(Miri plans how to tell Don about her visit to see a psychiatrist about their son. It didn't work out the way she planned.)

“I hope Lorraine is feeling better, Mrs. Whittaker.” Jack said trying to sound sincere.

I’m sure he was, sincere that is, but I couldn’t help noticing how enthused he was also, enthused about Lorraine Whittaker having pneumonia right before Christmas, forcing her to drop out of being The Angel in the annual Christmas Story the kids put on at Simpson United Methodist, and enthused about being chosen for the part in her place. It was late afternoon on the very day I had been to see Dr. Ellis and nothing was going as planned. The plan was that I would call Don as soon as I got back and he would come home and I would tell him how I was going to help Jack give up his cross-dressing, with the doctor’s help of course. Don was trying to stay in the background.

But the plan fell apart. First, a water pipe burst in one of our rentals just above the shoe store on Jefferson Avenue and it was so bad the owner of the store, also one of our rentals, moved some of his stock to the sidewalk and was doing business there amid snow flurries. Don was wet, cold and not in a good mood when he called me late in the afternoon. I knew I wouldn’t see him for hours and our talk was not likely to happen.

On top of that Birdie Bozwell called just after I hung up with Don. Besides leading our Bible Study Group, Birdie was director of the Christmas Story that the children gave each year. Lorraine Whittaker, The Angel, she informed me, would not be able to participate and she needed a replacement. The play was scheduled in four days, on Christmas Eve, no less, with dress rehearsal set for Friday. She reasoned that since the only other girls who could possibly play the part were either too young, seven and eight respectively, or too large (yes Birdie actually said ‘large’) obviously referring to Marjorie Blankenship who unfortunately was called ‘Large Marge’ by some of the boys with less than a cultured upbringing, Jack was the only alternative.

“Boys can be Angels too.” Birdie noted when she mentioned Jack for the part in place of Lorraine. “Gabriel in Daniel 8:16 was a boy.” She explained childishly, as if the gender of angels would not be a significant factor in the success of the 1955 production, nor was it in the birth of our Savior. The Christmas Story as portrayed by the Simpson Methodist children was nothing but tradition, and the part of The Angel was traditionally given to the cutest and sweetest ten or eleven year old girl in the church. Of course the part of Mary was also given to a girl usually an older one, but looks had little to do with casting that part; this year it was awarded appropriately to the mature Marjorie Blankenship, and the part of Joseph, to our own Tim, inappropriately. Tim was far from Josephian but handled it well because, I think, he was, at fourteen, developing an attachment to the virgin Marjorie, not sacrilegiously to the Virgin Mary.

“I hate to do that to Jack,” Birdie continued, “but he is the only one who is expendable and who will fit into the costume.” Mrs. Bozwell was referring to the gown my aunt Lottie had made for cute Lorraine, not only the same age as Jack but the same size. It really wasn’t a dress but a drape, loose fitting with no waist and reaching to the floor; pure white of course. By expendable I hoped she meant that Jack was first cast in a minor role as one of the shepherds, complete with staff and fake beard. He hated the part as well as the beard.

“I’m sure he won’t mind. He’s had lots of practice.” I told her not even considering the implication of what I had said. I meant Jack was a nice boy, cooperative and willing to please and had memorized the lines of all the parts. I certainly didn’t mean he had practice wearing gowns, although that fact occurred to me later while putting a casserole together.

“He is such an angel.” Birdie chuckled at her own pun as she told me she would have Lorraine’s mother drop the costume off later that day. I never really told her Jack would do it as I fully intended to ask him first, but Birdie always assumed an affirmative response to anything the minister’s wife asked. As I hung up the phone I considered if I should tell Jack before, or after, I had a scotch and soda. Jack had come in from school while I was on the phone and disappeared. That usually meant he was on the third floor practicing more than his lines for the Christmas Story.

“Jack, I need you to come down.” No answer.

“Jack, did you hear me?”

“Can you come up, mom? Uh, I’m …”

“I know what you are. I know what you are doing but I have to tell you something and Lorraine’s mom will be here in a few minutes.”

“Ok. I’ll be down in a minute.” He yelled from above. Jack came down the stairs and was buttoning his shirt as he emerged from his sanctum.

“Jack, Lorraine has pneumonia and has to drop out of the play.” I told him. He just looked at me with a blank ‘so what’ stare.

“They need someone to be The Angel.” I continued. I could see the gears turning now through the twinkle in his eyes. “Do you think you could do it?” I asked failing to mention I had already committed him to it.

His was definitely interested but he looked so serious. “I know the lines, mom.” He said earnestly. “I went over them with Lorraine like a hundred times.”

“Then you’ll do it?” I asked again.

“But.” He said. “What will I wear? There isn’t time for Aunt Lottie to make me a costume is there?”

“No honey, Mrs. Whittaker will be here soon. You’ll have to wear the one Aunt Lottie made for her. Maybe she can take the lace off the sleeves.” I offered.

That’s when his face really lit up exactly like an eleven year old boy’s should not have.

“Jack.” I said not believing what I was about to say, “This doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean you can, uh…” And before I finished he agreed.

“I know mom.” He said sweetly. “I’m a boy but at least God tries.” He reasoned. I refrained from having a philosophical discussion about omnipotence, not wanting to plant the seed that if God really wanted something he would hardly just “try”, although I did wonder if He was sending some gentle hint.

Yes something, or something was making things happen. I thought I was in control, thought I could go see a doctor, get answers, explain it to Don and all would be back to normal. But my plans didn’t seem to be important and I knew I had to learn to let things happen.

Now I would have to find a way to explain to a hungry, cold and wet husband why I allowed our troubled son take the part in the Christmas Story traditionally reserved for a girl. I fully expected Don to drag out his favorite metaphor, something about pouring gasoline on a fire.

Before my day fell apart I was so hopeful about my visit to Dr. Ellis and learned so much that I rushed home and wrote everything I could remember in my journal.

Tuesday December 20, 1955

So Dr. E told me that I should work with Jack and to listen to him, try to understand. That’s what I’ve been doing. Otherwise he might just rebel and act out even more. I just want this to stop.

I think seeing Dr. Ellis for me was a turning point. No, I still had so much doubt and apprehension but Dr. Ellis confirmed one very important thing to me. Jack was not bad or sick or deviate. I knew that before, have always known that, but now someone else reaffirmed it for me. Jack was different no doubt and I didn’t really like what he was doing, or how he talked about wanting to be a girl. All of that was too much to easily accept. But the Jack I knew was so loving and caring with such a wonderful heart. Forcing him to go against what seemed to be his natural inclination, as Dr. Ellis noted, could do much more harm than good.

After Hanna Whittaker left and before Don got home I let Jack try on the costume. Tim was home and he gave Jack some brotherly ribbing about wearing a costume meant for a girl but Jack took it well. Tim just shook his head as if he accepted his brother was nothing like he was. I was fixing dinner when Jack came in the kitchen in the angel gown and I tried not to say what I was thinking. He looked every bit as cute as Lorraine and I felt so guilty thinking that. He asked what he would wear under the gauzy girly thing and I almost harshly said he would wear a white tee shirt, his white jockey briefs and his white summer shorts, period. I already felt circumstances had conspired against me and I knew when to draw the line. He looked disappointed but did not protest. I suggested he change before his father got home.

When Don came through the door he looked really beat, wet and dirty. He washed up while I served him (I fed Jack and Tim earlier and they were watching TV). He sat down across from me and started to eat without asking about my visit with Dr. Ellis. He finally led with one word.

“Well?” It was a deep and complicated question. I had thought about how to begin but now wondered if it was a bad time. He was tired and most likely in no mood for give and take discussion.

“I don’t know where to begin, Don.” I said trying to soften the message that his son likely was just trying to be who he is. How could I explain something I didn’t exactly understand myself? He waited for me to continue.

“I really liked Dr. Ellis and I think he can help. But it’s so complicated Don. Dr. Ellis is different. He takes a very neutral approach.” I saw Don’s skepticism in his raised right eyebrow.

“Neutral?” He continued with the one word questions putting me on the defensive.

“Yes, neutral. He doesn’t judge, Don. He didn’t suggest Jack has some insidious flaw, or is deviate or sick.” I watched his reaction and continued. “That’s really good news, isn’t it?”

“Good news?” He progressed to two words between huge forkfuls of the chicken casserole I made.

“Yes, good news in that someone, a doctor, thinks Jack is really ok, at least based on what I told him.” He stopped eating and just looked at me like I was some oblivious stupid mother. “Don’t you think that’s good news? I mean, you don’t want to think of Jack as deviate do you?”

“Miri, listen to what you are saying. Of course I don’t think of Jack as some awful sick boy. He’s good and even tempered and helpful and smart but he’s doing things that are just not right. He’s not “ok”, Miri. And it won’t matter if we’re neutral about it, nobody else will be, neutral that is. Your pious friends at Simpson certainly won’t be neutral, especially when things change.” He correctly reasoned.

“They must never know, Don. No one must ever know.” I quickly responded.

“Exactly.” He agreed. “Because it has to stop, Miri. Can’t you see that every day we allow this to continue that it reinforces the fantasy? That’s what this is really about. Reality versus fantasy.”

This wasn’t going how I had hoped. Don was a reasonable man and I fully understood why he would take a hard position. It seemed like the correct position a parent should take. But my heart knew a hard position would be devastating to the Jack I knew and loved. I resisted the strong urge to break into tears. That would confirm weakness and I needed strength. I decided to let him have his way.

“Dr. Ellis said above all else we have to agree, you and I. We have to be on the same page.” I told him.

“I agree.” He agreed.

“Well, what page are you on, Don?” I challenged.

“I don’t mean to be harsh but I think we need to put an end to this.” I wanted to say ‘not before the Christmas Story’. I had no idea when I would tell him about Jack being The Angel.

“And?” Now I was using the one word question technique.

“What do you mean?” He retorted.

“How?” I moved.

“Uh, well, we talk to him and explain things and tell him not to go up there anymore.” He made it sound so easy.

“We?” I asked.

“I said we. I’ll talk to him with you.” It was the first time Don really indicated any willingness to be part of the issue I had been dealing with for over three months. It was an opening and I took it.

“Good.” I started. “Because that is exactly the page I’m on. I’ve talked to him and well, you don’t just talk to Jack.” I purposely stressed the ‘to’. “It didn’t go as I had planned. So I agree, you and I will talk with him. Dr. Ellis said we have to be ready to listen, and understand. If you can do that we are on the same page.”

“And you’ll support me?” He asked.

“We’ll support each other.” I counted.

“Of course, but if I can convince him he shouldn’t be doing this then you’ll support restrictions?”

All I said was that I would be on board with whatever conclusion the three of us came to. I didn’t have to ask Don if he really thought he could make Jack see the advantages of being a male. I’m sure he had typical male confidence about that and while even I could see the advantages of being a man, that didn’t mean that I would ever consider being one or could be talked into even trying.

“After Christmas.” I proposed. “We don’t need to do this now and risk ruining Christmas.”

“You’re right. Next week or first of the year. But soon.” He promised but I knew he would probably procrastinate, especially after he thought about talking to his son about dresses.

“Yes, too much going on right now. The Christmas Story at church and presents and God, just so much to do.” I hoped I could work the casting change in. It worked.

“Forgot about that. Can’t wait to see Tim as Joseph. That should be a hoot.” He noted.

“And Jack as The Angel. It should be something.”

“Wait. What?” He was clearly stunned.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Don suddenly looked even more tired than before. “Lorraine Whittaker has pneumonia and Jack is taking her part.” I said as nonchalantly as I could.

“You didn’t?” He accused.

“Didn’t what? Birdie called and asked if Jack could fill in. They didn’t have anyone else who could do it and well there is no time to start over.” I explained hoping to deflect blame.

“You agreed to it? Jesus, Miri. That’s a girl’s part. And Lottie made a gown for Lorraine, didn’t she?”

“Yep, Hanna dropped it off this afternoon and it fits Jack perfectly. Don, it wasn’t my idea. It just happened. But I couldn’t tell Birdie no. That would have been harder to explain. Now Jack will have to pretend he’s not happy about it.”

“Pretend?” Don was back to one word questions.

I didn’t really answer and he didn’t pursue it. He was tired and he knew a fait-accompli when he saw one. Jack was magnificent as The Angel and while most of the parishioners lamented about "that poor boy" having to play a part traditionally meant for a girl, they all thought he was perfect. I did hear him complain to Tim and the other boys in the production about how awful and unfair it was that he had to wear the costume meant for Lorraine Whittaker. Throughout the holiday season, as 1955 drew to a close, I considered what I had said about Jack and pretending. As a mother I wondered just when it was that my sensitive eleven year old was pretending; when he went to school as the boy we thought he was, or when he was on the third floor doing his homework dressed as a girl.