"I need to talk to you Mom. I have something to tell you, but I'm
afraid you won't love me any more." My fifteen year old son lay
down beside me on the bed in our usual family conference
tradition. The children knew they had my undivided attention when
I was already in bed.

I assured him that no matter what he told me, I would still love
him. He hemmed and hawed and I thought he might be going to tell
me he was gay. I had suspected that he was gay for years and had
hoped such a conversation would take place sometime so that we
could get involved in the gay community support system. However,
he had something entirely different on his mind.

He said, "I need to be a girl. I'm a girl inside. I like boys but
as a woman would, not the gay way. I have felt this way for
years, and you know how feminine I am."

I So this was what he had been upset about the last few months.
At first I didn't know what to say. I hugged him and thought,
"Oprah Winfrey, where are you?" I rarely watched television, and
daytime talk shows even less, so I had not been exposed to this
issue before. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. I felt my
life was taking a definite turn; I knew it would never be the
same again.

After a long silence he asked, "What are we going to do?"

"I honestly don't know what to do, but I'll find out," I
answered.

After we laughed and cried together I asked, "Have you ever worn
my clothes?"

His response was, "I would never wear your funky old clothes,"
and I believed him. Besides being bigger than him, I knew he did
not approve of my non-fashions. He scolded me for my lack of
interest in fashion or make up or hairstyles. He said, "You are a
woman and can do all those things, and yet you don't. That's such
a waste!"

We talked about his childhood. He admitted trying on his female
cousin's clothes. He was happy when someone mistook him for a
girl because of his feminine appearance although I had always
assured him he looked otherwise. He always felt bad when I talked
about how proud I was of my three sons. I had often added, "I'm
glad I don't have any girls, because they're harder to raise."
Sometimes I said, "The world is not yet ready for any girl I
would have raised," Because I would have encouraged a girl to
join little league or be a jet fighter pilot or president. How
prophetic that turned out to be as I am now raising a girl that
the world is not ready for. I had always told my children that
they could be anything that they wanted to be when they grew up,
but I never dreamed that one of my boys would want to grow up to
be a woman.

"I just want to be normal, and normal is being a girl. I'm tired
of not being myself I'm tired of being confused. I just want to
be a girl. I have no future as a man. I wanted to run away from
home so that I could be a girl where no one knew me, but I knew
it would hurt you." I asked him if he wanted to move to a new
school and go as a girl the next year. "I can muddle through
high-school as a boy," he replied, "I don't think going to school
as a girl will be a solution because I would just be hiding and
pretending from another side." He wanted to BE a girl, not just
dress-up as a girl.

He finally fell asleep beside me. Meanwhile, my mind was wide
awake forming dozens of questions. What happens to these kids? Is
this just a phase? Is this part of being gay? If I don't make a
big deal about it, will it just go away? Is there a name for this
condition? Does this usually happen to people so young, and can
they change? Can they succeed in life? I wanted information and I
wanted it now, in the middle of the night!

What does a mother do in this situation? When my boys came to me
with a cut, I would put on a Band-Aid and a kiss to make it
better, but I had no Band-Aids for this problem. I knew his life
would be difficult and sad. How could a mother help, and would a
mother's love be enough? Was I strong enough to handle this? I
thought I knew my boys pretty well, yet I had no idea that
Daniel's life was so troubled.

....

This was the beginning of just one more chapter in my
unconventional life. I spent some of my childhood in Africa with
my missionary parents, so I had been exposed to travel,
adventure, and attempts to change the world. I was also the
anti-establishment, back-to-nature type and had dropped out of
college to volunteer my time and talents to a school in a small
Mexican village. There I met Salvador, a man with beautiful Latin
eyes, a man whose world was limited to a town so small it had
only one paved road. His simple, self-sufficient life style
seemed attractive to me. We grew our own food, owned a cow, and I
made our clothes.

We lived in an old adobe house without water or electricity.
After our first son David was born, we moved to California, the
first of several moves between Mexico and the States. After
Benjamin and Daniel were born in California, we moved back to
Mexico into a new, modern home that we spent several years
building. A few months later we were hit by a flash flood during
extraordinarily heavy spring rains. The children and I were
marooned for several hours on the top bunk bed while we watched
the furniture float out the double doors and down the river.
Fortunately we were rescued before the whole house washed away.

For ten years I tried to prove to everyone that I could make this
marriage work, but reality finally set in when I became resentful
of Salvador's attempt to isolate us even from his own family. I
finally decided to leave, taking the boys, ages three, five and
nine, with me.

Their father said, "Since you are leaving and taking the kids, I
expect you to be able to support them. If you want any help, you
can come back and live with me." Salvador lived up to his word
and never provided any support, and I never returned to him nor
asked for his Life was not easy as a single mother receiving no
child support. I was in a constant panic about money, always
hoping the end of the month would arrive before the end of the
money. We lived sometimes in the city, sometimes in the country
with a variety of pets - a destructive dog, a bird, fish and a
horse. There were paper routes, music lessons, and summer camps.

After four years on welfare, I started working full time as a
file clerk in a hospital and Daniel started school.

I worked a second job which made it possible to keep a roof over
our head and food on the table. However, it didn't allow me much
time to be with the boys. They learned to take care of themselves
and each other. There was always a fear in the back of my mind
that the Child Protective Agency or other authorities would
discover the boys at home alone and take them away. It almost
happened when police came in response to a frivolous 91l call
placed from our house by a neighbor girl. They found 12-year old
Ben, and 10-year old Daniel alone. The law allowed a 12-year old
to be alone, but not baby-sitting a younger child. Ben and Daniel
offered the officers peanut butter sandwiches, and asked them for
help with a computer game. The police concluded that they were
well fed and were good kids. They left with the admonition that
their mother find someone to watch them during the times when
they had to be alone because of David's schedule.

David became my dependable helper and baby-sitter for his younger
brothers - he even took a Red Cross baby-sitting course. My
children were quite self-sufficient, for they had learned to
grocery shop, feed themselves, wash clothes and handle money. I
could give them $20 when that was all I had for food until the
end of the week, and they would decide which necessities to buy.
Ben could estimate the total amount of their purchases within
pennies, so they would not be embarrassed at the check-out stand.
They helped me write cheeks and balance my bank account. They
understood that they needed to help me by staying out of trouble.
I didn't want them to worry, but I needed the help and I believed
in accepting reality.

We moved quite often because I had to live where I found work, or
there was trouble with neighbors or house mates or the local
school, or the apartment owner raised the rent. We even moved
temporarily to the east coast, traveling both there and back by
Greyhound Bus. We were a team so my children always helped with
the decisions about moving. I didn't make any rules because I
wasn't home to enforce them. I raised them using the theory that
I expected them to be good, and they were. I let them learn from
their mistakes. If they stayed up too late, it was hard to get up
for work or school the next day. They set their own alarm clocks
because I was often off to work before they were up.

My children were brought up without God even though I had no
idea how to raise children without religion. I was raised in a
conservative Christian home where sin, punishment and guilt
seemed to be waiting around every corner. It is my belief that I
am responsible for my actions. If there is a God, He does not
need my adoration or my money. I don't believe that He is
involved in the day to day happenings of every person's life. I
did like to think there was a strong feminine force up there
somewhere watching over my children when they were out of my
sight, a heavenly grandmother.

David's great sense of humor and responsibility helped me to keep
things in perspective. At sixteen he got his driver's license and
my mother gave him a used car. I sat down with him and said, "Now
that Grandma Clela has given you a car, we need to make rules
about driving."

He asked, "Why?"

After thinking about it, I could come up with no reason that made
sense since he had always demonstrated exceptional maturity. So
together we decided no rules would be necessary as long as he was
responsible and kept out of trouble. And there were never any
problems. He would often come home from a date or school
activity, wake me up and sit on the bed beside me while telling
me all about his evening. Even when I was very tired, I was glad
he wanted to talk to me because I loved being involved in his
life.

Ben, who is four years younger than David, and very bright, was
not being challenged in school, even in the classes for gifted
students. He had a keen interest in money and showed signs of
being an entrepreneur at an early age. He sometimes offered to
clean out my purse for the loose change, or clip coupons for
items that we regularly used, and I was glad to give him the
savings. When we had a garage sale, it was Ben that priced the
items and handled the money. In third grade he chose the baritone
horn and played in the band. The horn was almost as big as he
was, but he trudged off to school every day hauling it behind him
on a trash can carrier. He became very proficient as he played
that huge horn through high school while learning other brass
instruments as well. He easily picked up computer skills, and was
a good athlete excelling in anything he tried. As the middle
child only two years older than Daniel, I probably neglected him
somewhat, but he did well on his own.

Then there was Daniel! He was a loving and cuddly child, but he
was a handful! He didn't hit his terrible two's until he was
five, and then I thought he would never get over them. He always
tested me to the limit. If I said, "No," to touching one trinket
on a shelf, he tried each one to see if I would say "No."

Brushing and arranging my long, curly hair was a favorite pastime
for Daniel when he was about three years old. During his early
teen years he could arrange my thick curls into a spectacular
hairdo for a special occasion. He was very fashion conscious and
always aware of the current styles. He most often chose unisex
styles for himself in bright colors, and then washed them by hand
so they would not fade. When I went shopping for clothes for
myself, he enjoyed going along to advise me. In retrospect, I
think he was living vicariously through me because he could not
wear feminine fashions himself.

Ben and David tried unsuccessfully to get Daniel involved in some
of the more rough-and-tumble games. However, he became quite
skilled in the art of self-defense when his brothers teased or
made fun of him. Once I came home to find the two older boys in a
corner while Daniel wielded a broom stick that he used very
effectively if they tried to escape.

Most sports held no interest for Daniel, but he enjoyed roller
skating and took classes in tap dancing and gymnastics. Because
he had few successes in school, I encouraged him in these other
interests to boost his self-confidence. He was especially
talented in gymnastics, and his brothers heaped praise on him
when he did hand stands, one-handed somersaults, and other tricks
beyond what they were able to do.

Daniel always preferred playing with girls rather than boys. In
the toy box at Grandma Clela's house, the old doll was his
favorite. Daniel liked to sew, cook, and clean house. Since I
spent little time on these traditional female activities, he was
not following my example. He rearranged the furniture to his
taste, and looked for pictures and other items to decorate the
walls.

After much hard work, I started my own business doing cancer
statistics. Self employment fit my personality because I like to
control my own life. It also allowed me to have a flexible work
schedule. The pay was adequate so that we no longer had to count
pennies, and we were able to get out of debt. I was proud that I
was the bread-winner; I was providing for my family, and doing it
better than many families with two parents. Women in our society
seldom have such an opportunity. Many single mothers I knew were
playing the role of victim, dependent on the whim of the father
to provide child support. For many years I dreamed of someone to
share the responsibility and the joys of watching my children
grow up. However, most of the men with whom I formed
relationships added to my responsibilities, and did not enjoy the
boys as much as I had hoped. Being single suited me fine, for the
boys were the focus of my attention and concern.

As Daniel finished the eighth grade, I saw signs of increasing
tension. He seemed to enjoy school and socializing with the other
students, but something was bothering him. He was not able to
fall asleep at night, and when he did, he did not sleep well. He
knew he had to get some sleep to feel well for school the next
day, so we tried warm milk, watched boring television, sang
lullabies, told stories, and did the mental exercise "walking
through a dark friendly forest, you are getting tired." We also
talked about a great variety of topics.

Once he said, "I don't know who I am."

I responded, "Most teenagers feel that way. Most of the kids at
your school probably feel the same way."

"When my teen years are over, I won't feel this way anymore?" he
asked.

"That's right. You just have to get through your teen years."
Little did I know just how difficult getting through those next
few years was going to be for him.

....

[Illustration - 'I don't know who I am']

During Ben's sophomore year in high school, he went to live with
David, who was attending college in Phoenix. It wasn't easy to
let Ben leave home when he was still young, but it solved several
problems. Daniel, Ben and I were living in the country: an hour's
bus ride from the nearest high school. My work schedule prevented
me from driving him to and from school so he felt pretty
isolated. He was unhappy because the transportation problem kept
him from participating in after-school band or sports activities.
David was living in an apartment but had trouble finding
responsible roommates. David suggested that Ben could live with
him and attend the nearby high school.

I was sad to have Ben leave and a little apprehensive about the
arrangement, but they wanted to try it. Besides he could always
come home if it didn't work out well. I paid Ben's share of the
apartment rent, but otherwise they were mostly supporting
themselves. David and Ben had a credit card on my account to be
used when they needed money unexpectedly. They never used it
without telling me, and never used it unwisely. I was proud of
them as they responsibly went to school, worked, paid their
bills, and kept track of each other.

Whenever possible I've allowed my children to shape their own
lives, and tried not to curb their adventurous endeavors because
of my anxiety. I was proud of David and Ben as they proved to me
that they understood the meaning of responsibility. My friends
were amazed at this unusual arrangement. Parents are often unable
to manage their teenagers living at home let alone trust a couple
of brothers to take complete control of their lives 400 miles
away from any family.

With my child-rearing days were almost over, there was light at
the end of the tunnel. I just didn't realize how long the tunnel
was.

....

After his revelation, Daniel was peaceful and calm, but I was a
basket case. I tried to maintain an outward appearance of
composure, but my mind would not work well due to stress and lack
of sleep.

The next morning Daniel spent hours in front of the mirror in my
room. He styled his hair, put on make-up, shaved his legs, and
created short-shorts from a pair of long pants. When he tied a
T-shirt up tight above his waist, he did look like a girl. It was
amazing to watch the transformation. However, he still adopted
the unisex look in front of others, and he did not want me to
tell his brothers yet.

When we went shopping later that day, Daniel said he needed
underwear, and I wondered whether he was thinking about panties.
I didn't ask, but just told him to get what he needed because I
wanted to avoid the whole subject. He chose his usual jockey
shorts, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I kept watching for
signs of something - I'm not sure what.

I asked one of my friends to meet me at the mall because I really
need to talk to someone. He hazarded several guesses as to the
cause of my problem, but I knew he would never guess. When my
friend learned the cause of my dismay, he agreed he never would
have guessed. He thought the condition was called gender
dysphoria or transsexualism. He advised me to research the
subject at the medical library of our local university hospital.

Another friend who knew my children well expressed his support
but did not know much about gender problems either. However, a
few days later he called with some troubling information. A gay
friend of his had told him that transsexuals have an even a
harder life than gays for they are at the far end of the spectrum
when it comes to acceptance in the community. He also expressed
sympathy for us because he knew we had a hard road ahead and
suggested that I go to the Gay and Lesbian Center to seek
information.

Daniel had gone to visit his brothers as soon as school was out.
Ben brought him back and was visiting from Arizona for the Fourth
of July holidays. I was close to tears all day. Contrary to
Daniel's wishes, I told Ben the reason for my distress because I
needed to share it with someone. Ben said, "It's no big deal.
Daniel probably just needs more attention." When Ben was ready to
return to Phoenix, Daniel wanted to go back with him. He wanted
to be able to go out shopping at the mall as a girl without the
fear of running into his friends. David and Ben approved the plan
as they liked to have him cook and keep their apartment clean
while they worked or attended school. Daniel had played with
several feminine names, such as Jasmine or Danny, but seemed to
be settling on Danielle.

My instincts told me that momentous events would take place
during Danielle's second visit to Arizona, and I talked to my
children there almost every day so as to be a part of it.

Danielle told me about Denise, who was a good friend and neighbor
to Ben and David. Denise had known a transsexual, and recognized
the signs in Danielle, so she took her under her wing. While the
older boys were away, she and Danielle experimented with hair and
make-up, and did all the things that girlfriends do - the things
that Danielle had always longed to do. Danielle confessed she
took some of my make-up with her - make-up that she encouraged me
to buy a year before when she saw it on television. I didn't mind
because I seldom used it. Danielle kept me informed about all the
new things she was doing, and told me everything she bought
during her mall trips with Denise. David used my credit card to
get cash advances for Danielle's use, and she told me how much
she paid for each item because she was concerned about my having
to spend money on her. It was Denise who told David about
transsexuals and what was happening to Danielle. When David told
me he knew, I cried with gratitude for Denise. Bless her dear,
dear spirit - I just wanted to hug her. David was quite stressed
by all the new developments. He was doing his best to hide his
feelings from Danielle - he began to work out at the gym more
than usual. Ben persisted in his opinion that Danielle just
needed more attention. He bought her a computer art program and
was trying to teach her how to use it. It was clever of Ben to
find a way to give her more attention that involved his beloved
computer.

Danielle told me her brothers were treating her nicely, and she
thought they were glad to find out that she was not gay. She told
me she saw an 18-year old transsexual on a television talk show
and said, "I think I could have done better at expressing how it
feels inside."

Denise thought Danielle was passing very well as a girl - the
guys were even checking her out at the malls. Denise had to
remind Danielle not to scratch where her new bras made her itch.
When Danielle started receiving phone calls, David was afraid he
would use the wrong pronouns so he would use no pronouns at all.
"Down by the pool," he would say, "Gone shopping," or 'Not home."

Danielle told me about a 21-year old man, a neighbor in the
apartment complex, who took her to the store to get hair spray.
"I told him that I have two big brothers who are very protective
so I couldn't mess around much," she said. "He is cute, but kind
of nerdy. He would make a good friend, but that's all."

I was sure my new daughter was going to get her heart broken, but
Danielle was thrilled to meet boys who thought she was a girl.
One night when I called, Danielle was out on a "date" with the
neighbor. When he came for Danielle, Denise wrote down his
address and phone number. The boys were still worried about her,
and Ben waited up for her to get home. David decided that before
he dated a girl, he would ask to see one of those cute, naked
baby pictures. He wasn't sure he wanted to date a transsexual.

David and Ben discussed how to tell their father. They thought of
a scheme to soften the blow. They would tell him that David was
gay, Ben was a crossdresser, and Daniel was transsexual. Then
when he learned the truth, that only Daniel was transsexual, he
would be relieved that only one of them had a problem. They
laughed and talked about what they thought their father's
reaction would be. They never carried out the scheme, but I was
thankful my kids could handle this unique situation with humor
and common sense.

When Danielle had been in Arizona for only two weeks, David told
me the situation was a little stressful, and he was ready for
Danielle to return home. Grieving is part of the family's
adjustment process when a child comes out as gay or transsexual,
and David expressed that sentiment to me when he said, "I feel
like my brother has died and I don't know who this new person
is." David also felt that it was partly his fault because he had
been there when his brother was growing up and he must have done
something wrong.

Several times I thought, "I just want my Daniel back." I secretly
hoped that Danielle would call and say that she had changed her
mind and was going to be my little boy again. I wanted to walk
away from all these new problems, and go on with life as it was
before. However there were so many things to deal with that I did
not have much time for grieving.

My greatest sorrow was in knowing the hardships that lay ahead
for my new daughter. I could see it was going to be a long road,
and we didn't have a map to follow. I wondered if I would be
strong enough to handle this new situation. I asked myself again
and again, "Is a mother's love enough?"

....

While all my children were in Phoenix, I set out to look for
information, and my first stop was the Gay and Lesbian Center.
Until the moment that Daniel revealed that he was a girl, I was
resigned to the fact that he was gay so I expected that I would
contact the Center sometime.

[Illustration - 'Is a mother's love enough?']

When I was young, my experiences with gays had always been
positive. "Uncle Bob" was close to our family and was also the
father of one of my best friends. We knew he was gay, but also
knew he was a good, dependable person and an important adult in
our lives.

A classmate and his twin sister were my best friends during high
school. Phil came out to me years later when he explained that he
left the church because Christians disapprove of gay people. When
I visited him in San Francisco, he lived with two male friends in
a beautifully decorated apartment where they all shared the
homemaking responsibilities. I noticed the peaceful, caring and
quiet atmosphere that pervaded their home, very different from
the stressful, bitter and controlling relationships that I had
seen in many heterosexual homes. A highly respected teacher in my
parochial high school was gay, but we didn't know it at the time.
He taught English and made it interesting and challenging. He was
married and his children were part of our social circle. Years
later I visited him when I learned that he was dying of AIDS, and
found that he was still interested in new thoughts and projects.
I shared with him my concern for my youngest son.

These three men, as well as all the other gays and lesbians I
knew, seemed to be exceptionally fine people. When I believed
that Daniel was gay, I hoped he would be a wonderful human being
also. I did not blame myself for I had raised all three boys the
same way. As early as age five, I recognized Daniel was
effeminate and different from other boys, but I knew he did not
choose to be that way. It is my belief that some people are born
gay just as I was born with curly hair and poor eyesight. I did
not feel Daniel was influenced by an outside source, nor did I
believe he was sinning.

Fortunately I had read that the gender of the unborn fetus is
determined by the hormones to which it is exposed in utero. All
babies start out as female. An infinitesimal amount of male
hormone at exactly the right time is necessary for the normal
development of male sex organs, and the male pattern of thinking.
On rare occasions something goes wrong. There may be enough male
hormone to produce male sex organs, but it may not be in
sufficient quantity to push the brain into the male pattern of
behavior. Although I was surprised and a little shocked to learn
that Daniel was transsexual, I think it was easier for me to
accept because I knew he was born that way.

....

[Illustration ' How to raise a perfect transsexual']

I was on the verge of tears on that first visit to the Gay and
Lesbian Center, and was thankful to meet a friendly and
sympathetic female intern counselor. When I asked for guidance in
helping a boy who wanted to be a girl, she could be of little
assistance because she admitted she knew almost nothing about the
subject. She praised me as a wonderful mother for wanting to help
my child, and made a future appointment with a staff psychologist
who had experience with transsexuals. She also gave me the phone
number of a local support group for transsexuals and
crossdressers, called Neutral Corner.

My next stop was the hospital library where I found articles
about the use of hormones, and the actual mechanics of sex
reassignment surgery. One study hypothesized that transsexuals
tend to have more brothers than sisters, and are further down in
the birth order. Another theorized that some deficiencies in the
womb can result in the birth of a transsexual. One article told
of following a group of transsexuals through a spiritual, body
and mind transformation with rights of passage. There is little
information about transsexuals after surgery because many blend
into society and just get on with their lives - they seldom come
back to report to the researchers. There were a few outdated
psychological studies of children who had gender dysphoria, based
on small research samples. But there was no advice for me. I
needed A book with step by step instructions  - How To Raise a
Perfect Transsexual - that might say, "When your teenager tells
you he is transsexual, you should do this, this, and this."

The local University hospital informed me that specialists charge
$100 an hour, and it would probably take two hours to arrive at a
diagnosis. Children's Hospital essentially told me the same, and
the local state mental health agency had no specialists. I soon
understood that the financial arrangements were of utmost
importance, for the first question at all the medical facilities
was, "What kind of insurance do you have?" I felt I was all on my
own. No one knew what to do, but they would try to figure it out
for an outrageous price.

At that time, I was newly connected to the computer world, but
even if I had surfed the web there would have been little
information available about teens with gender dysphoria. Although
my friends and relatives knew no more than I did, it was
comforting to talk to them. My mother and my older sister were
supportive and reassuring. My mother's reaction when she heard
was, "Aha! Of course! That explains so many things."

My Mexican friend and "commadre" Chula (Daniel's godmother), was
not surprised about Daniel for she recognized that he walked like
a girl when he was only two years old. She had no problem
understanding and accepting the situation, and had even read
articles in Mexican magazines about transsexuals. She expected
trouble with Daniel's father because of his macho attitude.
"Since he has never helped with the children," she said, "he
better be nice or not say anything at all."

The first breakthrough came with my counseling appointment at the
Gay and Lesbian Center. The experienced counselor looked like a
hippie with his earring, a beard, a pipe in the pocket of a his
Hawaiian shirt, and sandals. He knew of only a few teen
transsexuals and even fewer who had gone through sex reassignment
surgery, but he answered many of my questions: he doubted that it
was just a phase that Daniel was going through; it would not be
easy to get hormones from a medical doctor or endocrinologist for
a minor; street hormones are dangerous although some have
resorted to them to save money; hormones would stop some of the
hair growth and electrolysis would also help; most of the effects
of taking hormones would disappear when they were discontinued.
The success of the transsexual depends somewhat on how well he
passes as a female, and the counselor thought he could tell by
looking at a picture of Daniel whether he would pass well or not.
He asked about Daniel's build and his father's height. I was not
worried about him passing because I had already seen Daniel as a
girl, and knew that he looked incredibly feminine.

He informed me that several places in the United States perform
reputable sex reassignment surgery at a cost of approximately
$10,000, and hormone therapy would probably cost $100 a month.
That information was important because I would have to find a way
to handle the expenses.

The hormonal and surgical treatment of persons with gender
dysphoria is strictly regulated by guidelines formulated by a
group of psychiatrists, physicians and other care givers in 1979.
These Standards of Care mandated by the Harry Benjamin
International Gender Dysphoria Association (HBIGDA) specify that
a licensed clinical behavioral scientist (psychologist,
counselor, psychiatrist, or clinical social worker) with proven
competence in the field must be closely involved before sex
reassignment surgery may be permitted. These guidelines are not
written in any law, but with only a few surgeons doing sex
reassignment, all of whom agree to these guidelines, they might
as well be law.

The first step requires one of the above professionals to
evaluate the person with gender dysphoria over a period of three
months before giving a referral for hormone therapy. A year of
living full time as the opposite sex is required during which
time the person must live and work or go to school in the new
gender role before evaluation for surgery is made. Continued
contact with the therapist should be maintained during that year
because the authorization of two therapists is necessary before
the sex reassignment surgery may be considered.

I wasn't ready to think about surgery. I had more urgent needs,
such as finding the best way to help my teenager now. This first
counselor seemed to be a caring person, and someone with whom I
felt comfortable. He said he would be glad to talk to Daniel, but
was not set up to write a letter recommending surgery. His
services were on donation basis or were free through the Gay and
Lesbian Center. A man from the Neutral Corner support group
phoned me in response to my call. The group had no teen
information on hand, and he knew of no other transsexual as young
as my child. He invited me to attend their support meeting, and
to look through their library. As a result of that contact, the
wife of a crossdresser called me. She had found out her husband
was crossdressing a year or so after their marriage, but with
love and counseling they managed to deal with it. Even their two
children knew about their father and seemed to be handling it
well. A priest told her that crossdressing was not a sin if her
husband was not hurting anyone. She was very supportive and
encouraging, and although our situations were completely
different, it was good to talk to a person with an appreciation
for the problems we faced. It was comforting to know that real
people had struggled through something similar and continued to
live productive lives.

Most of the transsexual information that I found pertained to
adults, so I felt I was reinventing the wheel. Parents who had
dealt with the same situation could be very helpful. What had
they found that worked? What mistakes did they make? What did
they do about school? How can parents help?

I knew that I must accept this child as a girl even though I had
no idea how to raise a girl, much less a transsexual girl, but I
would do my very best to make a good life for her. A change in my
thinking and speaking would be necessary to accommodate a teenage
daughter. I vowed that by the time she came back from Arizona, I
would be able to use her new name and female pronouns. To
practice, I chanted to myself, "I have a new daughter. Her name
is Danielle. She is really cute. I love her." The hardest word
for me to feel comfortable with was "daughter," since I had
always used masculine terms for my children - "Let's go guys. My
boys. Hey, little man, none of that." I started using the terms
"children and kids" instead of "sons and boys." During that time
when I was struggling with gender issues, it gave me peace to
think of my child as an angel - pure, innocent and lost, neither
male nor female. I even wondered if there might be a reason in
the bigger scheme of things, that I was given this child. The
thought "Why me?" did occur, but the answer also came right away.
"Because you can! "

It was my determination to allow Danielle to set the pace for her
future - I would neither push her nor slow her down. It would be
my responsibility to provide her with as much information as
possible, to discuss options with her, and to pay the bills for
any therapy or surgery. I also vowed that our home, wherever it
was, would be her sanctuary from the world, a place where she
would be safe with no stress or disapproval from me. She would be
welcome to go everywhere with me, just as she had in the past: I
would not hide her or be ashamed of her.

While Danielle was experimenting with new things in Phoenix, I
attended a birthday party where the guest of honor knew of the
recent developments concerning Danielle, but the rest of the
group did not. When the other guests inquired about my boys I
found it difficult to say anything. I made numerous trips to the
powder room to dry my eyes.

There were several toddlers in the room, and I heard the mothers
exchanging stories about their little boys. I wanted to say, "You
think they are boys." When I saw a little boy with a pretty face,
I wondered about his true identity. My perspective of the whole
world had changed. My sister does ultrasound examinations of
prenatal infants, and often tells the parents the gender based
upon the genitalia that she sees. I thought to myself, "Every
parent should be given a disclaimer saying that the fetus has
male genitals, but the real gender may not be apparent for years
to come."

The support group Neutral Corner has monthly meetings for people
with gender issues. The first time I attended I sat in the
parking lot for some time trying to build up enough courage to go
inside. I was apprehensive about the people I would meet. Finally
I went in motivated by the hope of finding answers to some of my
questions. I admit that I was also curious to see what
transsexuals looked like.

I could not tell which ones were crossdressers or transsexuals,
or if those that appeared to be men were really males. It was
very difficult to talk to anyone because I discovered that all my
conversation starters were based on the person's gender. When
meeting men in the past, I first tried to find out if they were
single or otherwise eligible, and then talked about their work,
sports, cars, or computers. When I met a woman, we talked
clothes, kids, work, or men. When the gender was unknown, I
struggled to make conversation. I had to rethink what I knew
about gender, things that I had previously taken for granted.

After a few minutes, a person appearing to be a male introduced
himself to me, said he was a crossdresser, but not dressed
tonight, and inquired as to the reason I was there. It was soon
evident to him that I could hardly talk without crying, so he
changed the subject to politics, and then health-care and other
gender neutral subjects. He was a good conversationalist,
intelligent, and a very nice person from all appearances. He did
not seem to be odd, or weird, or any of the other things that I
had feared I would find at the meeting.

Then a male and female couple revealed to me that she was a male
to female transsexual (MtoF) and he was a female to male
transsexual (FtoM). Recently they had gone through the gender
transition together. They did not know of any young transsexual,
nor had they had experience with the schools, but they gave me
names of counselors and endocrinologists, and expressed support
as I endeavored to help my new daughter. I was happy to discover
a nice group of people in attendance who talked about computers,
families, and fashion, and I began friendships that night that
were of great help to me as I journeyed through a new and
unfamiliar territory.

As the evening progressed I was introduced to everyone, and I
learned that many of them were successful business people with
supportive spouses. Some were crossdressers in female garb, and
some were in "drab" which meant they were not dressed as females
that night. I learned to tell the difference. Others were MtoFs
or FtoMs, but to my surprise and pleasure, most appeared to be
happy and well adjusted. Some of the women were very fashionably
attired, while I was dressed as usual without earrings, nail
polish, or high-heels. They warmly included me in their friendly
community, and gave me several books to read from their library.
It was interesting to find books on ancient Greek mythological
figures that were transsexual and were not treated as if they had
a mental illness. The American Indians also had many transsexuals
in their tribes who were treated with respect as leaders and
teachers because they could see the world from both the feminine
and masculine point of view. Traditional Indian society was also
very accepting of children deciding which gender, or gender roles
they wished to follow. Although the books pertained mostly to
adults, I read them anyway. I wanted to learn everything I could
on the subject. That experience with Neutral Corner gave me the
first glimmer of hope that there might be a happy and successful
future for Danielle.

....

On the way to the airport to pick up my new daughter when she
returned from Phoenix, I wondered if I would recognize her. Would
she really be a cute teenage girl? I needn't have worried, for
she looked adorable to me - a little garish perhaps in the dress
and make-up but definitely an attractive female. She was a little
tentative about how I would accept her. When I hugged her and let
her know that I loved tier, one of the first things she said to
me was, "I can't go back to school as a boy. I am too happy as a
girl to ever go back." I had already come to the same conclusion.
She thanked me over and over for letting her be a girl, and told
me how much she loved her brothers and Denise for helping her so
much.

After a few weeks it became evident to all who knew Danielle that
this change was a wonderful and happy process for her. She was
bubbly, exuberant and optimistic about her new life, as the
person who had been hidden inside began to emerge. She began
letting go of the male role she had tried to maintain. She still
had demons of the boy sitting on her shoulder always whispering
that the male was still present, but they were becoming quieter.
As she became more confident that others were seeing a girl, she
let more of her beautiful character blossom and be exposed to the
world. It was a celebration of life!