They must often change, who would be constant in happiness or wisdom. ~Confucius
When I heard my friend’s voice, on his cell phone from Montreal, I smiled. I’d missed him and was so pleased he’d called after being essentially MIA for two years.
“O’ Mama,” He said, “I have something I need to tell you.”
Rich and my husband grew up together, attended cub scouts and school at each other’s side and when Bob and I married, Rich was a groomsman. When we left Canada, Bob and I called and sent Chanukkah cards (I believe he is the only person who has a collection of all 14 of our annual photo cards) and did our best to keep in touch with our friend, despite his extreme avoidance of the telephone. Really, he is one of my favorite people in the world and so even though he didn’t ever call, I made a point to hunt him down every 6 months or so. For the last two years, however, I’d finally become irked that he made so little effort – he’d speak on the phone if I called him, but would not of his own accord reach out. So, I stopped stalking him.
Until his birthday, when Outlook reminded me of his birthday.
In the moment he announced news to impart, somehow, I knew; all the disparate pieces of my hunches, chunks of intuition fitted together.
“I’m going through gender reassignment therapy,” he said. “I’m becoming a woman.”
I listened as my friend described the nine years he had spent secretly cross dressing, and I felt a giddy euphoria. Rich had always had a core of deep unhappiness he’d never before articulated, could never speak of, and I felt my irritation at his withdrawal evaporate. So many things made sense.
I’d called on his day out of what I felt was futility because Rich was well nigh impossible to get on the phone. I called his office and left a message, feeling certain he’d remain hidden. I was thrilled to be wrong. He was ready to share the part of his life that he’d never been comfortable sharing before. We’d grown up in a tight, very ordered Jewish Community where judgment was quick and things DID NOT CHANGE. Since beginning therapy, R had systematically ditched all the people who were nonsupporting, or those conditional in their love (including, sadly, some family). He’d moved away, to an environment far from home while still maintaining an apartment in Montreal. He’d been in therapy for years and after a number of emotional breakdowns, had finally come to the conclusion that he could not longer lie to himself any longer and had to face the truth. He was so glad I called.
But I do my friend a disservice; Rich is no longer. Rich is now Valerie.
And, she’s HAPPY. Probably for the first time.
And she has boobs. She joked that, just like Boo, she’s going through puberty and was experiencing her first birthday with breasts.
Surgery is a ways off, but for now hormone therapy, electrolysis and her new longer hair is enough to adjust to.
For me, it’s the end of a relationship with a person who was deeply dissatisfied with life, who had nothing but acerbic and sarcastic things to say. I loved Rich, but worried after him because he never seemed to find his place. Now I completely understand, and so look forward to getting to know Val better and having her part of my life. Even if I have to call. Who knows? Maybe I won’t.
After we spoke, Valerie emailed me to say that my love and support was the best birthday gift she could have received. But I have a happier friend and really, it’s so fabulous I smile frequently for no apparent reason. Not that it won’t take some getting used to, but I’m totally ready to help with Val’s new world.
I hope Valerie sends you some pictures so you can get a feel for what she looks like while you talk on the phone. Good for her!
She DID send me photos and I can easily say that I saw the broadest smile I have ever seen on my friend’s face. I was nearly moved to tears.
The Celebration GLBTA parade was yesterday, and Divers/Cite 2007 begins on Wednesday. I have been attending the festivities here in Montreal for a good 10 years now…. but this is the first year where I truly understand the concept of “fierte” or pride.
Go Valerie! And go O’Mama, for recognizing your friend and supporting her throughout her struggle. Most people would simply have walked away and stayed away.
Hey Val! I am thrilled for you and your prideful experience at the parade. Welcome!
Thank you, Snob, This is truly a lovely person. Ok, altered packaging, but someone I am proud to call a friend. I think my years living in Seattle, going to Pride Parades in support of my friends helped to wear away all vestiges of my narrow edges. And I had them. Live life to the fullest, eh?
YAY! A friend of mine went through the same transistion many years ago. Of course, I found out in a slightly different way:
We too had been only in phone and email contact for a few years. One day at work, a beutifull slender 6′ tall (I was 6′2″, so I appreciate tall women) woman oozed (yeah, oozed, thats the right word) into my office, and draped herself across my desk. I didn’t recognize her – these paradigm shifts can take you by surprise. She played it to the hilt for about 5 minutes – the tramp visiting the exec at the office, and finally told me who she was.
We had a great laugh, and we spent a good bit of time together before she had to go back to the left coast. Unfortunately, as she eased into her new life, she broke pretty much all of her pre-change (what IS the right term?) social connections. She was really nice about it, and made sure that people knew that this was something she had to do as part of her change. I hadn’t really thought about her for a long time, but this bruoght it all back…..
The proper term is transition…. so pre-transition would work just fine. My altered packaging is much more attractive now. Seven years of hanging out at drag clubs can teach u a lot about make-up dos and don’ts. Lesson number 1: Club lighting is NOT the same as daylight, so don’t go painting ur face with PanStik if u plan on walking around the local mall.
The toughest part of the whole process was admitting that I was trans. Once I was actually able to say it out loud, I started to make a list of little changes that I could do to move towards a more girly form of gender expression. I remember last summer how nervous I was leaving my apartment wearing girl jeans. I really believed that everyone would notice. Truth is that most people r so wrapped up in their own thoughts that they don’t have the time or the energy to even look at u.
I guess that the sad part is having to deal with the people who knew the “guy” me for many years. Most of these people aren’t even my friends anymore, but I was never big on being the talk of the Jewish community.
girl jeans…. Umm is there a difference? If they are actually cut with hips (well, duh, now that I think about it), they’d probably fit me better than the baggy mens stuff. Before I tanked my back, I was 6′2″, and weighed in at a whopping 150lbs or so. I have a waist, hips, and really long legs. Mens jeans are cut for fat people. Feh.
anyway, congrats!