Chapter 1: Hint of Girl

“You still look like a girl,” his younger brother Sonny taunted, as the family drove the 100 miles back to their home, returning from Kenny Hansson’s Shakespeare Summer Camp experience.

“Now cut it out, Samuel,” their mother said, using Sonny’s baptismal name. She only used it when she was frustrated and angry, just as she used “Kenneth” only in reprimanding him.

“Well he does, mom. Look at him. Or, should I say ‘her?’” the boy said sarcastically.

“Samuel. I told you. Be quiet and let Kenny concentrate on his driving. And let me get a little rest.” She was in the backseat, leaving her two sons in the front, her head resting against a pillow.

Kenny heard the exchange, but he was behind an 18-wheeler — a cattle truck carrying hogs — and heavy traffic on the interstate made it difficult for Kenny to pull the Caliber into the left lane. He drove only occasionally, and truth be told, he drove scared, afraid to move into traffic and often driving too slowly.

“He even drives like a girl,” Sonny persisted from the right front seat. “Wait ‘til I get my license, I’ll show the little girl how to drive.”

“Samuel, if you don’t shut up about this, you’ll never get your license,” Cecelia Hansson yelled firmly at her younger son.

Kenny heard the exchange, but it didn’t seem to bother him. His little brother’s taunts that he was more like a “girl” almost pleased him, as he reflected back on the six-weeks of Theater Camp at St. Albert’s College. There, he had been chosen to play the part of Ophelia in the camp’s production of ‘Hamlet,’ adopting the Shakespeare era tradition in which men took the parts of women on stage. In keeping with getting to feel the experience of being a woman, Kenny had lived outwardly as a girl called “Karen” on a fulltime basis. The camp director taught “method acting,” in which the actors were urged to assume the identities of their characters to make them more believable.

Perhaps because of his slender, almost dainty frame, Kenny had been chosen to play the fragile teenaged girl friend of Hamlet, and he had played it with great believability.

He continued behind the truck, still resisting the challenge of passing it, reflecting with joy on the three-weeks of his life as Karen, how everyone said he was the prettiest girl in the class, even among the dozen or so other girls who made up the camp. For the first time in his young life he found friends who happily included him in their activities — a gaggle of girls who called themselves the “Bard’s Girls. And he became one of them.

He found out for the first time too how marvelous it was to be a girl, since he so enjoyed being with the other girls doing their activities. Never before as Kenny had he found many friends; nor did he especially enjoy doing the rough, boy things, such as football, baseball or basketball at which always he failed miserably.

Then there was Mark, his muscular roommate. As Karen he had fallen in love with this Adonis-like boy, and had relished in being treated as his girl friend, had found sweet comfort in his strong arms and affection as he was kissed and cuddled.

The thought of Mark brought tears to his face as he drove, realizing that Mark had left her, just as Hamlet had withdrawn from Ophelia with the cruel command: “Get thee to a nunnery!” Mark was headed off to Iowa State University, hundreds of miles away, to play football and find tons of pretty girl friends that were real, and not a mere pretender girl like Kenny. She loved Mark so!

“Watch out,” Sonny yelled.

Kenny was jarred from his reverie, eying the backend of the hog truck now more than a few feet in front of him. His eyes saw the warning sign, “This truck makes wide turns,” loom big before his eyes, and he applied the brakes, slowing down suddenly and bringing a honk from the car behind.

“Were you crying, Kenny?” his brother said.

Kenny nodded his head “no,” but his brother obviously knew differently.

“I didn’t mean it, Kenny,” his brother apologized.

“That’s OK Sonny,” Kenny said, returning his attention to the driving, quickly finding the resolve to move into the left lane and passing the truck, glad to pass these poor hogs, packed into hot compartments obviously on their way to slaughter.

He really couldn’t get mad at his brother. Kenny still did indeed look more girl and boy at the moment, even though he had changed into a boy’s t-shirt and shorts. His hair still maintained the female cut left from the play, and his voice carried the feminine lilt that he had acquired. He wished he could keep his hair and voice like that forever.

*****
Children can never choose their parents, but Kenny felt he scored at least 50% positive in that department. He loved his mother, Cecelia, who was a short woman, a bit fleshy of body with tiny hands and feet. As long as he could remember, he loved nestling his body tightly against her, relishing the warmth that flowed from her softness. He knew his mother loved his cuddles, but as he reached his mid-teens she had sternly rejected any efforts of Kenny to hug her, except for the brief times afforded through greetings or good-byes.

“You’re getting too old for that, Kenny,” his mother said firmly. Then she kissed him and moved to another chair. Kenny had turned 15 then and would miss the comfort of her warmth.

Yet, his mother constantly showed her love for her sons — both of them in truth — by constantly listening to their woes and concerns. She somehow had earned the trust of both boys, even when they reached their teen years when so many other children reject their parents’ advice and counsel.

It may have been that Cecelia Hansson had kept the boys in her confidence even in their youngest years, as she struggled with keeping them fed and healthy as a single mom on only a hospital aide’s salary while also attending night college to obtain a degree in health care administration. The two boys were 14 and 11 and they beamed with pride when Cecelia marched across the University auditorium stage in Green Bay for her degree.

Now, Cecelia Hansson was chief of operations at the same hospital in Manitowoc where as a young mother of 20 she had first been employed as an aide, earning just pennies over the minimum wage. Until Kenny was in high school, the family lived in a one-bedroom apartment in a housing complex of young families, with Kenny and Sonny sharing the bedroom and their mother sleeping on a pull-out bed in the living room, her computer and desk tucked into the dining room area. The one saving grace was that Cecelia worked the third shift, from 11 p.m. to 7 a.m., permitting her to be with her children during their waking hours. While she worked, a widow lady, Mrs. Burkhalter, who lived across the hall, monitored the boys, usually watching television in an old recliner in the Hansson living room.

The boys all called her Aunt Harriet, and she passed many hours a day crocheting. When Kenny was 11, she taught him how to crochet, and he easily picked up the skill, his long, sensitive fingers moving precisely in the process. “My little darling,” Aunt Harriet told him one day, “You’re a whiz at this. I could never get my daughters to do much with it.”

On hot summer days, Kenny loved to go into Aunt Harriet’s apartment (which was air-conditioned) and sit and crochet with the older lady as they watched daytime soap operas or Oprah or other female-led talk shows. At the same time, Sonny played outdoors with the plethora of boys that crowded the apartment complex in makeshift games of baseball, football or basketball.

“Why don’t you get out and play a bit more, Kenny?” his mother asked him numerous times.

“I just like being with you and Aunt Harriet,” he replied. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing dear, but don’t you want to be with boys your own age?”

“No, mom. I like helping you out and keeping Aunt Harriet company.”

Cecelia Hansson usually ended up by smiling, taking the slender boy in her arms and hugging him tightly against her soft body. Kenny was indeed a help around the apartment, keeping the place clear of clutter, cleaning, vacuuming and often cooking meals that she seemed not to find time for.

She worried about her oldest son: he was smart, intelligent, courteous and got good grades in school. Yet, he was so fragile, compared to Sonny, whose trim body glistened with muscles. Kenny just didn’t seem to be developing as boys should. By the time Kenny was 16, he still hadn’t developed any type of beard and she wondered about that. The two boys wrestled — as boys often do — when they were younger, but by the time Kenny was 13 and his brother 10, Sonny was getting the best of the struggles.

The other half of Kenny’s parentage was a mystery to him. Axel Hansson left when Sonny was about three months old. To Kenny who was just about to turn 4, the man is but a blur, a vague remembrance of a tall man with a dark-colored baseball cap. To Kenny’s knowledge, Axel Hansson was never heard from again, leaving Cecelia Hansson (nee Wegner) to fend for herself.

*****
It was only natural that as a teenager — wondering about who he really was — Kenny begin to wonder about his own heritage. Whose genes had caused him to be so different from his younger brother, who seemed to be so much a typical boy, while he found himself so often the butt of comments that he was a “sissy” or even a “girl?” He had not realized it at first, but eventually came to understand that he found great comfort in doing activities that usually only girls did, like being with his mother, doing housework and crocheting and, more recently, quilt-making with Aunt Harriet.

Even though Harriet Burkhalter was no longer responsible for the boys, Kenny often trekked across the hall to visit the older lady. Sometimes, the old woman would bring out her albums of memories. These consisted of old photos, including some studio shots and promotion shots showing a stunning young woman, and clippings of reviews, programs of plays and movie bills. It turns out that Harriet Burkhalter had a brief career as an actress named Holly Burns, appearing both in regional theaters and in bit roles in a dozen movies, even starring in a B-level movie of the type that Hollywood churned out during its hey day.

Kenny became enamored with some of the dresses and outfits that Harriet wore for her productions, all showing the fashions of the post-World War II years. For some reason, he lingered over photos of Harriet in the suits of the era, looking classy, polished and feminine.

“I love those suit outfits, Aunt Harriet,” he said. “You look so classy in that outfit.”

The old woman smiled, her eyes beginning to sparkle.

“That was when I played the part of a secretary in a play about a girl in love with her married boss. That was in Chicago, and Mr. Burkhalter saw me in the play, and, I guess, he fell in love with me then and there. It was a classic case of ‘love at first sight,’ he always said. But that was Leroy, always the romantic.”

“That’s so cool, Aunt Harriet,” he said.

“I was so in love with that man, darling,” she continued. “I never thought I’d leave the theater. Acting was my life, but then Leroy came along and within a year, I’d said good bye to Hollywood, and theater life in Chicago and moved here to Manitowoc to be his wife and a mother. He had to return to take over the family business when his father got ill.”

As the old woman talked, Kenny felt tears coming; her story was so wonderful and he felt himself imagining what it would be like to be a girl in love so completely. In a way, he began thinking of himself as a young Harriet Burkhalter as she related her life stories.

“Oh, don’t cry for me, my darling boy,” Harriet said. “I had a wonderful life. It’s what I wanted as a woman, a loving husband and two nice children. My only regret is that Leroy is no longer here and we can’t grow older together. And, of course, I’m sad my children all live so far away now.”

Kenny smiled, his tears gone. He wondered what girls his age desired in their life ahead; he talked lots with girls in his classes — more than with boys — and didn’t hear any of them talking about being housewives and having children. They talked about boys as “hunks” or “nerds” or “losers.” They talked about entertainers and CDs and clothes; few talked about the future, about world affairs or their futures.

“If I were a girl, I’d love to have the kind life you had, Aunt Harriet,” he said.

“Oh honey, you’re better off as a boy,” she said. “Men have it better, believe me, but, yes, Kenny, I had a marvelous life. Had some disappointments, but wouldn’t change a thing.”

By the time Kenny was in high school, his mother had become an executive officer of the hospital, working daytime — though often long — hours, not getting home until six o’clock at night, or later. Kenny became a surrogate mother to his little brother, Sonny, making sure he got home from school safely and stayed out of mischief. Sonny had none of the closeness to Aunt Harriet as Kenny had developed, though the old lady tried.

Naturally the younger boy resisted the direction of Kenny, calling it “nagging.” He even began responding to Kenny’s direction with a sarcastic “Yes, mother.”

No one but Kenny seemed to understand why a teenaged boy would find enjoyment in the company of a woman who was nearly 80 years old, but Harriet Burkhalter, despite her fragile physical state, was clear-minded and definitely an intelligent woman. Throughout all those years as a housewife, she never lost her curiosity and ability to think.

When they viewed Oprah, they found themselves discussing national and other issues based on the interviews the popular talk show host held. Best of all, she treated Kenny’s views as equal to hers.

“Maybe Aunt Harriet understands me better than anyone,” Kenny mused one night. He had begun questioning his own reasons for his frequent visits.

She didn’t seem to be alarmed that Kenny enjoyed the crocheting and quilt-making and the girl talk the two engaged in, particularly when they commented on the hairdos or dresses that women wore on the Oprah show.

Kenny remembers her watching his hands move quickly in the crocheting and her oft-made comments that “you really have lovely hands, dear boy” or “I love how light and daintily you move with the needles.” Such comments made him blush, realizing that a boy should not be praised for having lovely or dainty hands. Nonetheless, he took care of his hands, washing them in Dove and giving them a daily dose of lotion to keep them soft and smooth.

Several times, his brother knocked on Aunt Harriet’s door and asked Kenny to join him in shooting baskets or tossing the baseball around. Though he would have preferred to remain with Aunt Harriet, he usually agreed to do so.

Kenny was about average height for a boy his age, but quite thin and not muscular. His brother was only an inch shorter, huskier and already outweighed Kenny and was easily the stronger of the two boys. While Kenny hated any form of athletics, he was well-coordinated and seemed to do all his throwing or ball-handling with grace; he was light on his feet and rarely fumbled a ground ball or missed catching a fly. He looked like a ballet dancer when he made a difficult catch. Thus, even though he was a lousy hitter due likely to his weak arms, he was still welcomed by other boys in doing sports.

“Why do I like doing girl stuff?” he asked himself many nights in bed. “I’m not a girl. Why can’t I be like Sonny or other boys?”

Yet, life went on as he completed high school with honors. He was active in the Drama Club, the School Yearbook Club and the Service Club that volunteered for various nursing homes around the city. He loved his time with the Drama Club, where he had several small parts in the school’s plays, often playing a heavily made-up older person. When he was not in the cast of a play, he worked backstage. He was picture editor for the Yearbook on a staff that was largely girls, but the group seemed to have lots of fun, including much giggling as they ogled over the pictures for the annual book

*****
Kenny was persuaded to join the Service Club by Angela, a plain girl who was a stage manager for the Drama Club presentations. Kenny worked with Angela, who was tall and gangly, as an assistant stage manager on several plays in his sophomore year, and the two had developed a close relationship. Both had become enamored with Barack Obama in his first campaign for President and had volunteered to help out. Angela who was a year older and had her driver’s license drove Kenny to the volunteer engagements, and soon the two began telling each other their secrets; Kenny even confided in her that he loved crocheting and that he considered his best friend to be an older lady, Aunt Harriet.

“Kenny, that’s so sweet,” Angela told him, her rather prominent teeth showing as she smiled. “You’re just about the kindest boy I know.”

“I just came to like her and to spend time with her,” he told Angela. “Did I tell you she had done some acting herself in her younger days, even appearing in some Hollywood movies in small parts.”

“No, really?”

“Yes, and Aunt Harriet was a real beauty in her young days. She showed me a publicity picture and her stage name was Holly Burns. And, she also became a newspaper reporter for a short while. Then she got married.”

Kenny loved looking at the old black-and-white picture of the young starlet, her pixie hairstyle, the flowing print skirt she wore with the white blouse, casually open at the neck, showing just a hint of cleavage. The picture held a strange fascination for Kenny who wondered what it would feel like to wear an outfit like that.

“You can learn so much from old people,” Angela said. Her blue eyes sparkled as she spoke and Kenny saw the girl’s real beauty in those eyes; they seemed to tell of a girl with love and compassion, with intelligence and understanding.

“I know I owe my interest in the theater to her, Angela,” Kenny said, picking up the conversation. The two had joined for a quick Coke during a break in rehearsals for “Annie,” the play the Drama Club was staging. They were seated backstage in among the props, and had joined together on an old sofa that had shown up on stage for the last 20 years in every school play needing such a bit of furniture.

“She had a shelf full of books with plays in them,” he continued. “And we soon got to start reading them together, each taking several parts.”

“That’s so cool,” Angela said. “My mom had some books with plays, and I liked doing that, but I’m not pretty enough to be an actress.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Angela,” Kenny said. “I think you’re lovely.”

“That’s nice, Kenny, but don’t kid me. Even my dad calls me an ugly duckling,” she said, tears beginning to flow.

“Oh my God. How could he? You’re really and truly a lovely person, Angela.”

She took a tissue from her smock and dabbed at her face. “You’re sweet to say that, Kenny, but I don’t seem to have many girl friends, do I?”

Kenny considered the comments, knowing it was true. The two were alike, he knew. Angela was tall and gangly and her teeth protruded while Kenny was slender, naíve and unlike any other boy in school. He, too, had few friends. In fact, Angela had become perhaps his best friend, even though she was a year older.

Before Kenny could answer, Mr. Carson, the teacher-director, called the rehearsal back in session, saving Kenny the need to offer any return comment. He had the urge to grab Angela and hold her tight and let her cry her woes out. And, he realized, he might cry right along with her.

“Annie” was staged on two weekends in late April, ending up with typical standing ovations that accompany such school productions — good or bad — and leaving a welcome void in the lives of students and teachers both (planning and staging such plays takes constant attention from the start of the semester, occupying most after-school hours and bringing great tension).

Since Kenny was not an on-stage performer in this play, he worked backstage with Angela and her crew, usually with the costume crew, fitting the performers with their outfits, sometimes even sewing alterations. His skill with the needle was apparent from the beginning, thanks to his hours with Aunt Harriet crocheting.

“You should have been a girl,” one of the girl performers said, as she watched him hem up her dress.

Kenny blushed at her comment, and the girl noticed that, quickly realizing it may have hurt the boy’s feelings, added: “Oh I meant that as a compliment. I know many men make good clothes designers.”

The girl was a senior — and one of the loveliest of the cast — and she stroked his shoulder gently as he worked. Kenny nodded acknowledgement and continued on his work. He knew better than to comment or talk much with the actors, even though they were fellow students. Some of them just seem to be such prima donnas during the plays.

The reference to being a girl was hinted at more and more often as Kenny progressed from his sophomore year into his junior year. Even Angela said about his friendship with her was “like having a good girl friend.” She, too, immediately apologized for the remark, but Kenny quickly replied, “I think it’s a compliment, Angela, for you to consider me such a friend.”

“You’re such a sweetie,” she said.

*****
It was several days after the play ended that Angela suggested he join the Service Club. “You’d be so great for the club,” she said. “You understand older people and I think you’d have so much fun. We visit nursing homes and talk to older people. The old ladies just love us.”

“The semester’s just about over now,” Kenny said. “Maybe I’ll join next year.”

“Oh no, join now. Those of us who can visit the homes during the summer, too. You’ll just love it, Kenny. I know you will.”

The group met weekly after school on Wednesdays, usually for less than 30 minutes to plan for the next Saturday’s nursing home visits. The visits were made from 1 to 3 p.m. each Saturday at one of four nursing homes around town. Besides visits, the group sometimes gave performances using those who might have a particular musical talent, drafting a few other kids who played music or even doing a brief reading or skit.

When Kenny went into Room 203 for the Wednesday meeting, he was shocked to see about a dozen girls already there. There were no boys. He turned to leave, but then Angela appeared, arriving just seconds later. “Good you’re here,” she said grabbing him by the arm.

She dragged him into the room, announcing, “Girls, here’s a new volunteer, my friend Kenny Hansson who’s agreed to join us.”

“Well, I don’t know for sure . . .” he mumbled.

Angela cut him off. “Give him a nice welcome. He’s really cool with older people.”

There were some mumbles and a few faint giggles and Kenny found a seat. Kenny looked about the room, recognizing some of the girls from his classes. None of them, he could see, were the “in-crowd,” and most seemed to be smart, serious girls. He felt strangely at home among the girls.