If you don’t believe decisions made long ago can come back to haunt you, think again.
It was late 1985 and I was about to graduate college. My legal name included a “II”. Mom, being Mom, wanted the name on my diploma to be “Jr.”, which by naming conventions was the correct suffix. I could have cared less. Why she didn’t raise this issue sooner, I cannot answer.
We found a lawyer to handle the change and one evening I received a call from said lawyer. I remember the call if it were yesterday.
He said, “You have two options.”
When you’re the only son, how does one tell your parents you’re becoming a woman?
That question ate at me for the longest time and is the main reason I waited so long in life to transition.
I faced telling them. I faced hurting them.
This is that story.
After several months on hormones and the discovery of my breasts, I knew that I couldn’t keep my transition a secret for much longer. I didn’t want to keep it a secret, but then there was the angst (fear) of informing the office, parents, the world and dealing with the reactions…
Two years ago, today, I was sitting at my desk in the office alone. Everyone else in the department was in the large conference room. Human Resources had called a meeting to announce to everyone that a change was occurring. Gene (me) was transitioning from male to female. Gene was transgendered.
As this was happening, I was on Facebook having copy/pasted the following into the body of a post. I clicked Share.
The time has come to address the cryptic posts of the last few months, to clear some New Year’s resolutions that have lingered way too…