School Days

I rarely feel regret at not transitioning earlier in my life. Of course I wished I had been born the right sex from day one, it would have prevented much pain and confusion for myself and others.

I cannot regret the life I lived, I did the best I could, I am lucky to have beautiful children that I would not have otherwise and to have experienced a close, loving and supportive relationship.

That relationship is evolving and an eventual separation will occur, nevertheless it has not ended in acrimony and hatred like so many "normal" marriages.

The past is the past and it is only the future I have the ability to change. Generally words I can live by but occasionally there is a longing for what I missed by living a good deal of my life as a male.

I recently received a copy of my old schools annual newsletter (about the size of a small paperback novel). I attended a boarding school in the UK with roots going back to the sixteenth century. When asked I usually described it as a cross between Tom Brown's School Days and Lord of the Flies. A very Victorian institution, it had a great deal of influence on me mostly for the good. And no you wisenheimers it is not the cause of my current predicament. It was there however that I began to realize the depths of my dysphoria.

As a child I hated it and was terribly homesick by my final year in the senior school I had come to accept it as my home.

The current issue featured article detailed the school's transition to being co-educational. Girls were only admitted beginning in the early seventies. By the time I arrived they were a distinct but entrenched minority. Reading about these pioneers and even recognizing a name or two was an odd sensation. Both a feeling of nostalgia and loss, reminding me that I am for now still something of an outsider looking in at the world of women.

Week Three

Life goes on as normal as possible, there are days I feel I pass better than others. I haven't had any unpleasant experiences.

One event of note was taking the children to swimming practice, they insisted on using the ladies changing area and not the family one. I was not going in the pool myself just seeing that they changed and made it to their classes on time. I have always used the female washroom when out but this was a more public experience and one where my presence if read could be construed as objectionable by some.

No one seemed to notice and I watched on deck until "J" relived me so I could get dinner going.

On a more light hearted note I was flirted with by the older gentleman cashier at the grocery store. He looked a bit like Santa Claus and offered me a candy. I have no intention of running off with him to the North Pole but it was rather validating and sweet.

Hugs,

April