PART III Please Don't Call Me Sir

When the bus pulled into the Florida terminal, I thought I was going to be surrounded by sunny beaches and Disney Land. I saw neither as we exited the bus. It was nearly dark, it was warm but windy, and all I could see was a vast parking lot full of vehicles. We were picked up by my Uncle, who we would be staying with until my mother got a job and found us a place of our own. As a 9 year old who thought I was going to be greeted in Florida by Mickey Mouse, it was nothing less than disappointing to just go from the bus to my uncle's home. The following morning however, my uncle took us to a beach and we found an exciting sea creature, a manawar. My little soul was at peace on that beach, a feeling that the sun, combined with ocean water and warm sand, would bring to me throughout my life.

My short two years in Florida brought inevitable confusion to the surface. I was coming in to my own in many ways. I was starting to rebel in ways that I could. I suppose at the time I had no idea what I was rebelling against. Something about me didn't seem right and controlling what I could was my way of saying something is off. I refused to bath often and that really put my mother over the edge. I didn't care much for any of the rest of the personal hygiene routine either. Instead of brushing my teeth, I would go in to the bathroom and eat some toothpaste, confidently coming out for my mother's smell test. Just too easy, that was. Luckily, that phase was short lived and I am proud to report I have all of my teeth.

My fashion sense was developing around this time too. Any clothing with even a hint of femininity was tossed aside, I didn't much care at that point if I was wearing the same clothing over and over, I would not pick a clean pink shirt over a dirty white t-shirt. It didn't feel good, didn't feel right; any more right than my brother wearing a skirt to school because his jeans were dirty.

I eventually and to my absolute glee, obtained a red pair of Levi's, likely used from a garage sale or second hand store. Nevertheless, my first pair of Levi's! Any pair of Levi's would be better that no pair, even if they were red. I wore those pants probably 5 out of 7 days a week. It got so irritating to my mother that one day they mysteriously disappeared...forever. I may not have ever forgiven that act of cruelness. I mourned those pants like a lost pet.

The next item I wished to covet was a pair of hiking boots with red laces. If you lived in the late 70's, you know what I'm talking about. I just knew I would feel complete if I could get my hands on a pair of those boots. They may have been one of the few material items that others had, that I envied. My friend's brother had a pair, and I would often just stare at him in awe. He had short brown hair, often wore a white t-shirt with a flannel shirt over top, and he always wore Levi’s with hiking boots. He had my completed look, the look I so desperately wanted. This had nothing to do with wanting to be him or wanting to be a boy. I just wanted the clothes and the damn boots. They were very expensive and just had no practical sense about them as far as my mother was concerned. It would be years before I would get them, but I eventually did.

At that point, at the ripe old age of 10, my style of dress had been established. Jeans, white t-shirts and boots. This would be the official beginning of a lifetime of challenges, some easier to overcome than others.