Sep. 5th, 2010

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For my third school (11-18) I had to travel to the nearest large town each day. There was a school bus which picked up in the local area and took us the 12-15 miles to the different schools in that town. Naturally I got on the bus at the start of its route and my school was the final destination, so for all those years I spent two hours a day en route and being force-fed with a daily diet of Radio 1.

Initially I was sat at the front of the bus ("the wheels on the bus go round and round!") but slowly moved towards the back row over the following years. The one advantage of being bussed there and back was that there wasn't an alternative public transport option; if I missed the bus in either direction it was walk or don't travel. This meant I missed out on any after-school class detentions if they were imposed by teachers. Result!

It also meant that I couldn't really get involved in any other after-school activities though. No school groups, no visiting other pupil's homes and making friends. Instead I had to go home and sit in my room, reading or listening to the radio or playing quietly by myself.

There were a few other pupils at my school who I had been at junior school with, but I'd never really made close friends during that brief time so we didn't continue that in the new venue anyway. So, very slowly, I made some friends amongst my new classmates.

It is at this point I need to explain something about age. And clothes. Now I'm not saying that one caused the other - it most definitely didn't - but I can't help thinking that there is some connection there.

If you look on the street nowadays trousers are de rigeur for all ages and sexes. Even a five year old will be wearing "long trousers" for school and play. Yet in my day this wasn't the case for all, and my parents were quite old-fashioned in that respect; I was made to wear shorts. "Short trousers", as they were officially called, meant that my legs were on show to all just as much as if I'd been wearing a short skirt. Indeed I would often stretch my jumper down towards my knees to try and cover the shorts when I could.

So until I was well into my second year of senior school I was in these short trousers every single day, whatever the weather. And every day I was embarrassed about it. During the earliest months there two other boys were also in short trousers, but soon enough I was the only one and, no matter my protestations to my mother, she refused to let me 'grow up'.

Not surprisingly, I was ridiculed by the other children. "Only little boys wear shorts" was almost a truism, yet I was forced into them and, whilst I knew about myself I was also very aware that this wasn't something one could let on about or visibly quietly accept.

I'm not sure if it was related, but it seemed related to the nickname I eventually went through school with. It started with "rubber lips" as I (allegedly) had big lips and so Mick Jagger's handle got applied to me. That didn't last long though and after a few non-starters I ended up with a name.

A female name.

A name that, thankfully, is quite old-fashioned and not that common. And whilst for the first month or two it was said antagonistically (in a "you're a sissy" tone) it soon ceased being that at all and just became the name everyone knew me by.

And I mean everyone. Though on principle I made out to hate it even some of the teachers used it.

Now I never let on to the other kids about what I knew about myself they seemed to have realised it nonetheless, and so my life for most of my seven years at that school was pretty much female-identified.

I did 'domestic science' (aka cooking) as well as the woodwork and metalwork which everyone did (girls as well as boys - I've often thought that that school was very advanced for its time in being non-gender-stereotyped about most things). When it came to the very few 'sex education' lectures we were given I went in the girl's group and the boys.

So, while I can't claim to have been physically female throughout my life I would claim to a certain degree to have been socialised as a girl during my teenage years.

'Pregnancy'

Sep. 5th, 2010 12:06 pm
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"You can't be a little bit pregnant" the saying goes, pointing out that it is an 'all or nothing' state of being.

So is declaring yourself to have a 'different' life history, I believe.

Like many in my situation, I started out by being open about things; believing that 'educating the masses' was the right thing to do and not trying to 'hide' things. But I slowly came to realise that not only this was entirely illogical but it was also the stupidest thing to do *ever*.

Let me ask you: Have you had your appendix out? or your tonsils? Do you tell everyone you meet that you have done so? As soon as you meet them? Of course you don't. It isn't a relevant part of who you are *now*, just as much as what your hairstyle (or hair colour) was two years ago it is past and immaterial to the 'now'.

A one-time friend of mine (in the public eye and known to be TS) once pointed out "I wasn't born a 'man' - or a 'woman'. I was born a baby."

Not only is this self-evident it is also genetically true! All babies (zygotes) start out female and may or may not be changed in the womb by androgen and other hormones into a baby boy or a baby girl. Visually, at least; I can't speak to genotypes for me or you so 'visual' is what people usually go by.

So since that realisation I have never confirmed to anyone any suggestion that I am not what I appear to be, so far as I have been able to do so. I'm pretty certain that some former lovers may have an inkling; some friends too. But I take the view that if there is some doubt in their minds then that is way better than confirming anything, for once there is confirmation there is publicity and you can never again escape your past; it will always be discussed by others and held against you, rightly or wrongly.

And, over everything else, escaping one's past is what being 'of a different history' is all about. And if you push that 'possible' over the tipping point into 'definite' you will never be treated the same again.

Imagine if the world was divided not by genitalia and chromosomes, but by whether or not you have tonsils. Would you gladly show you still have yours if that meant you were treated as a second-class citizen? Or maybe it would be their absence that gave rise to such treatment. Either way it wouldn't be something that was immediately apparent to someone on the street walking past you so why would you scream about it if there was no appropriate or necessary reason to do so?

And I see personal history in the same light. I want, nay expect, people to treat me for who I am now. not for being a little bit pregnant in the dim and distant and *irrelevant* past.

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