I Had a Crossdressing Friend…
As A Kid Growing Up In Mississippi…
And she was African American. Talk about a double whammy!
Her birth name was Roger, born male but chose to dress as female from about age 11 onward. In Mississippi, even white kids couldn’t get away with that in the ’70s. Roger had a tough time. Nobody was enlightened (or woke), and the other kids in the neighborhood were less than tolerant. Roger lived in the next building over from me, and I saw her every day. I was always friendly, mostly because I always felt everybody needed a friend, and I felt some sympathy. I was the fat kid in my neighborhood, and, when you grow up fat, you either take a lot of crap or you learn to fight.
I was always ready to fight. Too ready, in fact. I wish I could say that I defended Roger’s right to dress the way she wanted to because it was the right thing to do… Really, though, I defended her because I enjoyed busting heads. I lost touch with Roger after tenth grade, because she had had enough and moved with her family to a northern state somewhere. I didn’t really appreciate, at the time, how much I had enjoyed Roger’s comapny (and the excuse to fight), but I learned later on that she had told everyone who would listen that I was her only friend.
I wish I had regarded Roger the way she regarded me. Yes, her company was pleasant, and Roger was…
