Mom was very generous with her closet. She was also generous with her patience and understanding. On our way home from the mall, we talked about the situation. I confessed a lot to her on the way home, but I didn't confess everything. At the same time, she said things to me that went a long way toward explaining her tolerance for what I was doing.   Mike versus Michelle: Part 3 Praise For Mom By Sharon Parsons

---

 
Mom was very generous with her closet. She was also generous with her patience and understanding. On our way home from the mall, we talked about the situation.

I confessed a lot to her on the way home, but I didn't confess everything. At the same time, she said things to me that went a long way toward explaining her tolerance for what I was doing.

Up until then, I had always thought of my mother as being the most unselfish person on the planet. She always seemed to put everyone's happiness ahead of her own. I still think she's the most unselfish person I know, but on the way home from the mall, I learned that my mother was deriving at least a little bit of joy from what I was doing.

I never doubted her love for my brother and I. She was and is our biggest fan, but I suppose her love for us was so bright that it blinded me from seeing the hole in her heart.

Short and sweet, Mom missed not having a daughter. She loved her sons but there was part of her that always wondered what her life would have been like if she had had a daughter. Now that I'm older and have a family of my own, I understand her feelings better. But on that day in the car, I just accepted what she told me. I understood, but now my understanding includes the feelings that go along with the knowledge.

My wanting to wear "older" clothes and to dress like her hit her hard. It wasn't my sense of fashion that affected her. It was my reasons for wanting to dress like her.

She had always known about my adventures in her closet but she was in the dark as to what my motivations were. My mom is as logical as she is compassionate, so she chalked up my adventures to curiosity, sexuality, and or physical pleasure. She never considered the idea that there might be something more behind it.

At the time, I'd never heard of the saying, "imitation is the sincerest form of flattery". But Mom had, and she recognized my actions for what they were, and when she did, it made her very happy.

She was happy. I was happy. We began to trust each other in ways that were previously impossible. That ride in the car was a Hall Mark moment of sorts, though I don't expect to see transexuals on a greeting card anytime soon.

The reasons behind my actions and desires were becoming more clear to both my mother and I. However, we were both clueless as to where it would lead.

At 13, I was too young to know what I needed. I was only aware of what I wanted and I wanted to be like my mom. She was the center of my universe. She had always been there when I needed her most. She was the one who bandaged my scraped knees, fed me when I was hungry, and delved out the hugs that let me know everything would be okay.

With all this praise for my mother, you might be tempted to think my father was some kind of monster, but he wasn't. My dad is an awesome guy and I can plainly see why my mother loves him as much as she does. I wish my father and I had a better relationship. It's not terrible, but it could be better. I don't blame him though because I'm not what he expected.

I knew he'd be disappointed in me. My mom knew it too. That's why neither of us were in a rush to tell him what a sissy I was. The fear of disappointing my parents, especially my father, led to my having a secret double life. But on that day in the car, I started the process of sharing that secret with my mother and it was liberating for both of us.

I wish I could tell you that my mother and I had some kind of brilliant master plan for my future, but we didn't. The truth of it was that we were making up the rules as we went a long. At that point, I don't think either of us expected me to become the woman I am today. She was just trying to make me happy and we were both trying fulfill our needs.

It would have been so much easier for both of us if I had been born a girl. Mom would have had the daughter she wanted so badly and I would have had the chance to experience the phases of womanhood in the right order. I also wouldn't have had to live with the shame of wanting to be something that I wasn't born to be. You'd have to be a boy to know the shame that goes along with the pleasure that comes with dressing up as a woman.

I grew up like any other boy. I could go into it in detail, but the point is that I didn't play with dolls and I didn't play dress-up. I didn't play any of the games that little girls play. I think childhood games prepare us for our lives as adults. I didn't know it then, but I was getting a crash course on everything I missed out on as a kid.

LIttle girls want so badly to be big girls like their mother and I was no exception. That's why I wanted to wear her clothes and emulate her. My mother understood that and that is why she was so generous with her wardrobe. She knew I was playing a childhood game of dress-up with her clothes behind my locked bedroom door.

Her hand me down clothes were for me and the cute jeans and top from Macy's junior department were for her. As I said before, my mother is a very logical and practical person. She might have wished she could dress me up in a three year old's clothes, but she knew she had missed out on that part of my life. She didn't want to miss out on my teen years. At the same time, I was in such a hurry to become an adult. I think most 13 year olds are.

What on earth could be so special about a mother and woman that it would make a child of the opposite gender want to be like her? I've asked myself that question a million times. I've discovered the answer varies depending on whether I reflect on it through the imaginative eyes of a child or an adult who understands the hard truths of reality.

Since I was young before I was old, my appreciation for my mother was based on my childhood perception of her. For starters, she was and is the most beautiful woman in the world. I realize some people would beg to differ with me, but that would be pointless since we're talking about my perceptions rather than theirs or anyone else's. And don't most children, boys and girls, think the world of their mothers?

Besides being enamored by her beauty, I was in awe of her femininity, grace, wisdom, and strength. My dad was the figurehead leader of our household, but as is the case in most homes, its the mother who is the true leader of the family. I recognized that early in my life. It wasn't important to me that it was my dad who was the bread winner. I could only appreciate what my mother did with the bread he brought home.

My mom is a stay at home house wife and so am I. When I was younger, I thought my mother had an easier job than my father. She got to stay at home, make herself pretty, and have fun with my brother and I while my dad trudged off to work. I don't feel that way any more. Being a stay at home mother is the toughest job in the world, but I believe its also the most rewarding.

I really looked up to my mom and I saw her as being in charge of our family. I think my dad saw her like that too. He was by no means hen pecked, but I could tell he had a deep and resounding respect for her. They discussed things, but hers was usually the last and defining word on any given subject.

My mother never slumped and always held her head up high. I will always remember her as being the last one to look away during a conversation or a disagreement with other people, yet she was as feminine and graceful as she was powerful and strong.

Her only weakness is her addiction to cigarettes, but ironically, as a child, I mistook her weakness as a strength and of course I wanted to be strong like her. As a child and young teen, I glamorized my mother's smoking and was in awe of it.

The concept of breathing smoke seemed so challenging and difficult to my childish mind, so I reasoned that my father and others weren't up to the task. She was and is a heavy smoker. The habit invaded every waking moment of her life. She smoked while she did her housework, and when she chatted on the phone, and drove the car. There was nothing she couldn't or wouldn't do without a cigarette between her fingers.

When I was younger, I saw my mother's habit as a badge of feminine honor rather than the crutch it really is. Her smoking made a deep and resounding impression on me, even though she warned and encourage me not to follow in her footsteps. Her footsteps? Mom had big shoes and I was eager to fill them.

Speaking of shoes, my mother bought me a pair of white sandals. She said they'd go with almost anything. I took her at her word because unlike most boys who dreamed of being girls, I lacked a fashion IQ. I just knew what felt good to me.

Besides some dresses and suits, my mom gave me an old Coach purse. It was made of cream colored leather and was big enough to move in to. Before she gave it to me, she emptied it of its contents and picked and chose what would be returned to it. I got a small compact mirror, a tube of lipstick, a wallet, and a hair brush in the exchange. She kept the half a pack of Virginia Slims cigarettes and the two disposable lighters for her self.

I think I remember so much about that one day because it was one of the most important days in my life for better or worse. I replay it over and over to see if my life would have changed if anything had happened differently that day. I don't think it would have.

Nothing extraordinary happened to me in my eighth grade year. Mom kept my secret and no one else found out. I didn't fall in love and I didn't go to jail that year. I didn't get expelled from school either, but there were plenty of days when I wished they would throw me out.

Mom and I continued to get closer. Dad noticed it, but he didn't think anything of it. I was still the same to him, except that I needed a haircut.

The next important thing that happened to me was make-up. I had played around with lipstick and face powder, but I had never taken the time to learn to use it correctly. It wasn't for lack of wanting to on my part. It had more to do with my family situation and the fact that 13 year old boys aren't afforded a lot of privacy or time alone.

The other big thing that happened and went hand in hand with the make-up was that I went on my first public outing dressed as a girl. Mom took me to the salon where I had originally got my hair done. I got the royal treatment and this time they did use nail polish when they gave me a manicure.

These two wonderful events took place over the Christmas break. My mom and I were able to do it because my father was out of town on business and Tony had gone on a skiing trip with one of his friend's family. Dad actually felt bad for me because I thought I was missing out.

---

 
To Be Continued...