Please Don't Call Me Sir

PART V Middle School

At around age 13 (a little before I think), it was necessary for my mother to return to NY from Florida because my grandmother was showing signs of advanced dementia and she needed help with her daily living. My mother, being the kind of person she was, returned to help, even though there were three other siblings in the immediate area.

When we got back to NY, we stayed briefly with my sister who lived just around the corner from the little white Baptist church and my grandmother. Eventually we would all be situated within walking distance from each other in small town USA. You could walk to the market, the bank and post office, passing the cemetery and the fire house along the way, and be back home in less than 10 minutes. Going to high school was a bus ride away because it was in the next town south of us. Our town had an elementary school, but after 6th grade it was off to the big leagues. 7-12 was in one building, much to the dismay of many a new seventh grader!

The memory of walking into high school for the first time is seared into my brain for all time. It felt like I was in outer space. The school was immense, with concrete walls and shiny cold floors. I can still hear the echoes of slamming lockers and loud voices. The intimidation was unnerving, and I would spend the first two weeks, at least, lost in space, never able to find my locker without assistance from someone. I was basically the new kid. I had been away, living in Florida, so although this was my “hometown” in many ways, I did not know anyone at school.

These few years were not particularly difficult for me outwardly. I played sports and was a popular basketball player. I was a good basketball player and that made me kind of a big deal at that time. People mostly looked beyond my awkwardness and viewed my somewhat masculine characteristics as just a natural female athletic “look”. This included my own mother. I can remember her commenting frequently about the way I walked, and eventually in her mind, somehow this walk was due to me being athletic. In many ways my sports status protected me from what would come later, when I no longer had that shield.

I had many friends. It was not difficult then. I was a bit of an introvert, as I am still, but I got along with everyone. I didn’t run in a pack. I had friends from my team, I had friends with mutual interests such as art and music, and I had friends that spent time doing things that they shouldn’t have. My best friend, or a friend I spent the most time with was my neighbor. Had we not lived next door to each other I don’t think we would have been close friends, but we were the only two kids our age in our immediate area. The only other time we saw our peers was at school or the skating rink on weekends. I did not particularly like going to her house. For one, they drank unpasteurized milk and secondly, her mom was very religious and had ideas about things that even as a kid, I knew were unreasonable. For instance, my friend was not allowed to wear red because it had something to do with the bible and being a whore. That is like crazy Carrie stuff. I remember my friend calling me over to her house once and when I arrived, she was inconsolable in her bathtub. When I would think about that years later, I wondered if it was a suicide attempt. Something was just off in that house. So, we spent most of our time at my house or just out and about. We would hang out on what was referred to as box factory hill and smoke cigarettes or we would walk outside of town where she boarded her horse and ride horses or clean stables. For a brief moment in time we both had a boyfriend. They were best friends as well. All a boyfriend really was to me was someone to talk to on the phone and skate with on the weekend. I did not have any physical attraction to boys. I would liken it to being blind. People tell you what things look like and try to explain the beautiful colors, but you still cannot see. It did not hurt me, it did not make me sad, it was just a feeling I simply did not possess. This feeling other girls had for boys did not exist in me. Feelings for girls though, that did exist in me, and I had no idea what that meant or what to do with those feelings.

My first crush was in 8th grade. Her name was Deanna. She was blonde and petite and was a ski club snob. I think my crush on her was motivated more by what I saw from other boys. Everyone wanted to date her. She was like the mean girl captain. That personality type for me makes no sense but nonetheless, I had one recurring fantasy. I would move away for a brief time then return as a boy and then I would be able to date her.

This was not a fantasy about a sex change. Back in the 70’s and in my small town, there was no life outside of the heterosexual box. Gender fluidity was non-existent, people did not discuss homosexuality or transgendered individuals. I had no concept of a gay bar or that people that were gay and lesbian actually had relationships and lived together. This was unheard of. Occasionally you would hear some story about man a that liked to wear his wife’s underwear and was caught somehow. That would be spoken about in a depraved way, when in fact it was likely some closeted poor soul wishing he was a woman. No, this fantasy was not about a sex change. This was about knowing that I could pass for a boy, just as I had in that Washington, DC bus terminal. If I could do it there, I could do it again. I had no idea what a lesbian was or that I possibly was one. I simply wished I was a boy so I could have this girl as my girlfriend.

There were no movie stars that were out as gay or lesbian (only rumors), no athletes to look up to, no musicians. No role models whatsoever. My role model? Frankie. Frankie was a prisoner in a British TV series called Prisoner Cell Block H. I would run home to watch this after school with such excitement, finally a feeling of comradery. Frankie was your classic “dyke”. She was also a murderer and in prison for life, but I thought maybe prison was the place for me. I could then be like Frankie and finally have a girlfriend!

Another change was coming into my life. I would be leaving this small town behind. I would soon be realizing there was another life to be had out there. It would be another difficult journey though, as I left high school in 10th grade to yet again be the new kid somewhere else; this time with no armor.