(Miri finally takes some action about her 11 year old son but not before she thinks things through.)

Choices

Chapter 9

I was fully aware then, as now, that it was not acceptable for a good Methodist woman to drink alone in the middle of the day, especially a married one with three wonderful, and normal, children. Well, at least two thirds of my children were normal. My mother, the Supreme Methodist or the “SM” as I often called her, never really did school me on when drinking alone was acceptable, and that lack of clarity was all I needed to absolve myself of any guilt on the day after I held my sundress clad son feeling something deep inside me that I could not explain. In my defense I did not start drinking until well after noon.

To be honest, my turn to the bottle, actually a glass, some ice, soda and a hefty shot of scotch, was not due to depression, or despair, or fear, or guilt. Jack did not drive me to drink, although what he was doing would, no doubt, reasonably qualify as an understandable justification to imbibe. No, I needed help thinking things through, and with planning. I did my best thinking with moderate assistance. So there I was, sitting on the sun porch in the middle of a cool but sunny mid-November day, accompanied by Johnny Walker, Chesterfield and hopefully God, considering all the possibilities of what might be ahead. Even with the liquid help, and all the nicotine my lungs could handle, each of those possibilities seemed likely to end with disastrous consequences.

The first item on the agenda as I lit my first cigarette was how to tell Don that his son had been wearing dresses on the third floor for the last two months, with my knowledge and tacit permission. I was fully ready to face the music the evening before, just a few hours after Jack and I had such a special moment, but I got cold feet. Actually, it wasn’t the feet that stopped me; it was the guilty heart and the fact that I had no defense.

My husband wasn’t one of those men who looked down on women, or thought we were dumb or incompetent. Don Roberts treated me with respect, and love. He never complained as long as dinner was on time and the house was clean, and I was there when he needed me, if you understand what I mean. But he was gentle and sweet and listened to me. We talked about everything; everything except religion and buying airplanes. My faith was personal, and in my heart and in my soul. While he never tried to claim his faith as a defense for buying the Cessna 180, Don obviously felt closer to God at eight to ten thousand feet above sea level. When I finally relented and flew with him, I too felt closer to God, but it was not a good feeling. Thank God for flasks.

As a family we went to Simpson United Methodist, where Don openly prayed, tried to sing, read the scriptures and listened to the sermon. He knew in Moundsville he needed to be seen as faithful, and he certainly knew to be otherwise would bring the wrath of the SM. It was perhaps the one thing we did not share; an understanding of God, either the Controller or the Creator, and the force that makes things happen. So after church he would actually practice “his” religion, as well as takeoffs and landings, in the Cessna on Sunday afternoons, weather permitting.

Don the father was more than any woman could ask. He was involved, funny, and sometimes childlike. It often felt I was a single mother of four children instead of the married mother of three. The kids loved him though and he them. Don was not a hard driving father trying to mold his children, in sports or career, but he was a hands-on dad who gently guided them and taught them, sometimes teaching things they did not need to know.

So my reluctance to telling Don about Jack wasn’t because I feared what he would do. I knew Don and he would never react with anger to any of his children no matter what they did. Sometimes I prayed he would, especially with Tim. No, Don wouldn’t yell at Jack or, God forbid, spank him. But he would hurt for Jack and he would definitely be upset that I had not immediately talked to him. He would take it personally and if he didn’t out and out blame me, he would put me through a grilling. He would see it in terms of our failure, collectively as parents but specifically he would look to what I had done. Taking a hefty drag on the Chesterfield and more than a sip of the scotch, I felt that he would have sufficient justification to accuse and convict. I wasn’t prepared for that without some answers and someone to back me up.

So I decided not to tell Don about his cross dressing son until I had talked to someone other than friends or family. I knew I could no longer put off reaching out to a professional. That led to the second item on the planning session and to the second scotch and soda.

Before I could think about my next step I had to weigh the merits of waiting until after the holidays. I really didn’t need to be dealing with this in the middle of November with so much to do. My mother wanted me to have Thanksgiving dinner at my house since I had the huge formal dining room. My cousin Ceil Riggs was coming from Baltimore and bringing her roommate, Caroline. Cecilia (she never used that name) was a professor of chemistry at Johns’ Hopkins and was like a daughter to my mother and father, since they took her in when her parents died during her junior year in high school. She wasn’t married and had no brothers or sisters. She would visit every summer on the farm and come once in a while for a holiday. With Ceil and Caroline, my parents, my aunt Lottie, Don’s widowed mother and the five of us I would have a house full and didn’t see how I would have any time be running all over seeing doctors. After Thanksgiving it would be a mad dash to Christmas with Brenda’s recital and Tim laughably playing Joseph in the annual Simpson Christmas play, I seriously considered just waiting until January.

To wait felt like I would be failing my very troubled and hurting son. I dismissed waiting.

I resisted the third scotch when I got to the third item I was discussing with myself; how to contact a doctor. I laughed out loud when I thought about actually talking to one. I saw myself trying to explain to some older man what Jack was doing and how I had been allowing it. I didn’t see that going well. How could a man understand Jack, or a mother’s love? He couldn’t and the obvious conclusion would be that it was the mother’s fault. I was prepared to accept blame but I couldn’t accept what that would mean for Jack; an official medical designation of Jack and what he was, or at least what the medical community would likely conclude he was; a deviant, homosexual, cross dresser. Jack would be categorized as sick, forever and ever. I had resolved to try to avoid the labels, as unrealistic as I knew that was.

Of course there was the doctor in Pittsburgh that my friend told me about but I dismissed that for more than a few reasons namely logistics and trust. I needed to talk to a doctor I knew and would be discreet and, thanks to the help from Johnny Walker, I realized that could be only on person, Doctor John Benson.

There were two doctors and their wives we regularly played Bridge with. One was John whom Don and I had known since high school. We were very close to both John and his wife, Hilda. He was well known and liked and I felt he could be trusted. He knew our family well and had visited our sick children many times. Our families had often done things together; dinners, picnics, etc. He helped finance the Cessna so Don could fly him and another doctor on hunting trips. The Bensons daughter, Joanie, was the same girl Jack said he played dress up with.

As our doctor John had stitched Jack up more than once (Jack was often on the wrong side of a thrown rock or the one who fell down the stairs). Besides Joanie they had an older son who was now in college. They also had a daughter who died as an infant. John knew us and our children intimately but he had a way of making you feel at ease. I knew I could talk to him without feeling guilty or ashamed.

John Benson was also very well trained. He graduated from medical school at Johns Hopkins, and then interned at a major hospital in New York. He came back here to start his practice and over the last 15 years had become one of the most popular doctors in the Valley. He knew his stuff. I knew he would at least listen to me. He was the closest thing I had to a brother.

As I ground out my fourth Chesterfield and picked up the now empty scotch and soda glass, I resolved to find a private moment to talk to John at Bridge Club just a few days away. With everything finalized, I moved, and seconded, that the meeting be adjourned.

* * *

November 19, 1955 Saturday – It is so late, actually Sunday morning. We hosted Bridge Club tonight. I was hoping to talk to Dr. Benson, our close friend and our family doctor about Jack. I wasn’t able to go into details but he is making time for me at the hospital on Tuesday. Am I ready for this? I hope so. I am ecstatic; well, relieved. Now I need sleep.

When we hosted the Bridge group the weekend before Thanksgiving, I waited for a chance to talk to John alone. I guessed I wouldn’t be able to go into specifics about Jack but wanted to see if we could meet privately. I finally got the chance when we were at separate Bridge tables and both he and I were dummy. John got up to mix a drink and I followed him to the kitchen.

John gave me a little hug like he always did and asked, “How’s everything, Miri? The kids driving you nuts?”

“Well, they are active but I’m managing.” I paused, nervously. I’m sure he could see I wanted to say something. He just looked directly and raised his eyebrows. It was a silent command ‘Tell me what’s wrong’!

“John, I need to talk to you. Privately, alone. Not in your office. I can’t tell you anything now. Just you and I.” I blurted this out like I was losing it and John could see how serious I was.

“Is it Don?”

“No, we’re fine. It’s Jack. I need to talk to you alone about Jack. It’s something he’s doing. He…..” Before I could finish Fred and Barb came in the kitchen. The hand was over.”

“Down one. Don always overbids.” Barb proudly announced. “What are you two all serious about” she continued.

“Getting some free medical advice.” I managed. I went back to the bridge table. John came back to his table and gave me a reassuring look.

For the rest of the evening I tried to have another moment with John but there were just too many people around, including my husband. When everyone was leaving John put his arms around me as usual and whispered “Meet me Tuesday at noon in the hospital cafeteria.”

* * *

By the time Tuesday morning came I was a nervous wreck. I was careful not to get dressed up, or wear much makeup, because it might lead some to draw the wrong conclusion. Meeting John wouldn’t otherwise arouse suspicion I was sure; Hilda and I had lunch there once in a while and John would join us.

I didn't see John when I entered the cafeteria, got a sandwich and tea, and found a table. John was late but finally appeared, saw me and motioned he was getting a tray. When he had his food he sat down and wasted no time.

“What is this big problem? Did you say it was Jack?” He asked.

“Oh, John. I don’t know where to start.” I really didn’t but it was now or never. “Maybe it’s not that big a deal but I’m going out of my mind. Jack has been doing something strange and I don’t know how to handle it.” It felt so good to finally be able to just begin.

He looked puzzled. “What do you mean strange? I’ve known Jack since he was born. He’s a nice boy. Joanie loves him.”

“He’s a wonderful boy.” Hearing myself call my child a boy knowing I was going to tell John about his proclivity for wearing dresses gave me a new bout of cold feet. I wanted to run but I didn’t. “Maybe it’s nothing. I shouldn’t bother you.”

“Miri, I saw the panic on your face last week. Out with it, what’s going on? What is Jack doing that’s bothering you?”

“I thought if anyone knew anything about this you would and I know I can trust you. I caught Jack wearing some of Brenda’s things. Tell me it’s nothing to worry about. Tell me this will pass.”

The look on John’s face almost scared me. I could tell he was switching from friend to doctor. He took a deep breath and began in a halting measured voice.

“Miri, I can’t tell you it’s nothing. It may not be that serious but, well, I would guess it probably is. I just don’t know enough about what is going on and I don’t have much training in psychiatry, which is where this probably falls”.

That didn’t really surprise me. He then pressed me for more details and I gave him a very abbreviated account of what Jack was doing. He listened and I just felt comfortable with him. When I finished I sat back and waited. He took a deep breath and continued.

“I know you Miri and I know you don’t want this to get out so I won’t intervene as a doctor unless you ask me. I know, from a medical point of view, men who dress as women are considered deviate and it’s usually a sexual thing”. I already knew that. I was waiting for some help. “At least that’s what I remember. Psychiatric treatment is usually indicated. But someone Jack’s age, I just don’t have a reference, professionally. I guess it happens but I’m drawing a blank. If it’s just a little maybe it’s normal, I don’t know, and maybe it will pass. A psychiatrist friend in Wheeling who treats children mentioned something to me once. I could check with him. You said he’s going to the third floor and wearing dresses? Have you confronted him?”

I felt better and John’s words put me somewhat at ease. I finally felt after all these weeks that I wasn’t completely nuts or alone. I told John about how I discovered what Jack was doing and that I did confront him. I relayed the conversations he and I had and how he expressed that he wanted to be or should have been a girl. I told him about how he admired the dress in the store and how he asked me to get it for him. I didn’t tell him about Jack’s confessing to playing dress up with Joanie, his daughter.

When I finished I searched John’s face for some reaction. I could see he was more than concerned and was trying to process all that I said. He looked at his watch.

“You didn’t buy the dress, did you?” I shook my head. “I only have a few more minutes, but try not to worry. I care about you and about Jack. I just can’t make a snap judgment here. First, I think you need to maintain Jack’s trust. It’s good he talks to you. Keep that up.”

Then this wonderful man said something I couldn’t believe. “We can’t let him down.” It was so genuine and sensitive. I knew John thought of me, and my family, as his family. Jack was like a son to him.

“And you will probably have to tell Don. Are there any other problems with Jack? School? Friends?” He continue to probe.

“No, actually his grades are better the last period, since he and I talked and he hasn’t had any issues with friends, although I haven’t seen some of them for a week or so.” I noted.

“So you are letting him continue to play dress up?” I knew things were going too well. I tried not to say something I would regret. The doctor’s question reinforced my feelings that as the responsible parent, I carried an unusual and unfair burden.

“I wish you didn’t say it like that. That sounds so awful John. It sounds as if I’m encouraging him. I don’t think that I am and he wouldn’t call it ‘playing dress up’. John, that’s the really hard part, since you bring it up. I feel responsible at times and I would almost feel better if Jack had other problems. Then I wouldn’t be dealing with just this.” I took a moment to think about Jack. “But Jack is just so normal otherwise. He’s easygoing, helps around the house, has friends, boys and girls, does great in school.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve known Jack for what, ten years now. I didn’t mean to put it on you. He is just a good kid.” John looked around to see if anyone could hear us. “I do worry though. Miri you do know that you would be criticized for not stopping it; that you would be the mom who let her son become a sissy. Most people would tell you to forbid it and would expect that you punish him for what he is doing. And maybe you should.”

That surprised me and struck me directly in the heart. Was my good doctor friend telling me I’m not handling this right? I took a deep breath, let it out and confessed.

“It’s not like I haven’t considered it. Yes, maybe I should. I would be mom of the month around here if I did John. But what would that do to Jack? I mean I know he’s suffering and I can’t see where punishment is going to take the suffering away. It’s not an easy choice, John.” I said as strongly as I could in public. I thought I saw a slight grin on John’s tired face. Looking back I know he was testing me and trying to see if I had thought about what was coming. “Sure, he’s going to have to adjust sometime and yes it’s never easy growing up. But I have to find a way to make it easier. I have to make it so he understands and then he can accept that he’s a boy and going to be a man. I’ve told him that. I can’t help him if I lose him now.”

“Just be careful, Miri. I’ll do some checking and talk discreetly to a colleague or two. I’ll get in touch with you in a few days.” He announced as he stood up, gave me a reassuring hug and disappeared back into the hospital.

On the drive home I felt better, and worse. Nothing had changed and I was still in the dark. Now with only a glimmer of hope I had to turn my attention to other things. Family was coming in two days and I had to prepare the house, the food, and especially Jack.