From the time I was very little I had always been pretty. Not cute, pretty. My mother dressed me in girls clothing and I was even prettier. Being pretty was my focus as a young child.
Time marched on and I grew. According to my mother, I grew even prettier if possible. I was even entered into some small beauty pageants winning first place in my cute dresses that mom hand made just for me. My mom loved me dearly and would often read me stories from a book at night while I was in my nightie.
I spent many of my days playing with my dolls, coloring pictures, doing puzzles or playing grown up helping mom. I think back to those times and realize I really wasn't that much of a help. At the age of 4 I was placed in preschool/day car while mom worked. I had fun playing with other girls, usually tea, and coloring or playing with letters. At the end of preschool I could spell my name Lesley.
Kindergarten was much the same as preschool except I learned how to spell the rest of my name, and a little prettier as well. Lesley Anne-Margrette Levance. I could start to recognize words and some numbers but it was not till grade one that I really started to read. All the time I wore girl's clothing and nothing else. Shorts, skirts, dresses, pants on occasion but since I didn't look as pretty in them I didn't wear them much but I did have some.
At home I would run to greet my mother who would always scoop me up and hug me. As I got older the hugs got lower and lower to the ground. People would always compliment mom on having such a pretty daughter. Mom would smile, thank them, and proudly show me off to any and all as we went about. I learned how to shop for groceries from mom. How to spot the real bargain and how some were not.
When my girlfriends started to play with make-up mom bought me a special little set with all the play makeup a girl could ever want. Some of my earliest attempts made her cry with laughter as they were really bad. She would always sit me down and explain how to properly do this or that and I got it after awhile.
When my girlfriends showed me they had their first training bra's I asked mom for one. She had a weird look on her face when I did. It was a few days later, and much crying, when she presented me with my very first training bra. I was on cloud nine as I was a big girl now. Not a young lady like the 6th graders but still not a little girl either. I was happy as a clam.
As my friends developed I did not and it caused me pain. I would often come home in tears at how my friends were developing breasts and I wasn't. Mom would hug me and not really say much. I think she was thinking deeply about something but never told me what.
Just before grade 5 was to start mom came home early from work as she said we had a doctor's appointment. I didn't question this as I had seen a doctor maybe 3 times in my life up to that point. I wore my prettiest dress, tights, shoes, and even a little makeup even if mom frowned at the make-up. She was telling me in the car that girls my age shouldn't wear makeup yet not quite paying attention to the road when it happened.
I remember a loud bang, a screech of metal on metal and a pop before everything went black. Waking up in a hospital room is pretty bland. There is this big drop curtain around you in grey, the room is dark and you can't really see. I mean you can as there is lots of different little lights on everything and some from the hallway but those curtains black out your area. It makes it hard to focus your eyes.
When it's dark your eyes adjust. When its dim you can see stuff. When there is a contrasting light however you can't see anything but a stupid curtain and not much else. I was a very scared little girl in a strange hospital and mom was nowhere around. I cried what else could I do. This alerted someone as shortly a nurse came into the room and pulled back the curtain.
That was a bad move as it let in enough light for me to see that my leg and arm were in casts. As if the light woke them up pain radiated from both causing me to cry more. The nurse was kind and adjusted something on a drip bag and the world disappeared into pretty pink birds on a meadow.
When I next woke there was a rude doctor at my bed. I remember him being rude as he said "Hey son, how are you feeling?" I suppose in hindsight it was his idea of good bedside manner but I had no idea who he was talking to. I didn't respond until he snapped his fingers in front of my eyes. We then had a little argument where I told him I was a girl not a boy. A nurse came in as the doctor was about to reply. She whispered something into his ear and his face changed. He apologized to me and that was the last I saw of him.
The next doctor I saw was a nice lady doctor, a bit frustrating as she would change the topic whenever I asked about mom, but nice otherwise. She and a nurse even helped me get dressed into one of my more pretty nighties, do my hair and even put on some of my special polish. Mom wouldn't let me wear anything more than a gloss to school but I did have some pink polish she would let me wear on special occasions.
I never did give much thought to how they had gotten my stuff until I woke up to see a man that looked like a policeman. I can't say what told me he was just that he was a policeman. He started to talk with me, I guess he was okay sorta to talk with but mom and school had impressed on me to never talk to strange men. I hugged my bear in one arm as he talked at me. He told me he was a detective in charge of my case.
When he noticed I wasn't speaking with him he told me to rest and someone else would come talk to me. I spent the next day coloring with my right hand as best I could. The lady doctor came in at one point and removed some bandages from my head checking on something. I was whisked away on the bed to a cold room with big grey machines in it. They put me onto a metal table where I was put through the machine with instructions to not move as much as possible.
It was scary but I did it and got many good girls for it. They had me wait on the table while the lady doctor looked at some stuff before she came into my room and told me all was fine. She helped me to sit up and transfer to another bed. The casts were a pain and I told her as much. She told me they would stay there for a few more days as my arm got broken and my leg was slightly bruised down to the bone. It was my first experience with a broken bone.
When I got back to my room a new lady was waiting for me in a tailored skirt suit. I complimented her on it saying how pretty she was and she did the same for me. She explained she was from a legal department and was helping the detective from the day before. She and the doctor explained that I had been in a very bad accident with a woman. It took me a bit before I explained that it was my mother. The two of them stared at each other before continuing.
The tale they told me was strange. It seems that mom was not really my mother, and apparently not even a real woman from what they said. I argued vehemently with them about that. To them mom had taken me as a baby from my birth parents. She used the word kidnapped. I was held for ransom which my parents had paid before she ran off with me. Somehow she had crossed states with me in tow and even countries before she had settled down here. Having no memory of anything but living in rural Saskatchewan I couldn't argue the point much. To me I had grown up a happy girl in a small farming town in Saskatchewan and that was all there was too it.
The lady explained how I was really a boy. I screamed at her I wasn't but she continued regardless of my feelings saying that my name was Wesley Mark Walker. I got upset trying to correct her saying she was wrong or had the wrong girl as I was a girl named Lesley Anne-Margrette Levance and always had been. I even printed it out in my best handwriting for her.
The doctor gave me a drug to calm me down that just made me slightly silly. The lady explained that my real parents named Greg and Mary Walker were on their way to come pick me up. She said that they had used my foot prints to identify me as the dna test was not conclusive. She also told me that I may be transgendered. She explained what transgendered meant to me. When I asked for my mother I was told that the accident had killed her. I don't remember much from that point.
My next memory starts later at a house. It's a big house and I'm wearing awful clothes. The pants have an elastic waist made of denim and a rough boys shirt. I am not wearing normal clothes and when I reach up my hair is not just messy but shorter too. I ran to the first mirror I could find which was in a bathroom connected to the room I was in. My once long hair is now a short bob. It's a young boy's haircut and I hate it instantly. I hate the clothes I'm in and remove them. All of them and I start to search the room I'm in for normal clothes.
It was at this point that a lady I had never seen before comes into the room I'm with with a small knock and not waiting for me to say she could come in. I screamed of course. The tray she was carrying got dropped as I startled her with my scream. I had my hands and arm over my boobies and my other hand over my vagina while she stood there. She asked me what I was doing before I could ask her and I told her that I was looking for some clothes to wear. She turned to a dresser in the room so I had to use the bedsheet to cover myself up. She held some boys underwear in her hands, and a boys plain t shirt. I told her I wasn't going to wear those as they were boys clothes.
This was my very first real meeting with my birth mother. It did not go well as she kept calling me Wesley even though my name was Lesley. We argued as I told her I couldn't wear boys clothes and she told me I couldn't wear girls clothes. It was a stalemate with me in my bed sheet and her leaving the room upset. It was much later with me sitting naked on a bed in a very plain room that I met my father for the first time.
I had never had a father before so this man in a crisp but worn golf shirt and dress pants entered my room. He knocked and waited for me to give him permission to enter. He did call me Wesley but when I corrected him he tried to call me by my name. He told me how that his wife and him had found me in the hospital curled up not talking to anyone. I was lifeless but in otherwise good health when he had used some legal help to get me moved out of the hospital.
I was driven back to this house via an airplane ride I did not remember and was almost lifeless the entire time. I would eat what was put in front of me and go to the bathroom but didn't speak or even interact with anyone for the last 4 months. During that time they had had some psychologist and other doctors look me over. It was also during this time that my hair was cut off and I was put into boys clothing his wife had purchased for me.
The psychologist believed that since I had been raised as a girl that it was a good idea to dress me and treat me as a boy so that I would realized that I was not a girl. That was why I had no clothes to wear. When I explained, patiently after all he was an adult, that I was not a boy but a girl and I could not wear icky boys stuff he listened. He hugged me through my blanket and told me he would do what he could.
It was hours later that he returned along with his wife, she was still in a bad mood, with a suitcase containing some of my clothes. I excused myself and went to fix myself up in the bathroom as best I could. It was a relief to put on normal clothes and not be naked. I was able to put in one of hair clips to at least make my hair look less like a boys haircut. It wasn't very pretty but it was sorta pretty and the best I could do. Now dressed properly like a girl my age should be I returned to the room.
The woman put her hand over her mouth in surprise and I saw tears in her eyes as she said how pretty I looked before she buried her face into father's chest and cried. He hugged her and I asked if I did something wrong. He shook his head and he hugged her close. I sat on my new bed, brushing my skirt under me and searched the suitcase for any of my makeup supplies. I found my special polish and with glee started to paint my nails and toe nails.
That was a few days ago. My new mother has been trying to treat me like the girl I am but I can see she is having problems with it. She did buy me this nice dress to wear today and this afternoon I have an appointment at a salon to get my hair fixed. I still don't like either of them and I miss my mom.
The new doctor's mouth is open as he stares at me. I had just finished telling him my life story and he seems a little surprised. I really hope he is not gonna start telling me I'm some boy or something as I will so get upset at him if he does.
Lesley Levance age 10
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