Tamar faced a more complex problem. To enter the airplane you have to climb up on to the wing, a task made difficult by the rather tight skirt she was wearing. Once on the wing you open the door and clamber down into the cockpit. By the time she was seated she was wishing she had followed Karen's advice and worn slacks, but she made it with her modesty intact.

Once they were in, Bruce picked up a clipboard and ran through the pre-flight checks, then picked up a microphone and started a stream of incomprehensible jargon that must have meant something to the person on the other end of the communication. With the protocols satisfied they taxied to the grass strip runway. Tamar felt a surge and they rolled forward and lifted into the air.

Tamar forgot her nervousness as the landscape revealed itself. Below was a checkerboard pattern of brown and green fields; some were brown with the winter's soil still bare, some were faintly green with the new crop just poking out of the ground and others were verdant with the spring plantings. The view was spectacular, especially for someone who had never been up in a small plane.

"I can see why you love to fly, Grams. This is amazing!"

"Isn't it, though. I try not to get too grumpy because I can't drive this thing, but riding with Bruce is the next best thing."

"Think you could still walk on the wings, Granny?" inquired Bruce?

"You know the stall speed for this crate is faster than the cruise speed for the rigs I used to fly. Besides, I may be spry in my old age, but not so stupid as to try such acrobatics at my age."

"And seeing that I don't have a parachute I'm not about to try out for George's part in your little airshow."

"You really did stuff like that, Grams?"

"I surely did! George and I had a ball, there's nothing like the freedom of flying."

Bruce swung the plane around so they could get a glimpse of the Buffalo skyline before pointing the nose to Dansville NY. Dansville is the home of the Finger Lakes Soaring Club and most weekends you could see many gliders circling on the thermals, as well as small planes in the air. On the Memorial Day and Labor Day weekends the skies were filled with hot air balloons in a spectacular and colorful display.

The fly-in breakfast is a venerable institution among small plane enthusiasts. Tamar found it not much different than the church fund-raising breakfasts she had attended all her life, that is if you ignored the cavernous hanger and the less-than-fundamentalist repartee among the crowd.

She stuck close to Karen and Bruce, still unsure of her new, feminine self and a bit intimidated by the alien environment of these enthusiastic and friendly pilots. They spent the morning schmoozing with friends and watching the aircraft and gliders take off, then walked to the nearby Burger King for lunch. The flight home was routine, but still exciting for someone who had never been in the air before.
 

Living life as a part time boy and part time girl was stressful for them both, but in some ways gave Tamar time to develop as a girl. Learning a whole new set of social conventions is not done overnight. Karen worried that the gulf in their ages would cause Tamar some problems, but her Junior Henchman Kayla assiduously drilled her ward with the proper mannerisms and attitude for a girl in her Sophomore year of high school.

Mid February came and Tamar's sixteenth birthday passed quietly with a small party. There were no friends from school that Timothy wanted to know about Tamar, but Kayla had introduced her to several of her friends who made the party an occasion.

Somewhat to Karen's surprise, Tamar found a home in the kitchen. She was an eager student of the culinary, helping Karen with meals and reading up cookbooks like some people read novels. Karen was bemused to find herself in middle eastern markets buying lentils and exotic spices or Asian markets filling a bag with bean sprouts or odd shaped mushrooms. Her diet expanded marvelously, and was very tasty despite the occasional spectacular failures that provided grist for running jokes as Karen and Tamar became a true family.

By the Easter break Tamar was starting to become a real person, enough to spend most of the break week with Kayla. Karen was nervous, but her little chick had to fly sometime. Karen had forgotten how school breaks had freed the soul of an adventurous young woman and let her wander over the landscape having adventures away from adults. The landscape was markedly different than her own childhood, but Kayla and Tamar managed to find sufficient adventure to keep Karen's great-granddaughters busy.
 

As it always had, the weather warmed and spring came along. Looking out over the winter ravaged yard, Karen turned to her ward and asked "Have you ever done any gardening, Tamar?"

"A little, I sometimes helped my mother plant flowers."

"Good, then you have some experience. I haven't done much gardening lately, it just gets to be too much for these old bones. If you're willing I'd like to try and resurrect the flower beds this year, the yard looks so much better with growing things in it."

"I'd be glad to help if you tell me what to do."

"Then let's go outside and rake out the gardens and see what may have survived."

So they went out to the garage where they found shovels and rakes and other implements of destruction, with Tamar raking and Karen collecting the piles and putting them in the wheelbarrow.

"Still game to help after that workout, Tamar?"

"Next time maybe you could hire a lawn care company? I always thought that ladies shouldn't work up a sweat."

"Nonsense! One of my grandchildren runs a lawn care outfit and half of the workers are women. This 'ladies don't sweat' guff belongs back in the forties."

"I'll agree when I stop sweating, Grams."

"No sweat, child."

"Ouch!"

"I'm not so old I don't know how you young whippersnappers talk. This weekend we can go to the garden center and find some plants. You can dig the holes and I can supervise."

"Age discrimination! We could both supervise and call one of your many offspring to do the work."

"Good Lord, I'm raising a manager. Do you really want to spend your life in a three piece suit?"

"I could live with a skirted suit. Would I have to smoke a big cigar while I pushed peons around?"

"Cigars aren't ladylike and it's much more rewarding to push posies into the ground."

"Fine, as long as someone else digs the holes."

"Now Tamar, have you ever read Tom Sawyer?"

"Of course!" Tamar replied with a look only a teenage girl could give an addled adult.

"Close your mouth, you'll catch flies. It's a classic for a reason. What did Tom do when he didn't want to work?"

"Became a boss?"

"Close. He got someone else to do the work."

"Isn't that what bosses do?"

"You may be right. How about we invite Kayla to go with us to the garden center, then you can see if you're as resourceful as Tom Sawyer."

"Did Tom ever wear dresses?"

"I don't think so, but if he could have gotten something out if it I suspect he would have tried."

"Good enough for me. Let's call Kayla."
 

Karen had to laugh - discreetly, of course. This shopping trip with the girls couldn't be more different than their earlier trip to Mary's closet. Kayla, instead of being the font of knowledge of all things fashionable, was baffled by the array of greenery and such terms as aeration, dead-heading and monoecious?

"Monoecious?" queried Kayla. "Does that mean the thing had Mono. I had that and it sucked."

"Since most plants don't have red blood cells I doubt they could get mono. Monoecious means that a plant has both male and female flowers."

"Sounds like an appropriate plant for my garden, Grams," opined Tamar."

"Some trout-lilies would look lovely, as do some other things with both male and female attributes."

"Grams!"

"Is there an echo in here? You should learn to speak one at a time, us old folks can't handle multiple conversations."

"Yeah right!"

"Sure!"

"Much better, darlings. Would you care to tiptoe through the tulips with me?"

"Why can't we just walk?"

Embarrassing her charges Karen began to sing

Tiptoe through the window
By the window, that is where I'll be
Come tiptoe through the tulips with me

Oh, tiptoe from the garden
By the garden of the willow tree
And tiptoe through the tulips with me

"Grams!"

"You're echoing again."
 

By the time the summer arrived the front garden was quite lovely.

Chapter 7 - Tamar Is Here To Stay

The final day of classes came at last and Tamar and Karen ceremoniously bagged up Timothy's clothing to be donated to the Goodwill. The following morning Karen took her to the hairdresser where her own hair, now long enough to be styled, was washed, shaped and highlighted into a style that no boy would ever choose. Her fingers and toes became a glorious passionate pink that matched the colors of her sundress and Tamar made her formal debut to the world, a confident and stylish young woman with the bright future ahead of her.

Well, for a few days. It was with great irony that Kayla and Tamar, having boasted of their experience in Karen's garden, got summer jobs with Kayla's uncle in the lawn care business. Tamar had set her sights on a pair of real breast forms, not a small purchase for a teenager; and the only practical path to her goal was to put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt to trim lawns and plant flowers. The T-shirts had kittens or flowers on them and many of the jeans had embroidery, but even Tamar wasn't foolish enough to wear a skirt for such activities.

As strange as it seems, the experience taught Tamar that femininity is more than clothes and makeup. Without the usual props of femininity to rely on, she had to learn how to convincingly project being a woman by her actions and demeanor alone. A scary process, but one that stood her in good stead.

Dr Villanova was rather surprised when Tamar came to her July appointment in jeans and T-shirt, which sparked a wide ranging discussion about just what Tamar wanted in herself as a woman. The doctor was quite impressed by her maturity and understanding of where she wanted to go in her life.

The pay was good for a summer job; even the sweat dripping down her improvised bust didn't deter Tamar from working hard. There were times when she was weeding on autopilot that she dreamed of the day she could have real breasts, it somehow made the time go faster. By midsummer her paychecks accumulated until she had the funds for her purchase. With the help of her friends at the support group she had found what she wanted on line and used her brand new debit card (the one reading T. Phillips) to make the purchase.

The wait was agony. She had ordered Friday evening as soon as her pay was deposited in her new checking account. Every day she logged on to Karen's computer and checked the tracking on her purchase. What with the weekend, it took three whole days for the e-mail to come announcing your order has shipped! The next day the package was in California. The next day the package was in transit, a most unsatisfying location. Still annoyingly in transit on the following day. Thursday the transit log told her the order was in New Jersey. A quick check on Friday morning (she just couldn't wait until after work!) revealed 5:42 AM: Received at Buffalo, NY and 6:43: Out for delivery.

An angelic choir failed to perform at that news, but there was a cheerful tune running through her head. It took a while for Tamar to settle down at work that day, but eventually she calmed down as she rode the big mower around in circles while the rest of the crew fanned out with weedwackers to finish the smaller spots the 52" blade couldn't reach.

Arriving home, she found the package on the coffee table in the living room. Karen watched benevolently as Tamar raced down the hall to her bedroom and smiled when she heard the water running in the shower. Half an hour later Tamar emerged, fresh scrubbed and wearing a sundress over her new breast forms."

"They look real, don't they Grams?"

"Child, a proper woman does not comment on another woman's breasts. It isn't seemly."

With that they both broke up and had a good laugh.

"They feel so much better than bags of sand, but someday I'll grow my own."

"That you will, my dear. There is no doubt that you'll grow into a proper woman, none at all."
 

"A helicopter, Grams?"

"Yes, a real helicopter. My friend Bruce can take us for a little ride if you're interested, Tamar, you and Kayla as well."

"Way cool!"

"Way noisy! It's been years since I rode in one, but the thing I remember most is how loud they are. Not like flying in my little Cessna. Of course, being a teenager you're used to loud sounds, like some of the stuff you call music. "

"Grams!"

"So tomorrow morning, if you can pry yourself out of bed, we can start the weekend in the air. Sound good?"

"Sounds great! I have to call Kayla."
 

The Kayla having stayed over, they were up at dawn for their adventure. Karen drove south of town to an industrial site with several large, non-descript buildings with tall chimneys and massive cooling fans lined up along their sides. This was the gas compressor plant for the pipeline that brought natural gas from the Gulf Of Mexico and other places down south to be sold to the local gas companies.

Sitting in the middle of an open field was a big, blue helicopter. Karen parked and they entered a building with a prominent sign reading OFFICE, where Bruce was waiting. After greetings and a few safety instructions they walked out to the chopper.

"OK ladies, fasten your seatbelts and put your headphones on. Once I start the engine you won't be able to hear a thing without them - except the engine, that is." Bruce glanced back at the girls before continuing. "What we're going to do is fly along the pipeline route and see what's there. The pipeline is mostly underground, so if everything is OK we won't see much.

"The kind of thing I'm looking for is trees that have started to grow too big, washouts where a stream might have exposed the pipeline, or signs of a leak. This instrument up here, called a LIDAR, uses lasers to detect a gas leak, but sometimes you can tell there's a leak because all the vegetation around it is dead. They also have people walking the pipeline with leak detectors in case there is a leak too small for me to see while flying.

"Very rarely, someone tries to mess with the pipeline. That doesn't happen much, but every once in a while some fool tries to steal some gas, not realizing that the pressure in there would cut his head off if he managed to drill a hole in it. It doesn't happen so much here, but Mexico has some real problems."

"Are people really that dumb, Bruce?" asked Karen.

"At your age you should know how dumb people can be, old girl."

"Ask a silly question…"

"Anyway, I fully expect to have a boring flight in which nothing happens and then turn around and fly back. Actually, the most exciting thing I've found doing this is a herd of deer running like hell as I flew over. Hunters love the pipeline during deer season with all that open grass, they just wait for one to poke its head out of the woods and bang! It's illegal to do it that way, but some people don't care."

With that Bruce pressed buttons and turned knobs and suddenly there was so much noise it stopped all conversation. The big blades above started to swing and soon were a blur and dust flew everywhere. With a surge the copter was airborne.

"That big building ahead of us is the compressors," Bruce's voice was clear in the headphones despite the noise. "There is one of these compressor stations every hundred miles of so to keep the pressure up as the gas flows along. The engines that pump the gas were made in the forties, but are still running. The pistons are as big as I am, so you can imagine the size of the engines. These days they use jet engines in modern plants, but the principle is the same, increase the pressure in the pipe as the gas flows out to wherever its used.

"Those big fans outside the building are cooling the radiators for the engines, just like in your car. The rest of the buildings are offices, shops, storage and such. It takes a lot of work to get gas to your home, but it doesn't show when you see the little blue flame on your stove.

They were high enough now to see the entire complex of buildings and pipes. While most of the plant was green grass, there was a cornfield inside the fence, too.

"What's the corn for?" asked Tamar.

"They rent the land to a farmer. Less grass to cut and a bit more income. Waste not, want not. See that clear strip over there - that's the pipeline route and we're going to fly over it for quite a ways. The plant is on the edge of the suburbs these days, but when they built it in the forties it was in the middle of nowhere. They even have their own electric generators powered by the natural gas because back then the power grid didn't go this far."

The view was amazing, the land spread before them with miniature cars and trucks along miniature roads - at least that's what it seemed like. They could see the farmer's fields starting to show the crops above the bare soil and the trees spread before them as they got farther from the city.

"If you look up ahead at that field you can see the discoloration in it. That was a pipeline break a few decades ago, you can still see the color difference where the soil was burned. They try hard to prevent any accidents, but like anything else man has made, you're going to have failures. You just try your damndest to find them before they get too big.

"It costs tens of thousands of dollars a year to keep this bird flying, but it's cheaper than one accident. There are over five thousand miles of pipeline in New York alone, it's a big job to keep it running safely."

After that there wasn't much talking, flying over the beautiful landscape was enough to keep them distracted. Eventually they reached the next compressor station and landed. Bruce gave them a short tour of the place - the noisy compressor room was almost a relief after the sound of the copter - and they returned home.
&nvsp;

By the end of the summer Tamar had mastered feminine body language even in blue jeans. With half of her paycheck each week she filled out her feminine wardrobe for school, haunting the second hand stores with Kayla and her friends. When she went for full out femininity she was indistinguishable from the pack of girls that Kayla ran with, even if they twitted her about wearing skirts too much.

Taking half a day off from work with the uncle's blessing, Karen ferried Kayla and Tamar to the motor vehicle bureau and waited as the two girls took their tests and received their learner's permits. There was a bit of concerned conferencing when Tamar presented her birth certificate along with a letter from Dr. Villanova, but the staff handled the matter discretely. Karen squelched an incipient riot by flipping a coin to decide which girl got to drive first, albeit only a few laps around the parking lot before turning control over to her cousin.

Dr Villanova gave her OK and Tamar started her junior year at the new Arts and Sciences school as the girl she had always wanted to be. Fortunately, Tamar was not the first transgender student there, it was relatively simple to make the necessary accommodations. That first day returning on the bus, Tamar was glowing with pride and satisfaction.

Tamar had begun to find her passion in plants. After gardening with Karen and spending the summer landscaping, she began to think of a career in botany, taking courses at school leading to a science degree.

When Kayla campaigned for student council Karen found her house filled with five excited teenage girls and one nervous teenage boy. The kids put out an amazing amount of energy dreaming up slogans and making posters, but it was Karen who was exhausted at the end of the session just listening to them. That evening she put her swollen legs up and watched the TV until she had the strength to go to bed. She heard Tamar chatting happily as she passed the door to her bedroom. That girl never gave up!

They lost the election, but by the time it was over Tamar was very well known in the school, her enthusiasm and spirit leading her to joining several organized activities after school. If she wasn't at some activity she was playing chauffeur to Karen to practice her driving. Actually, having a driver at her beck and call was rather nice, she was starting to wonder how much longer she would be able to drive, her eyes weren't what the used to be.

The day before Thanksgiving Karen and Tamar followed Kayla and her mother Noreen to the DMV. The two adults commiserated as the children drove away with a tester in each passenger seat.

"I never thought I'd be doing this again, not in a million years," Karen spoke.

"I suppose it's pretty rare to have your great-grandmother being your licensed driver for the road test."

"I guess it's pretty rare to have someone as old as me being a licensed driver."

"I'll have to get you one of those little yellow diamonds that reads Old Bag On Board."

"Just you try it! I can't help but remember when your father and uncle got their licenses. They both took their tests on the same day, too. Back then you had to wait for the answer in the mail, I guess they were afraid those rowdy young boys would punch out the tester if they failed."

"I suppose driving someone crazy could be taken too literally."

"Too right! The answers came the same day and both kids begged to use the cars, so George and I watched them both drive off to tell their buddies. George hid it well, but he loved his old Studebaker and letting a wild-assed teenage boy drive off alone with it near broke his heart."

"I take it both cars and drivers returned in one piece?"

"Of course! It was a school night so they had to be back before sunset."

"And here you are reliving the past while raising a great-granddaughter. How do you do it, Grams?"

"I'll tolerate that uncouth appellation from my great-granddaughters, but not from a young woman who should show some respect."

"Only an old bag like you could get away with calling me a young woman, Grams."

"You're incorrigible!"

"And who taught me how? What happened to What happened at grandma's house stayed at grandma's house?"

"We are not at my house, young woman!"

"Details, details. I love you, grandma, and I think you are a saint to take Tamar in and give her a loving home."

"Sometimes I think the devil made me do it! Having someone so young around is invigorating, but Lord sometimes I get so tired I can't think."

"Comes with being a parent. I don't know how you manage at eighty-seven."

"The same way I managed when a young WASP set those self-righteous military types straight when they told me a woman couldn't fly the big birds. You draw on your inner strength and keep going despite the opposition. There's still a well of something in me even if my body is getting crotchety."

"Well, start pumping on that well, here comes Tamar."

Tamar emerged with a huge grin on her face, obviously she had passed the test. Nice that you didn't have to wait for the answer any more. A few minutes later Kayla showed the same grin.

"Clear the highways and evacuate the sidewalks! The Bobbsey Twins are on the road!" Karen cried.

"Huh?"

"Characters from my misspent youth. Twins that raised havoc wherever they went."

"Sounds good to me, Cuz!" Kayla opined.

"We can get matching dresses and try to fool everyone into thinking I'm you."

"Kayla, your mother would know," Noreen replied. "Besides, Tamar is only about six inches shorter and has dark hair, that might be a pretty good clue if anyone gets confused."

"Awww mom!"
 

Thanksgiving came and the family gathered at Karen's son William's home. Tamar was just one of a gaggle of great-grandchildren present while Karen enjoyed her role as Matriarch of the family.

Large family gatherings were something new to Tamar, having grown up an only child in a family with no cousins or other relatives near enough to see more than once in a blue moon. Finding herself in the kitchen helping prepare the feast gave Tamar great satisfaction; but there was a thread of sadness as well. Even with her acceptance in this vast and boisterous family, Tamar found herself missing her parents despite their inability to understand her needs.

Her adopted family didn't seem to recognize the traditional gender roles for the holiday: women in the kitchen and men in the living room watching football. Tamar learned an Asian-inspired vegetable dish from Uncle Greer (all the older men were Uncle, the older women Aunt; it was just too much trouble to figure the exact, multi-generational relationship) and Uncle Tonio showed her how to peel garlic quickly by vigorously shaking the cloves between two steel bowls. Being included in the casual banter and joking as the food was prepared made Tamar feel a real part of the family.

After the meal, when everyone was gathered around the TV watching some sappy movie, Tamar sat quietly in the kitchen while William's wife Lillian finished her cleanup. Quietly hanging up the dishtowel, Lillian sat next to the young woman her mother-in-law had brought into the family.

"You're rather quiet tonight, Tamar. A penny for your thoughts?"

"Have you ever felt overwhelmed with life? Even when things are better than you ever thought they could be?"

"I suppose that happens to all of us at one time or another. Am I right that your birth family isn't so large as our brood?"

"Yeah, there was just me and my parents."

"Yes…" Lillian encouraged.

"It's just… I… I'm missing them even though we didn't get along. Tonight with your family I wish my family could have been like this."

"You can't help but love the people who gave you birth, even if you don't like them. That's a hard thing to realize. I can remember the fights I had with my parents when I was your age and the fights I had with my children when they were your age. We all made choices that the others couldn't understand, but somehow we eventually found a way to work the problems out. I can't say I understand your choices, but it's clear to all of us that you have made the right choice. Maybe someday your parents will be able to understand."

"I just don't know…"

"Stranger things have happened. It may take months or even years, or it may never happen. When you feel ready, offer up an olive branch and see what happens. Sure you could be hurt again, but that's how life works."

Wrapping her arms around this strange and troubled granddaughter was the most natural thing in the world for Lillian, and they both felt a little better when they rejoined the family.
 

After months of sporadically attending Catholic services with Karen, Tamar was starting to feel more at ease with them. Having grown up in the Pentecostal tradition of exuberant participation in the service, the staid Catholic service took some getting used to. So did the idea of Midnight Mass, but it sure beat having to get up at the crack of dawn to go to church.

As Christmas eve became Christmas day, Karen and Tamar helped fill out two rows of pews with the rest of the family. The joy of the celebration and the warmth of her new family surrounded her and left her feeling deeply loved and cherished.

Once again alone in her room, Tamar gathered her courage and texted 'Merry Christmas' to her parents before dropping off to sleep. When she awoke there was a message from her father: 'May the peace of Christ be with you' waiting for her.

Not quite a Christmas miracle, but a hopeful sign, nonetheless.

Chapter 8 - The New Year

How do you make the routine life of a mostly normal teenage girl interesting? Sure, there's plenty of teenage angst, but Tamar's periods of confusion and anxiety were not so different than that to be found in any other high school girl. Well, if you don't consider the subject of teenage boys, that is.

Understandably, most teenage boys were reluctant to date a transgendered girl, and as transgendered girl Tamar was reluctant to get too deeply involved with a teenaged boy. Not that she was above discussing a nice ass or some particularly packed pecs with her girlfriends, but she wasn't ready to do more than spend time with a group at the local teen hangout. Her social life was enhanced by Karen's willingness to let her use the car whenever needed, so her position as the one with the wheels came in handy.

Tamar's seventeenth birthday was celebrated with friends of both sexes, with Karen only poking her head into the living room occasionally to satisfy the requirements of propriety. These occasions brought forth a wistful smile; she could imagine the reaction if her own parents had poked their heads into a room littered with teenagers exchanging backrubs. Times had certainly changed.

Dr Villanova had decided that Tamar was well adjusted enough that monthly visits were unnecessary; until she reached her majority and could start hormone therapy, every three months was sufficient. By this time neither the doctor or Tamar had any doubts as to her commitment to SRS.
 

With Easter break came something Karen hadn't expected.

"Grams, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course, dear."

"It's just… Well, with Easter coming I've been thinking of my parents."

"I suppose with the rising of the Lord such thoughts would come to mind. Not that I end up in a pew much more than Christmas and Easter myself, but they say you can take a Catholic out of the church but you can't take the church out of the Catholic. I guess it applies to your parent's faith as well.

"Yeah. I don't really buy the stuff that the Pentecostals teach, but Easter is a time of renewal. Dad did text me at Christmas, but I haven't seen them since I left. I still love them, but what do they think of me?"

"People can change, Tamar. They rejected you for being transsexual but after all this time maybe they are missing you like you're missing them."

"But how can I know if…"

"Short of knocking on their door and asking, maybe we can get some indirect information. Your cell phone is still working, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I never thought of that!"

"So they're still paying the bill. If they haven't cut you off maybe there's hope."

"I guess they were trying hard to raise me as well as they could, it's just that what they believe is so wrong!"

"That's a choice we all have to make as adults - and only you can decide what is right for you to believe. Problem is, there are far too many people in this world that think they should be able to tell everyone else what to believe. Not to downplay your pain, dear, but you could live somewhere where ISIS is in charge."

"Those poor people, Grams."

"There's not much we can do about it, so we just have to do what we can to make the world around us a better place."

"Like picking me out of a snowstorm in a mini-skirt?"

"Just like that. They call it paying it forward, helping someone else when they need it and hoping they will do the same when someone else needs help. So, you have one indication that your parents haven't cut you off completely. Don't abandon hope, but my advice is to wait until you turn eighteen and they can't throw a legal monkey wrench into your plans. Eventually you'll be cleared to start hormones. You'll have had some time to grow up a bit more and be able to handle a final rejection better if it comes to that. Let's let sleeping dogs lie."

"I guess you're right. Can we go to church together on Easter?"

"Sure you just don't want a new Easter outfit?"

"Well, I've always been jealous of women who could wear Easter bonnets."

"I think the Lord will forgive us if we kill two birds with one stone. We'll knock 'em dead in the aisles!"
 

When spring planting time came around, Tamar and Karen once again filled the yard with flowers, but Tamar did most of the work. Karen was feeling her age more than usual and watched more than worked. Over the summer Tamar again worked as a landscaper, but this summer she spent more time planning the plantings and designing gardens than riding a mower or raking grass. Her uncle was very pleased at how she had developed an eye for a beautiful garden.

She and Karen found time for a couple of flights with Bruce, this time in a small plane rather than a helicopter. While Tamar enjoyed the flights, she wasn't as completely enamored with flying as Karen. On the other hand, Karen was both frustrated at not being able to pilot the craft but thrilled to be in the air once again.
 

Tamar started her Senior year in high spirits. This time Kayla won the election as class president and, to her surprise, Tamar found herself the vice president. There was one nasty incident concerning her transgendered status, but the school authorities quickly reacted and the whole thing became a 'teaching moment'. Tamar was distinctly uneasy through the whole thing, but she found overwhelming support from the student body and the harassers were isolated in their hate.

With advanced placement courses in school and her duties as vice president, Tamar was kept quite busy. Her only worry was that Karen seemed to be feeling a bit off, not quite her usual, bubbling self. Tamar gradually took over more of the household chores like cooking, cleaning and laundry. There were a few wry exchanges between the two women over how Tamar had become a stereotypical housewife, a role that neither had ever played well, but life went on as it is wont to do.

Thanksgiving was once again a brawling, boisterous family celebration, but Karen mostly sat and watched the celebration, looking worn out and exhausted. Far earlier than usual Tamar drove the old woman home and helped her into to bed.

"Grams, I'm worried about you. You need to see the doctor."

"Darling, it seems like I spend my life seeing doctors. I know what's wrong with me, but I didn't want to tell you. Seems like that isn't going to work any more, is it?"

"Grams!"

"Congestive heart failure, Tamar. Sort of like a heart attack that takes a couple of years to kill you off. Not much they can do, I have some pills and I guess I have to start using oxygen. I've been trying to avoid it, I don't want to drag a bottle around with me and have that stupid hose up my nose."

"Oh Grams!"

"Don't fret yourself, I've got to go sometime, but I'll be around a while longer, I have things to do and a great-granddaughter to raise."

"You'd better! You just take it easy and keep up your strength."

"I intend to. I'll call the cardiologist tomorrow and tell him what's happening so he can poke and prod me some more."

"I didn't even know you had a cardiologist."

"Of course not! You spend all day in school so I can gallivant off and see my stable of quacks without letting you know. Well, I could until now."

"So now it's my turn to help you. I know you well enough that you'll try to keep on doing more than you should, just like always. So learn to let me do some of it for you. You saved my life by giving me help when I needed it, now it's your turn to accept some help. We're in this together, Grams."

"So we are, child. So we are. I'll try to behave myself."

"You'd better!"
 

The oxygen helped and Karen's energy level returned after a few days. She snarled at the bottle she had to drag around and the big oxygen generator that stood by her bed, but she gave in to the inevitable.

Christmas Eve was another family gathering, this time at Karen's son James' place. Karen once again ruled as matriarch over the clan with her shiny silver oxygen tank scepter close at hand. No falling asleep this time, but Karen smiled benevolently as she watched the chaos of her extended family.

Amidst any noisy and chaotic gathering there often comes a moment of silence as some magical force stills the multiple conversations simultaneously. It was in one of these unexpected lulls that Tamar's phone began to whistle that she had a text. Feeling faintly foolish she went over to her purse and took out her cell phone.
 

"Timothy

May the joy of the season and the peace of our Lord be yours on this blessed night. We may never agree with your choices, but we still love you.

Mother and Father"
 

Tamar began to weep quietly as she read the message, but was soon surrounded by a cloud of cousins who held her and poured their love over her. With Kayla on one side and Bert on the other, she handed the phone to Karen. There was silence in the room as Karen found her reading glasses and looked at the message.

"Child, I think you and I need to go to church together tomorrow. I doubt that Father Henry will mind us missing his service under the circumstances."
 

Mom & Dad

May the peace and happiness of the season be yours. 1 Peter:48

Love, Tamar.

Chapter 9 - Reconciliation?

"Grams, you ever been to a Pentecostal service?"

"Can't say I ever have. I did go to a wedding where the bride was Methodist and the groom was a shoutin' Baptist. Lot of Amens! going on there."

"Maybe you get the idea. Father Henry wouldn't be amused where we're going."

"You might be surprised. You weren't around for Father Xavier. The man had a stick up his arse is about the politest way I can put it. You would have never found Father X on the court playing B-Ball with the kids."

"I don't think you'll find Pastor Bryce out there either, but the man does get to dancing something fierce when the Holy Spirit latches on to him!"

"The things this poor Catholic girl never knew! Are you sure you really want to do this?"

"I think so. I don't like to live hating my parents. That's something that the people in my support group keep saying - hate will eat you up. I couldn't figure it out at first after what my parents had done, but I'm a different person now."

"Do tell!"

"Grams! You know what I mean!"

"That I do, Tamar. Say, I thought that fundamental types hated dancing."

"Not here. Singin', shoutin', and get happy! I think Heinlein must have been to a Pentecostal service when he created the Fosterites."

"Lord, I haven't read that book since before you were born! You grew up in a church like that?"

"Well, maybe not a clergy quite so crass and cynical, but old Digby rang a bell."

"You don't suppose you showing up in that red velvet dress might cause some more shoutin'?"

"I doubt that anyone will recognize me any longer, and I can't see my folks pointing out who I am in front of the congregation. I think I would rather be your great-granddaughter paying a visit to a new church."

"I have a hard time picturing myself as a Holy Roller. The damn oxygen tank would get in the way."

"Grams!"

"Well it would."

"Some guardian angel you are!"

"I'm not going to impersonate an angel so close to people who think they have a personal relationship with Jesus. I might get caught out."

"Tune into Undercover Angel, new on ABC." Tamar quipped in the tones of a perky announcer.

"Angelic Broadcasting Network?" Karen queried.

"We're here, Grams. Let's go in before I lose my nerve."

Not surprisingly, the church was packed on Christmas. They were greeted at the door and welcomed inside, finding seats near the back. Tamar looked around curiously but didn't recognize her parents from the back. There were several others she recognized, but none of them made the connection between the girl in the velvet dress and the troubled boy who had disappeared from the congregation.

The service started quietly enough, with only a few scattered Amens and Hallalujas, but by the time the sermon started Karen wondered if the audience always gave the speaker live color commentary every Sunday. The hymns were completely foreign to Karen, but Tamar knew them cold and sang along in a pleasing contralto. The girl had worked hard on her voice, it had matured but hadn't really broken because of the anti-androgens.

The service drew to a fervent end, but nobody tried to waltz Karen and her oxygen bottle around the sanctuary. Afterwards, their nearest neighbors greeted them and were pleased to have a young person who knew their hymnal so well. Tamar carefully deflected questions about her home church and worked her way toward the community room. Karen and her oxygen bottle were politely given passage and they found themselves in front of an impressive display of Christmas Cookies.

Many people greeted them warmly and they made polite conversation, but it wasn't until the room started to clear that Tamar spotted her parents sitting alone in the back of the room. Gathering her courage and gripping her Gram's hand tightly she approached them and sat down."

"Merry Christmas, Mother, Father." She said quietly.

The effect was electric. Both of the unprepared parents started and stared.

"Yes, it's me and this is my great-grandmother, Karen, who took me in after I left. I've missed you."

"Timothy?"

"Tamar. I'm living as my true self, not the sham I was before. I love you and hope you can understand, but I can't go back to living a lie."

Her father drew a breath and then stopped, letting it out slowly and silently.

"Thank you for that, Father. I don't want to cause a scene. I'm pleased to be able to share the Christmas Service again. 'The peace of the Lord' is not just a meaningless phrase to me right now."

"Tim - Tamar? I…" her father stuttered.

"We…" her mother said firmly, "have some thinking to do. The scriptures say God doesn't make mistakes, he made us man and woman…"

"But," Karen filled in quickly, "we mortals are prone to mistakes. Isn't it hubris to tell God what mistakes were made and where? I am completely sure the young woman I am pleased to call my great-granddaughter is not a mistake. Tamar, I think perhaps we should go home now. Let your parents have some quiet time to reflect. They've had quite a shock."

"I think you're right. You still have my cell number, and thank you for leaving it on. Maybe we can talk sometime. May the peace of Christ be with you."

Tamar almost expected to hear the standard Catholic response, so her parent's wish for a merry Christmas felt a little off, but at least they responded. Tamar rose and smiled, then followed Karen out of the hall.

Christmas can be a time of hope.
 

The winter was hard on Karen. Her increasing disability made going out in the ice and snow more daunting as time went on. Tamar grew to know Karen's sons James and William better as they found time to visit their mother more often. They were fine men, no surprise since they were Karen's children. Tamar experienced a bit of dissonance as the relationship grew. Despite calling Karen Grams, Tamar felt more like her daughter than her great-granddaughter. Finding two men old enough to be her grandfather seeming more like brothers was vaguely disconcerting.

By this time Tamar was acting as Karen's caretaker more and more. The old woman was still mentally sharp but her slowly failing heart left her unable to do the things she had always done without thought. On New Year's Day Karen handed Tamar her car keys, saying "Tamar, I've decided that it's time to give up driving. I just don't feel up to it any longer and I don't want to be the one to cause an accident. They taught us in pilot's training to never go up if you didn't feel well because you could come down on top of some innocent slob and kill him because you were stupid. I don't intend to let that happen."

"Grams! I'm so sorry!"

"So am I, child, but it has to be done."

"Well, you've got me to get you where you need to go."

"So I do, pretty good thing I picked you out of that snowstorm, eh?"

"You bet! I'm the luckiest girl in the world."

"Nope, I'm the luckiest, you'll have to settle for second place."
 

Tamar celebrated her all-important 18th birthday in February. There were friends from school, several of her new-found cousins, aunts and uncles and, to her considerable pleasure, her natural parents. They were trying hard to understand, confused at the flock of people who told them they held their daughter in such high regard, unsure how to act in a situation so far out of their comfort zone.

The adults were gathered around Karen's dining room table, watching the poised yet giddy young woman who was seated on the floor, her skirts neatly arranged around her, opening the impressive pile of presents being handed to her. That she was the only female wearing skirts had become a bit of a family joke, but she did look perfectly comfortable dressed so. That two of the boxes contained pantsuits, one in white and the other in blue, caused her to laugh gaily. When the heavy package contained a beautifully bound bible inscribed With love, Mom and Dad she arose and tearfully kissed her parents. That her father stiffened for a second didn't pass unnoticed, but that it passed unremarked as a good omen for the strained relationship.

The best present wasn't among the gaily wrapped boxes, however. That one was in a yellow bottle on her dresser. Dr. Villanova had become convinced that Tamar was truly transsexual and should start hormone therapy. That absolutely nothing had changed in the week she had been taking the pills was vaguely disappointing, one could wish the Estrogen Fairy had waved a magic wand and given her breasts and hips overnight, but Tamar could wait for the changes to occur.

As another way of celebrating, Tamar filed the paperwork for an official name change. The clerks told her it wasn't necessary, but Tamar wanted her name to be official. She was Tamar and wanted that name on anything official, like a license or credit card.

By Easter there were some small signs of progress, the season of rebirth held particular significance for Tamar that year. By the time she walked across the stage, diploma in hand, her bra was starting to feel a bit tight and she was wearing panties a size larger than she wore at Christmas. It would be some time before she could dispense with the breast forms, but that time would come.

The joy of graduation was not unalloyed, Karen was there but in a wheelchair. When the weather broke from the ice of winter a swarm of children and grandchildren had come to the house and installed a wheelchair ramp to allow Karen to come and go more easily.

Tamar didn't take a job that summer, her role of Karen's caretaker took precedence. Karen insisted Tamar be present when one afternoon she visited the cardiologist. The verdict was, as Karen knew and Tamar tried to ignore, final. The doctor recommended hospice care, Karen's heart would not last much longer.

"Tamar honey, we need to talk."

"Yes, Grams?"

"You heard the doctor, I'm dying, hon."

"I (sniff) know. It's so unfair!"

"That's life. I got almost ninety years, a passel of children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. I got you as a final reward." Her voice was weak and she paused frequently for breath. "Look at me, a lousy trip to the doctor; I'm wiped out and you did all the work. My time is coming, I don't want to live a half-life. Doc, we need to fill out a MOLST form right now."

"Karen, you make a difficult job easier. This is always a hard subject to bring up." replied the cardiologist.

"What's a MOLST form?" asked Tamar.

"Another lousy piece of paper." Grumbled Karen. You know I put you and the boys on the living will and advanced care directives. MOLST means Medical Orders for Life Sustaining Treatment, it tells the EMTs what to do if I collapse and can't tell them myself. I've been putting it off but the Doc here tells me I can't wait any longer. Let's break out the pencils and start checking boxes."

Of course the doctor didn't use anything as crude as a pencil, but he did click a mouse over the proper boxes, telling the EMTs that Karen didn't want anyone to try to stop her from dying when the time came. "No tubes, wires, resuscitation, just leave me alone and let me get on with it. You tell 'em, Doc." Was how she put it.

The trip home was difficult, Tamar's tears made her pull over twice because she couldn't see the road. She tried to hold back her tears performing the now familiar ritual of transferring Karen and her oxygen to the wheelchair, pushing her up the ramp, getting her settled in a chair and once again hooked up to the oxygen generator. Karen drifted off once she was satisfied the bright pink forms were affixed to the refrigerator door with a strong magnet so they wouldn't fall off.

Tamar called James and William, who by this time were Uncle Jim and Uncle Bill, to pass on the news. Neither were surprised but it was a blow nonetheless. Then she left a message at the Hospice and joined Karen in dreamland.

Dinner was a somber affair, Tamar rustling up breakfast for dinner just like that first night when Karen plucked her out of the snowstorm. Karen's appetite had been off for a while now, she just picked at her food, eating little despite Tamar's urging.

"Tamar, honey, my body is shutting down. I've been reading about it ever since the Doc told me about my heart. The odds are I'll just kind of fade away as my heart gives up. I'll stop eating and pack it in. I'm going to hate it when I have to start wearing a diaper again. I feel stupid asking this, but I don't want to end my days in a nursing home. I'm not going to get better and I don't want have anyone trying to bring me back when the time comes. Is it too much to ask you to be there for me when I go, changing diapers and crap like that?"

"Grams, I'll be there."

"You know, this isn't how I planned to spend the summer, child. I had hopes we could spend a couple of months in Thailand together. George told me the Orient was a beautiful place as long as no one was trying to hold a war around you. That was a long time back. I wanted it to be your graduation present."

"Thailand?"

"They tell me that's a good place to have your surgery done. I was planning to be your nurse while you recovered. Looks like we'll have to exchange roles. To mangle a phrase, 'Death is what happens when you're making other plans'."

"Oh Grams! No!"

"Oh yes. I wanted to be there but it's not going to happen. Take Kayla with you, I've talked to Noreen and she thinks it's a great idea. When they read the will you'll find you have the money for the trip and the surgery. I've talked to the boys and they agree that you should have the house, too, for as long as you need it. They don't need the place and you do, so it's yours until you get your degree and can go out on your own. I want you to pay it forward, girl. When your parent's time comes I want them to rest easy knowing you'll be there for them. When your time comes I know there will be someone there for you after you've had a full and satisfying life."

Tamar was too choked up for words, perhaps no words were needed, just hugs and tears had to suffice.
 

There's not much more to tell, although the passing of someone you love is never simple, there were endless details to work out, endless tears to shed. Karen left the world as she wished, in her own bed and surrounded by those that loved her. The hospice nurse lovingly attended to the body, the funeral proceeded as all funerals do and the family cried together. There was no doubt that Tamar was family, blood relations are not what counts, it's the emotional connection that makes family.

Kayla and Tamar postponed college for a semester, instead taking a trip to Thailand. Kayla was at her bedside as she recovered and Karen's picture was on the stand by her hospital bed. Thus it was that two enthusiastic but very fatigued young women stepped off a plane from Thailand and into the loving arms of their family the week before Christmas.