All Dolled Up - Part I
By Missy Crystal
Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.
My son James, I call him Jamie, got a gift certificate to the local mall toy store from his Aunt Karen for his sixth birthday, which was in July. July 5th to be exact. From the time he was a baby, we took him to the town fireworks and told him they were for him. At least we did until my husband Jim, he was James too and our son was James, Junior, so we called his dad Jim and him Jamie for short, died two years ago. He was a technician for an environmental control company and maintained the emissions monitoring equipment they installed at power plants all over the country. They discovered him at the bottom of one of the stacks. The OSHA investigation found that the access ladder lacked a safety cage. We got a very sizeable settlement from the utility company. It paid off the mortgage and meant that I didn't have to work, but it was still a struggle raising a little boy without a father. It was hard on Jamie too.
On the Saturday after Jamie's birthday, I drove us to the mall, so that he could pick out a toy. We went into the store and walked up and down the aisles. I followed along behind him as he went past shelves of police cars, fire engines, bulldozers, trains, planes, games of all descriptions, building sets, and then he turned the corner and was in the girls' section, with an array of dolls and accessories. I expected him to go back to the boy's toys, but instead he stopped in front of a very pretty doll, about a foot tall, in a pink party dress. I watched and waited as he took it off the shelf and examined it.
Turning to me he asked, "Mommy, can I have this one?"
I was taken by surprise at his picking out a doll and it took a few seconds for me to answer him.
"No, Honey, dolls are for girls," I told him.
"Why are dolls for girls?" he asked me naively.
"Because girls play with dolls to practice for when they're mommies." I explained as simply as I could to a six year old.
"Oh," he said, looking down at the doll and then up at me. "If I play with a doll, will I be a mommy?" he asked with a child's confused logic.
"No, Jamie," I told him patiently. "Only girls can be mommies. Boys grow up to be daddies."
"Why can't boy's be mommies?" he persisted.
I knelt down to talk with him.
"In order to be a mommy, you have to have a baby. Only girls can have babies."
"Why?" he asked me.
I really did not want to get into an explanation of female reproductive anatomy with a six year old in the middle of a toy store.
"Jamie," I tried to simplify, "girls and boys are, well, they're bodies are different. It's the way they're born, Sweetie. Now, why don't you put the doll back and we'll go find a different toy. Then we can go get an ice cream cone," I offered as encouragement.
He continued to hold the doll and looked disappointed.
"Do I have to?" he asked.
I didn't want to upset him. He had enough trauma in his young life. Maybe having a doll was his way of finding comfort, an understanding companion with whom he could share his feelings. Jamie's aunt, my sister Karen, the one who gave him the gift certificate that started all this, was a psychologist. I remembered when she was in graduate school she had an internship with the one of the social service agencies counseling abused children and that she told me how they used dolls to get the children to act out painful memories.
"Jamie, why do you want a doll?"
He shrugged.
"I don't know."
If it was some type of a need for an emotional outlet, I supposed he wouldn't be able to explain it. The more I thought about it, the more I couldn't come up with a good reason not to let him have it. I mean, besides the usual stereotype. I decided to change my approach.
"Jamie, if I bought you the doll, would you play with her?"
I intentionally used the feminine pronoun to emphasize that he was buying a girl doll.
"Yes," he replied looking up at me hopefully.
"Honey, people might not understand why a boy would play with a doll," I cautioned him. "They might make fun of you. If I buy you the doll, you have to promise to keep it a secret. Not to tell anyone. You'll have to keep it in my room, so, if you have any friends over, they won't see it. Is that okay?"
I was hoping that he would decide he didn't want to go through all of that, just to play with a doll, but to my surprise he agreed.
"All right then, Sweetie, lets see if I can find one that's boxed."
I reached out and he handed me the doll. I stood up and looked on the shelf where she came from. There was a box with a plastic cover holding an identical doll. I took it down and showed it to him. Jamie nodded his approval. I put the doll back on the shelf. He reached up to take the box, but I shook my head.
"I'll hold it, Honey," not wanting anyone to question why a boy had a doll. I suppose it could have been a present for one of his cousins. Karen had two girls, and the older one, Debbie, was Jamie's age. We got married at the same time, a double wedding, which saved Dad a lot of money, and we had our first baby within a month of each other. Jim got a promotion to Senior Technician right after Jamie was born, which meant more money, which we could use, but it also meant he would have to do more traveling. We held off having another baby, while Karen didn't, so Amy, her youngest child, was four and a half. Even so, I preferred not having to explain, if we ran into someone I knew.
As we walked to the sales counter, I rehearsed to myself, "Oh, hello, Sarah. I'm well thank you. Hi, Susie. Jamie, say hello to Mrs. Kraft and Susie. Shopping for a birthday present. Us too. Oh, yes, it is a pretty doll, Susie. You have a pretty doll too? I'm sure. It's a present for one of my nieces. Yes, nice seeing you too Sarah. Bye. Bye Susie." No need for that.
When we reached the register, I handed the box to the salesgirl. It rang up at $29.95, $31.45 with tax. I was so surprised by Jamie's choice of the doll that I hadn't even looked at the price. His gift certificate was for $25.00. My sister and I didn't believe in giving each other's kids expensive gifts. I had already told Jamie he could have the doll as his present and I didn't want to go back on what I said, so I took out my credit card and paid the difference. Not that it was the money. We could afford it. It just seemed wasteful to spend that much on a toy he would probably not play with once he got it home. At least I couldn't picture him playing with it. Not that a boy couldn't play with a doll, but girls grow up with them. Oh well, I thought to myself, I can keep the box and return it.
The salesgirl handed me the credit card slip. I signed it and she put the doll in a plastic bag.
"Do you want the receipt in the bag?" she asked.
"No, thank you." I told her, wanting to make sure that it didn't get lost, so I could take it back. "Oh, and this is a gift," I added for insurance. What is your return policy?"
"Ten days, with the receipt for a full cash or charge refund. Otherwise only a store credit. But I can give you a gift receipt that makes it thirty days," she informed me.
"Yes, please."
She ran up another receipt and handed it to me.
"Thank you," I said, putting it in my wallet with the original receipt.
"You're welcome."
I held the bag in my left hand and reached down to Jamie with my right. He took my hand and we left the store. Walking through the mall, we passed an ice cream stand and I remembered that I had offered to buy him a cone. I stopped and he asked for his favorite, vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. I had them put it upside down in a cup, so he could eat it with a spoon. I ordered a small dish of maple walnut for myself. We sat at one of the little tables. Watching him, I wondered if maybe I was being too fussy. So what if he got messy. I remembered Jim digging into a juicy burger smothered in ketchup, his favorite when we went out, and always having to remind him to use his napkin. Jamie spent a lot of time around me. Maybe he was getting the wrong message?
We finished our ice cream and walked back to the car. I put the bag with the doll in the back seat and buckled Jamie in. When we got home, I brought the bag into the kitchen and took out the box. Jamie reached for it, but I stopped him.
"Hold on, Honey. The doll has to be taken out of the box carefully," I cautioned him. And I don't want you to mess up the packaging, so I can take it back when you're through with it, I thought to myself.
The clear plastic top was held on by tape. I used my nail to peel it off the plastic, leaving it still attacked to the cardboard box. I had not looked at the doll carefully in the store and now I saw that it came with accessories, a small pink pocket book with a white plastic handle, a pink plastic headband with three white flowers, a pink plastic hairbrush, with a flower decal, a matching mirror and a comb. The doll was fastened to the cardboard liner with plastic ties a round her neck and waist. I lifted the liner out and turned it over, using a scissors to carefully cut the plastic, releasing the doll. The accessories were basted onto the cardboard with white thread, which I also cut. I picked up the doll, put on her headband and handed her to Jamie. He took her and held her by the arm, the way a child would dangle a stuffed animal.
"No, Jamie," I explained patiently. "The doll is fragile and you have to be gentle with her. Here," I took the doll and cradled it in my left arm, holding it securely with my right hand resting on its tummy. "See."
I handed the doll back to him. He copied me and looked up for my approval. I nodded and smiled at him, although I felt funny teaching my son how to hold a doll. Then again, Jim came to birthing class with me and he had to be shown how to hold the baby after it was born, so there was no harm in starting early, was there? Jamie started to leave and I called after him to wait. He stopped and I brought him the accessories. He was using both hands to hold the doll, so I tucked the purse into his right pants pocket and the comb, brush and mirror into his left one. He hurried upstairs.
I followed him to the stairs and called after him, "Jamie, remember, play with the doll in my room, please." That way I could be sure it wouldn't get left in his room by accident, if he had a friend over, and it was also less likely to get dirty, if it wasn't around his other toys, so I wouldn't have a problem returning it. He disappeared at the top of the stairs.
I went back to the kitchen, carefully saved all the packaging materials and put the box on the top shelf of the hall coat closet, remembering with a twinge of sadness that was where Jim and I always hid Jamie's birthday and Christmas presents. Passing by the front door, I noticed that the mail had been delivered through the slot and picked it up from the floor. The usual supermarket circulars, a gas bill, and a fall department store catalog. That reminded me it was almost time for Jamie to start kindergarten and I need to take him shopping for some school clothes. Maybe next weekend, I thought, hoping that by then he would be done with the doll too and I could return it.
I took the mail into the kitchen and put a cup of water with a chamomile teabag into the microwave. When it was ready, I sat down at the counter and sipped the tea while browsing through the catalog. The first section was women's clothes. Plaids were back. So were long skirts and boots. I hadn't updated my wardrobe for years. Since Jim died, most of my time was spent with Jamie. Now that he was starting school, I would have more free time, but nothing to do. Since I had my LPN certificate, I suppose I could volunteer at the hospital. Even so, I didn't need any clothes. Lingerie was next. I skipped over that with a sigh. Then came cosmetics and perfume. None of that interested me. The drugstore's brands were good enough. Girls' school clothes followed. Pretty wool jumpers and kilts in bright plaids were featured, silky polyester blouses in coordinating powder blue, yellow, green and pink, red and blue nylon tights, pretty undies, and shoes with ankle straps and little heels. Finally, two pages of boys clothes. Tan cotton pants and corduroys in dark colors, blue, green and brown, plaid cotton flannel shirts, plaid was definitely in with a vengeance, sneakers with Velcro fasteners and shoes with laces. The same things Jamie always wore. He hadn't grown much over the summer, so everything still fit him, but a boy should have new school clothes.
Looking at the clock, I was surprised it had been almost an hour since we got home. I decided to check on Jamie. I rinsed out my teacup and put it in the dishwasher, then went upstairs. There were three bedrooms on the second floor. Ours, well, mine now, was front to back on the right and Jamie's was the front left. I peeked in his first, but he wasn't there. I went to the doorway to our bedroom and saw him sitting on the bed. He was holding the doll and speaking softly, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. I wish I could have known whether he was pouring his heart out or just talking make believe, but I didn't want to disturb him. He didn't see me and I quietly stepped back and went downstairs.
In one sense, I was disappointed. I had hoped that Jamie's lack of experience playing with dolls would frustrate him and that he would return to his familiar boy's toys. Then again, he seemed happy, which was what I wanted for him more than anything. All I could do was wait and see how it worked out. I should call Karen and get some professional advice, I thought.
When I got back to the kitchen, I looked at the clock on the microwave. It as half-past four, time to start getting dinner ready. Karen was probably busy with her family too and I wanted to wait until Jamie was in bed, so that I could talk to her without him overhearing. Little pitchers have big ears, Mother used to say, when she wanted Daddy not to talk while we were around. I took out a package of macaroni and cheese, Jamie's favorite, and put a pot of water on the stove to boil. About a half hour later, it was ready.
"Jamie," I called up to him, "dinner's ready. Please wash up and come down."
I went back into the kitchen and finished putting our dinner on the table. As I was pouring him a glass of milk, I saw him come in out of the corner of my eye. He had the doll in his arms.
"Jamie, we don't bring toys to the table," I reminded him.
I walked over and held out my hand to take the doll.
"Sit down, Honey. I'll put the doll on the stairs. You can play with her after dinner."
He handed her to me. I put the doll on the bottom step and went back to the table.
"Well, Jamie," I said, making small talk, "have you thought of a name for your doll?"
Of all things, I don't know why that came out. The last thing I wanted to do was encourage him to become more attached to the doll.
He shook his head and took a forkful of macaroni and cheese.
"Do dolls have names?" he asked.
Of course, girls gave their dolls names, but he wouldn't know that. Now that I had said it, I couldn't very well tell him no.
"Yes. When I was a girl, I had a doll named Cricket. I didn't give her that name. There was a storybook about a girl named Cricket that came with her. Your Aunt Karen had a doll she named Cindy Lou, after the little girl in the Dr. Seuss book about the Grinch. You remember her, the littlest Who? She is nice to the Grinch and saves Christmas for Whoville."
Jamie smiled and nodded, taking another forkful of macaroni and a drink of milk.
"Jamie," he said.
"That's your name, yes, Honey," I agreed.
"No, mommy, the doll's name is Jamie," he corrected me.
"You and the doll have the same name," I questioned him.
'Uh huh," he confirmed.
"Wouldn't you like to giver her a girls name?"
I tried to think of the girls in the Disney videos we watched.
"How about, Belle, the girl in 'Beauty and the Beast'?"
He shook his head.
"What about Jasmine, the Princess in Aladdin. That's a very pretty name girl's name and it kind of sounds like Jamie. Would you like to name her Jasmine?"
He shook his head and took another forkful of macaroni.
I was at a loss. Why did he want to give the doll his name? If he was telling her his troubles, maybe he identified with her. Just because it was a girl to me, didn't mean it was a girl to a six year old boy. Maybe it was just friend whose sex didn't matter. Or, I continued to consider, his father's name was James and we named him James too, so, he might think that a child is named after his father.
"You know, if your name is Jamie and the doll's name is Jamie, it might be confusing. How about if we call you Jamie and we call the doll Jamie Girl?" I suggested.
The distinction didn't seem to make a difference to him, which made me think that maybe my first explanation was right. He took another forkful of macaroni and shrugged.
We finished dinner and I cleared the table. Jamie got up to leave.
"Hold on, Sweetie. You didn't finish your milk. Do you want a cookie to go with it for desert?"
He shook his head and drank down the last of the glass. He looked up at me.
"Okay, Honey, you're excused. Oh, I called after him, I want to give you a bath in about half an hour. I'll let you know when its time."
Jamie scampered out. Through the doorway, I could see him pick up the doll and go upstairs. I finished cleaning up and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. Then I went into the den and turned on the TV to watch the six o'clock news. When it was over, I went upstairs and started to run a bath. I looked into my, bedroom to check on Jamie. He was sitting on the floor with the doll in his lap. I noticed that he wasn't playing house. I suppose he didn't have the right accessories. My sister and I had a play stove and kitchen items, even pretend food. Or dress-up, but then the doll didn't have a wardrobe. My sister and I had boxes full of doll clothes. Or school. That wouldn't require any props. Or even beauty parlor, since he had the comb and brush. Maybe I was right; that a little boy wouldn't know how to play with a doll and that he would be bored soon.
"Jamie," I said softly, so as not to startle him, "your bath is ready, Honey. Put the doll on my bed and go get undressed."
He did as I asked. I went into the bathroom to wait for him. A few minutes later he came in wearing just his white briefs and white socks.
"Okay, Honey, take off your underwear and hop in."
I checked the temperature of the water with my hand as I waited for him to finish undressing. Jamie got in and I took out some of his usual bath toys from the plastic bin we kept them in, a motor boat, a sail boat, a plastic whale and a rubber shark. I watched him play normally, which was a relief.
"I'll come back in fifteen minute," I told him.
I went into my room and picked up a woman's magazine. I thumbed through it, skipping over the articles on how to improve your sex life, natural cures for yeast infections after you improved your sex life, and looked for some recipes that might spice up, I laughed at my little pun, our meals. I mean there's only so much hamburger, pasta and pizza you can eat. Jim used to love a good steak or roast and we both enjoyed shrimp and scallops, not so much fish, but we had it occasionally for variety. Now I had no one to cook for. I looked over at the clock on my nightstand and it had been about twenty minutes. Jamie was probably getting waterlogged. I went into the bathroom and he was still playing with his bath toys. A good sign I reassured myself.
"Okay, Honey. I want to wash your hair."
I took a small plastic bucket I used for clean rinse water and the baby shampoo out from under the vanity. Jamie was a red-head, like his father, the McCarthy's Irish heritage, and it was wavy. He hadn't had a haircut in two months. I let it grow over the summer, figuring that I would give him a haircut before school. I filled the bucket with warm water from the tap and dumped it over his head. Then I lathered in the shampoo, rinsed, holding my hand over his eyes to keep the soapy water out, even though it was baby shampoo, and repeated. When I had finished, I soaped up a washcloth and handed it to him to wash himself. I supervised, making sure that he got his feet and under his arms. Then I took the washcloth, rinsed it out, re-soaped it and did his face and ears. When he was squeaky clean, I had him stand up and step out of the tub.
"Okay, Sweetie, scoot into your room and put on clean underpants and your PJ's," I directed him, once I had toweled him dry. "Then come back and brush your teeth."
After he left, I took his toys out of the tub and put them in the bin. Jamie returned wearing his light blue shorty animal print pajamas. I supervised him while he brushed his teeth, a full minute on the uppers, equal time on the lowers and a good rinse with kid's plaque removing mouth wash. I believe it's important to develop good oral hygiene habits early.
"Okay, Honey, scoot into your bedroom. I'll be there in a minute to read you a bedtime story."
The tub had drained by the time he was done, so I finished cleaning up the bathroom, using the towel to wipe down the tub and hanging it and the wet washcloth on the towel bar. I turned out the bathroom light and went into his bedroom. To my surprise, he had gotten the doll out of my room and was holding it, looking at me expectantly.
"Jamie, I told you, the doll has to stay in my room," I reminded him. "Besides, dolls aren't sleeping toys. They're not cuddly and her dress will get all wrinkled. If you want something to sleep with, I can get you one of your old stuffed animals."
He looked at me and shook his head.
"Look, Sweetie, I'll put the doll on the big chair in my room. She'll be very comfortable there," as if she were real, "and you can come get her as soon as you wake up, if you want to play wither her," which I hoped he wouldn't. "Okay?"
He shook his head.
"Why not?"
"Jamie wants to hear the story too."
It took me a few seconds to realize that the Jamie he was referring to was the doll.
"Oh, you want her to stay while I read to you?"
"Uh huh," he said with a smile.
I nodded my concession. Going over to the bookcase, I looked for one of the fairytales he enjoyed. We had a collection of the Disney versions and some of the Golden Book abridged stories too. I wanted to find one with a strong male character, hoping to offset at least some of the doll's effect. "Cinderella," no. "Sleeping Beauty," no. "Snow White," no. "Beauty and the Beast," no. "Rapunzel," no, the main character is a girl with long hair. Rumpelstiltskin, no, the title is about the dwarf, but the story is about the miller's daughter who outsmarts him and saves her baby. Was there a conspiracy among children's books authors only to write about girls? Finally, I came up with "Jack in the Beanstalk." Not that it was my favorite. I mean a homicidal kid who destroys a natural wonder in order to steal someone else's property is not my idea of a role model, but at least he was a boy. I brought the book over and got on the bed. Jamie put the doll on the pillow between us.
"Once upon a time, there was a poor widow who had an only son named Jack," I began. I continued through the story, showing Jamie the pictures of Jack trading their cow for the magic beans, and so forth. By the time I got to Jack going back the second time for the hen that laid the golden eggs, Jamie's eyes were closing and by the third trip for the singing harp, I could tell by his rhythmic breathing that he had fallen asleep. I picked up the doll, got up, turned out the light and left, keeping his door open just enough to let in a bit of the light from the hall.
I took the doll and brought it into my room, smoothing its dress, the way I used to do with Cricket, and sitting her on the upholstered chair next to the window. It was too early to call Karen and I had nothing else to do, so I got undressed, put on my nightgown, did my nightly beauty routine, old habits die hard, and got on the bed to watch TV. I went through the channels and found a dance program. Jim and I used to love to dance when he was home. Not ballroom. He thought that was for sissies. Rock and roll at one of the clubs when we were able to get a babysitter. I picked up my magazine and continued to go through it, looking up now and then to watch a bit of the show. I kept glancing at the clock and finally, at about eight thirty, I couldn't wait any longer. Karen would be done with dinner and Debbie probably went to bed around seven or seven thirty, like Jamie, so she should be free by now.
I pushed one on the speed dial. I called Karen more often than anyone else. The phone rang three times and she picked up.
"Hello," she answered.
"Hi, Sis."
"Ginny, hi. I was just thinking of you and Jamie. I took Debbie shopping for school clothes today and wondered if you were doing the same?"
"No, not yet. Girls are much higher maintenance than boys. As you might remember, Miss I-can't-go-to-school-in-old-clothes. All Jamie needs is a couple of pairs of pants, a few shirts and a pair of sneakers."
"Who, me?" she replied with a laugh. I thought that was you?"
"Me? I was the one who got your hand-me-downs, as if you don't remember. 'I just bought this for your sister last year and it's almost like new, Ginny dear,' Mom would always say. Good thing you have the boobs in the family though. At least I got to have my own bras. Not that I wouldn't rather have been a C than a B."
"So, is that why you called, to complain about your breast size?" Karen kidded me. "You know they do wonders with silicone, if you're still jealous."
"No, actually, there was another reason, Karen. I was hoping you could give me some advice. I'm worried about Jamie."
"Oh," Karen said with concern, "is he acting up? That's not unusual, Ginny, when a child has lost a parent. Maybe he could use some counseling. I can check around for a child therapist in your area. Maybe it would be good for both of you," she suggested.
"No, we're both fine. Well, you know, we're okay. The problem with Jamie isn't his behavior. He's a perfect angle. In fact, that's the problem, sort of."
"I'm sorry, Ginny, I don't get it. How can his not being a problem be a problem?"
I sighed.
"Let me start at the beginning."
Karen listened patiently.
"Today I took Jamie shopping. Just like you took Debbie," I added, "although it wasn't for clothes. We went to the toy store to use the gift certificate you gave him for his birthday." Karen kept quiet. "We'll, to make a long story short, he picked out a doll."
"You mean one of those action figures? I wouldn't worry about it, Ginny. Boys tend to be more aggressive in their fantasy play then girls. I'm not a big fan of war toys, but they promote them heavily on TV and the consensus is that they're harmless."
"No, Karen, not an action figure, a girl doll in a pink party dress, like Cindy Lou."
"A girl doll?" Karen questioned.
"Yes," I confirmed.
"I see." She paused and then asked me, "if you were concerned about the appropriateness of his picking out a doll, why didn't you tell him he couldn't have it?"
I sighed again.
"I did. Or at least I tried."
"What did you say to him?"
"I told him that dolls were for girls and suggested he find something else."
"And?"
"And he asked me why."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him that girls played with dolls to practice for when they became mommies."
"He didn't accept that?"
"He asked me whether he would be a mommy, if he got the doll."
I could hear an intake of breath as Karen stifled a laugh at the humorous question."
"What did you tell him?"
"I said that only girls could be mommies. Boys grow up to be daddies."
"Go on."
"He asked me why. I told him that boys' and girls' bodies were different. That's about as far as it went. I encouraged him to find another toy, even tried to entice him back into the boy's toy aisle with an offer of ice cream, but he really wanted the doll." I paused and then continued. "Karen, I just couldn't think of a good reason not to let him have it and I didn't want to tell him no without a good reason. He's been though a lot and I thought, well, maybe he needed a companion. There's just the two of us. I mean, kids have imaginary friends. Maybe he was being more realistic. Or maybe it was just one of those childish whims and he would get tired of it quickly. What do boys know about playing with dolls? I saved the packaging, so I can return it."
"Has he gotten tired of it, Ginny?"
"No, not yet, but it's only been a day."
"If you think that he will give it up, why are you concerned?"
"I'm not concerned. I'm, well, I'm just curious. I was hoping you could give me some help on how to deal with the situation."
"Ginny, curious means looking something up in Dr. Spock's book; concerned means calling your sister and asking her for advice about your son's behavior. The first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one. That is what I tell my patients. Having said that, I have to tell you, it is not considered good practice to counsel your family. You can't have the necessary professional detachment and, if something turns out badly, and psychology is not an exact science, you can damage your relationship with someone you care about."
"It's okay, Karen, I understand. You can't help me. I'm sorry I asked."
"Ginny, no, I didn't say I couldn't help you. I said I couldn't counsel you. The difference is between providing general advice and getting myself personally involved. Let's start with identifying what is really bothering you and then we can look at how to deal with it. Okay, Sis?"
"Okay, Karen."
"All right, then. I assume your basic question is whether it is harmful for a boy to play with a girl's toy. The short answer is no. Toys aren't gender specific. It's our society that makes the distinction. Think about it, Karen. If Jim were alive," she waited to see if she had touched a painful subject."
"Go ahead," I reassured her.
"Fathers are concerned about their sons being manly, much more so than mothers. Jim never would have allowed you to buy Jamie a doll. I'm sure Dave," that was Karen's husband, "would be equally opposed to it, if we had a boy, even with my assurance that it was harmless. You would have told Jamie that his father would not allow it, end of story. Without that masculine constraint, you had no excuse and the fact that Jamie's been through a lot made it even easier for you to give in."
"I'm relieved that I didn't do anything wrong. Thank you so much, Sis. I don't know what I would do without you?"
"Ginny, you never have to do without me. I'll always be here for you, but not so fast. Although there is no harm in a boy playing with a doll, children can be very cruel. His friends will not be as understanding as his mother and aunt. In that regard, you may not have done him a favor. I'm sorry, Ginny, but you asked and I have to give you the full answer."
"Well, I did tell him he only could play with the doll in my room, in case he has friends over, and I also told him not to talk about it either. Do you think that will prevent him from being teased?"
"Ginny, I told you, I can't give you personal advice. You have to make your own decision and live with it. So will Jamie. Is it more important for him to have the doll and whatever enjoyment it gives him or more important to protect him from being hurt, if he can't keep it a secret? You now him better than I do. You know how vulnerable he is and you know his needs. If you want to talk it over with someone, I can find you a therapist."
"No, not right now anyway. Like I said, it's only been a day. As long as having it isn't bad for him, I'll wait and see what happens. I'm still hoping he'll lose interest and I can return it. I remember that we had all sorts of doll's stuff and each other or our girlfriends to play with to make it fun."
"Okay, Ginny. Please call me in a couple of days and let me know what happens."
"I will, Karen, and thanks."
"No problem. Love you."
"Love you too. Bye."
I felt relieved as I hung up the phone. It was nine o'clock. I picked up a book I had started and read a few more chapters. At ten thirty, I put the book down. I decided to get up early and make Jamie his favorite breakfast, chocolate chip pancakes, hoping that his coming right down to breakfast would make him forget about the doll. Then I would take him to the park. He could use the wooden playground and feed the ducks in the pond. He liked that and it would get us out of the house. We could stop for a burger and fries on the way home. Maybe, I thought, he had been spending too much time around me. Jim would have taken him out in the backyard to play a sport. He was a big baseball and football fan, or even to a game. I played field hockey in high school, but they didn't have girls' sports teams when I was growing up. Do they have teams for six year olds? Soccer was popular. I should look into it. Jamie definitely needed to be around men and other boys more. Jamie usually woke up about seven, so I set the alarm for six thirty. I got up to look in on him, then got into bed and turned out the light.
The alarm went off and I got up, put on a robe and went down to start breakfast. On my way, I checked on Jamie. He was asleep and the doll was next to him. He must have come into my bedroom during the night. Children, at last six year olds, have no sense of time. He probably got up thinking that it was morning and then fell asleep playing with it. I decided not to take the doll away from him. I didn't want him to wake up and worry about what happened to it. Well, so much for the diversion of chocolate chip pancakes. Even so, I might as well make them, since I was already up. I could still follow my plan to get him out of the house and away from the doll for the day. Since I no longer had to have breakfast ready before he woke up, I went back to my room, washed up, put on some makeup, tied my hair back with a scrunchy, and went down to the kitchen. I mixed up the batter, but waited to make the pancakes, until Jamie came down. I expected that he would sleep late. Who knew when he got up or how long he played before his wee hour excursion caught up with him.
At about a quarter of nine I head him moving around upstairs and a few minutes later he appeared in the kitchen. He had the doll with him.
"Jamie," I chided him, "I told you before, we don't bring toys to the table. And," I added," you should not have taken the doll out of my room without asking me."
"You were sleeping, Mommy," he explained.
"I was sleeping because it was nighttime and you should have been sleeping too. Not wandering around the house and not playing with your toys. It was dark when you woke up, wasn't it. That's nighttime. If you need something, you can call me and I'll come, but you need to stay in bed. It's not safe for you to be walking around the house when I'm not up and I don't want you taking things out of my room without asking me. Okay?"
"Uh huh," he agreed sheepishly.
"Good. Now, here's the story. I made you chocolate chip pancakes. Sit down and have your breakfast. I'll put the doll on the stairs. After breakfast, you can get dressed and we'll go to the park. Then we can get a burger for lunch. How does that sound?"
Jamie nodded his approval and then he asked, "can Jamie come too?"
I sighed with exasperation.
"No, you need to leave your doll at home. I told you about not letting anyone know you had her. Remember. It is important," I emphasized. "Some of the other boys and girls might not understand. Jamie, if you can't keep it a secret, then I will have to take the doll back," I warned him.
"No, Mommy, please," he said excitedly. "Please don't take Jamie back. I'll won't tell. Honest. Please, Mommy, please?"
"I didn't say I was going to take her back, Honey," I relented. "I only wanted to be sure you understood that you can't tell anyone about her. If you do, I will have to take her away, but not otherwise. Okay?"
"Okay," he conceded.
"Okay," I agreed. "Eat up and then we'll get ready to go out. It will be a fun day." Especially for me, if I don't have to deal with the doll, I added to myself.
After breakfast, we went upstairs. Jamie washed up and brushed his teeth. I combed his hair. He really did need a haircut. I had him change his underpants and picked out a light blue cotton t-shirt and dark blue shorts with an elastic waist. White cotton socks and a pair of sneakers completed his outfit.
We got in the car and drove to the park. It was a beautiful, sunny summer day. I sent Jamie off to the playground while I sat on one of the benches and watched. He seemed to be enjoying himself and I was happy to see that he was playing normally with the other kids. After an hour or so, I called him back and we went over to the duck pond. Lunch was a kids' meal with a plastic figure of a pirate. Jamie looked at the toy and put it back in the bag.
It was three thirty when we got home. I had put the doll back on the upholstered chair in my room and hoped that Jamie would go back to his regular toys, but no. As soon as we got in the house, he went upstairs and I could see him turn right, into my bedroom.
Jamie needed back to school clothes, but I had put off our shopping trip, hoping to be able to return the doll when we went. Since it did not seem like that was going to happen any time soon, the next day I took Jamie back to the mall. We went into the department store. It was set up so that you had to go through the girls' 4-6X section to get to the boys' side. As we passed through, Jamie stopped.
"Come on, Honey, these are girls' clothes. The boys' clothes are over there," I told him, taking his hand and starting to walk.
He resisted and I stopped. I turned and saw that he was looking at a pink taffeta party dress with a full skirt and white sash tied in a bow around the little girl manikin's waist. The dress looked similar to the one his doll wore.
"Oh, yes, Honey, that dress does look like the one on your doll. It's very pretty. Now let's go, we have to buy you clothes for school."
"Can I have that?"
It took me a couple of seconds to realize what the 'that' was that he was talking about.
"You mean the dress?"
"Uh huh."
"No, Jamie, absolutely not. Boys don't wear dresses. They're for girls when they want to look pretty."
"Please, Mommy," he asked nicely.
I knelt down, so that I was at his level when I spoke to him.
"Jamie, you can't have a dress. Only girls wear dresses."
"Why?"
The same question as he asked about the doll.
"Because girls wear different clothes than boys, that's why," I explained patiently.
"Girls wear pants and shirts like me."
"Girls wear pants and shirts in different colors and designs than boys." Looking at the dress, I pointed out, "see, its pink. That's a girl's color and the dress has lace around the neck, sleeves and hem. Lace is especially for girls too."
Jamie gave me a puzzled look.
"You wear the same clothes as me."
I had on a pair of jeans and a white, jewel neckline short sleeved cotton top that looked similar to a t-shirt. This was not going as well as I would have liked.
"Jamie, my clothes may look like yours, but they're designed differently for a woman."
Not that women didn't or at least couldn't wear men's clothes. Growing up, Karen and I would borrow our Dad's shirts for beach cover ups, although we left them open and knotted the tails, and Mom bought us boy's boxers to sleep in. This wasn't the time for debating the double standard.
"Jamie wears a dress."
That took me by surprise. No he doesn’t. Then I realized he was talking about Jamie, his doll. That would make it easier, since she was a girl.
"You doll is a girl, Jamie. That's why she is wearing a dress."
"No."
"No, what?"
"Jamie's not a girl. She's like me."
This was getting out of hand. How could I argue with a six year old about his doll's gender. He was too young to understand the physical differences between men and women and the doll wasn't anatomically correct anyway. I needed to put an end to his confusion once and for all.
"Jamie, I am not going to argue with you. Boys wear boy's clothes and girls wear girl's clothes. This is the Girl's Department. We need to shop in the Boy's Department, because you are a boy. Now I don't want to hear any more about you wanting a dress."
I stood up and took his hand.
"Let's go, please."
Jamie was carried along by my momentum as I started to walk and, after a few seconds of resistance while he got his balance, began to follow along. When we got to the Boy's Department, I made a show of picking out pants and shirts, asking him his opinion as to color and style. He was agreeable, but unenthusiastic. After buying two pairs of corduroys, a pair of chinos, two pairs of jeans, an assortment of shirts and a dark blue and dark green long-sleeved knit pullover, we were done. He had plenty of underwear and socks, but I wanted him to have another pair of sneakers. I also wanted to avoid going back through the girls' clothes. Unfortunately, children's shoes was a single department and there were a lot of girls' styles on display. I watched Jamie as his eyes went to a pair of black patent leather Mary Jane's, similar to the one on his doll. I shook my head, regretting my decision to buy it for him, regardless of Karen's assurance. I kept hold of his hand and quickly went to the boy's sneakers. I had Jamie sit down on a stool while the salesclerk fitted him to a very expensive pair of Nike's. They were black, with a high tech sole for kiddy athletes, which I hoped would make him feel more masculine. I added the shoe box to the three bags of clothes.
On the way out, Jamie stopped and looked at me.
"Mommy, please."
"No."
We left the mall and drove home. As I was driving, I debated taking the doll away from him, but my being an Indian-giver wasn't the solution. It would just upset him. Was there another way to handle this? Karen had said that it wasn't the toy, but our prejudices that determined who could play with it. Could it be the same with clothes? Was I being too conventional? What was it about dresses that limited them to being worn by females? What if I bought him the dress, I wondered? It definitely would make him happy. Just like the doll, I could have him wear it around the house and keep it in my closet. Nobody would know. Just a special secret shared between the two of us. Besides, I rationalized, he has plenty of boy's clothes and once he starts school, once he gets involved with other boys, maybe I even get him on a team, he will forget all about the doll and the dress. Maybe I should run this by Karen. Then again, whether I should let Jamie wear a dress is well beyond general advice and she said she couldn't counsel me. That means our going to a stranger and having to spend months talking about my most intimate feelings. No thank you.
"Jamie," I called up to him, "come down here for a second, please."
About a minute later he appeared.
"I've been thinking, Honey. Are you really serious about wanting that dress you saw at the mall? If I bought it for you," I added without giving him time to respond, "would you really wear it?"
"Uh huh," Jamie said nodding his head and smiling. "Uh huh," he repeated.
"Jamie, if," and I emphasized 'if,' I did buy it for you, you would have to promise me, 'promise me,' I emphasized, cross your heart, Sweetie, that you would never ever, I emphasized 'never' and ever' tell anybody about it. Jamie," I said very seriously, "people would not understand why a boy wore a dress and it would be a big, big, I emphasized both 'bigs,' problem.
"I will Mommy, I promise," he quickly agreed, making an X over his heart.
"I need to think about it some more. I'll tell you what. Let me put one of my t-shirts on you. I have some pretty ones. They're long enough to feel like a dress. Why don't you see if you like it before we buy one for you. Okay?"
Jamie shook his head enthusiastically.
"Come with me."
We went into my bedroom and I looked through my dresser. There was a light yellow ribbed cotton tank top that had gotten in with some of the towels and went through the hot wash cycle and into the dryer on high. It had shrunk up to child's size and would be just right for Jamie to try. I took it out and held it up against him. It was perfect.
"Let's take off your clothes and try this on."
When he was down to his underpants, I slipped the tank top over his head and adjusted the wide straps to sit on his shoulders. I tugged on the bottom to stretch it out, which brought it down to about his mid-thigh and made it fit tighter. I couldn't resist and used my brush to fluff up his hair into a more feminine style. I was tempted to part it in the middle and make bangs, but that would be going too far. Even so, he could have passed for a little girl.
"Well, Jamie, do you like your dress?"
To my surprise, he wasn't enthusiastic.
"It's okay."
"What's wrong with it?"
"I don't know."
"Come over her and look in the mirror."
I brought him over to my full length mirror on the back of the closet door.
"Look at yourself. Turn around," I directed. "Hold out the bottom of the skirt a little. Do you like it or not?"
"I don't look like Jamie."
"You mean your doll?"
"Uh huh."
"Jamie, mothers and daughters," I didn't know how else to put it, "don't always wear the same clothes. Sometimes they have matching outfits, for special times, like a birthday, but otherwise they wear different things. You didn't wear the same clothes your father wore and you wouldn't wear the same clothes that I wear, if you were my daughter."
I have no idea why I made that comparison.
He thought about it for a minute, then turned back and admired himself in the mirror, holding out the hem of the dress again, the way I had showed him. He nodded his head and looked up at me, which I took to mean his asking whether we were done.
"Go ahead, Jamie. You can play for a bit. Then I want to talk to you a little more, once you've had a chance to see how you feel about wearing a dress. Okay?"
When Jamie came downstairs, he left the doll on my bed and it was still there, after we finished putting him into his make-shift, I gave a little laugh at my pun, because that was what we had done, made him a shift dress. He went over, picked her up and, to my surprise, walked back to the mirror, cradling her in the crook of his arm, the way I had shown him, and modeling it for her, at least a boy's version of how a girl would preen in front of a mirror. He spent about five minutes turning this way and that, talking softly to the doll, holding her out to look at him and then went back to sit on the bed with her. I decided to give him his privacy and left. On the way out, I noticed that he had let his dress ride up and his underpants were showing. He would obviously need some instruction on skirt management, I thought to myself, which also got me to questioning whether I was serious about buying him a real dress. There was a lot more to being a girl than the clothes. Was I prepared to go that far with him? Then again, why even bother, if nobody was going to see him? Did he want to be a girl or just to look like his doll? Well, he was satisfied for now. I had time to give it some more thought.
TO BE CONTINUED
All Dolled Up - Part II
By Missy Crystal
Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.
Jamie played with his doll for the rest of the afternoon. I wondered what was holding his interest for so long, since children usually had a short attention span. He had no experience with dolls and he lacked the accessories to create more elaborate make believe. Finally, my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to see what he was doing.
"Jamie, Honey, can I play too?" I asked.
He looked at me blankly.
"I used to have fun playing with my doll, Cricket. I wish I knew what happened to her. She's probably in a box in your grandmother's attic." I pretended to give it some thought and then suggested, "It was even more fun when my sister, your Aunt Karen, played with me. It's been a really long time, so could I play dolls with you?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"You don't want me to play with you?"
He shrugged his shoulders again and held the doll tightly.
You don't have to share the doll, Honey. Let's just pretend we're at the grocery store. I can get some cans of food and little boxes of cereal and I think we have a cardboard box you could use for a shopping cart. We can use the kitchen table to checkout. I'll give you some coins from my pocketbook and I can be the cashier. How does that sound?"
Karen and I used to play store with our dolls. Sometimes we raided Mom's kitchen cabinets, sometimes we used our play food and sometimes we pretended it was a department store using our dolls' wardrobes. For some reason, probably the same one that made her such a good psychologist, she always ended up as the customer. I made that concession to Jamie, but it didn't make any difference. Since the more subtle approach wasn't working, I decided to be direct.
"Jamie," I asked as casually as I could, so as not to make him think I was concerned, "what do you do when you play with your doll?"
"I don't know," he answered noncommittally.
"Jamie, you must do something. Do you play a game with her?"
He shook his head.
"Do you talk to her?"
"Uh huh," he answered quietly.
"What do you talk about?
"I don't know."
"You talk to her, but you don't know what you say?"
"Nothing."
"Jamie, you can't talk about nothing," I insisted. "Do you talk about you? Do you talk about your friends? Do you talk about me?" I hesitated and then asked him, "Do you talk about your father? Please tell me."
I could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes and heard a quiet sob. Obviously, it was something very personal and he wasn't comfortable sharing it with me. Maybe I was right about the doll being an emotional outlet for him, a companion who he could trust not to give away his secrets. The reason I didn't want counseling was because I didn't want to explain my intimate feelings to a stranger, no matter how well meaning. Why shouldn't I give Jamie the same respect for his feelings? I got down on my knees and took him in my arms, the doll in between us.
"Jamie, Honey, Mommy's sorry. Please don't cry. If you want to talk to me, you can, but you don't have to," I apologized. "I, well, I just thought maybe it would be fun to have someone to play with, like when I was a little girl and played with my sister, but it's up to you. Really, Honey. I have lots of things to do. If you change your mind, you can come get me. Okay?"
I let go of him and stood up.
He clamed down and, as I left the room, he was back talking to the doll. I wondered if I bought him some different outfits for his doll, would he change how he played with her? Would he dress her or did clothes not matter to him, the way it did to girls. He had the comb and brush, but he didn't style her hair either. Then again, girls are used to fooling around with their hair and boys aren't, so that wasn't surprising. I sighed. In one sense, it really didn't matter. So long as it made him happy, that was good enough; but was that all there was to it?
That evening, we went through the usual routine. Jamie had the doll with him when he came down for dinner, but remembered to leave her on the stairs before he came to the table. After dinner, we went into the den to watch a video. We decided on Disney's Aladdin. He sat down on the sofa, while I put the tape into the VCR. When I came back, his dress, well I guess it had become that, was rumpled and he had his legs spread out.
"Jamie, Honey." I instinctively corrected him, "Girls don't sit like that." Or boys in dresses either, the thought came to me. "You need to tuck your dress under you and cross your legs at your knees or your ankles. Or you can sit Indian style and pull your dress down to cover your legs. It's not polite to let people see your panties." Oops, silly slip of the tongue. "I mean your underpants. Try it."
Jamie stood up and looked at me questioningly. He was still holding the doll.
"First, Sweetie, you need to put the doll down. You can pick her up in a minute."
He put the doll on the sofa.
"Okay, now take your hands and slide them underneath your bottom, then slide back on the cushions, like this."
I wasn't wearing a skirt, but I demonstrated the motion for him to copy.
"Good boy." Boy? "See, your dress is nice and smooth. Now you need to keep you legs together. Try pulling them up and crossing them under you. Is that comfortable?"
He was awkward, but at his age he was flexible enough to get in position.
"Now, cover your legs with the dress. Hmm, it is a bit short. Okay, then, tuck it down between your legs. Here, like this."
I adjusted the dress so that it was about as concealing as possible. If Jamie was a girl, she would have to wear leggings or shorts under it for modesty. Since he wasn't and he wasn't going out dressed like that, I don't know why I even bothered with the lesson in feminine deportment. When I indicated my approval, Jamie picked the doll back up and I pressed the play button on the remote. The video started and, as he watched the TV, I wondered whether he saw himself as Aladdin, the brash boy who saves the kingdom, or as Jasmine, the pretty girl who inspires Aladdin to overcome his past.
After the movie, we went upstairs to get Jamie ready for bed. I had him take off his dress and put on his regular pajamas. When it was time for the story, the doll was on the pillow between us. When I finished, I looked down at him and decided that there was no longer any reason to take the doll away for the night. It would also avoid any more of his nocturnal adventures to retrieve it.
"Jamie, I'm going to let you keep the doll with you. Do be careful with her. Sweet dreams."
He looked up at me with a smile and snuggled down under the covers, with his left arm resting on the doll."
I left, turned out the light and closed the door, leaving it ajar. I went to my bedroom and got undressed. As I was pulling on my old t-shirt, I thought back to when I would wear seductive nightgowns for Jim. Because he traveled so much, our time together was precious and I always wanted to look ultra-sexy for him. I had one black lace number that never stayed on me very long. I wore panties under it to keep him at bay for an additional thirty seconds, I reminded myself nostalgically. It was still early. I debated calling Karen and filling her in, but I knew she would discourage me from buying Jamie the dress until we had gone though counseling and I had already decided that I would not put either him or me through that. I picked up my book and read until I was tired, set the alarm for seven thirty and turned off the light.
The alarm went off and I got up. I peeked into Jamie's room to check on him. He was still asleep. He had rolled over, so that the doll was lying on the pillow next to his head. I went back to my room and used the time to wash up, do my hair, put on some makeup, since we would be going out later, and get dressed. I looked at my nails, which needed attention, and made a mental note to get a manicure. I didn't go to the beauty salon anymore, because I had no one to watch Jamie. If he was into dolls and dresses, maybe I could take him with me and he wouldn't be bored? No, what are you thinking, Virginia, I chided myself. Dolls and dresses or not, he is still a boy and you want him to get over it, not into it. Should I buy him the dress, then? I had already told him I would and it wouldn't be right to disappoint him. Besides, wearing my old tank top for a day is one thing, but he can't be serious about dressing like a girl. Why would he want to do that? Girl's clothes, at last the feminine ones, are complicated, with what they have to wear under them, and a nuisance. He's already seen how much trouble it is to sit in a dress. Wait until he has to manage a party dress with a stiff crinoline. He'll see how much better it is to be a boy.
On that note, I went down to get breakfast ready. On the way, I thought about the practical details of buying a boy a dress. What size did I wear when I was six? I had no idea, since my mother bought my clothes for me or I got Karen's hand-me-downs, which I would "grow into," as Mom assured me. I suppose I could call her and ask. That would be an interesting conversation. Why get her involved at all? Mom loves to gossip, so she would tell Karen, who would put two and two together and I would get an inquisitive call. Anyway, I had no idea if Jamie and I were the same size at that age. He is small, but how big was I? Misses dress sizes also vary between brands. Sometimes I wear a six and sometimes an eight. Girl's dresses probably were the same. Could I take him into the dressing room to try it on? Would they let a boy try on dresses? Probably not, if they knew. Do they have to know? He looked like a girl when I dressed him in my tank top. It was too skimpy even for a little girl to wear in public. She'd flash her panties, no matter how careful she was; but, with a little styling of his hair and some unisex clothes, like shorts, a plain top and sneakers, he could probably pass for my daughter.
I remembered that a couple of months ago I had mixed some of his white underwear in with the dark wash and they had come out tinted pink. I had been meaning to get some Clorox to try bleaching them, but hadn't gotten around to it. They should still be in the laundry room. I went in, rummaged around the odd clothing pile, socks that didn't match, but which I optimistically believed would have their mate turn up, and ripped t-shirts that would be good for cleaning rags, that kind of stuff, and found a pair of the underpants and a crew-necked short-sleeved t-shirt. They would do nicely to enhance the illusion of Jamie being a girl, while he tried on dresses. I brought them to the kitchen and put them aside, while I finished making breakfast.
About twenty minutes later, I heard him coming downstairs. As before, he had obediently left the doll on the stairs. I gave him his breakfast and sat down across the table from him.
"Did you sleep will, Sweetie?" I inquired, making small talk.
"Uh huh," he answered between spoonfuls of fruit loops.
"Jamie," I continued nonchalantly, "do you still want to me to buy you the dress?"
I was hoping he would say no after my coaching with the tank top, but he nodded his head.
"Okay, then. If you really want me to, I will. But Honey, you have to remember, it's our secret. You can't let anyone know that I bought you a dress. It's, well, boys don't wear dresses. I mean they can, you can, but well, people, most people, would think there was, umm, that you were, umm, that it was wrong." No, that wasn't what I wanted to say. "Not wrong, Jamie, but, umm, different. Different," I repeated. "Sometimes people are not very tolerant, umm, patient, you know, nice, when things aren't what they expect." How do you explain prejudice to a six year old? "Do you understand, Jamie?"
He gave me a puzzled look.
"Never mind, Honey. Don't worry about. Mommy will take care of it. Let's go get you dressed, so we can go to the mall."
I picked up the underwear and brought it with us. We went into his room and I had him take off his pajamas. I showed him the underpants and undershirt.
"Jamie, remember when you were looking at the dress in the store, I told you that pink was for girls?"
"Uh huh."
"Jamie, you really need to use words and not sounds," I corrected him. "Yes or no and the person's name, if you know it, or Mommy, if your talking to me. Please and thank you too. That is the way polite children speak to adults or their mother. Will you do that, please Jamie," I illustrated. "Now, I'll ask you again. Do you remember when you were looking at the dress and I told you that pink was for girls?
"Yes, Mommy," he complied.
"Thank you for listening, Sweetie. When we go shopping today, you have to pretend to be a girl, so that we can shop in the Girls Department. I need to have you try on the dress to make sure it fits and they won't let a boy do that. See," I said, holding up his underpants. "They're the same as a girl would wear." Well, except for having a fly, but he wouldn't know that girls pulled down their panties when they tinkled. "And your t-shirt is pink too."
I handed them to him. Except for the color, they were identical to what he was used to, so there was no difficulty in him putting them on. I went to his bureau and found a pair of red cotton shorts with white piping. Plain white sox and his old sneakers, which weren't as macho as the fancy Nike's I just bought completed his unisex outfit. I got my round styling brush and fluffed up his hair, pulling it forward to frame his face. I had a silly thought of using some perfume, but I didn't think a six year old should smell like Passion. Jim loved that scent on me, but bubble gum was probably what little girls wore. Or maybe a little nail polish to give him a more feminine appearance. Except that all I had was red, much too grown up. Besides, why get into that with him? The less feminine he felt, the more likely he would give up and go back to being a boy.
Once Jamie was ready, I got my pocketbook and we headed for the mall. I could see that he was excited. We parked and walked to the department store. When we reached the Girls Department, I took Jamie's hand. The pink party dress was on a manikin set on top of a circular rack of the same dresses, separated by size with dividers, 4, 5, 6 and 6X. Jamie wore a boys' size six. Boys' sizes corresponded to their age, if they were average in height and weight. I assumed girls' sizes were about the same, although there was only one way to find out. I took a size six and went up to the sales counter.
"Hello," the salesgirl greeted us.
She was a young woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, very pretty, with dark hair pulled back off her face with a gold clip on either side, dressed in a faded blue denim skirt with a summery pale yellow short-sleeved blouse, open at the neck to show off a gold chain.
"I'm Claire." Looking at the dress I was holding and then down at Jamie, she smiled and asked, "Would you like to try it on and see how pretty you look in it?" accepting him as a little girl, to my relief. Here," she offered, handing me a plastic card with a large number one on it. "The dressing rooms are over there," she directed us.
I took the dress and held Jamie's hand as we walked to the dressing room. If Claire did suspect anything, she was considerate enough not to embarrass us. I wondered if she ever had a boy try on a dress, as a boy. Well, no reason to start now. We got to the doorway that led to the dressing rooms, which had a louvered swinging door for privacy, but underneath which you could see the legs of the people inside. At least you could have, if there was anyone else using them, but we were alone. I took Jamie into the last one on the right. Inside, I hung the dress on a hook. There was a large floor length mirror on the left partition, as you went in.
"Jamie, let's take off your shorts and sneakers. You can keep your underpants and t-shirt on."
He reached down and undid the Velcro tabs on his sneakers and stepped out of them. I helped him pull down and step out of his shorts. Okay, the moment of truth. Truth or dare, I joked nervously to myself. Okay, Ginny, I dare you to put a dress on your son. I pulled down the back zipper and held it over Jamie's head.
"Arms up, Honey."
He raised his arms. The skirt was flared out by a built in nylon net crinoline, so it slipped over his head easily I settled the shoulders on him, pulling up the zipper to secure it in place. There it was, then. He was wearing the dress. I fussed with the bodice, tied the sash in a big bow in back and fluffed out the skirt, the way I would have done if Jamie really was a girl. I was standing behind him and could see him looking at himself in the mirror.
"Jamie," I asked, trying to avoid using any words that would give away that he was a boy, just in case anyone might overhear me, "do you like the dress? Do you like the way it feels on you? You, you look pretty," I complimented him. I made the commitment and it seemed wrong to spoil the moment by being negative. "If you don't like it, we can find something else," I offered.
To my surprise, he put his hands on the skirt and swung back and forth, similar to how he modeled the tank top for his doll. A girl would have spun around and looked over her shoulder to see how she looked from the back, but Jamie was content with seeing how he looked in the dress from the front.
"Jamie?" I repeated.
"I like it, Mommy," he finally responded. "Can I have it? Please," he added.
"Yes, I said I would buy it for you." I bent down and said softly, "but remember, Jamie, it is our special secret. You can't tell anybody that Mommy bought you a dress and you can't tell anybody about wearing the dress, either. Okay?"
"Okay, Mommy."
"Honey, you need to take off the dress and put your shorts and sneakers back on." I untied the sash. "Now, lift up your arms and hold still, while I undo the hook and the zipper. There."
If he were doing it himself and could manage the back zipper, no easy feat, even for a girl who was used to wearing dresses, he would let it drop and step out of it; but, since I was taller, it was easer to lift the dress over his head. I put it back on the hanger while Jamie got himself dressed. I took the dress and went back to the sales counter, where Claire was waiting. I handed her the dress, which she laid on the counter.
"Well, you we're right, it does look pretty on her. We'll take it."
"I'm glad you like it. I wish you had come out and let me see. Pink is definitely her color with the red hair and green eyes. She's going to be a heartbreaker when she grows up. Is she in school?"
"She starts kindergarten in the fall."
"Oh, I'm sure the little boys will be in puppy love," she said with a smile. "You know, we have some really adorable outfits for her to wear to school. Would you like me to show you some?"
"No thank you, Claire, we're all set for now."
I opened my pocketbook and took my credit card out of my wallet.
"Oh, Mrs. McCarthy," she read my name off of the card, "I picked out a few things. I wasn't sure if you would want some nice undies to go with the dress."
Claire was obviously a very good salesperson. She held up a pair of white nylon panties with pink lace trim around the waistband and leg openings and two pink hearts appliquéd on the front and a matching camisole.
"These are so pretty," she enthused. "I just love them and they'll make her feel ever so feminine. These too."
Claire held up a package of white nylon tights. I glanced at Jamie, but he didn't seem interested. I wondered if the doll wore panties. Usually they had something on under their dress. Had he looked? Did he care? Should I get him the real girls' underwear, instead of what he was wearing? Nobody was going to know, so why bother? Why not? Maybe once he wore the dress, he would pay more attention to his doll's outfit and discover that she had girls' underwear. I could always return it, if he didn't want it, the dress too, I hoped. I tried to remember what the doll had on her legs. I doubted she had tights. That would be too difficult for a little girl to manage taking off and putting back on. She probably had socks.
"We'll take the panties. They are very pretty. Not the tights. Jamie has enough of those," I lied. "Perhaps a pair of anklets though? Do you have some dressy ones?"
"Yes, Mrs. McCarthy, I can find some for you, but they only come in cotton, with an eyelet ruffle. Will they do? Oh, we also have some white nylon knee socks," she grinned, "but a lot of the moms think they make their girls look too much like Alice in Wonderland, if you know what I mean. Like in the movie. Do you want the socks?"
"Yes, please."
Claire went over to a rack, conveniently next to the sales counter, and took down a package. Showing them to me for my approval, she asked, "Are these okay?"
"Yes, that will be fine thank, you."
Looking at what Claire had picked out, it struck me that she hadn't asked about sizes, which was really good, because I had no more idea about girls' underwear sizes then I did about dress sizes. I assumed that she must have enough experience to either figure it out from looking at Jamie or matched them to the dress size. At least that was one problem I didn't have to deal with. I heard her mention my name.
"Mrs. McCarthy?"
"Yes?"
"That will be $101.20, with tax, please. Shall I put it on your credit card?"
I hadn't been paying attention and realized that I was so absorbed with Jamie trying on the dress that I hadn't bothered to look at its price tag or the price tags on the other items either.
"Oh, may I see what you've rung up?"
It was a lot more expensive than I had thought, but then, hopefully, I would be returning most of it. Not the socks, once I opened the package, and I didn't know about their panty policy. Some stores, at least women's stores, wouldn't take women's undergarments back for sanitary reasons. Even more so, I thought to myself, if a boy had them on. I could just picture some little girl complaining, "Ewww, mommy, a boy wore these panties. They have cooties."
Claire showed me the register tape. The dress was $68.88 and the panties were $9.00. I didn't pay that much for my own underwear, well, unless I was trying to vamp Jim. Otherwise three to a package cotton panties at the discount store. The cammie was 12.00. The socks were a bargain at $6.50. I gave her my permission to charge everything and signed the slip."
"Would you like the dress on the hanger or in a bag?"
I didn't want to be seen carrying the dress through the mall, in case I ran into someone we knew. It just wasn't worth making up an explanation.
"In a bag please, but may I have the hanger too?"
All of Jamie's hangers were the wire kind that you got from the cleaners. The dress hanger was plastic with a foam covering and had a swivel hook.
"Yes, of course."
Claire folded the dress with tissue paper to keep it from getting wrinkled, slid it into a bag, did the same for the panties and cammie, put in the hanger and handed it to me with the sales receipt and my credit card.
"Thank you very much for shopping with us, Mrs. McCarthy. Please do come back. Ask for me, Claire. I work Tuesday through Saturday, nine to four. It's been a pleasure."
Bye Jamie, she waved.
"Say goodbye to the nice lady, Jamie."
"Goodbye," he repeated as we left the department.
That went well, I congratulated myself. Either Claire was fooled or she put on an academy award winning performance to make the sale. Then a thought crossed my mind. Did she try to sell underwear to every mother or was it because she knew that Jamie was a boy and wouldn't have it. Then again, if I was picking out a party dress for my son, why wouldn't she think that he must already have a wardrobe of girl's clothes at home? Not that what Claire thought mattered. I just wondered how convincing Jamie was at being a girl.
We started through the store towards the mall exit and I felt Jamie stop.
"What's wrong, Honey? Do you have to use the bathroom?"
"No, Mommy. What about the shoes?"
"What shoes, Jamie?"
Like Jamie wears," he explained.
Then it dawned on me, he had seen the Mary Janes in the Children's Shoe Department when we bought him the Nikes.
"You want girl's shoes too?" I said softly, looking around to make sure we were alone.
"Yes, like Jamie has."
I suppose in for a penny, in for a pound, as my Dad would say. As we started towards the Shoe Department, it struck me that the same salesperson who sold Jamie the Nikes as a boy might wait on us, which would be awkward. He sees lots of kid's feet, maybe he won't remember us. Then again, we've been so careful, why take a chance on the deception being discovered? I stopped.
"Jamie, there's another children's shoe store in the mall," which there was.
Even better, considering how much I had already spent and how little he was going to wear the dress, it was one of those self-service, discount stores. That would also avoid the problem that I didn't know what size Jamie wore in girls' shoes. He wore a size 1 boy's shoe, but did girls' shoes use the same size system? As I recalled, women's shoes were a size or two larger than the corresponding men's shoes, which always struck me as backwards. Wouldn't our vanity about having small feet mean that a man's size 9 should be a woman's size 7 or 8 and not a 10 or 11? So would Jamie wear a girls' 1, 2 or 3?
We left the department store and walked through the mall towards the shoe store, which was near the other end. On the way, we passed the ice cream stand. Since we weren't in any rush, I asked him if he would like to stop, which he did, of course. What normal kid would say no to ice cream? As usual, he wanted a vanilla cone with rainbow sprinkles, and I ordered the same small dish of maple walnut. When they came, I decided to let Jamie eat the cone like a boy, so I handed it to him to lick and took my cup. He hesitated and then asked me if he could have it in a cup too. Well, I tried. I asked for a cup and got a spoon and some napkins. When we finished, I picked up the bag and we continued on our way to the shoe store.
The store was set up with long aisles with tiered shelves of shoes in their boxes. Women's were up front on three aisles on the left and men's were on either side of one aisle to the right. At the back were four aisles of kid's shoes and sneakers in open boxes. We went by the displays, until we came to the girl's dress shoes. There was a good selection of Mary Jane styles. As I recalled what Jamie wanted was the black patent leathers. I searched the shelves until I found a pair and took down two boxes, a size 1 and size 2. I had him sit on one of the stools scattered throughout the aisles, undid the Velcro fasteners on his sneakers and slipped on the smaller pair. They were, narrower, which wasn't surprising, since girls' feet ran narrow than boys', and were tight, but then his casual socks were thicker than the anklets. I took off the 1's and tried on the 2's, which fit much better.
"Jamie, Honey, try walking in those. How do they feel?"
He took a few steps up the aisle and back?
"Well?"
"They're okay, mommy. Can we buy them?"
"Jamie, are you sure you want shoes to go with the dress. You can just wear your socks around the house. You could take the doll's shoes and socks off too and both go barefoot," I suggested.
"No," he said and shook his head. "Please?"
"Very well, Sweetie."
I took off the shoes and had him put his sneakers back on while I packed the Mary Janes back in their box, covered it with the lid that was underneath it, took the bag and carried the box to the sales counter. The shoes were a bargain at $14.99. The salesgirl put the box in a plastic bag and I handed it to Jamie to carry, since nobody could tell what was in it. We headed back towards the other end of the mall where I had parked.
As we were just about at the exit, I saw an accessory store with a display of headbands in the window. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I reminded myself to kill my father for putting that stupid expression in my head. Just kidding, I loved him.
"Jamie, would you like a headband like your doll's?"
The idea hadn't occurred to him, but, having been asked, he nodded enthusiastically. We went into the shop. The front had racks and cases of costume jewelry, rings, bracelets, necklaces and every style of earring imaginable. Luckily, I thought to myself, the doll didn't come with pierced ears. The hair items were in the back, a whole wall, from floor to ceiling, of ribbons, barrettes, clips, pony elastics, scrunchies and adornments. At one side, there was a stand with headbands of every material and assorted sizes for infants to adults. I looked through them while Jamie waited patiently and found a small pink plastic one with little flowers that looked similar to what I remembered came with his doll. I took it down and showed it to him.
He smiled. Just to check it was the right size, I slipped it over his head and fitted it behind his ears, pulling back his hair. It stayed in place. I took it off and we took it to the front of the store. At $1.49, it was another bargain. I put the little bag in with the shoes and we went to the car.
It was mid afternoon when we arrived home. I parked the car in the garage and we went into the kitchen. I put the bags down on the table. Jamie looked at me expectantly, obviously anxious to try on his dress.
"Jamie, Honey, please go upstairs and get undressed. Keep on our underwear. Come into my room when you're ready and you can try on your outfit."
He hurried out. I brought the bags upstairs, emptied them and arranged the dress, panties, camisole, socks and shoes on my bed. As I was finishing, Jamie came in. Before we left, I had put the doll back in my room. He went over and picked her up.
"Are you sure, Honey, that you want to wear a dress? You know, they're a nuisance. You saw how much trouble it was to sit in one yesterday and a party dress is even more difficult."
"Yes, please?"
"Yes, you don't want to put on the dress or yes, you do want to wear it," I asked to be doubly sure.
"Wear it," he confirmed.
"Okay. Do you want to keep on the underwear you have on?"
"Does Jamie have pink underpants?"
"You mean Jamie, the doll?"
"Yes."
"I don't know, Honey, I'd have to look. If you give her to me, I'll check."
He handed me the doll. I turned her upside down, exposing what she had under her dress. They were white with gathers at the leg openings and waist that made ruffles. She had nothing on top. I showed Jamie.
"I want what she's wearing, mommy."
"The white underpants?"
"Uh huh?"
"Excuse me."
"Yes, Mommy. Please."
"What about the top, Sweetie. Your doll doesn't have one, but you might be more comfortable with something underneath."
He shrugged, which I took to mean it was up to me.
"Take off your underwear," I directed him.
He pulled the t-shirt over his head and pulled down his underpants, stepping out of them.
I held out the panties and he stepped into them, pulling the smooth material up his legs and settling them around his hips, since they were hip-huggers. Actually, they looked cute on him, with only a tiny bulge at the crotch to give away his secret.
"Arms up."
I slipped the camisole over his head. It had wide straps with the same pink lace edging as the panties and the same heart appliqués.
"Do you like the way your new undies feel, Honey? You can take them off and put on your other underwear, if you don't like them."
He shook his head.
"Words, Jamie, please."
"No, Mommy, I like them. They feel nice."
Oh well, I tried to discourage him. I slipped the socks on next and turned down the cuffs. Finally, it was time for the dress.
"Arms up again, please."
I unzipped the back and slipped the skirt over Jamie's head, then let it settle on his shoulders and did up the zipper. I adjusted the top, tied the sash and reached under the skirt to flare out the crinoline. Last came the shoes, which I had him slip on and buckled. Now the outfit was complete. Oops, no I forgot the headband. I used my brush to give his hair some fullness and slipped it on. Looking at him, I couldn't get over it. He was a real doll. Except for the fact that he was awkward in the way he moved, girls become accustomed to wearing dresses from the time they're old enough to walk, he could easily be my daughter. Not that I wanted a daughter. I was happy with a son. He was happy dressed like his doll.
"Jamie, are you really sure you want to do this? You know, you don't have to wear the dress to play with your doll."
Then he said something that worried me.
"No, I'm Jamie's mommy."
I thought back to the day in the toy store when I was trying to talk him out of the doll. I told him that girls play with dolls to practice for when they grow up to be mommies. He asked me if he would be a mommy, if he played with the doll, and I told him no, he would grow up to be a daddy. Then at the department store, I explained to him that only girls wore dresses. Did he put the two together and believe that wearing a dress would turn him into a girl and make him a mommy? Standing in front of me, wearing a dress and holding a doll, now did not seem like the right time for me to disappoint him with the reality that he was a boy and could never be a mother.
"Look in the mirror," I directed him. "Are you really sure you want to wear the dress," I asked, offering him a final chance to change his mind.
He swung to and fro, with the skirt swirling out, holding the doll so to face the mirror, so that she could see he was dressed like her, and shook his head.
"Okay," I agreed reluctantly, "you can play. Please stay in my room," I cautioned him. I don't want you to get your dress dirty. It can't be washed." It also meant that he would be restricted to playing just with his doll, which might be less fun, unless he figured out that he could bring toys from his room into my room. Then again, he didn't seem to be into the elaborate make-believe girls played. "And please sit carefully, so you don't get it wrinkled," so it won't look like it was worn, in case you get tired of wearing it, and I can return it, I encouraged myself. "I'm going downstairs for a little while. I'll call you when dinner's ready. Oh, and Jamie, Honey, you'll have to change back into your own clothes to eat. You wouldn't want to spill anything on your dress and spoil it. Have fun, Sweetie."
I cleaned up the tissue paper from the bed, putting it into the bag to save, in case I took the dress back, covered the shoe box, put it and the shoe store bag into the large department store bag and took them downstairs to put in the hall closet with the doll's box. Closing the closet door, I picked up the mail from the floor and went into the kitchen. I made myself a cup of tea and went through the mail, a few circulars and a couple of bills. Since I had time before starting dinner, spaghetti and jarred meat sauce didn't take very long to prepare, I took my checkbook out of the drawer and paid the bills.
After I finished my tea and bookkeeping, I was curious to see what Jamie was doing, so I went upstairs quietly and stood outside the doorway. He was sitting on my bed, I noticed that he had pulled down his dress, so it covered his knees, like I had showed him, and he was again talking to the doll. I strained to listen to his conversation without revealing that I was eavesdropping.
"Mommy," "Jamie," "pretty," "good," "girl," "play" and "sister," were the words I overheard. Sister? Where did that word come from? Jamie didn't have a sister. We never talked about a sister. Maybe he knew that Karen's daughters were sisters, but, if he was pretending to be the mother, then the doll would be his daughter, not his sister. Did the doll have an imaginary sibling or was he talking about someone else in that role? Me? Technically, I would be the doll's grandmother, although he was too young to understand family relationships. Karen was his aunt and she was my sister. Maybe he was confusing the two. Maybe I should mind my own business and then I wouldn't be puzzled, but I was his mother and had a right to know what he was doing. I turned and went back downstairs to start dinner.
At four thirty, I decided Jamie had been in his dress long enough. I went back upstairs and into my bedroom. He had moved from the bed and was sitting on the floor in front of the mirror. The doll was sitting in his lap and he was still having a conversation with her.
"Jamie, Honey, it's time to change for dinner. Let's get you undressed and put on your regular clothes. Actually, you might as well get into your pajamas. Put the doll down and come over here, please."
I helped him out of the dress and put it on the hanger it came on. As he watched, I made some space in my closet and put it away, closing the door.
"It will be there tomorrow," I assured him. "I want to keep your panties, I mean underpants, and top in my room too, so they will stay nice."
I helped him off with the cammie and waited for him to slip off the underpants and step out of them. I folded them neatly on top of my bureau.
"They'll by here for you tomorrow, too. Now, scoot in your room and put on your regular underpants and PJ's." I waved my hand to dismiss him and he went out slowly, looking back over his shoulder."
"Jamie, enough with the doll and the dress for today, Honey," I chided him. "Really, they're not going anywhere, I promise." Not that I didn't hope they would eventually go somewhere, back to the store. "Come downstairs when you've changed."
I followed Jamie out of my room and went downstairs to finish getting dinner ready. He came down dressed for bed, as usual. I was hoping he had enough of the doll for one day, but I saw it sitting on the stairs. During dinner, I casually asked him how he liked the dress. Okay, he told me, uninformatively. Did he want to keep it? Yes.
We ate quietly. There isn't a lot of conversation that you can have with a six year old boy, particularly if he spends most of the day dressed in girl's clothes and playing with a doll. When he was done, he looked at me and I told him he was excused.
Jamie got up and started to leave, then hesitated and turned to me.
"Mommy, can I put on the dress please?"
I was relieved to hear him say "the dress," rather than "my dress," which made it sound to me like he considered it more of a costume and not his wardrobe. Then again, children are not very precise in their language, so perhaps it was just wishful thinking. Either way, I had enough of dressing him up.
"No, Jamie, you cannot wear the dress again today. You're a boy, not a girl, and boys don't wear dresses. I should never have bought it for you," I said angrily. Now go watch TV or play with your toys."
I watched Jamie's face as it turned from an expectant smile to sadness. His lip began to quiver, then shudders, sobs and tears began to stream down his face.
Virginia, what in the world have you just done? That is twice in the same day you have made your son cry. You are an awful mother, I admonished myself. Children need consistency more than anything. You told him no, then yes, now no. If it is no, then it has to be final. Take the dress away, return it, and the shoes, get rid of the underwear, and be done with it. It won't be the last time that you change your mind or that you tell him he can't have something he wants. That's what being a parent is about, keeping your child from doing things that are harmful. Was it harmful? If it was, could the harm be undone by taking it away? Whatever you decide, I warned myself, you will have to live with it. So will Jamie. I made up my mind.
I went over and hugged him tightly as big sobs continued to wrack his body.
"Jamie, I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. Sometimes, sometimes Jamie, grown-ups, mommies, say things they don't mean. We, we don't think before we speak and when we do that we hurt people's feelings. We, we, don't mean to, we just, well, we just make mistakes. I, I, made a mistake when I got angry with you, Sweetie. I bought you the dress and it's yours to wear whenever you want to when we're alone in the house. Okay, Honey? Please forgive me. I did a mean thing and I apologize. I'll tell you what. Let's dry your tears and then I'll help you put on your dress and you can play until bedtime. You can even play in your own room with your doll, if you want to, or watch TV. You know what Jamie? We can keep the dress and doll in your room too," I offered to show my unconditional approval, "so you can have them whenever you want. Okay, Honey? Please forgive, mommy. I love you Jamie. I love you so very, very much."
I could feel Jamie relax and when the sobs subsided, I released him.
"Let me clean you up a little, please," I requested, going over to the sink and wetting a paper towel. "We don't want tears on your dress," conceding that it was his dress.
I cleaned his face, wiping off the tears, and dried it with the dish towel.
"Okay, lets go get you dressed," I offered, taking his hand.
We walked to the stairs and I released his hand, so he could pick up his doll. We continued upstairs to my room, where I took the dress out of my closet, retrieved the shoes and underwear and went through the routine of dressing him up.
"There," I said, standing back and pretending to admire him, like I would if he really was my daughter. "You look pretty Jamie, just like your doll. Why don't you go and play for an hour or so, while I clean up the kitchen. Then we can watch a video. Okay?"
"Uh huh."
"Jamie, words please," I reminded him, "the way polite boys talk. Girls too, I added," so I wouldn't hurt his feelings again, if that was how he thought about himself when he was wearing the dress.
"Yes, Mommy."
I went back to the kitchen, cleared the dishes, glasses and silverware off of the table, rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. Once the table and counter were wiped down, I put detergent in the dishwasher's cup and started it. As it began to fill, I finally had time to think about what I had just done. Jamie was happy, I told myself and that's what's important, wasn't it? My debate was interrupted by the telephone.
"Hi, Ginny."
It was Karen.
"Hi, Karen, how are you?"
"Fine thanks Sis, but I was hoping to hear from you. How'd it go with Jamie?"
I paused.
"Ginny?"
"I'm here Karen. You were wrong."
"Okay, I was wrong," she conceded. "But, if I'm going to take the blame, would you at least tell me what happened, so I won't make the same mistake again."
I paused.
"Ginny?"
"Jamie's gay," I revealed.
"Ginny, what in the world are you talking about. Jamie's not gay," she insisted.
"What would you call a boy who wears a dress?" I challenged her.
"Well, if it was Halloween, I'd say he was a boy in a costume. If it was Elizabethan England and he was playing Juliette, I would say he was a Shakespearian actor. Since it is neither of those, I would have to say that he was just what you described, a boy in a dress, without any additional information."
"Karen, this is not the time to be witty," I chastised her. "This is serious."
"I am being serious, Ginny. Jamie's not gay, unless you caught him snogging the little boy next door."
"Snogging? Is that a psychological term?"
"Sorry, no. It's an English term from a popular children's book. It means kissing. What you and I would call making out in our day."
"Karen, that is disgusting. Jamie is only six years old. He is too young for such behavior. How could you even suggest it?"
"I suggested it," she answered calmly, "because you just refuted your own contention. Being gay refers to a male's preference for a same-sex partner. Six year old boys have not become sexually active, so it is impossible for them to have a preference in partners. They can't be gay by definition. Occasionally, Ginny," Karen lectured me, "we see a boy acting inappropriately towards other boys, which is a sign that he is a victim of sexual abuse, not gay. I only tell you this to emphasize that sexual orientation does not manifest itself in prepubescent children."
"I'm sorry, Karen, for being so upset with you. I appreciate your assurance, but it still doesn't explain why Jamie wants to dress up in girl's clothes and play with a doll."
"Hold on, Ginny. I know where Jamie got the doll. We went over that the last time we spoke. But where did he get girl's clothes? He doesn't have a sister, so has hasn't been raiding her closet, and he certainly wouldn't fit into your clothes. By deductive reasoning, that means that you bought them for him. Why?
"I don't know, Karen. I honestly don't know. One thing led to another and I guess I listened to my heart instead of my head. I made a mistake and now I don't know what to do about it."
"Ginny, hearts are not always wrong. Sometimes the smart thing is not the right thing. I can't tell without knowing what has been going on. Do you want to explain? You don't have to, Sis, but I'm here, if you need me."
"Of course, I want your advice, Karen, but I thought you couldn't counsel a family member?"
"It's not a law Ginny. It’s an ethical and practical restriction to protect the patient's privacy and the therapist's integrity. Besides, I'm not offering counseling, I'm offering guidance. There's a big difference between active and passive involvement."
"Oh, well, then, what do you need to know."
"Everything, Ginny. The more details, the better. Just start at the beginning and tell me what happened. Don't leave anything out, even if you think it isn't important, because sometimes it is just that type of seemingly trivial information that helps to provide perspective. Go ahead."
"There isn't that much to tell, really. The day after I spoke to you, I took Jamie back to the mall to buy him some new clothes for back to school. Actually, Karen, you put the idea in my head. The way the store is laid out, to get to the boys' clothes you have to go through the Girls Department and, on the way, Jamie stopped and admired a party dress. It looked like the one the doll was wearing and he asked me to buy it for him."
"Why didn't you tell him no, Ginny?" Karen asked.
"I did," I answered her.
"Then how did he end up with it?"
"I, well, I thought about it and decided that I should let him try it and get it out of his system. You and I wear dresses. Mostly they're a nuisance. I expected him to realize that and go back to wearing his comfortable boy's clothes."
"Ginny, your rationalizing. As grown women, dresses no longer hold the fascination for us they did when we were younger, but we both loved to wear our party dresses, because they made us feel special. Even more so with Jamie, because the dress makes him look like his doll, to which he appears to be very attached."
"I know, Karen," I admitted. "I just couldn't say no to him, he's been through so much."
"If he was going through the Sporting Goods Department and asked you to buy him a hunting knife, would you do it?"
"No, of course not. Knives are dangerous."
"So are boys in dresses apparently, or you wouldn't be worried."
I sighed.
"Karen, I know I made a mistake, but it all started with the doll and you said it was harmless."
"Ginny, the doll is harmless. You were hoping Jamie would give it up, which he might have done, if you hadn't reinforced his behavior by buying him a matching dress."
She paused.
"Ginny? Did you buy him just the dress?"
"No," I admitted, "he saw matching Mary Janes when I took him into the Shoe Department to buy new sneakers. Boy's sneakers," I added defensively.
"And you bought girl's shoes for him too?"
"Yes."
"Anything else?"
"When I was buying the dress, the salesgirl picked out some underwear to go with it. Honestly, I didn't ask her to, Karen. She was just doing her job. I wasn't sure if he would wear it. He seemed interested in just the dress, but I bought it just in case."
"Just in case of what?"
"Just in case he checked and the doll had on girl's underwear?"
"As a matter of academic interest, did it?"
"Yes."
"So he wears panties with his dress. Cotton or nylon?"
"Nylon, and a matching camisole and ankle socks too, since you said details were important. Oh, and a headband."
"A headband? You bought that for him too?"
"The doll has one," I explained.
"So Jamie and the doll are twins, right down to their panties and accessories?"
"Yes."
"How often does he wear the dress?"
"As often as I let him."
"How often do you let him?"
"Whenever he asks."
"How often does he ask?"
"Whenever he is home, except when he goes to bed, obviously. Then he wears his usual underpants and pajamas."
"I see. Have you taken him out in the dress?"
"No, I made it clear that he could only wear it in the house and that he could not tell anyone about it or they would tease him."
"Secrecy and guilt are not solutions, Ginny."
"I know. It was the best I could do."
"The best you could do as a parent was to say no, if you thought it was harmful or inappropriate. That's what parenting is about, setting limits, even if it makes you unpopular with your child."
"You’re the one who said it was okay to buy him the doll. If it wasn't for the doll, none of this would have happened."
"So, we're back to blaming me. Okay, Ginny, it's all my fault, if you want me to take responsibility. But remember, I didn't tell you to buy the doll for Jamie." She emphasized 'buy.' "You had already bought it for him when you called me. All I did was reassure you that his playing with a doll would not be harmful by itself. It isn't. Dressing Jamie as a girl was your decision."
"I'm sorry, Sis," I apologized. "I know you're right. One thing has nothing to do with the other. Have I really messed Jamie up, Karen? What should I do? If you tell me to take away the doll and the dress, I will."
"Ginny, don't do anything for the time being. Taking something important away without an explanation will only make the situation worse. Let me check around and find you a therapist. You need someone who can work with both of you to transition Jamie into or out of whatever is making him want to play with a doll and dress like it."
"Into, Karen?"
"This is not my area of practice, Ginny. I've read some literature about being transgendered, but I don't have either the clinical training or experience to make a diagnosis, even if I wanted to, which I don't.
"Karen, what does that mean?"
"Ginny, the human mind, particularly a child's developing mind, is incredibly complex. We exhibit behaviors which have multiple causes, often illogical and sometimes incapable of rational explanation, which we call mental illness. I am not suggesting or implying that Jamie has a psychiatric problem. To the contrary, there are many reasons he might be behaving the way he is. Children don't understand death. Even adults have a hard time with it, but to a child all they know is that someone who they loved has gone away. That makes them very attached to the remaining parent. They will do anything to please them, so that they won't go away too. Like I said, children do not always think logically and Jamie may have gotten the impression that by being like you, you will like him better. It could be as simple as that misperception. Or, according to what I have read, even at an early age, children can be confused about their gender. They see themselves as the opposite sex and want to behave accordingly. That's what it means to be transgendered, literally from one sex to the other. What is causing Jamie's behavior is something a qualified therapist needs to diagnose and counsel you accordingly.
"Oh, do you think Jamie wants to be a girl?"
"I don't know, Ginny. I doubt he knows. It takes professional training and a great deal of counseling to know. Be patient. I will get you some names. What you do after that is up to you. Please don't take this the wrong way, but I don't need to know and I don't want to know. I'm already overly involved in this, but I couldn't let you deal with it on your own."
"Thanks, Karen," I said gratefully.
"You don't have to thank me. That's what big sisters are for, Ginny."
"Thank you for being my big sister, then."
I laughed.
"Thank Mom and Dad for that, not me. I had no say in the matter," she joked.
"I love you, Karen."
"I love you, Ginny."
"Bye."
"Bye."
I hung up the phone and cried. I'm not sure if it was from relief or remorse. From what Karen had said about our behavior, probably both.
TO BE CONTINUED
By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part III
Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.
After I regained my composure, I looked at the clock. My talk with Karen had taken over half an hour. I wondered what Jamie was doing, so I went upstairs and quietly looked in my room. He wasn't there. I had changed my mind and given him permission to play in his room, so I went to the doorway. There he was, in his dress, holding his doll and talking to her. He had his back to me. As I watched, he pointed to different toys. If I had to guess, he was telling her about them, the way a mother might tell her child about her own treasured possessions. It was really sweet or it would have been if he was a girl. I turned and went back downstairs, so he wouldn't know I had been watching him.
"Jamie, Sweetie," I called up to him. "I've finished cleaning up. Do you want to come down and watch a video with me?"
He appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying the doll. As he started down, his unfamiliarity with managing a skirt with a full crinoline was apparent as it bobbed up and down providing little glimpses of his panties from the bottom of the steps. A girl would have known about the potential for embarrassment and used her free hand to hold the skirt down. Not that it mattered. We went into the den and I turned on the TV.
"Which video, Honey?"
He chose Cinderella. I found the video and slipped it into the VCR. Towards the end, when she changes from a raggedy servant girl to a glamorous princess, I watched him and wondered if he identified with her because her fairy godmother dresses her up in a beautiful gown? Or was I reading too much into it? Not that that mattered either. Hopefully, Karen would get me the name of someone who could sort it out. When the video was over, we went upstairs and I got him ready for bed. As I had promised him, he slept with the doll and I kept the dress and everything else in his room.
Even though I had approved of his wearing the dress, I decided I would still try to distract him, so I found as many excuses as possible for us to be out of the house. I did a lot of grocery shopping and took him along with me, because he couldn't stay home alone. We went to the park. I took him to a cartoon movie. I took him out for lunch to a kiddy restaurant, where he could swim in a pool of plastic balls, climb through a play structure, and ride on a carrousel. Twenty dollars worth of tokens later, we were both exhausted. I thought about trying to make a play date for him with one of the other boys in the neighborhood, but it was too risky. He might naively mention something about his doll or wearing a dress, even though I had cautioned him not to and he had promised he wouldn't. Six year olds aren't that reliable when it comes to keeping secrets.
I kept waiting to hear from Karen but it wasn't until the morning of the third day that she called me back. It was about ten o'clock when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Ginny, hi. Sorry to take so long, but I wanted to be sure that I found you the right person, so I had to do some checking. There was only one name that was consistently recommended, Dr. Jenny Mitchell. She's a psychiatrist. I read some of the work she's published, Ginny. It's very impressive. She's recognized as an authority on gender disorders and better yet, she practices at City Hospital.
"I appreciate your efforts, Karen, but really, I don't see why Jamie needs to see a psychiatrist, especially since you weren't sure if he is," it took me a few seconds to recall the unfamiliar word, "transgendered," I protested.
"Ginny, psychiatrists treat all forms of emotional and behavioral problems. Think about it. If Jamie is not transgendered, then who better to say so than someone who is an authority on the subject?" Karen paused and then added, "And who better to help you with him, if he is? I don't know the answers, Ginny. If anybody does, it's Dr. Mitchell. If you'd like, I can call her and make an introduction. Sometimes specialists like her have a full practice or at least a very long waiting list for an appointment. I'd be happy to see what I can do."
"I'm not sure if I want to see her, Karen. There's too much, well, I just, I, I don't want to tell my life story to a stranger, no matter how qualified she is. I can't and, Karen, Karen, I'm, I'm, terrified. What if she doesn't approve of what I've done? What if, oh my God, what if she reports me and they take Jamie away. What if they take Jamie away from me? I'd die, Karen. No, I can't, I won't. I'm sorry, I can't take the chance."
By now I had worked myself into hysteria. What had I done? I was frantic.
"Ginny, Ginny, please, please, Sis, get hold of yourself. You haven't done anything wrong and nobody is going to take Jamie away from you. I promise you. Calm down. Take a deep breath. Take another. And another. Now, listen to me. Whatever is going on with Jamie is of his own doing, not yours. You didn't force him to play with a doll or wear a dress, they were his own choices. Placating a child is not abuse. Put that thought out of your head." Karen went on calmly, "Ginny, the biggest, the biggest mistake you can make is ignoring the problem, because the longer you wait, the more difficult it will be to deal with it. I'm already more involved in this than I should be, but there is no way to avoid it. You and Jamie need counseling.
"All right, Karen, you win, as usual," I conceded reluctantly. "Go ahead and talk to Dr. Mitchell. I'll wait to hear from you, but I'm not promising anything. I need to think about it."
"Ginny, this isn't a game that someone wins," Karen admonished me. "This is Jamie's life and the sooner you get over your self-doubt and start dealing with his behavior, the better for both of you. I will make the call, but I am not going to intervene, Ginny. If you procrastinate, it is likely you won't get to see her. Please give it serious consideration," she appealed
"I know, Karen, and I will. I promise."
"I love you, Ginny."
"I love you too, Karen."
"I'll talk to you soon."
"Okay. Bye."
"Bye."
My hand was shaking as I hung up the phone. I wanted only good things for Jamie and instead I had managed to make things worse. What would I say to him about seeing a psychiatrist? Why didn't I just tell him no when he wanted the doll. Karen was right. It's not his fault or my fault or her fault. It's Jim's fault. If he hadn't died, then this wouldn't have happen. Like she had said, I never would have let him have a doll, if his father were around. Damn him. How could he do this to us? I started to cry uncontrollable. Then I looked up and saw Jamie watching me. I pulled myself together and dabbed my eyes with a dishtowel.
"Nothing like a good cry to make a mother feel better," I told him, trying to sound convincing. "Do you want to do something? How about if we go to the toy store?"
Damn, why did I say that? It's the last place I want to go with him, to get more doll stuff, if that's what he picks out. Damn the toy store and damn the stupid gift certificate. That's where this all started. Ginny, you're losing it, I warned myself. No, wait. That's it!
Children are always giving up one toy for another one. What was that story that always made you cry when you were growing up? Something about a rabbit that becomes real. What was it called? Oh, The Velveteen Rabbit. The little boy used to love the rabbit, then he got a new toy and it ended up in the dustbin. That name always sounded funny to you. The trash basket we call it. Yes, a new toy for Jamie and off to the dustbin with the stupid doll. But what? Think. A car! Boys love to pretend they are driving a car. One that he can actually ride in. A Jeep. He can ride it around the backyard. He can't wear the dress outside and the doll can't leave the house, that's the rule. Brilliant, Ginny. You don't need to waste your time with psychiatrists. Okay, let's get going.
"Jamie, Honey, let me get you dressed in your own clothes. We can pick out a new toy for you. Come on, let's get going."
Twenty minutes later I had Jamie ready. We got in the car and drove to the toy store. Once we were inside, I made sure to keep him away from the girls section.
"Over here, Jamie," I guided him, "as we went past the rows of trikes and bikes and came to the ride on cars. Luckily, he was small for his age, so he would still fit in one. "How about this one, Jamie. See, it's a Jeep. You can ride it in the backyard. Get in and try it."
He looked at me and shook his head.
"What about this one, Jamie. It's a fire engine with ladders and everything. You can play fireman. No? What about the dump truck. You can carry stuff in it and dump it out, just like a real dump truck. Do you want to try it? No? Well Jamie, I want to buy one of these for you. Which one?"
He continued down the line of play vehicles until the very last one. I followed him.
"This one, Mommy," he pointed.
No, no, no, damn it. It wasn't possible. It was a bright pink convertible. A Barbie car. He didn't know anything about Barbies, but he picked the only one of the ride on toys that was for girls. How could this happen? You had it planned so carefully. Now what, Ginny? You told him you would buy him one. He's all excited. Lie to him. Tell him that one is too expensive or out of stock or not for sale, whatever, so you don't have to buy it for him. Don't you dare, I debated with myself. That is dishonest and cowardly. I sighed. How could my plan have gone so wrong?
Well, maybe it wasn't that bad, I consoled myself. Yes, it was a pink Barbie car for girls, but he still had to use it outside and that means he has to wear his boy's clothes and leave the doll in the house. Out of sight out of mind. What would the neighbors say if they saw him? I could say we borrowed it from his cousin. Did I care? Not really. Okay, anything that replaces the doll is a good thing, pink or not.
"You're sure you want this one, Jamie. A fire engine or dump truck would be more fun to play with, wouldn't it?"
He shook his head.
"This one, Mommy, please," he asked politely.
"Okay, Honey, this one. You're sure?" I asked him one final time, hoping he would change his mind at the last minute.
He nodded and then caught my disapproving look. I was frowning because I really did not want to buy him the Barbie car. He took it as a reprimand for his manners.
"Yes Mommy, I'm sure," he corrected himself.
"Very well, then."
We took the inventory slip up to the checkout counter and I handed it to the clerk. She looked at it, then at me.
"You know that these cars can only operate on smooth surfaces?"
Excuse me?"
"People buy these thinking that their kinds can whiz around the backyard on them, then they bring them back saying they're defective. The Jeeps and some of the other ride-on toys have bigger tires and more powerful motors, so they can go over uneven ground and get traction on grass or dirt, but the cars can't."
"Then why do you sell them?" I argued.
"They're very popular. The kids love them, but it's an expensive item and we don't want it back," she said pleasantly. "The store wants us to warn people, so they're not disappointed. It's not good PR and we don't get stuck with an expensive used toy we can't resell on top of it. To be honest, Ma'am, the other consideration is that these cars can go pretty fast. Five miles per hour at top speed. Little kids aren't that careful and we also caution parents to supervise their children, if they let them ride them on the sidewalk or on a driveway that goes into a busy street. An injured child is not good PR either. I'm sorry. We do sell lots of them, but we'd rather be safe than sued."
"I see. Thank you. Jamie, would you like to pick out a different type of car that you can ride in the backyard?"
"No, I want this one."
"Jamie, I'm sorry," I said with relief, since now I had an excuse for which I did not have to take the blame. How about the Jeep or the dump truck instead?"
"Uh uh," he shook his head.
"Jamie!"
"No, Mommy, I want this one. Please," he added.
"You can't have this one," I insisted. "Either pick a different one or we can find another toy instead."
I had no idea what it would be. We already had most of the games for children his age. There was no use in buying him sporting goods. He wasn't interested in sports and the only ones I knew anything about were field hockey and figure skating. Not that I was any good at either. I stunk as an athlete. Of course, Karen was a cheerleader. What did that have to do with anything? Getting Jamie to play boys' sports was supposed to have been Jim's job. What did that leave? Some type of building toy? He never played with the big set of Legos my parents got him for Christmas. Or maybe one of those educational computer games that taught reading or math. He had never shown any interest in them either. Could I get him interested? Probably not. Brilliant, Ginny, I criticized myself. Just brilliant. Then Jamie solved the problem, although not the way I had planned.
"Mommy, can we buy Jamie a new dress?"
"Thank you for your advice," I told the woman. "We don't want the car."
I quickly took Jamie aside, so she wouldn't hear the conversation.
"You want a new dress?" I asked with dismay.
Things were going from bad to worse.
"No, Mommy, Jamie."
"Oh, Jamie your doll," I said with relief.
"Uh huh. Yes, please," he quickly added.
I thought about it. Maybe we could find some clothes that were more like boys' clothes. Pants and a top. That's the practical way girls dress most of the time. If I could get him away from the party dress and more towards unisex clothes, that would at least be a start. He asked for a dress, though. Could I get him to accept pants? Was his request based on his preference for dresses or on his misunderstanding that dresses were what made the difference between boys and girls? He had no understanding of anatomy or biology, only appearance; that girls somehow looked and acted differently than boys. Well, in for a penny in for a pound. I really would have to kill my father for putting that stupid expression in my head. It didn't even make sense.
"Okay, Jamie. We can look for something else for your doll to wear. But Jamie, Honey," I cautioned him, "if we do buy your doll a new outfit, that doesn't mean you get one too. Do you understand what I'm saying, Jamie? You and the doll can't always look alike."
"Yes, mommy."
"Yes, you understand that new clothes for the doll doesn't mean new girl's clothes for you?" I repeated to be doubly sure.
"Yes."
"Okay, let's see what we can find."
I took his hand and we went to the doll aisle. I found the shelf with similar dolls and checked their size, eighteen inches, just to be sure that we got clothes that would fit her. Then we went further down the aisle and found a whole boutique. The majority of the outfits were for Barbies and her playmates. Maybe I could get him interested in a Ken doll, I kidded myself. They went up in sizes and at the end were the clothes for the larger dolls, like his. I looked down and Jamie seemed to expect me to pick something out for him, so I did.
"How about this, Honey," I asked, handing him a pair of pink slacks and a matching pink peasant blouse top with a gathered scooped neck, gathered short sleeves and a flounce at the bottom. It was feminine and in his preferred pink, but closer to boys' clothes. "You have pants and pullover tops too, so you could still kind of match," I encouraged him. "See, we could get her sneakers too, like yours," so she could play with you. Party dresses are pretty, but they're not comfortable. Girls only wear them for a little while, then they change into their regular clothes, like these," I encouraged him.
He looked at the outfit. I am guessing that he liked the pink, but pants didn't correspond to his image of how girls dressed. I could see that he was hesitant. Finally, he shook his head.
"No, Mommy, a dress. Please."
Another plan gone wrong. Was there a divine conspiracy to turn my son into my girl? Did God take away my husband and give me a daughter in exchange? Ginny, stop it, I scolded myself. Take responsibility for your own choices. Karen was right, you don’t know what you're doing and every time you try to make it better you make it worse. She warned you not to do anything more, until you got professional help, but you wouldn't listen. You thought you knew better and you proved her point.
I continued to look through the dolls clothes to find something innocuous. There was a packaged set with a pair of red bib overalls, close enough to pink, I hoped, a white t-shirt with a flower blooming on the front, a floppy straw hat, a miniature watering can, small hand spade and a little packet of flower seeds. It was a really cute gardening outfit. I would have loved to play with it when I was Jamie's age. It was also expensive, $14.95, but price was no object, if I could convince him to get something less feminine and do something more masculine, like playing in dirt, even if it was gardening with a doll.
"Jamie, how about this?" I encouraged him. "Look, you and the doll can plant the seeds and watch them grow into pretty flowers. She'd like that," I suggested enthusiastically.
He studied the package for a while and then shook his head.
"No, a dress please. Jamie likes dresses."
Okay, Ginny, lets get this over with. I was curious if his idea of a dress was something fancy or it was just the idea of having a skirt, instead of legs. What about a skirt? He's never mentioned that. Does he know the difference? Does it make a difference? I decided to test him. Searching through the rack some more, I found a 50's pink felt poodle skirt, long and very full with an attached net crinoline under it, and showed it to him.
"How about this, it’s a skirt, put it's very pretty? See, there's even a poodle doggie on it. I had one just like it when I was a girl," I exaggerated. Actually, I borrowed it from one of Mom's friends for a Halloween costume. "We can get a pretty blouse to wear with it."
As before, Jamie studied it. I could see that he was conflicted. It was like a dress, but it wasn't a dress and he only knew about dresses, because that was what his doll had on when we bought her and that was what I bought for him.
"It's not a dress," he concluded.
"Not exactly, but it's like a dress. Actually, Jamie, girls wear skirts more than dresses. I did when I was a girl," trying to make it more personal. "So did you Aunt Karen. She loved to wear skirts and had a closet full of them," which was true and I had no choice as she outgrew them. Focus, Ginny. "They're more, umm," not practical, Ginny, he doesn't care about that, "umm, they're more fun to dress up in, because you can wear different tops with them, blouses and sweaters or pullovers. We can even buy a couple of different tops to go with it, so you can change the doll's outfit. Wouldn't that be fun?"
"It's not a dress," he repeated.
"No, it's not a dress," I agreed.
I went back to find something else. There was a powder blue A-line corduroy jumper. I showed it to him.
"This one is pretty."
"No, that one."
He pointed to a pastel pink dress with a white stitched smocked bodice and puffy sleeves. Actually, he had good taste or he would have, if he was a girl. Was he just picking randomly or was he prompted by some intuition that guided him? I suppose that is something that Dr. Mitchell might determine when we see her. If we see her. No, Ginny, when we see her. You've proven that you are totally incapable of dealing with this on your own. Well, that's settled, I agreed with myself. Now let's get this done. I took down the dress he pointed to.
"This one?"
"Yes, please."
Well, at least I had succeeded in improving his social skills. He'd be the politest little boy who ever wore a dress, I observed humorously.
I took his hand and we went to the front of the store. I was hoping that the clerk who talked me out of buying Jamie the car was not there. Buying him doll's clothes instead would not make a lot of sense to her. Luckily, there was a different clerk. I handed her the dress, which came on a little hanger, paid for it with me credit card, took the bag and left. Returning to the car, I buckled Jamie in. I put on the radio and we drove home without talking.
When we got into the kitchen, I removed the dress from the hanger, checked to see that it didn't have any pins and handed it to him.
"Jamie, do you know how to dress your doll? Do you want me to show you?"
Dresses were different to put on than pants and it was not a skill I expected him to have.
"I can do it."
"Are you sure?"
"Uh huh. Yes, Mommy."
He didn't want me involved. Well, that was his choice and I wouldn't force the issue.
"Okay, Honey," I agreed, handing him the dress. "Please be careful undoing the buttons on the back and with your doll's party dress. It has a zipper. Open it all the way, before you take it off of her and put it away neatly, so it doesn't get wrinkled," I instructed him. "If you need help, just ask me."
He scampered off and went upstairs. I made myself a cup of tea and picked up the mail.
About twenty minutes later, I went upstairs to see how Jamie was doing. He was in his room, on the floor, reading the doll a book. At least showing her the pictures and it sounded like he was making up a story or repeating what he remembered of it, because he could only recognize a few words. I noticed that he had gotten the doll dressed correctly and, at least from what I could see, that her party dress was placed neatly on the bed.
I turned and left him to his play. Then it dawned in me. Doh, Ginny. He was still wearing his boy's clothes! He hadn't asked you to dress him up as a girl. Your plan did work, I congratulated myself, but not in the way you had thought it would. The doll didn't go in the dust bin, but the dress stayed in the closet. No need for a psychiatrist. Who cared if he played with a doll, as long as he played with it as a boy? I gave a sigh of relief and went downstairs to celebrate with a second cup of tea. I thought about calling Karen and telling her the good news, but decided to wait for her call, so I would know how she made out with Dr. Mitchell and whether I needed to cancel the appointment.
About half way through my cup of tea, while I was thumbing through the "People" magazine that was in the day's mail, Jamie came into the kitchen, holding his doll.
"Hi, Sweetie," I greeted him happily. "Having fun?"
"Yes. Mommy?"
"What, Honey?"
"Can I put on my other dress?"
"What!" I exclaimed, startling him. "What other dress Jamie? You don't have another dress, just the party dress. It's different than the one we bought for your doll," I emphasized, as an additional deterrent."
"No, my other dress," he repeated.
"There is no other dress, Jamie," I insisted.
"Yes, Mommy. The first one. Yours."
Mine? What was he talking about? I never gave him a dress of mine. Oh no! I did. I let him try on my old tank top, to see if he was serious about wearing a dress.
"Jamie, that doesn't match what your doll is wearing. It isn't even a dress, really. It's just a tank top that I let you try on to see how it felt."
"Jamie and I don't have to look alike. You said so," he reminded me.
Why did he have to listen to me and remember what I said when I didn't want him to and I had to repeat everything else ten times?
"I'm not even sure where it is Jamie," I stalled.
"In your room, Mommy. You put it in your drawer. I remember."
Great, the kid's an elephant when it comes to dresses. So much for congratulating yourself prematurely. It's a good thing you didn't call Karen and call the counseling off. You'd confirm her suspicion that her little sister is an idiot. There's some good news, I consoled myself.
"Okay, Jamie. Let's go upstairs and I'll see if I can find the tank top for you."
I started upstairs and he followed me with the doll. We went into my room and he pointed to drawer.
"That one, Mommy."
"Thank you, Jamie."
I opened the drawer and, sure enough, there was the tank top, neatly folded in with my other t's and tops. I have no idea why, since it had shrunk and was too small for me to wear. If I was smart, I would have thrown it out and solved the problem before it became one. I took it out and held it up.
"Okay, get undressed and I'll put it on you."
"Wait, Mommy."
Before I could say anything, he and the doll disappeared. I remained puzzled until he returned a couple of minutes later in his pink cotton boy's underpants and undershirt that I had told him were for girls when we went to buy the party dress. I'm sure he didn't understand that he didn't need the undershirt, but then the tank top was pretty skimpy on top and I had seen little girls wearing t-shirts under revealing party dresses. Did he put on the undershirt, because he wore a cammie with his party dress or was this more of his intuition about being a girl?
After he went through all that trouble, I couldn't deny him, and I had been so accepting about his wearing a dress up to know. In for a penny, in for a pound. Okay, Dad's dead.
"Arms up, Jamie," I instructed him.
He lifted his arms and I slipped the makeshift dress over his head. It was still to short for him to wear outside without something underneath it, but it didn't matter, since not going out dressed up as a girl was the one rule I had consistently required him to follow. I resisted my urge to fool with his hair and sent him off.
This whole dress business was beginning to get out of hand. I wanted to discourage him from dressing as a girl. Instead, my plan had backfired and he now had two dresses. Ginny, I rebuked myself, you have to get some help before you completely mess up your son. I went to the phone and picked it up. If Karen had spoken to Dr. Mitchell, she would have called me immediately, which means she hasn't, which means there is no point in calling her. I put the phone down. As soon as I did, it rang, which startled me.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Ginny."
"Karen, I was hoping you'd call," which was true. I've given it some thought and I agree that seeing Dr. Mitchell would be good for Jamie, if you were able to arrange it," which was not true. Jamie was fine. I was the one who needed help.
"I'm glad, Sis, and I did speak with Dr. Mitchell. I was as impressed with her in person, well, in person on the telephone, as I was reading her publications. I think you'll like her, Ginny. I didn't give her any specifics and I didn't mention that we were related. I just told her that I had been consulted by a mother about her six year old boy acting like a girl and that it was beyond my area of expertise. She was intrigued and asked me to have the woman, you, call her secretary, Kelly, to make an appointment. Get a pencil and paper and I'll give you the number."
I wrote down the name and number.
"Thanks, Karen. I really will call her as soon as I get off the phone with you. I hope she can help Jamie. He's a really good kid." I hesitated and then added nervously, "Ginny, you're sure that nothing bad will happen. Please, Sis, tell me that I'm not going to get in trouble, once Dr. Mitchell hears what's been going on. Please."
"Ginny, I promise you, as your sister, that this is for the best. Nobody is going to criticize you or punish you. That is not how it works. Therapists work positively, not negatively. Trust me."
"I do trust you, Karen, with my life, because if something happened and I lost Jamie, I would end it."
"Ginny! If you talk like that to Dr. Mitchell, it won't be Jamie who gets taken away, it will be you, for observation in a locked ward. Do you understand me, Ginny? Stay calm and be rational."
"I'm sorry. I got too emotional. This has been a strain on me. I want to be a good mother and so far I have done everything wrong."
"Ginny, I told you, sometimes the smart thing is not the right thing. You have a good heart. I may be the brainy one, at least by doctoral degree, but you've always been the sensitive one. If you only knew how many times I wished I could stop thinking and start feeling. Do you remember, Sis? My friends came to me for advice. Your friends came to you for support."
"That's the nicest thing you've every said to me, Karen," I acknowledged tearfully. "Thank you."
"I should have told you long ago, Ginny. There just, well, you know, sibling rivalry and all. You're not just my sister, you’re my best friend. I love you."
"I love you too."
"Let me know how you make out with Dr. Mitchell, Ginny."
"I will."
"Bye."
"Bye."
I hung up the phone and waited a few minutes to compose myself. I wanted to be calm and rational, as Karen had warned me, when I spoke with Dr. Mitchell's secretary. When I felt ready, I picked up the phone and dialed the number. A pleasant voice answered after two rings.
"Dr. Mitchell's office, Kelly speaking. How may I help you?"
"Hello, this is Mrs. Virginia McCarthy," I began formally. "I believe Dr. Karen Dalton spoke with Dr. Mitchell about an appointment."
"Yes, Ms. McCarthy. Dr. Mitchell told me to expect a call from you. She can see you at eight o'clock on Monday morning. Is that convenient?"
"Yes, I can be there at eight o'clock."
"This is about your son, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"Dr. Mitchell would like to meet with you first. A trip to the hospital to see a doctor can be upsetting for a child, so she likes to make sure that there is a need for her involvement, before she has them come in. Do you have someplace to leave your son?"
"Actually, no, I don't."
"Yes, well, that happens. It's not a problem. You can bring him and he can stay in our daycare center while you meet with the doctor. He doesn't have to know you here about him. It's a very lovely environment. And free," she added. We all use it when we run into childcare problems." She laughed. "The hospital would rather have us come to work with our kids, then stay home with them. Shall I notify the center that your son will be coming on Monday?"
"Yes, please?"
"How old is your son?"
"He just turned six."
"And what's his name?"
"Jamie."
"Okay. After you come into the lobby, ask at the information desk for the daycare center. It opens at seven am. They'll be expecting Jamie. Leave yourself a little time, because you have to fill out some forms. You know, the usual, allergies, health problems, dietary restrictions, etc. and how to find you, if you decide to take off and stick us with him." She gave another little laugh. "Any questions?"
"No. Eight o'clock Monday morning, I'll be there.
"Do I need to bring anything with me?"
"Doh, I am such a ditz," she accused herself. "It's a wonder Dr. Mitchell puts up with me. Yes, you need to complete a questionnaire. You know, the usual." She gave another laugh. "Well, not the usual, usual. We need some social and family history too. It saves time if you do it at home and bring it in. Other than that, no." There was a pause. "Oh, of course, I need your address to send it to you. Please don't tell Dr. Mitchell what a ditz I am," she said softly, although I'm sure she was kidding. "I think I need another cup of coffee for sure."
"It's our secret, Kelly," I assured her.
"You're a doll, Ms. McCarthy."
"I winced at the word which was the cause of all my problems with Jamie."
"Thank you, Kelly," I said politely.
"You're welcome, Ms. McCarthy. See you Monday Morning. Doh, no I won't. I don't get in until eight thirty. Dr. Mitchell is coming in early to fit you in ahead of her regular patients. She'll leave the office door open. If her door is closed, just knock when you arrive. It's okay. She's expecting you to let her know when you get there. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Bye."
"Goodbye, Kelly."
I hung up the phone. That went relatively well, I complimented myself. I promised Karen that I would let her know what happened and she had done me a favor by getting Dr. Mitchell to see me on short notice, so I called and got her voice mail.
"Hi, Karen. It's Ginny." Not that she wouldn't know her sister's voice. Force of habit in talking to machines. "I spoke to Kelly and we, well I, she, Dr. Mitchell, doesn't want to see Jamie until we've talked, have an appointment next Monday morning. They said, Kelly, her secretary, said that Jamie can come with me and stay in their daycare center during my appointment. Thanks again. Love you, Bye." Not exactly coherent, but she got the basic idea that I was going to see Dr. Mitchell on Monday morning without Jamie.
The form arrived the next day and I spent the evening filling it out. It was very detailed and took a lot of time. I had to look up some of the information in Jamie's baby journal, like some of his developmental milestones, and I had to think about how to explain the nature of the problem. Should I be succinct? My son acts like a girl? Should I be precise? My son likes to wear dresses when he plays with his doll? Should I be detailed? My son picked out a doll when I took him shopping for a birthday present and then he wanted a dress and shoes to match and I bought him girl's underwear and a headband. I made him a dress out of an old tank top too. No. She'll think I'm nuts. Keep it simple, I advised myself. My son has shown an interest in being feminine and I don't know how to deal with it. There. Concise and to the point.
The rest of the week and the weekend dragged by. I continued to find things that would keep Jamie and his doll apart, which separation would also keep him out of dresses. Unfortunately, there are only so many activities to do with a six year old that didn't take him near a mall or a toy store. Somehow, I managed to make it to Sunday night without adding to his fascination with femininity.
As I was getting him into his PJ's, I mentioned, "Jamie, tomorrow Mommy has to go to the hospital and you can come."
He gave me a funny look.
"I have to see a doctor. It's nothing serious. I just need some advice. They have a great play area where you can wait for me. It won't be that long. Then we can go out for lunch. Okay, Sweetie?"
"Okay.
I finished our nighttime routine, read him and the doll a story, tucked him in, kissed him goodnight and went to my room. I tried to decide what I should wear. The options were pants and a blouse, a skirt and a blouse or a dress. I wanted to make a good first impression on Dr. Mitchell. I ruled out the dress as too formal. If I was going to wear a skirt, I needed to shave my legs. Then again, if I wore a sleeveless blouse, I'd need to shave my pits anyway. Okay, a skirt would give me a more motherly image than pants, I thought. Into the shower with you, Virginia, I ordered myself. Once I was satisfactorily hairless, I got out, creamed myself up and completed my nighttime beauty routine.
After I got myself ready for bed, I picked out my outfit and hung it on over the closet door. A yellow straight above-the-knee skirt and a white collared sleeveless cotton blouse. Very summery, but sophisticated, if I dressed it up with a gold chain necklace, a gold bangle bracelet and my yellow leather strappy sandals. Excellent, Ginny. Dr. Mitchell will be impressed as all get out with you and your doll playing, dress wearing son. Whatever. I got in bed and turned out the light.
The alarm went off at six the next morning. I got up, paid particular attention to my hair and makeup, wished I had gotten a manicure and pedicure, got myself dressed and went downstairs to make breakfast. I was too nervous to eat, so I just made myself a cup of tea. At six thirty I went upstairs and woke up Jamie. He couldn't tell time, at least relative to when it would have been his usual time to wake up. He yawned. I got him washed and dressed in a pair of chinos I had bought for back to school and a short sleeved cotton pullover jersey, white sox and his fancy sneakers. We went down and he had a quick breakfast, then we got into the car. Jamie was still sleepy and nodded off as we headed through the early morning traffic to the hospital.
I pulled into the parking garage and found a space. It was seven forty when I finally got to the daycare center and five of eight when I rushed out and got on the elevator to the seventh floor. I hurried down the hallway, following the signs for suite 704. The sign outside read 'Jenny Mitchell, M.D.' It was just eight o'clock when I opened the door and went into the reception area. I took a minute to get myself together, took a mirror out of my pocketbook and checked my hair, put on some fresh lipstick, straightened my skirt and blouse, got up my courage and knocked on the door.
The door opened and I was greeted by a pretty brunette. I'm five five and she was at least three inches taller than me. I took a quick look down and she had on mid heels, about the same height as my sandals, so she was tall. On first impression, she was in her mid-thirties, which, from my training as a nurse, would mean she had been in practice for four or five years. Then again, with some women, it's hard to tell their age. She was one of them. I didn't have time to do more of an assessment before she spoke.
"Good morning. I'm Dr. Jenny Mitchell. If you're Jamie's mother, then you're right on time. Please come in," she said cordially.
I went into her office. It was nicely furnished. There was a large mahogany desk with a high backed chair behind it and two side chairs with arms in front of it. Off to one side, in front of a set of windows overlooking City Park was a conversation area, with four comfortable upholstered armchairs around a circular glass coffee table with a low floral arrangement in the center. I noticed a number of diplomas and certificates on the wall, but I couldn't read them without taking my attention away from her, which would be rude. She walked behind her desk and motioned for me to take one of the chairs in front of it. She waited for me to be seated and then sat down.
"Did you have time to complete the survey?"
"Yes, Dr. Mitchell."
I reached into my pocketbook, took it out, stood up and handed it to her over the desk. She unfolded it, spread it out and began to skim through it, pausing at the last page where I had described my reason for consulting her. I saw a brief look of amusement when she got to my explanation. Like reading the last page of a detective novel, once she knew who done it, so to speak, she went back to the beginning and studied the form.
While she was engrossed, I had a chance to get a better look at her. Not that it mattered, but it was a natural reaction to assess another woman by her appearance. She was slim and had medium features with brown eyes and thin arched eyebrows. Her medium length nails were manicured and had French polish, pink with white tips, and there was a wedding band and diamond engagement ring on her left hand. I noticed some picture frames on her desk, which I guessed were her family, but I couldn't see them from where I was sitting. When she walked to her desk, I could see she had on a dark blue skirt suit with a short jacket over a white silk round collared blouse, closed at the neck, around which was a string of gold and turquoise beads. She had a stylish wristwatch on her left hand. Her hair was cut very unusually, long in front, shorter on the sides and then long in the back, covering her neck and stopping about an inch above her shoulders. It was very attractive and framed her face, which was beautifully made up with mascara, eyeliner, blush and a surprising medium plum lipstick. Her hair was over hear ears, so I couldn't see if she was wearing earrings and her legs were covered by the desk, although I guessed she wouldn't be wearing stockings in the summer. I had already checked out her pumps, which were dark blue leather with a fashionably uncomfortable pointed toe. Altogether, if I didn't know she was a doctor, I would have guessed she was in the fashion industry, she was so stylish and well coordinated. If she noticed me checking her out, she was considerate enough not to mention it.
Finally, she looked up from the form and smiled at me, which made me wonder. Had she deliberately given me time to study her and put myself at ease, before moving on to more serious matters? She was a psychiatrist and she did know about human behavior.
"I see that you have given me the usual response, Ms. McCarthy. No offense, but you are wasting my time and yours if you aren't going to be candid. Do you want to try again, Virginia?" she asked encouragingly, using my first name to make her request more personal."
I took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Mitchell, but, candidly, I'm terrified."
"Good. That is an honest answer. We can deal with terrified," she said confidently. "Why are you terrified, Virginia? Do you mind if I call you by your first name. It is hard to observe the social formalities when having an intimate conversation."
No, please do, but I prefer Ginny."
"Well, Ginny?"
"I, I, I love my son very much and, well, I don't want to do anything that might, that might hurt him." I paused. "Or me either. It's been so difficult without my husband," it came pouring out. "I try to be a good mother, but, I don't know, it's just, he's a boy and I don't know that much about raising a boy. I think, well, maybe I mixed him up and you will, you will think it's my fault and take him away from me."
I began to sniffle and opened my purse to take out a tissue. I dabbed at my nose and eyes. Dr. Mitchell stood up.
"Ginny, come over here and let's chat."
She motioned to the conversation area. She took the seat in front of the windows and motioned to the chair next to hers. I sat down.
"Feel better?"
"No," I sniffled.
"Good. More honesty. We are making progress. Ginny, I am here to help you and you are here because you realize you need help. There's nothing wrong with reaching out. That's being a good mother. Ignoring the problem or forcing a child to be something they're not to conform to social convention is what is harmful. You have my promise, Ginny. Whatever is happening, you and I will figure it out and do whatever is best for you son. Jamie, isn't it?
"Yes, Dr. Mitchell."
"Jenny, please. I don't like social conventions in any context. Now, tell me what is really going on with Jamie."
I went on to explain the whole situation with buying him a doll, then a dress and his wanting to wear it whenever he played with the doll. I added my having let him try on one of my tank-tops and how he accepted it as an additional dress to wear with the one that we had added to his doll's wardrobe. Once I started, it wasn't that hard to get it all out. Dr. Mitchell, Jenny, was a good listener, as you would expect. To my surprise, she didn't record anything or take notes. She just let me ramble on. When I had finished, she reached over and took my hand.
"See, a journey of a thousand miles starts with but a single step. An old Oriental saying. Or in this case, a single statement. Now we have something to work with."
She looked at her wristwatch.
"We still have about fifteen minutes, Ginny. I have to say, this is unusual. Not generically. A boy who has feminine tendencies is my stock in trade, so to speak. However, it is unusual to see it in someone as young as Jamie. If he had a sister, I would consider it to be some form of sibling jealousy. That somehow he got the impression that you favored her, so he wanted to be like her. She plays with dolls, so he plays with dolls. You fuss over dressing her up, so he wants to dress up. But he doesn't have a sister, so he hasn't learned this behavior from one. Are there any other girls in his life?"
"My sister Karen, you spoke to her, has two daughters, one of whom is Jamie's age. We get together once or twice a month. She works and it's hard to coordinate our schedules. They do play together. Sometimes they come to our house, where we would have just boy's toys, until recently, anyway. They haven't visited us since Jamie got the doll," I clarified. "Other times we go to their house and it's all girl's toys. About fifty-fifty our house and theirs, at least we try to reciprocate. I suppose he could have learned about being a girl from Debbie. That's Karen's older daughter who is Jamie's age. Cindy is two years younger. She's only four. She might hang out with them, but they wouldn't play with her."
Jenny looked at her watch again.
"I'm sorry. I don't meant to be rude, but I usually do only forty-five minute appointments, so that there is fifteen minutes between patients, to protect their privacy, considering the nature of my practice. I don't want them sitting together in the waiting room. I gave you the extra fifteen minutes, because you're not the patient, but I do need to keep on schedule."
"I understand Dr. Mitchell, umm, Jenny. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
"Thank Dr. Dalton. She's your sister?"
"Yes, my big sister. I will thank her. Jenny, will Jamie be alright?"
She smiled.
"Define alright and I'll give you an answer."
"Happy."
"No."
"He won't be happy?" I asked dismayed.
"No, Ginny. Happiness is a transitory state. What I try to do with my patients is make sadness transitory too. That's the best I can do. Ginny, we have a lot to go over. Please speak with Kelly about making an appointment for next week, same day and time. I want another session with just you, so we can work on a strategy. In the meantime, don't discourage Jamie and don't encourage him either. Just let nature take its course."
Dr. Mitchell walked to the door and opened it. I could see Kelly, or at least a woman who I took to be her, sitting at the desk. She looked over when she heard the door open and smiled.
"Kelly, Ms. McCarthy needs another appointment. Same day and time."
"Yes, Dr. Mitchell," Kelly confirmed.
I walked over to her desk, waited while she made an entry on the computer screen and gave me an appointment card that she had filled out.
"It's nice to meet you, Ms. McCarthy," she said looking up. "And thanks for not reporting me to Dr. Mitchell," she whispered.
"Do you tease all of Dr. Mitchell's patients with that ditzy routine?"
"You caught me. No, just the GG's."
"I don't understand. What's a GG?"
"GG stands for genetic girl. Born female, like you and me. The opposite of TG, which means transgendered. Born male, but psychologically female. Like Dr. Mitchell.
"What!?"
"You didn't know that she is a transsexual?"
"No, certainly not. You're kidding me again, right?"
"No, that's the truth. I guess it didn't come up."
Kelly looked chagrined.
"That's not exactly the phrase I wanted to use."
It took me a while to figure out what she was talking about, then the double entendre of 'it didn't come up' in reference to someone who appears female but is really male struck me and I blushed.
"Kelly!"
"I know. I'm bad. I told you, I don't know why Dr. Mitchell puts up with me."
"Because you like her?"
"Like her? I'd marry her, if she didn't have a hunk of a husband."
"I saw she is wearing a wedding ring. Dr. Mitchell is married to a man?" I asked incredulously.
"Of course to a man. Who else would a hot babe like her marry?"
I gave her a blank look.
"And they have two kids, a boy and a girl."
"They can do that?"
"If 'they' means TG's, no. Medical science hasn't figured out how to get men pregnant yet. But I can't wait for the day," she said with a big smile. "But, you don't have to be able to have children to have children," she reminded me.
"Oh, now I'm the ditz," I kidded her.
"Welcome to the club. See you next week.
By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part IV
Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.
I picked up Jamie from the daycare center, signed the release form, which confirmed they had delivered him to me in the same condition they got him, and took him home. I gave him some milk and a cookie and then he went upstairs. About fifteen minutes later he was back down with his doll, which he had changed into her party dress, and wanted me to get him dressed the same. Dr. Mitchell had recommended that I not change anything, so I went upstairs and helped him into the dress. I felt somewhat better about doing it with her approval. Then again, Kelly inadvertently revealed that Dr. Mitchell was a transsexual. Could she, I suppose that's how you would refer to one of them, be too permissive, because of her own decision to be a woman? But you liked her, Ginny. She seemed genuinely compassionate. You wouldn't have any misgivings about her advice, if you hadn't discovered her secret. Was it a secret? Kelly had obviously been with her for a long time and she didn't seem particularly concerned about revealing it. I decided to speak with Karen.
The rest of the day was difficult, because of my conflicted feelings, which led to me wonder if maybe I was too hasty in getting counseling. Why did I need a psychiatrist to tell me to let nature take its course? I can do nothing without her help. This was getting much too complicated and giving me a headache. I really needed to talk to Karen. I looked at the clock. It wasn't even dinner time yet. I could call her at her office, but probably she was with a patient, then she would get a message to call me and be worried something bad had happened. I didn't want to alarm her. Take it easy Ginny, I advised myself. Things will work themselves out, if you are patient. Make yourself a cup of tea. In the midst of chaos, tea is comforting.
I managed to get through the rest of the day. Preparing dinner was a helpful distraction. I decided to put a lot of energy into it by making one of Jamie's favorite meals, spaghetti and meatballs. I put the hamburger in a plastic bag and soaked it in hot water to thaw it out, then mixed it with seasoning and formed it into meatballs, which I roasted in the oven until they were nice and brown on the outside and juicy on the inside. I went through the rest of the routine with the pasta and sauce. It took almost two hours to get it done, together with a salad and white toast, since I didn't have any Italian bread handy. Luckily, Jamie wasn't a fussy eater. I set the table, poured him a glass of milk and went upstairs to get him out of his dress and into something that would withstand a kid's confrontation with red sauce.
After dinner, I offered to watch a video with Jamie, but he wanted to go upstairs. I decided to be firm about his balancing dolls and dresses with normal boy's activities. He complained for a bit, but agreed to spend the rest of the evening with me. We sat on the couch in the den and watched Beauty and the Beast. That was one of my favorites. I loved the music. Jamie disliked the final scene where the Beast is pursued by the villagers and then seems to die protecting Belle. Thinking about it, I wondered if it raised any memories of his father's death. I doubted that he remembered much about what happened. Even so, I decided not to play that tape again. We had enough psychological issues to sort out. When it was over, we went upstairs and I put him to bed. As soon as I was sure he was asleep, I called Karen.
Dave answered the phone. I went though the usual pleasantries and asked for Karen. She was at a meeting and wouldn't be home until ten. Great, the one time I need her she's not around. Stop it, Ginny. Your not being fair, I reprimanded myself. She didn't know you were going to call her. She is entitled to her own life.
"Thanks, Dave. I have something I need to go over with her. Nothing life or death." Well, pretty darn close, but I can't tell you that. "Please ask her to give me a call when she gets in. I'll be waiting up for her."
"Ginny, is there something I can help you with," Dave offered. He was a really nice guy. I liked him a lot.
"No Dave, thanks, but it's, well, you know, girl stuff. I want to go shopping for back to school clothes for Jamie tomorrow and I have been so out of touch with what kids are wearing, I hoped Karen could give me a fashion update. I wanted to be sure I spoke to her, before I bought the wrong things and he was scarred for life by the other kids making fun of him for being a nerd," I explained, checking my nose to see if it had grown significantly.
Dave gave a laugh.
"Well, if you avoid high top sneakers, pants that are a couple of inches too short and a pocket protector, you should be okay, from a strictly male point of view."
"That's exactly the reason why I want a female point of view," I kidded him.
"Okay, Ginny. I'll make sure that Karen gets the message. Night."
"Night, Dave."
I hung up the phone, took out my book and tried to read to kill time until Karen called me. I had just gotten myself into the story, when the phone rang, startling me. I grabbed it.
"Karen?"
"Ginny, what's the matter?" she asked in a concerned voice.
"I'm sorry to bother you Karen," I apologized, "but I saw Dr. Mitchell today and, well, I, I'm not sure about her, Dr. Mitchell, being the right person for us. I wanted to see what you thought about it."
"Why wouldn't she be the right person?"
"Well, she, Doctor Mitchell, said to just let things stay the way they are and I'm just not sure she, Dr. Mitchell, is giving me good advice, because she, well, Dr. Mitchell's a transsexual."
"What?"
"Karen, I'm confused too. This is all new to me and having a psychiatrist, who used to be a man, well it's hard for me to accept. I was hoping you could help me sort it out. I mean, honestly, I like Dr. Mitchell, but that's not what's important."
"Whoa, Ginny, lets take this one step at a time. We'll play twenty questions, or so. Just answer yes or no and that way there won't be any misunderstanding. Okay, Sis?"
"Okay."
"First, I take it you went to see Dr. Mitchell today. Yes or no."
"Yes."
"She told you she was a transsexual."
"No."
"Who told you?"
"I can't answer that yes or no."
"My sister, the lawyer. We'll modify the rules to allow a one sentence answer. Now, who told you Dr. Mitchell was a transsexual."
"Her secretary, Kelly."
"Why did she tell you about Dr. Mitchell being a transsexual?"
"I don't know why. We were kidding around and it came out. That's two sentences."
"Ginny! Did she seem concerned about having told you?"
"No."
"Why are you concerned?"
"I don't want someone who has chosen to be a woman giving me advice about how to raise a boy not to be a girl."
"Yes, well, that's your problem."
"My problem?"
"Yes, Ginny, it is your problem," she emphasized 'your.' "People don't choose to be transgendered. They don't wake up one morning and say, 'Gee, wouldn't it be nifty if I was the opposite sex.' If Dr. Mitchell is a transsexual, and I wouldn't say so without confirmation from her, regardless of what her secretary might think, it isn't because she wants to be. It's because she has to be. I told you before, this is not my area of expertise, but I would venture that, considering how difficult it is to be transgendered, a transsexual psychiatrist would not encourage a patient to be like her, just because misery loves company. Even more so for Dr. Mitchell, because I have great respect for her and I wouldn't have recommended her to you, if I didn't."
"Are you sure, Karen. I mean, why didn't she tell me herself? Doesn't that mean she's keeping it hidden. She wanted me to be honest with her, but she wasn't honest with me. How can I trust her?"
"Look, Ginny. I can't answer those questions. Only Dr. Mitchell can and I think, since you're asking my advice, that you owe her the courtesy of asking her, before jumping to conclusions about her sincerity and objectivity. Do you have another appointment?
"Yes, a week from today."
"It's up to you, Sis, but I would go back and ask her the same questions you've asked me. If she is as good a doctor as I believe she is, then she will answer them to your satisfaction. If she doesn't, then you should find another therapist. One recommendation that is often made to patients when considering a doctor is to make a list of questions to ask. A reputable doctor should not be offended by a patient wanting to make an informed choice."
"Okay, Karen, I will do that, and thank you. I feel better. I do hope that I can keep working with Dr. Mitchell. She's, Karen, do you call transsexual's 'she' or is there another term you use."
"Was Dr. Mitchell wearing women's clothes?"
"Yes. Makeup too. She was very attractive. I wished I looked that good. What am I saying? I want to look as good as a man pretending to be a woman? That doesn't make sense."
"Ginny the correct pronoun is the feminine, if a transsexual is 'en femme,' which means dressed as a woman, and a transsexual is not pretending. That's what men do for Halloween and New Years Eve masquerade balls, but at midnight they change back. Transsexual's don't. Do you consider yourself to be a man, Ginny?"
"Karen, don't be silly, of course not."
"Neither does a transsexual."
"But, Karen, they are. They're men who wear dresses when it isn't Halloween or New Years Eve. You just said so."
"Ginny. I'm not good at explaining this. You really need to talk to Dr. Mitchell. In the meantime, I would follow her advice. It's accepted practice for all of the mental health profession. Don't go messing about with a patient's behavior, until you have a definitive diagnosis and treatment plan."
"Thanks, Karen. That was really helpful. I want you to understand, it's not that I don't like Dr. Mitchell and it's not, really, it's not that I have anything against her, just because she isn't what she seems. I just need to be sure that this is what's best for Jamie."
"Ginny, for goodness sake, listen to me. Dr. Mitchell is what she seems. You'll see what I mean when you talk to her. You know that I would tell you, if I had any concern. I don't. Now goodnight and stop being such a worry wort.
"Good night, Sis."
"Love you, Ginny."
"Love you too."
I always felt better after speaking with Karen. She was the one person in the world who I could turn to for good advice. She was always the rational one, the one who could look at any problem and find the most logical solution. I suppose that's what makes her such a good psychologist. I was an emotional mess growing up. A zit was a life crisis. I would do what she suggested and make a list of questions to ask Dr. Mitchell tomorrow. I turned out the light and went to sleep.
The next morning, I was up early. I checked to see that Jamie was still asleep and then went downstairs. I made myself two poached eggs on toast and poured a glass of orange juice, then took out a pad of paper and started to make up some questions for Dr. Mitchell. I tried a few times, but couldn't get it right, so there was a pile of crumbled paper on the counter:
'Why didn't you tell me you were a transsexual?' No, too confrontational.
'Dr. Mitchell, Kelly, told me you were a transsexual, is that true?' Better, but should I get Kelly in trouble?
'Dr. Mitchell, is there something about you that I should know?' No, too general.
'Dr. Mitchell, I didn't get a chance to find out about your background the last time I was here. Would you tell me about it?' Yes, polite, discrete, it doesn't get Kelly in trouble and it gives her the opportunity to be open.
If she doesn't mention that she is a transsexual, then I will know she is concealing it and that Kelly spoke out of turn. Then again, Ginny, it is a personal matter, I debated with myself. She might not be keeping it secret. She just might believe that it wasn't important. After all, you’re a nurse. Would it make a difference to you whether a patient was a transsexual, when you were caring for him. Him? Were transsexual's only men? Would a woman want to be a man? No, Ginny, not want. Karen told you it isn't a matter of choice. Would a woman feel like a man? I suppose she could. Were you getting completely distracted from your original purpose? Yes. Look at it the other way. If you needed nursing, would it matter to you who provided it? No. Not if they were qualified, but I might if it was a gynecological problem and I knew the nurse was male. Really? There are male nurses and male gynecologists. You wouldn't let them treat you? Of course you would, if you needed it. Why couldn't a transsexual provide counseling in an area with which she was personally familiar. Wouldn't she be the best person to understand the problem? Understand it, yes. Treat it, maybe not. So should you ask her directly? Maybe you should wait and see if she brings it up herself. Wouldn't that be better? Give her the benefit of the doubt? That way she wouldn't think you didn't have confidence in her. If she thought that, she might decide she shouldn't take Jamie as a patient and you might lose the opportunity to work with the most qualified therapist you could find. Ginny, you have given yourself Excedrin headaches numbers one through ten. Enough! I put down my pen and crumpled the sheet of paper, tossing it in the wastebasket along with my earlier efforts.
The rest of the week went by slowly. I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Mitchell on one the hand and was dreading seeing her on the other. The irony was that I was worried about being considered a good mother the first time I saw her and now the table had been turned and I was challenging her about being a good therapist. Even so, this was about Jamie and whatever embarrassment or consequences were the result, it was something I had to do for him. Things couldn't continue as they are. School would be starting in about a month and I had to have the issue of his playing with a doll and wearing dresses under control by then. Otherwise, his entire school experience would be ruined, if it came out. There's your answer, Ginny. You have no choice.
Monday finally came. The night before, I had told Jamie about having to go back to the hospital and again I assured him it was just routine. He enjoyed his morning in the daycare center and didn't resist going back there. I woke him up early, got him ready, gave him a quick breakfast and we drove to the hospital. Since I had already done the paperwork, it was much easier to leave him, and since I knew my way to Dr. Mitchell's office, it was much quicker for me to get there.
I arrived at about ten minutes to eight. The door to the reception area was open and I went in. I wasn't sure if I should let Dr. Mitchell know I was there early or wait until eight. I decided to knock on her door. I waited a minute and it opened. From a preliminary glance, I could see that Dr. Mitchell was impeccably dressed in a dark grey sheath with a matching short jacket, a pearl necklace, smoke grey stockings and dark grey leather pumps. If she was a man, and from what I could see the jury was still out, she could put Christian Dior to shame with her fashion sense.
"Ginny, I'm so glad you're early. It gives us a few extra minutes. Please," she pointed to the conversation area, "come in and let's get started."
"Good morning, Dr. Mitchell, I greeted her formally, as we walked to the chairs."
She waited for me to sit down and then took her seat. I noticed she still did not have any recording device or notepad. Looking at her more closely, I could see that her makeup was as perfect as her outfit. Eyeliner, maybe just a hint of smoky opalescent eye shadow, probably mascara, from the fullness of her eyelashes, subtly applied blush, if she had foundation, it was imperceptible, maybe she just had really good skin, and her signature plum colored lipstick. She must have caught me staring and smiled. I looked down in embarrassment.
"It took me forever to learn to do my hair and face. Luckily, my stepfather is a world class cosmetician and hairdresser. If it wasn't for his efforts and education, I would have never made it through high school as a girl."
She seemed surprised by the astonished look on my face. Not that I was surprised she was what Kelly had said, but that she was so nonchalant about it.
"You didn't know that I was transgendered?"
"I wasn't sure," I admitted. "Kelly mentioned it last week, but Karen, you know, my sister, Dr. Dalton, well, I did have some, I don't know, honestly, reservations about your judgment, so she told me to ask you about it today." Then I realized I had spilled the beans about Kelly. "Oh dear, Dr. Mitchell, I hope I didn't get Kelly in trouble. She was, well we were just having conversation and she was very complimentary," I added in her defense.
Dr. Mitchell grinned, exposing white teeth set off by her darker shade of lipstick, and tossed her hair back in a typical feminine gesture.
"You don't have to get Kelly in trouble. She's perfectly capable of doing it by herself. However, she has organized or disorganized my office, depending on how you look at it, so that she is indispensable. I wouldn't have a clue how to function without her and she knows it, so she is pretty impertinent sometimes. That having been said, my being transgendered is not a secret. I just assumed that you knew. That is the reason most of my transgendered patients come to me and feel comfortable working with me, because we have a common understanding of the issues. If we were little kids, I'd use the playground retort to an insult, that it takes one to know one."
"Kelly used the word 'transsexual'."
"That's what I am. I was thinking of getting a big red "T" tattooed on my forehead to warn people who might not know about me, but you'd be surprised how hard it is to find makeup to coordinate with a scarlet letter.
She said it with such sincerity that it took me a minute before I caught on to the humor. I struggled to maintain my decorum, but I lost and couldn't help giggling. Dr. Mitchell gave me a big smile.
I don't understand Doctor, Jenny, you look so. I couldn't get myself to say the words. Realistic, convincing, I finally came up with feminine.
"Amazing what a boatload of hormones, a couple of bags of silicone and the removal of some superfluous plumbing can do for you," she retorted.
I couldn't help myself, I cracked up.
"None of that would make a man a woman." I finally got out. "He'd just be a very emotional soprano with a lumpy chest," I kidded her back.
Now it was Jenny's turn to crack up.
"That is the best response I have ever heard. Maybe you and I should do a comedy routine. Laughter is the best medicine, so they say. Although I suppose that depends on whether you’re the laugher or the laughee. Most of my patients would not find our jokes amusing. But you are exactly right, Ginny. Being transgendered is a state of mind, not body. Physical appearance simply helps others to relate to you in the proper perspective, which brings us full circle to your son's behavior."
She looked at her watch.
"Thirty minutes and that's pushing it. Last week, I recommend that you let nature take its course. What course did Jamie's nature take?"
"The same one. He plays with his doll. He has learned to change her dress and when he does, he has me dress him in the matching outfit or at least the one he associates with each of the doll's outfits. His party dress does match hers. The tank-top dress doesn't, but he seems to understand that the doll and he can't have a coordinated wardrobe. Other than that, he seems normal. We go out, have lunch at one of the kiddy restaurants, go to the park and play and watch videos. When we go out, he doesn't make a fuss about leaving his doll at home and he doesn't seem to mind wearing his boy's clothes. That's about it. He's no better and no worse than last week."
"Since we haven't made a diagnosis, it's hard to say whether he is better or worse. Sometimes staying the same is a good thing and sometimes it isn't. Think about someone who gets lost while hiking. Staying in the same place is not a good thing. They are still lost. It is true they won't get more lost, but can you be more lost than lost? What they won't accomplish by staying in the same place is finding their way out."
"Yes, but, aren't people told to remain where they are, so it is easier for rescuers to track them down, rather than wandering around aimlessly?"
"A true outdoors woman. Yes, Ginny, if you're sure help is on the way. However, to continue with the metaphor, in my practice, I want my patients to be self-reliant. My job is to point them in the right direction and to teach them how to recognize and avoid dangers on the way out."
"Doctor, Jenny, sorry my nursing training makes it hard for me to call doctors by their first name. Jenny," I started again, "how can you be, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be disrespectful… "
"You cannot hurt my feelings, Ginny. If there is something that might interfere with our relationship, then you do neither of us a favor by not telling me about it," she interrupted me.
"How can your being a transsexual not affect the direction in which you point your patients?"
"It does affect my work, Ginny, but not in the way you mean. Did miss-big-mouth happen to mention that I am married and have children?"
"Yes."
"It was a very difficult transition from boy to girl, Ginny. It always is. You’re an attractive woman. I imagine that when you were in high school you had your share of boyfriends."
"Yes, I did have boyfriends, but no steady."
"There was a boy I liked. His name was Brian. He liked me too. I was open about being transgendered in high school. I wasn't a transsexual then. That's a decision that can't be made until you're an adult, so you can give informed consent, and even then, you have to have undergone lengthy counseling and received the therapist's approval. I was still physically a boy. We saw each other secretly, because the other kids would have made fun of him, if they found out he was dating me. Nothing physical. Eventually, I fell in love with him. I couldn't help it. He is everything a girl could look for in a man." She paused and looked at me.
"I know you lost your husband. I hope this isn't difficult for you, but there is a point I'm getting to."
"No, Doctor, Jenny, please continue. I was very happy with Jim, my husband, and wouldn't trade that time or my memories for all the riches in the world. I am not jealous of other people's happiness."
"Thank you. You are a very impressive woman, Ginny."
That was quite a compliment from someone whose profession is analyzing people. I smiled and bowed my head in recognition.
"We got married and I wanted to have his child. Obviously, I was not equipped for that, so I used my influence as a doctor to convince the fertility clinic in the hospital to get me an egg donor. When I told my older sister, Beth, about it, she had a fit. 'No niece of mine is going to be a stranger, Jenny.' Beth was always bossy."
"Been there," I agreed.
"She offered to give me one of her eggs, so that the baby would be a member of our family genetically. Of course, she also offered to let Brian come over and fertilize it."
I chuckled.
"When my little sister, Susie, heard what Beth had offered, the little showoff had to top her. 'I want to have your baby, Sis,' she insisted. So Brian Junior is a family effort. Brian and I didn't want him to be an only child, but we couldn't ask Beth and Susie to go through it again, so we adopted a Chinese baby. She came with a birth certificate as being named Mingmei, which means smart and beautiful, but we call her Mimi."
"That's a pretty name."
"Ginny, I love my children with all my heart. They're still young, but eventually I am going to have to tell them about me. I don't know when I will tell them, I don't know how I will tell them, I don't know what I will tell them, but I can't deceive them. You said you were terrified about losing Jamie. That will never happen, if I can help it. But I am just as terrified about losing my children, when they find out the truth, and I can't help that. Nobody can. Do you see now why I would never encourage anyone to be like me?
The woman had shown me how vulnerable she was to make me understand that I had nothing to be concerned about, because she was a transsexual. I could see now why Kelly loved her."
I stood up.
"Jenny, please, I need a hug," I told her emotionally.
"It must be contagious. I need one too."
We embraced as sisters and any doubt about her sincerity or objectivity was gone. When we released, we sat down. Returning to her professional demeanor, Jenny looked at her watch. We now have fifteen minutes to deal with Jamie. I would like to meet him next session.
"He won’t be starting kindergarten for about a month, so he is available. I'll bring him with me," I agreed.
"I would also like to try a little experiment. It's controversial and it's up to you, but I don't know of another way to find out how he feels about his gender. A six year old doesn't understand the biological or anatomical differences that distinguish boys from girls. All he knows at his age is that there is one group of people who dress and act differently than another group of people. That makes it very difficult to determine if what he is doing is an early expression of his being transgendered, a behavior that will make him increasingly fascinated with looking and acting feminine, or there is something else going on. From what you have told me, Jamie's interest in being feminine is related to his playing with his doll.
"Yes, he asks me dress him up when he wants to play with her."
"I would recommend that you buy him more girl's clothes and see how he reacts to them. Does he want to join the group of people who he recognizes as being girls by their attire or are the clothes only important for whatever role he is taking when he plays with the doll? I would try to make the clothes feminine enough that they are easily recognizable as distinctly for girls and I would try to make them different enough that they don't correspond to the doll's dresses. Then just let him choose what he wants to wear. Ginny, it is very important for the experiment that you don't give him any cues. Don't encourage him to dress one way or the other. Don't discourage him from mixing and matching, even though he may look silly. Don't compliment him, if he looks nice. Try not to even give him subliminal messages, by smiling or frowning or being enthusiastic or unenthusiastic when he picks out his clothes. It has to be completely his decision or it won't be valid."
After our discussion, I had no reason to doubt Jenny's prescription.
"Okay, you're the doctor," I acknowledged. "I will take Jamie on a shopping spree."
"No, don't take him, Ginny. I don't want him involved with it. Since you will be only shopping for girl's clothes, I don’t want him to associate them with spending time with you. I want you to do it casually. Just give them to him they same way you would if they were boy's clothes. You wouldn't make a fuss about a pair of jeans and a sports shirt, so don't make one over a skirt and blouse. Do you understand what you need to do to make this work?
"Yes, Jenny, but what do I do with him once he picks out his clothes, if he dresses as a girl?"
"For the experiment to work, the effect of what he wears has to be neutral. He can't think that wearing one type of clothes gets him a trip to the zoo and ice cream and wearing another type of clothes gets him stuck in the house by himself."
"You mean I should take him out dressed as a girl?"
"Yes. At his age, most people can't tell the difference. I would be careful about exposing him to situations where he might be outed."
Jenny saw that I had a puzzled look.
"Sorry, I forgot you're new to this. 'Outed' means two things. First, that someone recognizes you under circumstances where you're exhibiting behavior you wanted to keep private, cross-dressing or having a romantic relationship with a partner of the same sex. Second, that someone publicly discloses your gender preference or sexual orientation, that you're transgendered, gay or lesbian."
"Oh."
"I could take him to Karen's for the week. They've been begging me to visit. I know she would be okay with Jamie dressing like a girl. I bet her daughters would love a girl cousin too. I'm not sure about her husband. Men seem to be more traditional when it comes to that type of thing. Karen and I talked about how Jim would never have let me buy Jamie a doll, let alone a dress. I suppose I could run it by her. If anybody could make it work, it would be her."
"That sounds like a good plan, but, Ginny, we don't know if Jamie won't prefer being a boy. That's what the experiment is designed to discover. You can talk to your sister about it. She's a professional and will understand, but I wouldn't have her announce it to the rest of her family, until we have some assurance Jamie wants to dress as a girl. You need to go slow with this. And Ginny, speaking of going slow, be mindful of the differences in the way mothers treat sons and daughters. It's well established that mothers are much more tactile with girls, fussing with their hair and clothes, holding them, touching them."
Jenny, looked at her watch.
"That's a wrap, my dear. Same time next week, please."
"Yes, Ma'am. And Jenny, could you spare another hug, please?"
"By coincidence, I do happen do have an extra one handy."
We stood and embraced one another and then she walked me to the door.
Opening it, she told Kelly, who had arrived and was at her desk, "same time for Ms. McCarthy and she will be bringing Jamie with her. I want a longer session with them both, so see if you can cancel Jacqueline. She can get through the week without me holding her hand. Tell her to call me if she has another crisis with her girlfriend."
Jenny, looked at me and shrugged, then went back into her office and closed the door. Kelly handed me the appointment card.
"You can't marry Dr. Mitchell," I told her. "I'm going to."
"Unfortunately for us and fortunately for her, we'll have to get in line behind her husband, at least until bigamy becomes legal. Maybe she'll adopt us. She'd probably be as a good a mother as a wife. Bunny slippers, cocoa and a bedtime story from doctor mommy sounds delicious."
"I think that Dr. Mitchell has enough going on with her own children," I replied cryptically.
Kelly knew her well enough to get the meaning.
"Yes," she sighed. "We've talked about it over the years. She's been working with a wonderful older woman, Dr. Goldfarb, since she was a child herself. This was Dr. Goldfarb's office. Dr. Mitchell went into practice with her when she finished her post-graduate work. Dr. Goldfarb retired a few years ago, but Dr. Mitchell still sees her regularly. I can't imagine how hard it is for her. Not only dealing with the problems of her patients, I can't tell you specifics, but some of their stories would break your heart, Ms. McCarthy. You don't know how blessed we are to be content with being women. Then she has to go home and deal with her own problems. Thank God for Brian. He is an exceptional man."
"And Dr. Mitchell is an exceptional woman."
"You won't get an argument from me."
"Thanks, Kelly. See you next week."
"Yes, I'm looking forward to meeting Jamie. In fact, you know what? I'm coming in early, so I'll be here when you arrive."
"You don't have to do that, we'll be fine."
"I don't have to. I want to."
"You're married, aren't you?"
"Yes, you caught me again. I wouldn't really divorce George to marry Dr. Mitchell. At least not this week. Why?"
"Well, if I can’t marry Dr. Mitchell, I was going to propose to you, but I guess I'm destined to be an old maid."
"Doubtful, Ms. McCarthy."
"Bye."
Kelly waived and then blew me a kiss. I caught it and planted it on my cheek, which got her to laugh. I went to the daycare center, got Jamie and we drove home.
The rest of the day was routine for Jamie, but I was planning how to go shopping without him. I couldn't get a baby sitter, because he would want to play with his doll and dress up, which she wouldn't understand. I couldn't make a play date, because I couldn't count on his discretion. Then the idea of leaving him at the hospital's daycare center struck me. I could drop him off in the morning, go to the mall and then pick him up in the afternoon. It would be a long day for him, but he was used to the center. Would they give him lunch or would I have to pack it for him, I wondered. I decided to call and find out.
Francine, the head of the center, was very accommodating when I explained that I needed to do some testing, which was true in a sense. It just wasn't medical testing in the usual sense. No, they could provide lunch from the cafeteria. There was a five dollar charge. Or I could bring his food, if he was a fussy eater or had some dietary restrictions. I choose to pack him a bag lunch. He was always happy with PB and J. I could add one of his favorite cookies and a banana. That should hold him. Francine said they could give him a carton of milk or juice at no charge. They kept it in their 'fridge for snack time. That took care of the logistics of buying Jamie his trousseau.
Tuesday morning, I dropped him off at the center and drove to the mall. I could have stayed downtown, but I was more comfortable shopping in a store that I knew. I went into the Girls 4-6X Department and saw that Claire was working. I went over to the sales counter and said hello. She didn't recognize me until I reminded her of the pink party dress I bought for my daughter.
"Oh yes, the pretty redhead with the green eyes. Now I remember you."
"I want to take you up on your offer to pick out some back to school clothes for her."
"Of course. Did you have anything special in mind?"
"Well, she's pretty much of a tomboy. I was hoping that when she started school she would want to be more feminine, so the more girly the better, if you know what I mean."
I hoped Claire did, because I didn't.
"Yes, of course. My little sister was like that. All she wore was jeans or pants and jerseys. Mom tried everything to coax her into skirts and dresses, but it wasn't until she discovered boys that she realized showing off some skin was a good thing. Let's see what we can find to catch her fancy." She paused. "She did wear the party dress, didn't she?"
"Yes, it was for a special occasion and I insisted that she get dressed up. That's why I bought the underwear to go with it. All she wears is the plain cotton briefs. She needs the works."
"The works it is," Claire agreed enthusiastically, probably thinking about her commission. Then again, if she got me what I needed, she deserved it.
"I would recommend a corduroy jumper with a linen blouse. They're in style, very comfortable and easy for kids to dress themselves in. Add some nylon panties and a nylon camisole and they feel really pretty. Knee socks are easy to wear too and look great with a jumper. She should have at least one A-line dress. We have some nice ones in an easy care polyester blend. Tights complete the outfit. Of course, she needs a couple of skirts too," Claire recommended, getting carried away, but I didn't want to discourage her. "Kilts are in. So are pleated skirts. A pullover top will go with both and you can mix and match the knee socks and tights. That should pretty much do it. Do you want to look around or do you want me to bring you a selection?"
"I trust your judgment, Claire, and you know styles and your stock better, so why don't you start. Jamie is a size six."
"Super."
She started off, gathering things from racks. It was still a few weeks before school started and early in the morning, so it was quiet and Claire could give me her full attention. I waited by the sales counter as she brought back armfuls of clothes. She was really into being Jamie's personal shopper. Going through her selection, there was a rainbow of colors and soft, silky coordinating items that would have delighted any little girl. I complimented her on choices and gave her my credit card.
"You want everything I picked out, Mrs. McCarthy?"
"Yes. I'll take it home and see how they look on Jamie. He's visiting his Aunt, which gave me more time to shop. I know he… . Oh no. I outed him. Just what Dr. Mitchell had warned me against. Ginny, you're an idiot.
I could see Claire give me a strange look. I decided that I could confide in her. There was no reason she wouldn't sell me the clothes. I just wouldn't come back, if it was a problem.
"Claire, I'm sorry to have told you a story. Jamie's a boy. He's, well we're not sure, but he likes to dress as a girl sometimes. That's why I bought him the party dress. We want to see how he feels about becoming more feminine. He may not care about the clothes, which would be fine, or he may like them. I won't know until I bring them home and give him the opportunity to wear them."
"Cool," was all she said.
"Cool?" I echoed.
"Hey, I sell clothes, Mrs. McCarthy. What my customers do with them is their business. And who am I to judge anyway. I bet your son will look really pretty all dolled up in his new outfits. If he doesn't like them, just bring them back. Since you're taking them on approval sort of, I'm going to ring them up on my account. You get the discount and I won't have to deal with the paperwork reversing my commission."
"Claire, thank you. That's very understanding and generous," I said appreciatively.
"No problem. You're welcome to shop with me anytime," she offered, ringing up and bagging the items. "And Jamie's welcome too. It will be our secret."
"Thank you again, Claire. You've made this much easier."
"My pleasure. Please let me know how things work out."
"I will."
I took my bags back to the car and put them in the trunk. Then I went back to the discount shoe store and bought Jamie a pair of casual pumps with a little heel that he could step into, to go with his dresses, and a pair of black leather t-straps. There was also a pair of pink and tan saddle shoes I couldn't resist. I added those to the collection in my trunk and made a final trip to the accessory store, where I picked out some hair items, some magnetic earrings, a gold tone heart locket necklace and a matching bracelet. I didn't know how far Jamie would want to go dressing up. He may not be interested at all or he may enjoy his new wardrobe, but I wanted to be ready, especially if I was going to take him out, I think the word Karen used was en femme, dressed as a girl, so he would be as convincing as possible. Not that it probably mattered, since I couldn't keep my big mouth shut. Then again, I wasn't exactly an old hand at having a son who might be a girl at heart.
I picked Jamie up from the daycare center and took him home. As usual, he went upstairs, got his doll and asked me to help him get dressed. Instead, I told him that I had bought him some new clothes and wanted to show them to him. I brought in all of the bags and boxes of shoes and began laying them out on his bed, trying to put them together in outfits, skirt and top, tights or knee socks and shoes. Jamie watched me and when I was finished, I told him I had to get something downstairs, but he could pick out what he liked and I would help him put it on when I came back. I left, wondering what I would find when I returned.
TO BE CONTINUED
By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part V
Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.
I managed to keep my curiosity in check and stayed downstairs for about fifteen minutes, to give Jamie time to make his selection. When I finally went into his room, he was sitting on the floor with his doll. He looked up when I came in.
"Jamie, Honey," I asked casually, as if it didn't matter, "have you decided what you'd like to wear?"
His response took me by surprise.
"My dress, Mommy, please."
"Which dress?" I asked puzzled.
I was hoping it would be one of his new ones or maybe one of the skirts. They were the same as a dress from the waist down and, since Jamie never had a skirt before, he might not know the difference.
"My dress, Mommy," he repeated.
"They're all your dresses, Sweetie," I pointed out.
"No, the one Jamie wears too."
"You mean Jamie, your doll?"
"Yes, Mommy."
"Your party dress?"
He nodded his head.
"Wouldn't you like to wear one of these," I suggested, knowing that I was not following Dr. Mitchell's instructions by expressing my preference, but then it wasn't between boy's and girl's clothes, just one type of girl's clothes and another.
He shook his head.
"No, Mommy."
At this point, I had no choice. If I was any more explicit, it would definitely affect the outcome of the experiment.
"Okay, Sweetie," I agreed, getting the dress from his closet and finding the rest of the items that he wore with it. "Get yourself undressed."
After putting Jamie into his party dress, I left him to play.
"Have fun, Honey," I remarked pleasantly, not wanting to show my disappointment that the experiment had failed.
The best laid plans of psychiatrists and mothers, I thought to myself as I went downstairs, but why? It seemed so logical. Give Jamie a choice between pretty girl's clothes and his usual boy's clothes and see which he preferred. Perhaps, Ginny, the logic of a six year old was different. What were you missing? Maybe the girl's clothes didn't mean the same to him as they did to you and Dr. Mitchell. Why should they? He knew nothing about them. Most of the time he got together with his cousins, they wore jeans, tops and sneakers. Then I remembered our conversation at the mall, when I was telling him why he couldn't have a dress. Only girls wear dresses, I told him. He asked me why and I explained that girls wore different clothes than boys. He disagreed. Girls wear pants and shirts like him, he told me. Then it hit me. Ginny, it's not the clothes, it’s the doll he cares about! Debbie and Cindy are girls. When he goes to their house, they play with dolls, so having a doll, not wearing a dress, is what makes them girls. Maybe he is transgendered. He's just expressing it in a different way. Is that possible? I'd have to ask Dr. Mitchell at our next appointment. In the meantime, Ginny, is there a plan B? Do you need one?
If there is no Plan B, then there is no need for the clothes, I reasoned. I should take them back. Why are you admitting defeat so easily? Just find a way to leave the doll out of the experiment and it will work, but how? Of course! He isn't allowed to take the doll out of the house. Take him out and let him wear whatever he wants. Dr. Mitchell said you could take him out dressed as a girl. Brilliant, Ginny, if you do say so yourself. It was still early. I decided to let him have another hour to play, just to be sure he didn't suspect anything. Around five o'clock, I called up to him.
"Jamie, I didn't have a chance to go grocery shopping, Honey. Let's go out for dinner. I'm coming up in a few minutes to get you ready. Finish up whatever you're doing, then take off your dress and pick out something else to wear."
As before, I controlled my curiosity and gave him ten minutes. Then I went upstairs, anxious to see what he had picked out. Nothing. He had taken off the dress, which was on the bed with the other clothes, and was wearing the nylon panties and cammie.
"Jamie, you'll be starting school in a few weeks and children who go to school get themselves dressed. Let's practice," I encouraged him. "What would you like to wear, Honey? Anything on the bed or in your closet, you choose."
He looked at me blankly.
Well, Ginny, why would he care about what he wears? Girls are taught to appreciate fashion. Mothers are always oohing and aahing over their daughter's clothes, reinforcing how looking pretty is essential to their femininity. Jamie wasn't brought up that way. As far as he knows, one pair of pants or shirt is as good as another and the same plain white underpants go with everything. Should I start to educate him about how girls dress themselves or is that contrary to Dr. Mitchell's admonition about my influencing his choice? You know the answer, so why even ask the question. So much for Plan B. Is there are Plan C?
Let's see. Whatever plan you come up with, it has to have something to do with the doll. That's the key to his dressing in girl's clothes. What if you let him take the doll with him when you go out to dinner? No, you've already made a rule that he can't take the doll out of the house. Even if you did let him, he'd pick his party dress. Think, Ginny. Yes, that's it. Jamie wears the same thing as the doll, so if you want him to wear the clothes you bought for him, then the doll has to wear them too. All you have to do is to buy the doll matching clothes. Since you're not doing anything to influence his behavior, at least directly, the experiment should still be valid. Okay, here goes.
"Jamie, let's stop off at the toy store after dinner. I promised you a big toy and we ended up with just one dress for your doll. Wouldn't you like to have more clothes for her to wear, Honey?"
Jamie shrugged.
"Words please."
"I guess so, Mommy. What kind of clothes?" he wondered.
"We'll see what there is. I bet she'd like a skirt and top and maybe something for her legs, just like what I bought for you," I suggested.
Jamie looked at the clothes on his bed.
"Like these, Mommy?"
"Yes, Jamie. Those are for you and we can find the same things for the doll. Wouldn't you like to look like her?"
"Can I?"
"Well, I did say that you couldn't always look like her, emphasizing 'always', but sometimes it's okay for you to dress the same, emphasizing 'sometimes'," I equivocated.
"Okay," he agreed.
"Okay, then. Let's go."
I decided to let him wear his familiar boy's clothes and gradually move into taking him out as a girl, once he become comfortable with his new wardrobe by playing dress-up with his doll. I had him change out of his panties, put on his briefs, a pair of shorts and exchanged the cammie for a t-shirt. White socks and his old sneakers, a quick session with the comb, and we were ready.
Dinner was pizza and then we were off to the toy store. By now, I knew how to navigate to the doll's section and find the right clothing. Studying the display, I was surprised by the wide variety of styles, colors and materials. Anything that you could find in a regular department store was there. Looking at the price tags, you could probably buy the same things for real in a department store, but I wasn't bargain hunting. If this helped Jamie to express his feminine nature, if he had one, it was worth it.
"Jamie, they're lots of pretty things here for your doll. What do you think she'd like?" I asked him, hoping that he would express his own preference.
"I don't know, Mommy. A dress?"
"Yes, we can buy her another dress, but she already has two of them. How about buying her a skirt and some tops? Those are fun to wear. And tights would look nice on her. Shall I pick out a few things and you can decide what you want to keep after we get them home," I offered as a compromise.
"I guess so," Jamie conceded.
I sorted through the clothes, trying to find things that were similar to what I had bought Jamie. I found a jumper, a pleated skirt, a kilt and an A-line dress, two blouses, a pullover top and an assortment of tights and knee socks. The colors and materials were different, but he had accepted my old tank top as the counterpart for the doll's dress we bought last time, so I hoped he wouldn't be too fussy about these. When I had finished making my selection, I turned to him and asked if there was anything else he saw that he would like me to buy. He had no additions to make. I carried the collection to the checkout counter. The woman gave me a curious look as she began to scan them.
"We're having a birthday party for my daughter and her girlfriends are all binging over their dolls. I'm going to give the clothes as prizes for the games," I explained creatively.
The woman gave me a small smile and continued to scan the items. When she had totaled it up, I handed her my credit card, she rang it through, put the clothes in a plastic bag and we left.
By the time we got home, it was past Jamie's bedtime. I told him that I would get all of the clothes ready and leave them in his room, so he could play with them in the morning. Jamie was tired and didn't protest. We went though his usual nighttime routine. I read him and the doll a story and tiptoed out as he nodded off. I went downstairs, found a large plastic storage container and put all of the clothes in it. I took the box upstairs and left it on the floor of Jamie's room. I went into my room, got myself ready for bed and read until I was sleepy. I turned out the light and lay in the dark, wondering if Plan C would work. You'll know in the morning, Ginny.
My alarm went off at seven thirty. I got up, put on a robe and went into Jamie's room. He was still asleep, so I went downstairs for my morning cup of tea. Jim was a coffee drinker and I would join him to be sociable, but I preferred tea. He would have two cups while I was only half way through mine. He thought I didn't like hot beverages, so I was waiting for it to cool, but I was stalling and after he left, I would pour it out. The only time I couldn't get away with my little trick was if we went out for breakfast. Luckily, or perhaps unfortunately in retrospect, considering how little time we had together, we didn't go out for breakfast often, as we had more intimate morning activities to occupy ourselves. I missed him.
C'mon, Ginny, no time for that, I scolded myself. Jamie needs you. He'll be up soon. Get yourself together. I went back upstairs and got dressed. I looked in on him again and I could see that he was beginning to wake up. I debated whether I should offer to pick out an outfit for the doll and him or give him time to do it himself. I decided to wait. I went back downstairs. After watching the clock on the microwave advance through fifteen minutes, Jamie appeared. He had obediently left the doll on the stairs and was still in his pajamas. Glancing into the hallway, I saw that the doll was still wearing her party dress from last night. I gave Jamie breakfast and then sent him upstairs. Showtime, or maybe not, be patient.
About ten minutes later, Jamie came back downstairs. He had the doll and he also had something in his hand. He was holding a pair of white tights I bought for him and a pair I bought for the doll. I noticed that he had put on the nylon panties and cammie he wore with his dresses.
"You want me to help you, Honey?"
"Yes, please, Mommy. I don't know how."
"Do you want me to dress your doll or you first?"
"Jamie."
"You mean Jamie, you doll?"
"Uh huh."
"Yes, please," he corrected himself.
"Can I have her, please?"
He handed the doll to me and I put her on the table. He had already taken off her party dress and she had on just her panties and white socks. I left on the panties and removed her socks. I looked down and saw that Jamie was barefoot.
"The way to put on tights," I explained, "is to bunch up one leg, like this."
I demonstrated how to use your fingers to gather the material until it was all scrunched up with just the foot sticking out.
"First you do one side and then you put your foot in and unroll it a little bit," I showed him, pulling the fabric up to below the doll's knee. "Then you do the same thing to the other leg. Once you have both legs in, you pull them up gently, until the waist band of the panty part is around your hips. Then you run your hands up the legs to smooth them until the bottom part of the panty is in place." I avoided using the word crotch. "See, the tights cover her legs and the panty part holds them up. Do you want to try to try putting on your tights?"
Jamie looked at the tights and then at me. He shook his head.
"No, Mommy, you do it, please."
"Sit in the chair, Honey, and stick out your right foot," I instructed him, bunching up the right leg of the tights the same way I had when I was dressing the doll. "Point you toe." I slipped his toe into the foot and worked the material up a little way. "Do you like the way it feels, Jamie."
He nodded and I didn't correct him. It was too special a moment, helping him to be a girl for the first time. When I dressed him up before, he was my son. Now he was my daughter. This wasn't a costume to match what his was doll was wearing, they were his clothes. The ones he would wear for the rest of his life. Ginny? They're tights. Male dancers wear tights. So do men on the flying trapeze, don't they? And wasn't there once something about a football player who wore pantyhose to keep his legs warm? You and Karen giggled when you heard about it. Boys in pantyhose seemed so silly, little did you know. So Jamie hasn't committed himself to being transgendered. Not yet, anyway. This was just an experiment and it took three tries before you got it right. Maybe you got it right, I corrected myself. Wait to see what Dr. Mitchell thinks, before you sign him up for ballet class. I laughed to myself. He could wear the tights either way, but I'd have to hold off on the tutu.
Once Jamie had on his tights, he went back upstairs. I wondered whether he would understand that they were underwear and pick out something to wear over them, one of his dresses, a skirt, or maybe his own clothes. Dr. Mitchell told me not to say anything, if his inexperience resulted in him mixing boy's and girl's clothes. Now I was really curious, but I let him have time to make his own choice. After about fifteen minutes, he came downstairs in the jumper and he had put the same thing on the doll. The doll had on her black shoes and he was wearing his Mary Jane's. What was missing was a top. He wore the jumper like a dress, with just his camisole underneath and the doll had nothing on under it.
"Can you help me, Mommy, please," he asked, turning around to have me pull up the zipper, the way I did when he was putting on his party dress.
"Sure, Honey."
I zipped up the back and fastened the hook at the top. The doll's dress just pulled over her head. I thought about suggesting that he find a blouse to put on, but I refrained from coaching him. I also resisted complimenting him on how nice he looked. Jamie went back upstairs to play. I wondered if he would change the doll into some of the other outfits, but he spent the rest of the day dressed as he was and so did the doll. Well, it was a start. Let's see what tomorrow brings, Ginny. Maybe he just needed to get it out of his system and now that he has done it, he will be himself again. Unless, of course, his self was a girl in a boy's body, the way Karen explained being transgendered.
I puttered around the house for the rest of the day. I was anxious to try taking Jamie out dressed as a girl, but I decided to wait until I was sure he accepted his new wardrobe as everyday clothes, not just what he wore to play with his doll. I also wanted to give him some time to learn about coordinating his outfits, so he wouldn't be embarrassed by people staring. That evening we watched TV together. He had forgotten about the way to sit in a dress, so I reinstructed him about acting ladylike. To my surprise, he was very cooperative. Would a boy care? Was this more evidence of his being transgendered or was he just a good kid who wanted to please his mother?
When it was bedtime, I helped him to get undressed, since he couldn't manage the zipper on the back of his jumper. As I was exchanging his panties for briefs, I had a thought that I should have bought him a nightgown, something really frilly and lacy, so that he could continue to feel feminine, even at bedtime. Did little girls even wear nightgowns to sleep in anymore? I didn't when I was growing up and neither did Karen. Either extra large t-shirts or regular sized ones with boxers in the summer and flannel PJ's in the winter were more practical. Maybe just a pair of pink nylon pajamas for him would be a nice transition. He could keep his panties on. For some reason, the image of Jamie in a baby doll nightie with little ruffled panties peeking out from under the short top struck me. Ginny, really!
After breakfast the next morning, I gave Jamie the opportunity to select his own clothes again. I wondered if he was interested in trying different outfits or his choices were just random. If he took whatever he happened to pick up first? Since he didn't know what went with what, I didn't see how it could be otherwise. That would explain why he didn't pick out a blouse or top to wear with his jumper yesterday. Even so, that was only the first day, Ginny. He could have ignored all of his new clothes and gone back to the party dress, like he did with Plan A. I busied myself around the kitchen, so it wouldn’t' seem like I was too interested in what he was wearing. Finally he appeared. I pretended not to notice.
"Mommy?" he asked to get my attention.
"Oh, hi, Sweetie."
A casual look revealed he was still in his pajamas.
"Do you want to play with Jamie?" he asked me.
"Your mean Jamie you doll?"
He nodded his head.
This was a development I hadn't anticipated. The last time I asked, he didn't want to share her. Either he was becoming more sociable in whatever he played with the doll or he was tacitly admitting he needed my help with her new clothes. There was only one way to find out.
"Sure, Honey. Let's go upstairs."
We went up to his bedroom. All of the doll's outfits were still in the plastic box, except for the tights and jumper, which she was still wearing. I looked through the selection and picked out a few things.
"Let's see. Jamie has never worn a skirt before. I think she'd like this one. I held out the blue, yellow, green and red plaid kilt. She needs something to cover her on top. I found a yellow long sleeved blouse with a peter pan collar. How about this?" I asked rhetorically. "She's got her panties on already. Just some knee socks, I think." I found a pair of dark blue ones. "There. Do you want me to help you get her dressed?"
"Yes, please."
I explained what I was doing as I fastened the kilt around her waist, pulled on the knee socks and slipped on the blouse, fastening the buttons. When she was all dressed, I held her out to Jamie. He took her and cradled her in the crook of his arm, the way I had shown him to hold a baby.
"What would you like to wear, Jamie?" I asked neutrally.
"Her clothes, Mommy."
"You mean the same thing that Jamie is wearing, a skirt and blouse?"
"Yes."
Well, he did make the choice. Finding the clothes and helping him into them wasn't really getting involved. Okay, it was, but in for a penny in for a pound. Oh, for goodness sake, Ginny. Get over that expression. It's just an excuse to do what you want and you know it. I found the more or less matching items I had bought for Jamie and helped him get dressed. With his Irish heritage, he really looked cute. Any little girl who saw him would be jealous. I was glad that I hadn't cut his hair yet. I wouldn't have the slightest hesitation about taking him out as my daughter in that outfit. Except that it was still summer and he was dressed for fall. The little girl sweltering in long sleeves, knee socks and a wool skirt would certainly draw attention. You forgot all about the seasonal wardrobe you bought him. How could you take him out in the summer dressed like that?
"Go ahead and play, Sweetie. Mommy's got some things she has to do. Maybe later we can go out," I suggested optimistically. Assuming Mommy can solve your wardrobe problem, I thought to myself.
Okay, Ginny, he can't wear those clothes now. Either you have to buy him something appropriate for summer or give up on taking him out as a girl. Claire was really sweet. You could take him back to the mall. That would work, but didn't Dr. Mitchell tell you not to take him shopping, so he wouldn't associate girl's clothes with having fun. Yes, but you won't be shopping for him as a girl. He'll be dressed as a boy. It won't be any different than the other times you've gone shopping with him. He doesn't need to get involved in choosing the clothes and now you know his size, so he doesn't have to try the them on in the store. Besides, if you don't buy him some summer outfits, then he has to stay home when he's dressed as a girl, which is contrary to Dr. Mitchell's recommendation that he do whatever he would do normally, regardless of what he was wearing.
"Jamie, you can play for a while, then I have to change you into your, ummm, your other clothes and we can go to the mall."
An hour later, I interrupted his playing. I still had no idea what it was he did with his doll without any accessories. I changed him into his shorts and a t-shirt, socks and sneakers. We drove to the mall and went into the department store. I looked around and saw Claire sorting through a rack of dresses. I walked over to her.
"Hi, Claire."
She turned around.
"Oh, hi, Mrs. McCarthy."
She remembered my name, but then how many mothers shop in the Girls 4-6X Department for their sons and lie to her about it. I certainly was memorable.
"Do you have some returns?"
Then she recognized Jamie.
"Hi, Jamie" she greeted him.
She remembered his name too, but then to how many boys has she sold a party dress?
"Say hi to Claire, Jamie."
"Hi."
"No, no returns. That seems to have worked out. Actually, that is the problem in a way. Everything I bought was for fall and Jamie has nothing to wear now. Do you have any summer clothes left?"
"Oh, sure, Mrs. McCarthy. We moved them all to the clearance area at the back of the department." She pointed. We haven't advertised our end of summer sale yet, that won't be until mid-August, so there's still a pretty good selection of styles and sizes. Did you want me to find some things for Jamie?"
"Yes, please. You have good taste. I'm sure whatever you pick out will do nicely. I'm going to take Jamie for some ice cream. It's better if we're not around. It's complicated. Anyway, here's my credit card." I handed it to her. "I'll be back in about fifteen minutes. Oh, and if you don't mind, he," I rolled my eyes, "we need some cotton undies too. Thanks, you're a doll." I winced at the word 'doll," which got a curious look from Claire. "It's complicated," I reiterated.
Jamie and I had our usual ice cream and returned to find Claire at the sales counter with a number of items laid out.
"Do you want me to show you what I picked out?"
I shook my head.
"I'm sure it's fine."
"I didn't want to ring it up without your approval. Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Okay, I'll ring it on my account again. Just in case," she said with a smile.
"Claire, it's not necessary. You deserve your commission. I'm sure we'll keep the clothes, really."
"That's very nice of you Mrs. McCarthy, but, well, I want to do this for Jamie. I hope everything works out for her."
I was impressed both with Claire's empathy and her willingness to recognize Jamie as a girl.
"Thank you again, Claire. I don't know what I would do without you."
"No problem, Mrs. McCarthy."
She smiled as she finished scanning the tickets and ran the receipt. I signed it while she folded the clothes with tissue paper and put them in the bag. It looked to be an assortment of dresses, skirts and tops, with a couple of packages of assorted pastel cotton panties and matching tank tops. I was impressed that she remembered I wanted the clothes to be very girly. When she had everything packed, she handed me the two big bags. I thanked her again, had Jamie say thank you to her and we went back to the car.
Jamie sat quietly as we drove home.
Once we were in the house, I sent Jamie upstairs to play while I looked through what Claire had picked out for him or her. I suppose I should start referring to him as a girl. To her as a girl? This was confusing, since there were times when he was still a boy or at least he still wore boy's clothes. Returning to the bags, I took out a summer dress. It was white eyelet, knee length and sleeveless, with a square neckline that was lower in back and a full skirt with a sash that tied in back to gather in the waist. It would look adorable with a pair of dressy ankle socks and strappy little sandals. Doh, Ginny. You didn't buy any summer footwear, so Jamie still can't go out in any of his new outfits yet. Next was a pretty pink and yellow floral print sundress. No wait. The bottom was actually culottes. It was kind of a romper. A light pink skort, a flouncy aqua miniskirt and three coordinating cotton short sleeved cotton jerseys completed the ensemble. Jamie was going to love his new outfits. Any little girl would. But he wasn't any little girl. There was only one way to know for sure.
"Jamie, Honey, can you come down here for a minute," I called up to him.
I waited a couple of minutes.
"Jamie, now please."
I heard him starting down the stairs. When he arrived, he had his doll with him. She still was wearing the outfit I dressed her in this morning. Jamie had managed to put on the matching blouse. Except for buttoning the opposite way, which apparently did not deter him, it was the same as his shirts. I could see the outline of his camisole under the blouse. He also had on the knee socks and his nylon panties, but his skirt was missing. Forgetting about why I had called him down, I questioned him about his incomplete attire.
"Jamie, what happened to your skirt, Honey?"
"It fell off."
Unlike regular skirts, kilts had a complicated wrap around fastening system that took some time to master.
"Do you want me to help you with it?"
"Yes, please."
He turned to start back upstairs.
"Wait a second, Honey. I wanted to show you your new clothes."
I started to hold up the white eyelet dress, but he wasn't interested. Okay, Ginny, Plan C was not going well either. What was the problem? Of course, the stupid doll again. I had to buy her matching clothes before he would wear what I bought for him. Now I needed to add more outfits to her wardrobe. Enough is enough. I'm his mother and it is up to me to decide how Jamie dresses, not his doll.
"Jamie, I will help you with your kilt and then you can play for a while, but remember, I told you, sometimes you can wear what your doll wears, but not always. I want to go to the park with you later and you need to choose something from what I bought today. Okay?"
"Okay," he agreed.
I followed him upstairs and found the kilt on his bed. I picked it up and wrapped it around him.
"See Honey, first you bring this side across, like this, with this hand and then fasten it," I showed him. "There's a button hole here and a button on the inside of the waist here. Now it will stay up. Then you bring the other side across and button it. See the other button and button hole. Once you have it on, you buckle the straps that keep it closed."
Jamie happily picked up his doll. I left him and went downstairs to decide what I would put on him when we went out. Since we were going to the park, the skort was the most practical, particularly because he could wear his sneakers with it. I opened a package of the cotton panties and took out a pink pair. The white top would look nice with the skort. He could wear his usual white socks. No, don't mix his boy's clothes with his girl's clothes. Don't be silly, Ginny. How would he know the difference in socks? If you've seen one pair, you've seen them all. Hold on. There were some socks in the load of laundry that got tinted pink. Genius. You already told him pink underwear was for girls. Pink socks too. It was about two o'clock. I'd give him another half hour and then have him change into what I picked out.
At two thirty, I took the outfit and went upstairs.
"Jamie, it's time for you to change, so we can go to the park. See this, it's called a skort. That's because it’s a combination of a shorts and a skirt. See."
I showed him how the front panel covered over the shorts, so it looked like a skirt from the front, but you could see the shorts from the back.
"It kind of looks like one of the skirts we bought for your doll," I encouraged him. "We can put it on her when you come home. She has a white pullover top like this one too."
I held up the top for him to look at.
"Let's get you undressed. I’ll help you with your kilt. Take off the knee socks and your panties too. I have different panties and socks for you to wear."
I showed him the pink cotton panties and tinted pink socks. Once he had them on, I had him step into the skort. It had an elasticized waist, so it was easy to pull on. The top went on the same as the t-shirts with which he was familiar. I gave his hair a brushing to fluff it up and we were ready. Almost ready. I remembered that when I bought him the first set of clothes, I had picked out some accessories to go with them. They were still in the bag. I looked though them and found the gold heart locket on a thin chain and two butterfly clips for his hair. I couldn't resist, even though Dr. Mitchell had cautioned me against rewarding him for being a girl.
"Jamie, Honey, I bought you this locket. It will look really pretty on you. So will these hair clips."
I opened the clasp, reached around his neck and fastened it, then used the clips to pull the hair back next to each ear. There was no doubt that anyone looking at him would think he was a natural girl. He even had me convinced and I was his mother. Ginny, if you're going to take him out dressed like a girl, you have to start referring to him as a girl, to her as a girl. Do little girls carry pocketbooks? No, not if they're going to the playground. He, she doesn't have one of those anyway. Add it to the list with sandals.
Jamie was very patient while I got him dressed. I expected him to complain, but he accepted the unfamiliar clothes without a fuss. When I finished, I took him into my room to see himself in the full length door mirror. He turned around twice and smiled, which I took as a sign of his approval. Congratulations, Ginny, Plan C was finally working.
I went to the kitchen and put a juice pack and some cookies in a plastic bag, in case he wanted a snack while we were at the park. When he went to get in the car, I showed him how to slid in sideways and then swing his legs in. I didn't matter with the skort, but there's no harm in learning good habits. At the park, I had him do the reverse when he got out of the car. We went over to the play area. I sent him off while I sat on one of the benches in the shade of a tree and kept an eye on him. About ten minutes later, I saw another child come over to him. It was a girl, about his age. I could see her talking to him and then they went over to the slide. They both climbed up and went down, then up and down a few more times. After the slide, they went over to the climbing structure. It looked like he was having a good time playing with her. I hadn't anticipated Jamie finding a playmate and I was concerned that he might reveal that he was a boy, but so far, so good it seemed.
I had been so focused on Jamie that I hadn't noticed the woman approach.
"Hi, I'm Helen Nelson. Merry, Meredith's, my daughter."
She pointed to the little girl playing with Jamie.
"Is that your daughter?"
I wasn't prepared for her question and hesitated. She mistook my silence for a denial.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I just thought, since I didn't see any other adults around, that you. I apologize for disturbing you. "
"What, no, excuse me, umm, yes, Jamie is my, umm, daughter," I babbled." I wasn't, umm, you caught me by surprise," which was an understatement. "I'm Ginny. You're, umm, Ellen?"
"Helen," she corrected me.
"It's nice to meet you Helen."
She smiled.
"Our girls seem to be getting along nicely. How old is Jamie?"
Careful Ginny, I warned myself. If you're going to be taking him out as a girl, you have to get it right.
"She's six."
"Oh, Merry will be six at the end of August. What grade is she in?"
"He," damn, "rr, her," nice recovery, "birthday's in July. I held her," good, "back a year, so she," you're improving," wouldn't be the youngest in her class. She's," you're on a roll, "just starting kindergarten."
"Great mind's think alike. Merry will be starting kindergarten in the fall too. May I sit down?"
"Please."
"What school will Jamie be going to?" Helen continued.
"Oak Hill."
"Merry too. That's so nice. We just moved here. My husband was transferred and she hasn't made any friends yet. Would you believe it, the few neighborhood children who are her age are all boys. Sugar and spice and snips and snails, if you know what I mean."
I smiled knowingly, disguising the fact that my puppy dog's tail, to complete the nursery rhyme, was playing quite well with her daughter.
Helen was very chatty and I would have enjoyed her company if it wasn't for most of the conversation being about her daughter, a subject which I assume she thought would be an equally interesting topic for me. Instead I had to struggle to keep referring to Jamie in the correct gender and make up stories about her girlhood, substituting my own experiences growing up. Finally, I looked at my watch, pretended to have an appointment and called to Jamie, motioning for him to return.
I watched as Merry took Jamie's hand and the two little girls, or so it appeared, skipped over. I didn't know Jamie knew how to skip. Maybe it was something he learned when he played with his cousins. I never really paid attention to what they did together. Maybe I should have. Jamie and Merry arrived. Up close, she was very pretty, about Jamie's height, with big brown eyes and brunette hair done up in two long pigtails that went halfway down her back. When they arrived, she let go of Jamie's hand and went over to her mother.
"Oh, Mommy, can Jamie come to our house?" Merry asked enthusiastically. "I can teach her how to play cat's cradle. I can do up to this many turns," she turned to me and announced proudly, holding up five fingers.
Helen looked at me.
"Can she, Ginny? If you have something to do, I can drop Jamie off later. If they're both in the same school, we must not live too far away from each other. Oh, I suppose you don't know anything about us, do you. No, I guess you're right," she agreed with herself, "it's not a good idea to let your daughter go off with a stranger. I know, maybe when you're done you could stop by our house. Let me give you our address and telephone number."
Before I could say anything, she reached into her purse, took out a large appointment book which had a pen and notepad, wrote the information down and handed it to me. I was waiting for her to ask me for my address and telephone number, which I was reluctant to give her. Since I did not offer to reciprocate, she was polite enough not to ask for it.
"Thank you, Helen. It's not that I'm concerned, but we do have other plans for today. I'll give you a call and the girls can get together another time."
"Great, Ginny, have a nice day."
"You too. Say goodbye to Merry, Jamie."
"Bye."
"Bye," Merry waved.
Once we were safely in the car, I asked Jamie how he liked playing with Merry.
"Okay, Mommy. She's nice."
"What did you two do?"
"I don't know. Just played. On the swings and slide and stuff."
"What did you two talk about?"
"Nothing."
"You and she didn't talk to each other while you were playing?"
"Uh uh."
"Jamie!"
"No, not talk. I don't know. Stuff."
I decided not to press him. If there was something he wanted to tell me, he would. At least it didn't seem that he had revealed himself, probably because they were so active. I wondered how he would do if they did something more feminine. He had some experience with his cousins. They knew he wasn't a girl, so they made allowances, I would think. Would Merry recognize the difference? It didn't matter, because I couldn't take the chance.
Then it struck me. Oh my God! He and Merry would be in school together. I was pretty sure there was only one kindergarten class at Oak Hill. What would happen on the first day of school when Merry's new girlfriend showed up as a boy? Now you've done it, Ginny. Dr. Mitchell warned you to be careful, not to take Jamie out where he might be recognized. What were you thinking? Well, he never made friends with anyone in the park before, I defended myself. Then again, he wasn't a girl. Maybe boys were less social. Well, add one more thing to talk about with Dr. Mitchell.
When we got home, I sent Jamie up to his room to play. I was angry with myself for the predicament I had caused. The more I thought about it, the more upset I became. I could have said no to the doll and none of this would have happened. Or would it? According to Dr. Mitchell, it just would have postponed the inevitable, if Jamie was transgendered. He wouldn't be, though, if I hadn't bought him the doll. No, he would be, you just wouldn't know he was. If you didn't know he was and he didn't act like he was, because he didn't have the doll, then he wouldn't be, would he? I was going around in circles. I needed some help. I should call Karen. No, not Karen. She knows we are seeing Dr. Mitchell and she would defer to her, I was sure of it, probably with a lecture on professional responsibility to boot. I looked at the clock on the microwave. It was four forty. I found Dr. Mitchell's number and I called it, hoping she'd still be in her office.
"Dr. Mitchell's office."
"Hi, Kelly?"
"Yes, this is Kelly. Who's this?"
"It's Virginia McCarthy, Kelly."
"Oh, Ms. McCarthy, I'm sorry I didn't recognize your voice. Between us girls," she gave a little chuckle, "most of Dr. Mitchell's clients disguise their voice to sound female. It's very confusing to sort out who I'm talking to most of the time. What can I do for you?"
"Is Dr. Mitchell available, Kelly?"
"She's still with a patient. Usually, she has her fifteen minute privacy window, but, Samantha is the last appointment for today, so she won't be done until five. Do you want her to call you when she's finished?"
"Yes, please, Kelly."
"Is it about your appointment, Mrs. McCarthy. If there's a problem, I can take care of that for you."
"No thank you, Kelly. I need to talk to Dr. Mitchell about something that's come up. I'd just feel better if I could get some reassurance."
"No problem, Mrs. McCarthy. Can Dr. Mitchell reach you at home?"
"Yes, please."
"Okay, maybe in about fifteen minutes. I'll give her the message."
"Thanks, Kelly."
"Your welcome, Mrs. McCarthy. Bye."
"Goodbye."
I hang up the phone and started getting dinner ready, while I waited for Dr. Mitchell to call back. I was anxious to talk to her and I didn't want to start anything elaborate that might distract me during our conversation. There were a few slices of cheese pizza in the freezer which I could put in the oven for Jamie. I wasn't hungry. I took them out, put them on a cookie sheet and turned on the oven. While I was waiting for the oven to preheat, I set the table and cut up some lettuce and a few other vegetables I found in the crisper drawer to make a salad. The preparations distracted me enough so that when the telephone rang I was startled. I recovered quickly and grabbed the receiver.
"Hello."
"Ginny, hi, it's Jenny Mitchell. Is there a problem?"
"Thank you for returning my call, Dr. Mitchell, Jenny." I was going to be cool, calm and collected. "I'm sorry to bother you. It's just, well, something happened today that, well, that, I …" so much for cool, calm and collected. "I think I made a mistake," I blurted out, "I, I tried to be careful, but, well, I, I should have, I didn't mean too … I don't know, this is all so difficult. I, I, maybe I wasn't very good at raising Jamie as a boy, but I'm awful at raising him as a girl."
"Ginny," Dr. Mitchell finally interrupted my ranting, "calm down. You're not bothering me. That's why I'm here, to help you. You don't have to do this by yourself and you might as well get used to the reality that it's not going to be easy, even with my help. Now tell me what happened that has you so upset. Start from the beginning and go slowly. Okay?"
"Okay. We went to the park. Jamie was dressed as a girl. Not femmy or anything, just a skort, plain top, sneakers and sox. He met another little girl. Well, she thought he was a girl too. They played nicely together. Her mother introduced herself to me. Dr. Mitchell, she, the little girl Jamie made friends with, her name is Merry, Meredith, she's going to be in his kindergarten class at school. Jamie's been to the park dozens of times. He plays with the other children, but he's never made a friend before. Do you see the problem?"
"First of all, Ginny, you're making an assumption that is not true."
"I don't understand, Dr. Mitchell, Jenny. What is it that isn't true?"
"You're assuming that Jamie will start school as a boy. That is one option. The other option is for him to start school as a girl."
"You mean the school would let a boy come to class dressed as a girl?"
"No, not unless it was Halloween, but, with a clinical diagnosis from me backed up by state and federal laws requiring children with disabilities to be educated in the least restrictive environment, the school authorities can be persuaded to accommodate a transgendered student."
"Jamie can go to school as a girl?" I asked incredulously.
"That's one option. There are others. We can discuss them on Monday. I was planning on spending most of the session with Jamie, but now we need time to deal with school. You've put him in the daycare center before, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"Good. Then check him into the center when you arrive. You can leave him while you and I talk about his going to shcool. Afterwards, you can get him and bring him here to meet with me for however much time is left. I don't want to leave open something that has you this anxious and I can work with Jamie later, rather than sooner.
"Thank you so much, Doctor, I mean Jenny. I am relieved."
"Good. I'll see you on Monday."
"Yes. Oh, Jenny?"
"Yes?"
"How should I dress Jamie?"
"You mean should he come to the session as a boy or a girl?"
"Yes."
"I doesn't matter to me, Ginny. To reverse an old saying, clothes don't make the girl. However, since you previously brought him to daycare as a boy, it might be confusing if his twin sister showed up."
"Oh, right. I hadn't thought about that."
"Any other questions?"
"No."
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
The rest of the week went by quickly. Jamie continued to dress the same as his doll with my help, except when we went out. I decided not to take any more chances. As long as he didn't have the doll with him, Jamie was not interested in what he wore.
By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part VI
Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.
On Sunday night, I told Jamie that we would be going to the hospital again. To my surprise, he asked me if he could wear Jamie's clothes. I understood him to mean Jamie the doll, so he wanted to go out as a girl. No, Ginny, not as a girl, but in girl's clothes. Whether he wanted to be a girl was a question I hoped would be answered soon. For a number of reasons, in particular Dr. Mitchell's observation that Jamie was registered with the daycare center as a boy and my concern about running into someone we knew, I told him no. Jamie didn't seem disappointed, which also surprised me. If he didn't prefer to wear girl's clothes then he couldn't be transgendered could he? Then again, I remembered Dr. Mitchell's comment that clothes don't make the girl. Does a doll? Be patient Ginny, I advised myself. If you knew the answer, you wouldn't need this appointment.
The next morning, I woke Jamie, got him dressed in his usual boy's underwear, shorts, top, white cotton socks and sneakers and we had a quick breakfast. At the hospital, we went through the now familiar routine of placing him in the daycare center, after which I went to see Dr. Mitchell. I got to her office a few minutes before eight. The door to the reception area was open and I went in. I was surprised to see Kelly at her desk. She said she was coming in early, so that she would be here when I arrived with Jamie, but I assumed Dr. Mitchell had told her about the change in plans.
"Kelly, hi," I greeted her. "I didn't think you'd be here. Didn't Dr. Mitchell tell you we decided that I would meet with her first?"
"Yes, about five minutes ago," she said good naturedly, considering that she was at work before eight o'clock and then explained, "my bad, though. I never told her that I was coming in early, so she never told me not to. No harm done. My husband can burn his toast and make a cup of instant coffee as will as I can."
"Kelly, you are bad," I agreed, "not that I believe you, but for making up such stories."
"You caught me again, Ms. McCarthy. Actually, George does quite well in the kitchen. My talents are lie elsewhere, if you get my drift."
"Kelly, really!"
She gave me a big grin.
"The Doctor is in and she's expecting you."
"Thank you Kelly."
"You're welcome, Ms. McCarthy."
I knocked on the door to Dr. Mitchell's office. A minute later, it opened and Dr. Mitchell came out.
She posed in the doorway, one hand on her hip and the other on the door frame. Then she put her arms at her side, fingers splayed out, and did a complete turn taking little steps. I glanced at Kelly and she had about fallen out of her chair trying to stop from laughing. I had no idea what Dr. Mitchell was doing and tilted my head quizzically.
"I love getting compliments from genetic women. It reinforces my self-image as a transsexual. So?"
I glanced at Kelly again. She was close to wetting herself she thought it was so funny. Looking back at Dr. Mitchell, she was stylishly dressed in a dark cranberry straight skirt that ended just above her knees, a pale pink blouse, probably silk, with a pointed collar, open at the neck to display a string of pearls, a matching short jacket with long sleeves and pearl buttons, opaque pearlescent stockings and cranberry leather pumps with a mid heel. Her makeup was perfect with the signature plum lipstick, flawless skin with a hint of blush over her cheekbones, beautifully accented eyes with liner, mascara and a light pearlescent eye shadow, and her hair was held back with a cranberry scrunchy showing off her gold pearl drop earrings. Any genetic woman would have killed to look that good. I would have.
"Definitely a ten." I turned to Kelly. "Don't you agree?"
"No." She paused while we both looked at her. "A twelve. And can I have a raise?"
"Insincerity should not be rewarded," Dr. Mitchell playfully scolded her. "This way please, Ginny."
Dr. Mitchell went into her office and I followed, closing the door behind me. She went over to the conversation area and took her usual chair. I sat across from her. She crossed her legs and lightly tugged on the hem of her skirt for modesty. As with our previous sessions, she did not have a notepad or recording device.
"Why don't you bring me up to date, Ginny?" she began. "Tell me how Jamie did dressing as a girl and about the incident in the park."
"Well, Doctor, Jenny, I, umm, he, umm, the experiment didn't work as we planned," I finally got out.
"What happened?"
"It seems, well, it seemed to me anyway," I rambled, "he wasn't interested in the girl's clothes I bought him. At least he didn't seem to care about what he wore. That is, not unless it was what his doll was wearing. The first time I let him pick out his clothes, he went back to the party dress, because that's what she, the doll, had on. Of course, he really didn't know anything about girl's clothes and you cautioned me not to influence his choice, so I didn't. I don't know if I was doing the right thing, but I figured out that he would wear what the doll wore, so I took him to the toy store and we picked out some doll clothes that were similar to his new outfits. That worked, except that what I had bought him were back to school clothes. He would have looked silly going out dressed like that in summer. So then I had to buy him some summer outfits. I might have gone too far though, Jenny, because the next day I picked out an outfit for him to wear. He went along with it though. That was when we went to the park and ran into the little girl who's going to be in his class. Then this morning, he asked me if he could wear the same clothes that his doll had on, but you and I had already discussed dressing him as a boy for his appointment, so I told him no,"
"I see," Dr. Mitchell said.
"Does that help at all Jenny?" I asked hopefully.
"Everything helps at this stage, Ginny. The experiment wasn't meant to be a definitive test of whether Jamie is transgendered; only to see how he reacted to dressing as a girl. From what you told me, without encouragement he is ambivalent. The average boy Jamie's age doesn't like girls and would hate being dressed like one. However, Jamie isn't necessarily average, so it doesn't prove anything more than that he likes girls better than most six year old boys. We still have a lot of exploring to do, which brings us to Jamie's making friends with a female classmate who thinks he's a girl. What is it about the situation that concerns you, Ginny?"
Was she serious?
"Isn't it obvious that Jamie would be embarrassed, if she told the other children in the class about him pretending to be a girl?" I challenged her.
"No. Children their age have very short memories. She met him once. It is likely that she won't recognize him when she sees him as a boy or that she won't care about it, if she does. Six year old girls have a reciprocal dislike for boys. Children their age also have very short attention spans. Even if she did remember Jamie as a girl and tattletaled, it would probably go in one collective class ear and out the other, as they say. Prejudice requires maturity."
"So going to school as a boy won't be a problem for Jamie, Jenny?" I asked optimistically.
"No, it is a problem, Ginny. It just isn't the one that you're worried about. My concern is whether Jamie's affinity will be with the boys or the girls in his class. It would be more harmful to him psychologically if he was rejected by the boys, because he was too effeminate, and not accepted by the girls, because he was not feminine enough. That brings us back to how he feels about himself."
"Well, except for his recent fascination with his doll and her clothes, he has always been a typical boy." I paused and thought. "At least he never showed any interest in doing girls' activities, like cooking or wanting to play dress-up in mommy's clothes. Karen and I were always hanging around Mom or fooling around with her stuff. 'For goodness sake,' she used to warn us when she caught us parading around in her heels 'will you girls stay out of my closet. You'll have plenty of time to be grown ups. Enjoy being kids.'"
"That's because you were raised as girls and trying on your mother's clothes is accepted as normal curiosity. I bet that most boys have tried on some item of their mother's or sister's clothes too, but that behavior is negatively reinforced. Our society is so irrationally homophobic that even otherwise liberal women are afraid of exposing their sons to any feminine influence."
"Did I do wrong, then, Jenny, by letting Jamie have a doll? Is this all my fault?" I asked anxiously.
"No, Ginny, as far as our studies show, you cannot influence a child's gender preference. Boys who have been inadvertently or involuntarily raised as girls usually revert back to being males when given the choice."
"I don't understand, Jenny. How can a boy be raised as a girl by mistake?"
"Today, in the developed countries, where babies are born in hospitals and get a thorough pediatric neonatal examination, it doesn't happen, but a century ago, maybe even as late as fifty years ago, home birthing with no doctor in attendance was common. A boy with undescended testicles or malformed genitals could, on cursory observation, be mistaken for a girl. There is also one well documented case of a boy in Canada who suffered genital mutilation as the result of a botched circumcision. A misguided doctor convinced his parents that he would be better off undergoing SRS, sexual reassignment surgery, rather than being a non-functional male. He had his testicles removed when he was an infant and was raised as a girl, but he always felt that he was different. When he finally discovered the truth, he became a man again."
"What happened to him?"
"Knowing that his parents had changed his gender without his permission or knowledge, that they deceived him into believing he was a girl, finding it out at a time when he was still young and vulnerable, having the same physician try to intimidate him into accepting himself as a transsexual and the transition back to being male were all too much for him. He tried to lead a normal life, he even got married, but it didn't work out and he committed suicide in his thirties."
I stared at her in shock.
"Oh, my God, Jenny! Is that Jamie's future?"
"No, Ginny, that boy was the reverse of being transgendered. He never wanted to be a girl. The doctor who recommended the sex change mistakenly believed that it was nurture, the way a child is raised, not nature, which determines one's gender preference. We know now, both from that tragically failed experiment and other research, that it is not true. You can't turn boys into girls or girls into boys by raising them to be the opposite sex or make children homosexual by example. There are many gay, lesbian and transgendered couples who have children and those children do not grow up to prefer same sex partners or want to have sex changes. Our children grow up to be normal, healthy adults to the same extent as the children of heterosexual couples. If I didn't believe that, Ginny, I would never have children of my own."
"Thank you, Jenny," I said with relief.
"Your welcome, Ginny, that's my role. To help you understand how to deal with Jamie and to help Jamie deal with himself, if he is transgendered."
Dr. Mitchell looked at her watch.
"I do want to spend some time with Jamie. There's about 45 minutes left of our session. In the next fifteen, we should decide on what to do next and then you should go get him."
"What do you suggest, Jenny?"
"Actually, it's your suggestion. When we discussed Jamie going out dressed as a girl, you mentioned visiting your sister's family. On the one hand, it can be a good test and a positive experience, if things go well. If they don't, it can make your relationship with them very awkward."
"Yes, I think it would work. I know Karen would accept Jamie as a girl. She's already aware of the situation. I think her daughters would enjoy him as a girl, too. That's pretty much how they treat him when they're together, anyway. I don't know about her husband, Dave. He's a really good guy, but, well, from what Karen said and from my own experience, men are much more conservative. He'd probably have a hard time accepting it. I suppose I could talk to Karen and see what she thinks. She knows him better than I do."
"Why don't you do that, Ginny? If Dave's okay with it, then do it for the weekend. Just a couple of days to get a sense of how Jamie feels about being treated as a girl, not just dressing up like his doll. He seemed to be comfortable as a girl when you took him to the park and he played with, Merry, I think you said was her name."
I nodded my head.
"Merry, yes."
"He should do fine with his cousins then. I would recommend you keep it low key for Jamie's first outing en femme."
I smiled at her, indicating that I was now familiar enough with the nuances of being transgendered to have caught the double entendre.
"Go ahead and get Jamie." She dismissed me with a motion of her hand towards the door. "Bring him right in when you get back, please."
"I will, Jenny. See you in a few minutes."
I went out. Kelly was typing and looked up. There was no need to say anything. I quickly left, went to the daycare center, signed the release form and took Jamie back up to Dr. Mitchell's office. When we entered the reception area, Kelly stood up and came out to greet us.
"Hi, Jamie. I'm Kelly. It's nice to meet you," she said softly, kneeling down to his level. "Your Mom and I are friends," she looked up at me and grinned. "When you're done, come say goodbye and I think I can find a lollypop for you. What's your favorite color, red, purple, green, yellow or orange?"
"Red," Jamie replied shyly.
"Red it is then, if it's okay with you Mom."
"Thank you, Kelly, that's very sweet. Did you go to all of that trouble just for Jamie?"
"No, actually you'd be surprised how many of our patients feel better getting a lollypop after their session. I'm about to run out of red though. Girl's seem to favor that color."
"Kelly!"
"Okay, okay. You're a tough audience, Mrs. M. I bought them for Jamie, 'cause he's special. We have lots of red ones."
I shook my head. Kelly went over and opened the door to Dr. Mitchell's office. I took Jamie's hand and we went in. Dr. Mitchell had been working at her desk. She got up and came over. Like Kelly, she knelt down to Jamie's level to introduce herself, gently placing her hands on his shoulders."
"Good Morning, Jamie. I'm Jenny Mitchell. It's nice to meet you. Would you come over and sit with your Mom and me, please?"
Jenny stood up and walked to her chair. I took my chair and had Jamie sit in the chair next to me."
"Your mother tells me you have a new doll and her name is Jamie, just like yours. Is that right?"
Jamie gave a small nod.
"Words, please, Jamie."
"Yes," he replied softly.
"Is the doll your friend?"
Jenny waited, but Jamie didn't answer.
"Is the doll your sister?"
No answer.
"Is the doll your child?"
No answer.
"Is the doll you?"
"Yes."
It was a response I never expected and sat in surprised silence. I thought that, having hit upon the right question, Jenny would have given me a satisfied look, but she continued to focus on Jamie.
"Jamie, is your doll a boy or a girl?"
"Jamie's like me."
"You’re a boy."
Jamie looked puzzled and then began to cry. I started to get up to comfort him. Dr. Mitchell shook her head. Instead, she got up, got on her knees in front of him and held him. As his sobs turned to sniffles, she turned her head towards me and explained.
"I need to have a relationship with Jamie and this is a start."
I nodded my understanding.
After a few minutes of comforting, Jamie quieted down. Jenny got up and sat back down.
"Jamie, why did my saying you are a boy make you cry?"
He looked at me.
"You can tell Jenny, Jamie. She's a friend and she wants to help you," I said with an assuring smile. "It's okay, Sweetie, really it is."
"Jamie's like me," he repeated.
"How is Jamie like you?"
He didn't answer.
"Jamie's a doll. You're not a doll, are you?"
He shook his head.
"Do you like Jamie's clothes?"
"Yes."
"Do you want to wear Jamie's clothes all of the time?"
He shrugged.
"If you had a choice, would you wear your clothes or Jamie's clothes?"
"Jamie's clothes."
"Why can't you wear Jamie's clothes all of the time?"
Silence.
"Is it because you mother says you have to wear you own clothes sometimes?"
Jamie nodded.
"When you're not dressed like Jamie, how does she feel?"
I leaned forward and anxiously listened for his answer.
Silence.
"Is she sad?"
He shook his head.
"Is she happy?"
From Jamie's reaction, it was a sensitive topic. He started to sniffle and I could see tears starting to form. Jenny did too. She went over and got back down on her knees to comfort him. After a few minutes he was better and she returned to her chair.
"I think we've done enough for today," she announced, looking at her watch. "At this point, I'm not sure whether Jamie's behavior manifests an identity crises or gender confusion."
Shifting my eyes towards Jamie and back, I gave her a stern look to indicate my disapproval of her discussing his behavior in front of him. She nodded slightly to indicate she got the message.
"I do not have secrets from my patients," she countered, "any of my patients," she repeated for emphasis, "regardless of their age. I doubt Jamie understands what we are talking about, but he is entitled to hear it. Openness may not be important now, but it will be as he gets older. He needs to believe that you and I are acting in his best interest and he cannot have that confidence, if he is excluded from our conversations."
"What I would recommend," she continued, "is that we try to distinguish between Jamie being the doll and being like the doll. Sometimes a person who is having a life crisis escapes by taking on a different identity. They become that person or object. Or it may be that the doll has a quality that appeals to Jamie. It could be her clothes, it could be her gender or it could be that she does not have emotions. I told you not to influence Jamie's choices. Now I think you should. Let's give him the opportunity to express his feminine side and see how he interacts with the doll. Treat him like your daughter. In the meantime, talk discretely with your sister about the visit we discussed. Don't make any commitment, until we see what happens in the next few days. Please call me on Thursday and let me know."
"You mean I should do things with him that I would do, if he was a girl?" I asked Jenny to clarify.
"No, you should do whatever you would do with her, because she is a girl."
"Like go to the beauty parlor and get our hair and nails done?"
"Worked for me."
I thought she was being facetious, but then she went on.
"The first time I really felt like a girl is when my mother took me to get my hair done at a salon. That's how my mother met my stepfather."
"You discovered you were a girl when you mother had your hair done and she married the hairdresser?"
Ginny laughed.
"No, it all started playing Barbies with my sisters. Interesting, now that I think of it, that involved dolls too, but in a different way. It's a long story."
She looked at her watch.
"Oh, Oh. We're out of time. You two have to leave now."
Jenny walked over to Jamie, who had been sitting quietly while we talked. As she predicted, he did not seem to have paid any attention to our conversation.
"Jamie, thank you for coming, you've been very patient. Will you come back and see me. I'd like that and maybe I can help you be like Jamie. Okay?"
He nodded his head.
I got up and went over to him. He got up and I took his hand. Jenny had crossed to the door and opened it for us. She waved goodbye. I turned, so that Jamie could see her and he waived to her. Kelly had gotten up and walked over to Jamie, kneeling down.
"Jamie, here's the red lollypop I promised you."
She put her hand on his left shoulder and turned him, so that his ear was near her mouth."
"There's another red lollipop for later, too. I'm putting it in your pocket. It's our secret," she whispered loud enough for me to hear.
Then she realized that his shorts didn't have pockets and looked up at me chagrined. I look down and laughed.
"Serves you right for being sneaky."
"Sorry, Jamie, we're busted," she admitted sheepishly.
"What do you say to Kelly, Jamie?"
"Thank you."
"Your welcome. Another appointment Ms. McCarthy?"
"Dr. Mitchell didn't say. We ran out of time. She wanted me to call her Thursday. I guess that we still need the regular Monday appointment though. Can you put us in and check with her?"
"No problem. And Jamie, next time, Honey, wear pants with pockets," she told him with a wink. "Really big pockets," she added, looking up and sticking her tongue out at me.
She stood up and opened the reception room door for us. As we were going by her, I took her arm and gave her a peck on the cheek for being such a sweetheart.
"My proposal still goes, Kelly," I kidded her.
"I'll talk to George," she kidded me back, adding in a whisper, "I think he's always dreamed of a threesome." She paused and then added, "Although I'm not sure I'm included."
"You're bad. Bye."
"Bye."
As we walked to the car, I decided to start following Jenny's recommendation. I pulled out of the garage and headed for the mall. I took Jamie into the discount shoe store and had him try on an assortment of girl's footwear. I tried to judge his expression as I strapped on a pair of really cute white sandals to go with his sundress, but there was no reaction. I suppose getting excited about picking out shoes to match a dress is a girl thing and Jamie had a lot to learn in that department, if it turned out he was in that department. I ended up with two pairs of sandals, white and pink, a pair of sneakers in white, pink and aqua, two pairs of ballet style flats and a dressy black patent leather pump with a little heel. After checking out, we went to the accessory store, where I bought him some additional hair accessories, barrettes, clips and headbands, a bangle bracelet for dress-up and a gold chain bracelet.
By the time we got home, it was lunch time. I decided to change his clothes first and then take him out to eat. We went into his room. The doll was on the bed, propped against the pillow. She still had on the kilt, tights and blouse I dressed her in yesterday, but there was nothing in his summer wardrobe like what she had on. Hopefully, he would prefer anything that resembled the doll's outfit to being dressed in boy's clothes.
"Jamie, Honey, how about one of your skirts and a cute top? I'd really like you to wear them for me. You'd look very pretty," I appealed to his vanity, just the way I would coax him into wearing what I picked out if he was a girl."
I held up the flouncy aqua miniskirt and a white cotton peasant blouse with a wide neck trimmed with eyelet and matching puffy short sleeves. The bodice was embroidered with little pink, aqua and yellow flowers. It went nicely with the skirt. Claire had good taste. I opened up the package of cotton panties and found a light pink pair. A pair of white ankle socks with the white sandals I just bought completed the outfit. Should he wear the sandals without socks? No, he wasn't used to wearing shoes without socks. Okay, no socks. Girls don't wear socks with sandals. What difference would it make if he wore socks? Isn't it more important that he be comfortable than stylish? Okay, socks. Was it always this hard dressing a girl? Were you and Karen fussy about what you wore? No, mother dressed us as she pleased. There was no debate. Right or wrong, fashionable or not, it was her choice. I sighed. Okay, socks. Having reminded myself of my mother's influence on my own girlhood, I took charge.
"Stand up, Sweetie," I directed him.
I helped him out of his boy's clothes and held out the panties for him to put on. The skirt had an elastic waist. He stepped into it and I pulled it up.
"Arms up, Sweetie."
I lowered the top over his head and tucked it into the waistband, reaching under the skirt and pulling it down.
"Hop up on the bed."
He jumped up, bunching the short skirt under him.
"Jamie, when you're wearing skirts and dresses you have to smooth them under you when you sit down. Otherwise, they get all wrinkled in back. Please stand up and try again."
He got to his feet.
"Like this," I demonstrated, turning around, reaching behind me and sliding my hands over my behind and down to my mid thigh as I slowly seated myself. "You try."
I had showed him before, when he first wore my tank top as a dress and we sat together on the couch watching a video. I explained about keeping his skirt down and his legs together too, but I never thought it was going to be practical knowledge. Turning my attention to Jamie, I watched as he awkwardly copied me, but the bed was too high for him to coordinate holding down the skirt and hopping up backwards at the same time. He couldn't get the momentum and bounced off the edge.
"Jamie, Honey, if it's too high for you to sit down, climb up and then shift from one side to the other to lift your bottom and pull your skirt straight."
This time he got up on the bed as he usually did and wiggled around until he had the skirt smoothed out under him.
"Good girl," I complimented him. Either he didn't pick up on it or it didn't mean anything to him, because I didn't notice any reaction to my referring to him as a girl.
"Remember, Sweetie, girls do not let people look up their skirts," I continued with my lesson. "You need to cross your legs at the knees or ankles, so you won't show your panties. Except when you need to put on shoes or socks, like now. Then you can just keep the upper part of your legs together."
Jenny was right when she observed that there's more to being a girl than the clothes. Its her mannerisms and demeanor that make the difference. Mothers are constantly coaching their daughters how to behave like young ladies. Jamie did okay at the playground, but boys and girls use swings and slides the same way. What would he do in a group of girls? I suppose spending the weekend with his cousins would be a good indication, but they would know he wasn't a girl and make accommodations. Can he be taught to be convincing over a weekend? Does he need to be? Will he want to be?
I finished putting on his socks and sandals.
"Stand up, please. Turn around. You look very nice, Jamie. Come here, please."
I sat down on the bend and lifted him onto my lap. He was till small enough that he fit comfortably.
"Jamie, I know I told you that you couldn't always wear what your doll wears, but you two do look alike. You both have on skirts, blouses and sandals. Do you like what you're wearing?"
"Can I play now?" Jamie asked in typical children's non sequitor, which I took as tacit approval.
"Yes, Honey, for a little while. I have a few things to do and then we can go out to lunch."
I left him in his room and went downstairs. I opened up the cabinet above the telephone and found the Yellow Pages. Now was as good a time as any to get his hair done. I looked through the ads to find a salon which specialized in children, to make his first experience at the hairdressers as comfortable as possible. There was one ad for Priscilla's that said they did Little Miss Pageant styling. I wasn't sure what that was, but 'little miss' sounded like they would be accustomed to working with girls. I dialed the number.
"Hello, Priscilla's," answered a pleasant woman's voice.
"Hello. This is Virginia McCarthy. I would like to make an appointment for my daughter to have her hair done."
"Very good, Mrs. McCarthy. When would you like to schedule her?"
"I was hoping you might have an opening this afternoon. Do you?" I inquired.
"Oh, I thought you were booking in advance for a fall pageant. In the summer, most of the girls who compete are off to camp or on vacation with their families, so we close for a month," she explained. "We'll reopen the end of August, if you'd like to book your daughter then.
"No, I'm sorry to have bothered you. I saw your ad in the phone book and wanted Jamie to get hi, h, her first styling at a salon that worked with children."
"How old is your daughter?"
"Jamie just turned six."
There was a pause.
"I'm Priscilla, the owner. We are closed, but, actually, I'm bored. That's why I'm here today puttering around. I could do your daughter, Jamie, was it?
"Yes, Jamie. I wouldn't want to impose."
"It's no imposition. What time do you want to come in?"
"Would two o'clock be convenient?"
"Yes, that would be fine."
"Thank you," I said appreciatively. We'll see you at two. Thank you again."
"No problem," she replied and hung up.
I looked at my watch. It was almost one.
"Jamie," I called upstairs, "it's time to go, Honey. Please come down."
I heard him moving around and a few minutes later he appeared carrying his doll.
"Jamie, the doll can't go out of the house," I reminded him.
Then I thought about the reason why I had made that rule, so that nobody would see a boy with a doll. But he wasn't a boy, at least not for the rest of the week. What would happen, if I let him take the doll? Would it make him feel more feminine? How would it make him feel more feminine than being dressed in a skirt and blouse? Would it make him feel more comfortable or confident as a girl? He didn't seem to be uncomfortable or lack confidence. Would it be helpful to see how he acted with the doll when there were other people around? It might and he could pass as a girl, so it would look normal. Very well then, Ginny, let him take the doll.
"You know what Jamie," although of course he didn't, "I'm going to change my mind about your doll. Since you've been so good," which wasn't my motivation, but he didn't need to know that, "I've decided to let you take her with us when we go out. Would you like that?"
He put the doll down on the stairs, where he usually left her at mealtimes.
"Don't you want to take her?"
He shook his head.
"Words, Jamie, please."
"No, Mommy."
"Really? I know I said that you couldn't, but now that you look so pretty, it's different."
I waited to see if my compliment persuade him, but it didn't.
"No, Mommy," he repeated.
Considering that Jamie and his doll were inseparable at home, it was a puzzle to me why he would not want to take her with him, if given the opportunity. Had I so intimidated him about being seen with a doll that even the change in my attitude was not enough to overcome his reluctance? Or was it more complex? Was his relationship with the doll, whatever it was, so special that he couldn't share it with strangers? He only brought her to me when he couldn't manage dressing her and he got upset when Jenny questioned him about her. If I had to guess, that was it. I made a mental note to tell Jenny about this development. Even if I didn't understand it, maybe she would find it significant.
"Very well, Honey, Jamie can stay home," I agreed. "We girls," I looked to see his response, but, as before, either he didn't detect the nuance or he ignored it, "will have a fun day. You know what? We're going to get your hair done at a real beauty salon, just like Mommy does!" I announced enthusiastically, "a real girl's hairstyle to make you look even prettier."
Again, I looked to see his response, but there was none.
"Let's go, Sweetie," I directed him, picking up my pocket book and walking towards the door to the garage. Jamie followed. I opened the car door for him and buckled him in. First stop would be for a burger. We still had a little more than an hour and the salon was two towns over, about a thirty minute drive. I was happy it was so far, because that made it unlikely we'd run into anyone we knew, particularly anyone Jamie would be going to school with, even more so, because the salon was closed and we would be the only customers. Jamie sat quietly as we drove to the restaurant. We went in and I ordered his usual kid's meal with milk and a cookie. I got a salad and we sat at a booth.
After we finished, I wanted to wash up. I took him to the restroom area at the back of the store. I started into the ladies' room and hesitated. Should I be taking him in there? Mothers do take boys in with them, if they are too little to go by themselves, but Jamie was well beyond that age. However, he wouldn’t be welcome in the men's room the way he was dressed. Women did their business behind a closed door, so he wouldn't see anything he shouldn't and we wouldn't be intruding on anyone's privacy. I took his hand and in we went. It was empty. We went over to the sink, I ran the water for him to wash his hands, handed him a paper towel and then washed my hands. As we left, I wondered how many of the girls, maybe even women, with whom I shared the ladies' room over the years were not what they seemed.
Back in the car, we drove to the area where the salon was located. I had to stop twice and ask directions, but we finally found it. It was in a small strip mall, between a real estate office and a jewelry store. There was a blue awning across the front with white letters which read 'Priscilla's Pageant and Performance - Hair and Wear.' The entrance had a glass door with a 'closed' sign. I took Jamie out of the car and we went to the door and tried the handle. It was open. Inside was a very pretty reception area with a turquoise carpet, pink, white and turquoise patterned wallpaper coordinating fabric couches in front of which were glass tables piled with magazines, the top one titled "Pageant World." At the back was a counter and behind the counter there was a window looking into the salon.
When we entered a chime sounded. Looking through the window behind the desk, I could see a woman approaching. She was tall, at least five ten, maybe wearing high heels, but probably not, because they wouldn't go with her casual outfit of light pink Capri's and a sleeveless white blouse with pink trim. I would guess she was in her thirties and that she must have been a real beauty when she was younger, probably a model. She came into the reception area and greeted us cordially.
"Hello, I'm Priscilla. You must be Mrs. McCarthy and this lovely young lady is Jamie. My goodness," she enthused, "what a beauty with her red hair and green eyes. Have you ever thought of entering her in a pageant? With her looks, she'd be a shoo in." She shook her head. "So many blue eyed blondes. I can't remember a redhead." Walking around Jamie, she studied his hair and then turned to me. "No offense, Mrs. McCarthy, but she looks like Raggedy Ann with that mop of hair. Let's go into the salon and see if we can't find a style that's more becoming."
Priscilla turned and started through the doorway. I took Jamie's hand and followed her. She went into the salon area and directed us to the end station. It was a little larger than the others, because the counter wrapped around the back wall. She took a booster cushion and put it on the seat of the chair.
"Okay, Jamie, up you go."
Jamie looked at me, unsure of what he was supposed to do, never having had his hair done before.
"Come on, Jamie."
I walked him over and helped him up.
"Well, Mrs. McCarthy. Her hair really isn't long enough to do anything too stylish. She ran her fingers through it a few times and bunched it, letting it spring back. "It's very fine, but it has good body. Is Jamie in school?"
"She's just starting kindergarten this year."
"Well, I would recommend something simple that she can do herself. A girl can never start caring for her hair too young. It is her greatest asset." She walked around Jamie. "I suggest a doll cut."
Of all the styles, I thought to myself, how could she possibly come up with that one by sheer coincidence.
"I would do short bangs in front, so as not to detract from her eyes, a center part and make the sides and back even. In a month or two, it will be long enough to angle it a little, front to back. Is that to your liking?"
"Whatever you think would be best, Pricilla. He's in your hands," I said, trying to be clever with the double meaning.
Priscilla gave me a strange look.
It took me a second to realize what I had just done. I outed him again. I shook my head, disgusted with myself.
"Mrs. McCarthy, I need to speak with you."
She took my arm and escorted me to the other end of the salon, so that Jamie wouldn't hear what she had to say.
"Jamie is a boy," she accused me.
"Yes."
"I am a very tolerant woman," she said angrily. "Most of the people I work with have," she paused to find the right words, "alternative lifestyles. That's their business, so long as they act professionally when they're here. However, I cannot condone what you have done to your son," she admonished me. "I will not have any part in it. Please leave."
"Yes, of course, Priscilla. I apologize for deceiving you, but, please understand," I pleaded with her, "it's not what you think. Jamie is confused about his gender. We are working with a psychiatrist, Dr. Jenny Mitchell, to understand what is going on." I tried to be coherent, but couldn't control myself. "It all started when he wanted a doll for his birthday. I, well, my husband passed away two years ago and it has been hard for both of us. I don't know how this will turn out. Spending the week as a girl, doing things that girls do, is an attempt to see how he feels about himself. I, I, I wouldn't force him to be a girl, but I wouldn't prevent him from being one either, if that's what makes him happy. There's a word for it, transgendered. I'm, well, I am sorry, but it isn't the kind of thing that you reveal. We'll go now and thank you for your time and for hearing me out. I hope you won't think too badly of me. I'm only trying to do what's best for Jamie and it's been very difficult," I concluded tearfully.
I could see a softening of Priscilla's expression.
"Wait, Mrs. McCarthy. You say you are working with a psychiatrist and she recommended this as therapy?"
"No, not therapy, she's not treating him, not yet anyway, because we still don't know why he is behaving the way he is. It is sort of an experiment."
"Hasn't Jamie told you what he wants?"
"No, he doesn't want to talk about it. At least he hasn't so far. That's why we're observing him over the next week, to see how he reacts to being treated like a girl. It was Dr. Mitchell's suggestion, actually, to get his hair done, because that is typically a female thing to do."
"Mrs. McCarthy, I work with a lot of mothers pushing their daughters into pageants and modeling to satisfy their own interests. It bothers me, but they are entitled to raise their children as they see fit, within bounds. This is different. You are truly concerned for your son, I can sense that," Priscilla said sympathetically. "If Jamie's going to spend the week as a girl, he might as well do it right. Anyway, his hair can be trimmed into a unisex cut if things don't work out or do work out, depending on how you look at it. I'm sorry if I upset you."
"No, no, please, Priscilla, don't apologize. I, well, I appreciate your helping us. It is a very kind thing to do. Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, let's not keep Jamie waiting."
She turned and went back to where he was sitting. I watched, to see if he had noticed our conversation or my emotional response, but he seemed to be unaware of what had been going on.
"Jamie, I'm going to give you a nice shampoo. It's easier to cut your hair when it's wet. Do you like apricots? That's what the shampoo smells like." She held the bottle for him to sniff. Pretty, isn't it," she commented, removing the bottle and putting it next to the sink. "I need to cover you up, so you don't get your clothes wet." She took a pink plastic cape and draped it over him, fastening the tie behind his neck. "Now we spin you around," she swiveled the chair, so that his back was to the sink, "and drop you down," she released the back of the chair and guided his head until it rested on the edge of the sink," and get the water nice and warm, "she turned on the faucets and adjusted them, using her hand to test the water, "there, just right."
Priscilla used the apricot shampoo and vigorously rubbed, the room was filled with the fragrance, working it into a thick lather. She rinsed and repeated.
"Head up a little, Jamie," she directed him, sliding a towel underneath and wrapping it around, so that his wet hair wouldn't drip. "Hang on, up we go," she warned him as she lifted the back of the chair upright and turned it to face the mirror. "Now we're ready to cut your hair." I could see her watching Jamie's face for any reaction. I suppose some little girls are nervous about getting their hair, but Jamie didn't show any concern. He just sat quietly.
Priscilla walked around him, using a comb to find the right length that would give an even cut. Once she was satisfied, she started on his bangs and then worked around each side, ending at the back. I watched as little snippets of hair fell and a real girl's hair style began to take shape. Usually, hairdressers are chatty, but Priscilla was intently concentrating on her work. After about twenty minutes, she stood back and nodded her satisfaction. She motioned for me to come over.
"What do you think, Mrs. McCarthy, before I blow it out?"
"I love it Priscilla, she's beautiful," I complimented her work, remembering to use the right gender reference, although it was much easier seeing the little girl emerge.
"Jamie, what do you think?" she asked him, holding a mirror behind his head, so he could see the back. "Do you like the way I did your hair?"
I was hoping he would respond favorably. It did look something like his doll. That should be enough at least to get his approval. I waited expectantly.
"Yes," he answered finally.
I gave a sigh of relief that at least he hadn't been negative. Priscilla looked at me and I gave a small shrug, meaning I really didn't understand why he wasn't more enthusiastic. A girl would have been ecstatic to have her hair professionally styled, but, as with everything else, though, Jamie wasn't familiar with the nuances of being a girl. Why should he be? I couldn't expect him to turn into Shirley Temple, the little moppet in those corny old movies Mom used to bring home from the video store for Karen and I to watch, overnight or even in a week. The important thing, at least from what Jenny said, was that, at least so far, he allowed himself to be dressed and treated as a girl.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a hair dryer. Priscilla had started blowing out Jamie's hair. She had a round styling brush and was using it to turn the sides under, which gave the style more fullness and brought the ends framing his face to a point.
"You see, Mrs. McCarthy, just a little attention with a hair dryer and brush can make a big difference. It's probably a two person operation at Jamie's age. She's too small to hold the dryer for very long, its pretty heavy, and use the brush with her off hand. She can get pretty much the same effect using the brush alone, although the heat from the dryer keeps the curl longer."
I notice that Priscilla was referring to Jamie as 'she.' I smiled in appreciation for her acceptance.
"Would you do me a favor, Mrs. McCarthy?"
"Anything, but please call me Ginny."
"Jamie, we're done. Let's get you down."
She took off the plastic cape and helped him down.
"Come with me, please."
She went into the corridor, but, instead of turning left towards the reception area at the front of the store, she turned right. I took Jamie's hand and we followed her to a door. She opened it, turned on the light and we went in. My eyes went wide. The room was filled with rack after rack of the most exquisite gowns and against the walls was shelf after shelf of shoes and glittering accessories. It was a little girl's dress-up fantasy come true. She must have expected my reaction, because she waited a few minutes for me to take everything in. Finally, she explained.
"The reason I can close the salon over the summer is that we have a big catalog business in used pageant dresses and performance costumes. In fact, the reason I was here today was to go over the inventory for the fall. We're constantly getting in new clothes. Mothers pay a lot for these dresses and shoes, but usually the girls only wear them once or twice and then they try to recoup some of what they spent by consigning them to us for resale. We advertise in all of the pageant and modeling magazines."
Now I understood the meaning of 'hair and wear' on the awning in front of the salon.
"There is one dress here, not one in a hundred girls could wear it because of the colors, but I thought that it would look smashing on Jamie."
She went over to one of the racks, moved a few dresses and took one. She brought it over to show us. It was gorgeous. The sleeveless bodice was dark red velvet with sparkling rhinestones accenting the jeweled neck, the short full skirt was emerald green silk sprinkled with sparkling rhinestones and the waist was defined with a matching silk sash that was tied in back with a big bow.
"Do you like it, Jamie? Would you like to try it on?"
"Yes, please."
I was surprised and pleased that he accepted Priscilla's offer.
"Would you get her undressed, please, Ginny?"
I helped Jamie out of his blouse and skirt, leaving him in just his panties, socks and sandals.
"Socks and shoes too, please. They will spoil the look."
I unbuckled his sandals, slipped them off and removed his socks.
Priscilla unzipped the dress and took it off of the hanger.
"Arms up, Jamie."
She lifted the dress over his head, revealing the attached net crinoline underneath, settling it on his shoulders, zipping up the back, adjusting the bodice and playing with the skirt, until she was satisfied with its appearance, and finally tied the sash in a bow. Admiring his appearance, Priscilla went over to a rack and found a pair of black patent leather pumps with a rhinestone buckle and little flat heel. She slipped them on Jamie's feet.
"I knew it, that dress was made for Jamie."
I had to smile, because it wasn't possible that whoever designed that dress had a boy in mind as its owner, but Priscilla was right, the dress looked beautiful on him.
"If you look around, Ginny, you'll see that those colors are not used for pageant dresses."
Sure enough, from what I could see there was no other dress in with either red or green in them.
"You have to be a redhead to wear those colors and I can't remember the last time I saw one like Jamie. And the green eyes, they are the frosting on the cake. If I had to guess, a gullible mother was talked into it by some kiddy boutique trying to unload a left over holiday dress. Red and green are Christmas colors. How it ended up here is a mystery to me, but it's unsalable as pageant wear, so it's Jamie's."
"Priscilla, please you've been too kind already. I can't accept an expensive dress. Please let me pay you for it."
"No, I want Jamie to have it, but you can pay for it in trade."
"What could I possibly trade you?"
"A photograph of Jamie wearing that dress."
"Why would you want a photograph of Jamie when you have so many little princesses to choose from?"
"Just for that reason, Ginny. The mother's are oh so proud of their little princesses and when one of them really gets on my nerves carrying on about how her darling daughter should have won and I want to tell her off, I can look at a picture of a," she dropped her voice, "boy whose prettier and silently laugh at their vanity. Do we have a deal?"
"Yes, on one condition."
"What is that?"
"You send me a copy of the photo."
"Deal," she agreed, extending her hand. We shook.
"Bring Jamie over here, please."
I looked over to where she was pointing and saw a small round platform, the kind you see in tailor's shops for fittings.
"Jamie, Honey, Priscilla wants to take your picture. Would you be a good," I hesitated for a second, "girl and hop up on the platform. Hold your skirt at the sides and lift it up a bit, so you can step up. That's very good, Sweetie."
Priscilla left and came back with a professional looking camera with a flash. She was obviously experienced, probably from her own modeling, positioning Jamie in a number of different poses, front and sides, and she took about a dozen pictures. When she was finished, I helped Jamie down. I took off the dress and put him back in his own clothes. Priscilla put the dress back on its hanger and put it in a pink dress bag with 'Priscilla's Pageant and Performance' stenciled on it, above which was a tiara with a star on either side. She handed it to me and escorted us to the reception area. I realized that I hadn't paid her for the styling and took a credit card out of my wallet. I tried to hand it to her, but she wouldn't accept it.
"Priscilla, please, you must," I insisted.
"No, you can pay me when you come back and I finish doing Jamie's hair. This way you will be obligated and I will find out how it turns out. Good luck, Ginny." She turned to Jamie, "Jamie, Honey, it was a pleasure and you were an angel. Enjoy your dress and please come back to see me. Okay?"
"Okay," Jamie agreed.
Priscilla stood in the doorway and waved as we got into the car and drove off. It was a little after four o'clock when we arrived home. I sent Jamie up to play while I got supper ready. I watched from the kitchen as he picked up his doll and went upstairs. I wanted to speak with Karen about the second part of the experiment, but it was too early.
I made myself a cup of tea and tried to plan out the rest of the week. We had gone to the hairdressers. What else would I do with my daughter? Not the park, because we might run into Merry. How about the beach? That was a fun summer activity. Jamie didn't have a girl's bathing suit. I tried to picture him in a bikini. I doubted he would want to wear the bra top. Little girls knew that it was practice for things to come. It would make no sense to Jamie. A modest two piece would work. He was used to a fitted top from wearing his cammie and the bottoms were like panties. A tank suit would be cute too. He wasn't used to wearing tight fitting clothes though, so the stretchy material might be uncomfortable. There was also the question of hiding some non-female equipment that might make a revealing bulge. Could he tuck himself in so it wouldn't show? Would it be asking too much for him to hide it? The idea was to see how he felt about being a girl, not to embarrass him about being a boy. Maybe a bathing suit was not a good idea right now. What else was there that girls did? Thinking back to my own childhood, other than having our hair done and shopping for clothes, there wasn't anything that was uniquely female that I did, except for hanging out with my girlfriends. We'd play jump rope or hop scotch, dress-up, do makeovers, play with our dolls or Barbies, listen to music, practice dancing, make up performances, all of those were things Jamie might do when he visits his cousins, if he does, but they're not things we could do together. It was going to be a long week.
TO BE CONTINUED
By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part VII
Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.
It had been an emotionally exhausting day. A good dinner and a hot bath before bed would do us both good. Jamie had a burger for lunch, so I wanted to make him something more nutritious. Mac and cheese was always a good, quick meal. I prepared it, made a salad, set the table and called Jamie to dinner. He came down, still dressed in his skirt and blouse, carrying the doll. He left her on the stairs and came into the kitchen.
"Sit down, Honey, dinner's ready."
He got in his chair and I served him. For desert I offered him an ice cream sundae cup, that was usually a favorite sweet, but he didn't want it, a sure sign that he was tired.
"Sweetie, why don't you go upstairs and get undressed. I'll be up in a few minutes, after I clean up the kitchen, and you can take a bath."
He turned and left, picking up his doll and going upstairs. I finished rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, gave the table and the counter a quick wipe and went upstairs. I went into the Jamie's bathroom and started the water running in the tub. Then I decided that I would let him finish the day like a girl, in a scented bath. I turned off the faucet and went into my bathroom. I found a heart shaped plastic box of bath beads someone had given me years ago and that had been gathering dust under the sink, returned to Jamie's bathroom, put three in the tub, as the package directed, and started the water. Within a few minutes, they had dissolved and there was a very pretty floral fragrance. I wondered why I had never thought of using them and realized that it was Jamie who had renewed my attention to being feminine.
While the tub was filling, I went to get Jamie. He was in his room. I had told him to get undressed, but he was sitting on the floor talking to his doll. He stopped when he saw me come in.
"Jamie, I thought I asked you to get undressed. Put the doll down and come here, please."
He placed the doll on the bed and walked over to me. I took off his blouse and skirt, sandals and socks, leaving on his panties. He would be naked when he got into the tub and when I got him out and dried him, but I didn't see any reason to get him in the habit of parading through the house without clothes. By now the fragrance from the bath had drifted into his bedroom.
"Smell that, Jamie. I made a special bath for you. The scent is from bath beads that Mommy uses, but I wanted to share them with you, because you are going to be my special little girl this week and little girls love to smell pretty. Do you like it?"
He took a sniff and nodded his head. I wondered if his approval was because he liked the smell or because of the association I made between smelling pretty and being a girl.
I walked him into the bathroom and had him take off his panties. Jamie stepped into the tub, sat down and then slid back, so that only his head and shoulders were above the fragrant bubbles floating on the surface. I took his usual bath toys out and handed them to him. I had never really paid much attention to Jamie's aquatic amusement before. Before what? Before he was a girl? He isn't a girl, seeing him in the tub made that evident, even though he behaves like one. Sometimes. What did Karen and I play with in the tub? Ariel! We had a little mermaid doll that was submersible. She had all sorts of accessories. Her little fish friend, what's-his-name, and the crab. Oh, for goodness sake Ginny. Umm, Sebastian, was the crab, and umm, Guppy, no, you've seen so many of those animated fish movies with Jamie. Whatever, it doesn't matter. I looked down and watched Jamie playing with his toys. Would there be motor boats or mermaids in the tub next week?
"Okay, Honey, time to wash up."
I took the washcloth, soaped it up and bent over to scrub his chest, arms and legs. He had his hair washed when it was cut, so he didn't need to shampoo. I handed him the washcloth to finish. Would I wash him all over, if he was a girl? I remembered a camp joke about a girl giving herself a sponge bath. 'First I wash my face and as far down as possible. Then I wash my feet and as far up as possible. Then I wash possible.' I laughed to myself. How old was I then? It was overnight camp, so I had to be older than Jamie. Did it matter? Not really. He was old enough to wash possible himself. Jamie finished and handed me the washcloth. I wrung it out and draped it over the faucet. By now the bubbles were gone.
"Stand up, let's dry you off."
I held the big, fluffy bath towel and wrapped Jamie up. I used a second towel to do his legs and feet. When he was dry, I walked him back to his. I took out a pair of pastel blue cotton panties and handed them to him. He let the bath towel drop and stepped into the panties, adjusting them around his waist. I started back to his bureau and stopped. Oh no, Ginny, you forgot to buy him a nightgown. Well, you can't blame yourself for being distracted. Didn't girls sleep in boy's pajamas? I remembered that in some of those corny old movies Mom watched the woman wore the man's pajama top. That might be sexy, but it wasn't feminine. Girls slept in big t-shirts as nightgowns. That wasn't very feminine either. Then I had an idea.
"Jamie, you know my tank top that you wore as a dress?"
He gave me blank look.
"You know, you wore it when we watched the video the other night. It has shoulder straps and its lots of different colors. Let me see if I can find it."
I looked in his closet, but it wasn't there. Then I remembered. When he first started dressing up, I hid his clothes in my room, in case he had a friend over.
"Wait a second, Jamie. I'll be right back."
I went to my room and found the tank top hanging in my closet. I took it down and brought it back to Jamie's room. It was skimpy as a dress, but just the right length to sleep in. Brilliant Ginny. Tomorrow you can take Jamie shopping for a real nightgown. Another mother daughter activity, but this will do nicely for tonight. I handed him the tank top. I expected him to question why he couldn't wear his regular pajamas, but he accepted it and put it on without a word.
"You look very pretty, Jamie," I complimented him. "There's one more thing, Honey. Girls have to take care of their hair. They brush it out every night before bed. It makes it shine and takes out the tangles. I'll do it for you tonight."
I looked around and realized that he only used a comb."
"Wait another second, Jamie. I have to get a brush from my room"
I left and returned with my round styling brush. I gently stroked his hair a few dozen times and then slipped the brush underneath the sides and back to give them a little turn under. There was no doubt that Jamie could pass for a girl.
"Okay, bedtime. Let's get you snuggled in. I picked up the doll and placed it next to him. "Which story would you two like me to read? How about The Little Mermaid, I suggested, with the ulterior motive of finding out Ariel's little fish friend's name. Hearing no objection, I got the book and began the story. It was Flounder.
After Jamie had nodded off, I returned to my room and got ready for bed. I needed to call Karen to ask her about Jamie spending the weekend with her family as a girl, but it was still too early. I put on a robe, went downstairs, made myself a cup of tea and found a news program on the television. When the show ended, I made the call.
"Hello," a man's voice answered.
"Oh, hi Dave. I hope I didn't call at a bad time. May I speak to Karen, please?"
"Ginny, hi. Karen's not here. She has a group therapy session on Monday nights, but she's usually home by ten. Do you want me to have her call you? If it's something important, you can try her cell phone. Do you have the number? Well of course you do, I'm sure," he answered his own question.
"No, it's nothing important, just girl talk." Trying not to seem concerned, I kidded him, "Oh, and I took your advice. I didn't buy Jamie a pocket protector for starting kindergarten," which was true, although what I did buy him was much more controversial.
Dave laughed.
"Well, at least someone listens to me. With a house full of females, I have no say in clothing decisions around here. I'm glad we have a boy in the family who can use my manly advice."
Little did he know, but he would soon, maybe. Or maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. I started to have second thoughts and wanted to end the call.
"Thanks, Dave. Please tell Karen that I'll be up until eleven o'clock, if she wants to chat when she gets home. Otherwise, I'll try to catch her tomorrow night. Bye.
"Night, Ginny. I'll give Karen the message."
I hung up the phone and went upstairs to read in bed while I waited. Every so often I would check the clock and about ten thirty the phone rang.
"Hi Karen," I answered, not expecting anyone else to be calling me at that hour.
"Hi, Ginny. Dave said you wanted to talk to me. How's it going?"
"Well, we're not making much progress, which is why I called you."
"Ginny, you know I can't get involved professionally. Do you want me to try to find you someone else?"
"Oh, no, no, Karen. I didn't mean it like that. Jenny, Dr. Mitchell is great. She's kind and sensitive and caring and Jamie seems to be comfortable with her, although he's only had one session so far. The difficulty we're having is that he doesn't seem to have a preference. He likes being a girl or at least dressing like one, but he doesn't not like being a boy. I paused. "Does that make any sense?"
"Yes, please go on."
Well, Jenny's, Dr. Mitchell's suggestion was … ."
"Ginny, I know who Jenny is, continue, please."
"Sorry. Well, she suggested I let him spend this week as a girl to see how he feels about it. That's where you come in. I was hoping we could come to visit this weekend."
There was a pause while Karen considered the implication.
"Jamie is spending the week as a girl and you want to bring him here?"
"Yes."
"I see," she replied neutrally.
"Karen, I know it's an imposition. I'll understand if you say no. Really, it's not a big deal. I just thought, well, girls play with other girls and it's, it's too dangerous for Jamie to get together with any of the girls around here, even if I knew any, which I don't, because up to know he's only played with other boys, so, well, I thought, maybe, it'd be okay with your girls. It wasn't Jenny's idea, it was mine, she just went along with it, so it's not like doctor's orders or anything."
"Ginny, if it was up to me, it wouldn't be a problem. I love Jamie and can accept him whichever his gender preference, but I have to consider how it would affect Dave and the children. Debbie and Cindy would probably think it was fun having a girl cousin to play with, but I'm not sure they're ready for a real life lesson in diversity. I think it would be more difficult for Dave to accept Jamie as a girl. He liked Jim and I think he would feel that he had to be his surrogate in opposing Jamie being feminized, at least that would be his perception of what was going on. Please understand, Ginny, I'm not saying no. I just need time to think it over and discuss it with Dave. What if I call you in a day or two? Can you wait for an answer?"
"Umm, sure, but, well, I don't, you don't, it's not necessary. I'm sorry, Karen. It was a bad idea. I’m just not thinking very clearly right now. I, I have no right to drag you and your family into this. It's not your problem. Please, forget I asked you."
"Ginny, please, calm down. It's not a problem. It's a question of timing. If Jamie is transgendered, then sooner or later he has to come out to the rest of the family. All you're asking is that it be sooner, rather than later. That may well be the psychologically healthier course, rather than to make him feel guilty and ashamed by hiding it. Give me a little time to sort things out. I promise I'll be discrete."
"Okay, Karen" I agreed reluctantly. "I'll wait to hear from you and thanks. I love you."
"You're welcome and I love you too. Goodnight, Sis."
"Goodnight."
I hung up the phone, took a tissue from the box on my nightstand and wiped away the tears that had started to form. You have to hang on, Ginny, for Jamie's sake. Things will work themselves out. You have Jenny and Karen as resources. You're very lucky. There are probably other mothers who have to deal with it on their own. Now get some sleep. I rolled over, turned off the lamp, checked that the clock radio was set for seven thirty and lay back. I tossed and turned, going over the events in my mind and trying to picture how it would be having Jamie as my daughter. Finally, I fell asleep.
I woke to the alarm clock. It was another sunny, hot day from what I could see out the window when I raised the shade. I put on a robe and checked on Jamie. He was still asleep, cuddled up with the doll. I wished he had picked out a teddy bear or at least a stuffed animal. It would have been easier to explain if he carried it around with him and they don't wear clothes. Well, I guess some of them do. Winnie the Pooh has a red sweater, if I remember correctly, but they're not identifiably boys or girls. At least regular teddy bears aren't. Not that it mattered at this point.
I went downstairs to start breakfast. This was going to be the first full day that Jamie would spend as a girl and I might as well make something special for him. I took out the mixings to make pancakes from scratch and a box of fresh blueberries to add in. The aroma must have carried upstairs, because, as I was finishing up the last batch, Jamie came into the kitchen. He must have still been sleepy, because he was holding the doll, which he was not supposed to bring into the kitchen for meals. Looking at him dressed in a nightie with his tousled hair framing his sweet face, he was the picture of an adorable little girl.
"Mommy?" he asked as I stood there admiring him.
"What? Oh, sorry, Honey. I was thinking how pretty you looked. Breakfast is ready. I made blueberry pancakes. Sit down."
He gave me a questioning look.
"It's okay if you keep the doll with you."
The time was long gone for trying to separate them. Little girls carried their dollies around. For now Jamie belonged to that gender and gained the privilege.
"Just put her in you lap and eat neatly, so you don't get anything on her," I cautioned him."
I made a stack of three pancakes, with a little pat of butter on the top that began to melt with the warmth, cut them into bite sized pieces, poured on hot maple syrup and served him. He gave me a big smile and I smiled back.
"Jamie, after breakfast, we'll get you dressed in one of your new outfits and then we have to do some shopping. There are still a few more things I need to buy you."
"More clothes for Jamie?" he asked.
"More clothes for Jamie you, not Jamie the doll, Sweetie. She has enough clothes."
"She doesn't have anything to sleep in, like me," he contradicted me.
"No, but she's a doll, not a person like you. It doesn't matter what she sleeps in."
"Jamie's dress will get all wrinkled. You said I had to be careful, Mommy, but when I'm sleeping I can't take care of her."
Boy or girl, Jamie was definitely going to be a lawyer when he grew up. Considering that the only mother-daughter activity I had planned for today was shopping for a nightgown, looking for doll clothes would be a good addition to our itinerary.
"Okay," I conceded. "We can shop for her too. Now finish up and then go pick out something to wear."
After breakfast, I cleaned up the kitchen and then went upstairs to see what Jamie had picked out. To my surprise, he was on the bed putting on the doll's party dress.
"Jamie, I thought I asked you to pick out something for you to wear, not your doll. You're going out and she's staying home, isn't she?"
At least he hadn't wanted to take her out yesterday, when I offered. He shook his head.
"No you're not going out, no she's not going out or no she is going out?" I questioned him.
"Jamie's staying home."
"Jamie, the doll?"
He nodded his head.
"That's a yes?"
"Uh huh."
I rolled my eyes and he gave me a sheepish look.
"Why does she have to get dressed up, if she's not going out?"
He shrugged.
"She likes to get dressed up."
Then I thought of something that had me concerned. If he and the doll dressed alike when they could, did this mean that he expected to wear his party dress when we went shopping? Thinking back to what I had said at breakfast, I hadn't been specific about which of his new clothes he could choose from. Jamie had no familiarity with girl's clothes, so maybe he was confused about what he could wear.
"You don't want to wear your party dress to go out, do you?"
He looked at me blankly.
"A party dress is only for special occasions. That's why it's called a party dress, because it's for birthdays or holidays, like the pretty green dress Priscilla gave you. You don't wear them every day. You can dress your doll up however you like, but you can't wear whatever you like."
Unfortunately, when I went shopping for summer clothes, I hadn't expected Jamie would need a whole week's worth of skirts and dresses. If Jamie was a girl, he'd pretty much dress like a boy in shorts or pants and a top. The whole point of him spending the week as a girl was to let him express his feminine feelings, if he had any. Maybe I was being too concerned about not exposing him to anything that wasn't girly-girl, but a boy in his own clothes is a boy and he wasn't supposed to be a boy this week. The only two items that Jamie hadn't worn yet were the white eyelet dress, which was too dressy and the romper. That would be perfect. I looked through the assortment, found it and held it up.
"Look, Jamie, this is really cute. I'd like you to wear it for me please. Okay?"
He looked at it and then looked at the party dress he was putting on his doll, then he looked back at me. I moved the skirt to show how it was really culottes.
"See Jamie, the bottom actually has legs. They're called culottes. Girls really like them, because they look pretty, like a skirt, but they're much easier to wear. We do need to hurry up, Sweetie, if we want to get everything done," which wasn't true. We had the whole day with nothing else to do. "I'll tell you what," I bribed him, "put this on and we'll go shopping for you and for the doll too."
Before he could argue, I asserted my authority as a mother by going over to him and taking off his top, leaving him in his panties. I handed him a clean pair and unbuttoned the front of the romper while he was changing.
"Okay, Honey, turn around and lift one leg," I directed him, slipping on one side of the culottes. "Okay, now the other leg. Good." I held out a sleeve. "Arm in. Other arm, please." I lifted the top over his shoulders. "Turn around again and face me." I buttoned it up. The romper was smooth polyester and cotton with a pink, aqua and bright yellow awning stripes, cap sleeves, and a collarless v-neck. "I think your white sandals would look very nice. I got them and fastened the buckles. "There. All that we need to do is to brush your hair. Oh, Oh, silly me. I was so involved in getting you dressed, I forgot to have you use the bathroom or wash up. Let's go."
We went into the bathroom. Now was as good a time as any to teach him about the difference between boys and girls bathroom technique. I recalled how long it took me to get him off the potty and to go standing up, first in the bathtub and, once he became sufficiently proficient at aiming, graduating to the smaller target of a toilet.
"Umm, Jamie, girls, well, umm, when you're a girl, umm," this was not going well at all. "Umm, you remember when you were little and you sat down to make a sissy? Well, umm, that's how girls, umm, that's how you do it when you're, umm, wearing a skirt or dress, because, umm, you have to lift them up and hold them out of the way," except that he couldn't lift up the romper, because it had legs, so that explanation made no sense. Try again, Ginny.
"Jamie, girls are different than boys." Doh. "We sit when we make sissies and when you're being a girl, you have to sit too." I unbuttoned his top and let the romper slip down to the floor. "Okay, Honey, make a sissy." I turned away to give him some privacy and waited. "You can't shake when you sit." Can you? I didn't have the equipment to experiment. "When you sit, you use a piece of toilet paper to clean yourself off, so you don't get dribbles in you panties."
I got Jamie re-dressed, had him wash his hands and used a washcloth on his face after he brushed his teeth. We went back into his room. I brushed his hair and put in a barrette on each side with a little butterfly, very summery. I took out a pair of gold heart shaped magnetic earrings and held them out.
"Jamie, would you like to wear earrings like your mother?"
I paged my hair back to show him my gold hoops. He looked over to the doll, but her ears were covered by her hair, then at me, thought for a few seconds, and nodded. I put on the earrings.
"Honey, they may feel a little funny at first. You're not used to having anything on your ears, but you'll get used to them and pretty soon you won't even know you are wearing them."
The last item I took out was the gold heart locket on a thin gold chain, which I hung around his neck. There was a matching bracelet, but I didn't want to overdo it. Little girls loved to dress up with jewelry, but this was all new to Jamie. I stood back and looked closely at him. A pretty little girl looked back at me.
"Okay, Sweetie, you look like a little doll," hoping that the comparison would make him feel good about himself or herself. Ginny, you need to be very careful. You've already outed him twice. Third time is not a charm. Jamie may look like a girl, but you've got to treat him like one, if this is experiment is going to work. Remember, he, oh for crying out loud, Ginny, she is your daughter. I gave her hair a final primp.
"In the car and off we go, Honey. Remember how I showed you to smooth your skirt when you sit."
I buckled her, very good, Ginny, in and started for the mall. Maybe Claire would be there. I couldn't remember if she worked on Tuesdays. Did we really need to shop in a department store? I remembered seeing children's clothes advertised in a discount store's circular in the Sunday paper. They must have nightgowns and Jamie doesn't need anything fancy. You don't even know if he, Ginny!, if she will be wearing it after this week. Besides, nobody assists you in those kind of stores, so you and Jamie can have fun browsing and they have a toy section too, so you can shop for doll clothes at the same time. There was one discount store about ten minutes away and another across town. We were in no hurry and we were less likely to run into someone we knew there.
Jamie sat patiently while I drove to the store. I parked and we went in. There were convenient banners that indicated the different sections. I found the one that said "Girls" and headed over there. Unlike the orderly display at the department store, there was a sea of racks with every type of clothing. I held Jamie's hand as we wandered around. I tried to see if there was anything that caught his eye, but he just followed along. Finally, I found the sleepwear area. I looked through the racks and found a very feminine t-shirt style pastel pink polyester Barbie nightgown, with her as a ballerina pirouetting on the front and a little white bow on each sleeve. I held it up for Jamie to see.
"Do you like this one?"
He studied it for a few seconds.
"It's nice. Is there one for Jamie?"
"I don't know, Honey. I told you, we are shopping for you, not your doll. When we're done, we can look to see if there is anything like it for her."
"It doesn't look like my other one."
What other one?
"Oh, you mean the tank top you wore last night? That's not really a nightie, Honey. This will be much more comfortable. Feel it. It's so soft and silky."
I held it out and Jamie ran his hand over it.
"I'm going to buy this one for your," I announced, "and we should find one other nightgown for you."
I looked through the racks and saw a cute white cotton peasant style top with puffy, ruffled sleeves and a flounced hem, under which went white capris with a matching ruffle around the cuff. I couldn't resist it.
"And these, Jamie, they're adorable."
I was hoping that Jamie would show some enthusiasm, but no. She just waited for me while I shopped. Patience, Ginny. She's only been girl for a day and a half.
"Okay, Honey, these will do. Now let's go to the toy section and see what we can find for your doll."
I checked the banners, found the toy section in the middle, rear of the store and navigated there, weaving out of the racks and bins of juniors, misses and women's clothing, through lingerie, then shoes, finally arriving at the beginning of an aisle stacked with children's games. We continued down the aisle and up the next aisle, which had an assortment of action toys. The next aisle was all girls' toys. There were lots of boxed dolls, Barbie and her friends predominated, but there were other sizes and types, and an assortment of boxed sets of accessories for playing house; but no wardrobe for Jamie's doll.
"Jamie, listen, how about if I buy you some toys that you can use with your doll?"
I showed her a set of pots and pans with miniature cooking utensils and different kinds of pretend food, but she had no interest in it. Why should she? Little girls grow up with these kinds of toys. Maybe she'll get into it after she plays with her cousins, if she plays with them as a girl, which thought reminded me I was waiting for Karen's decision. In the meantime, there was no point in buying Jamie an unfamiliar toy. The problem was that I had made a commitment of sorts to buy Jamie's doll something to sleep in, if he cooperated with my dressing him up. Where else could I find doll sized clothes? Then it struck me. Maybe there was something that would fit her in the infant's section. She wasn't a baby doll, but she was about the same size as a newborn.
"Come on, Jamie, there's another place I want to look for doll clothes."
Jamie followed me to the infant's section. Sure enough, there were tiny t-shirts that were for slightly older babies, but they would fit his doll. I found one in light pink with a rainbow design on the front. I also found a two piece powder blue sleeper set with a loose top and short pants that looked a little like the pajama outfit. Hopefully, Jamie wouldn't notice how loosely the bottoms fit to accommodate a diaper or realize that pink was for girls and blue was for boys. She seemed satisfied. I took the purchases to the checkout counter, paid for them and we went out to the car. It was almost one o'clock when we pulled out of the parking lot.
"I'm hungry, Honey. Let's stop. I headed back towards our house. On the way, we passed a nice looking casual restaurant and I pulled in. It wasn't that crowded on a beautiful summer weekday and the hostess seated us in a booth. The waitress came over and gave Jamie a big smile, believing her to be what she seemed, a very pretty little girl.
"That's a beautiful locket," she said making polite conversation. "I had one like it when I was a little girl. And I love your hair." She unconsciously primped her own short blonde hair. "What can I get you ladies? Would you like a cold beverage, a glass of milk for your daughter or ice tea for you?"
"Yes, both please, you read my mind. I don't need a menu. I know what we want to order, a grilled cheese on white for her and a grilled cheese and tomato on whole wheat for me. Ask the cook to go light on the butter, please."
"Yes. Do you want the child's special? It comes with potato chips, milk and a small dish of ice cream for $4.99. Your sandwich comes with chips too, but the beverage is extra and no desert for grown-ups." She winked at Jamie.
"The special, please. Does she get a choice of ice cream?"
"It's vanilla, but I'm can get you any of the flavors on the board."
"What would you like, young lady?" she asked Jamie.
"Vanilla, please."
"That was easy. Okay, grilled cheese on white and grilled cheese on whole wheat, light on the butter, milk, iced tea, and a dish of vanilla ice cream," she confirmed and left.
She returned with the milk and iced tea. While we were waiting for our lunch, I took Jamie to the ladies room to wash up. I no longer had any concern about taking her in with me. A few minutes after we returned, the waitress brought our sandwiches to the table. After Jamie finished her desert, I paid the bill and we left. It was a little after two o'clock. There was nothing left for us to do, so I drove home.
When we got in the house, I told Jamie to go play. I took Jamie's nightgown and pajama's and the baby clothes for the doll into the kitchen and cut off the tags. Normally, I would go out in the backyard to sit in the sun and take Jamie with me to play, but I didn't want the neighbors to see her. I went upstairs and got my book. I made a mental note to stop off at the library and get some more reading material, because I was going to be spending a lot of time in the house.
Time dragged on. I tried to concentrate on my reading, but I had too much on my mind. Finally, it was four thirty and I could start dinner. After dinner, I sent Jamie upstairs and followed a little while later to get her ready for bed. It was early, but I wanted to see how she looked in her nightgown. I got her undressed, washed her up and slipped the nightgown over her head.
"Do you like it, Jamie?"
She nodded.
"What about Jamie's pajama's?" she asked.
"It's not pajamas, Honey. Pajama's have pants. It's a nightgown. And yes, here's a nightgown for the doll. Do you want me to put it on her?"
He shook his head.
"Okay, you do it. Then come downstairs and we can watch a video until it's your bedtime."
I left and went to the den. I went through the Disney videos and picked out Sleeping Beauty. It seemed appropriate. About ten minutes later, Jamie came down with his doll dressed in the t-shirt. The nightgown rode up as Jamie settled herself on the couch and I reminded her to pull it down to cover her legs. She held the doll in her lap and snuggled up to me. By the time happily ever after came around, Jamie's eyes were closing. I took her upstairs, put her into bed, pulled up the covers, kissed her goodnight and left. I waited outside her room for a few minutes, until I was sure she was asleep, and then went into my room to get ready for bed. I hoped that the phone would ring, but it had only been one day and, knowing Karen, she would not make a quick decision.
The bedroom was dark when I woke up. At first, I thought it was still early, but I glanced at the clock on my nightstand and it was almost eight. I must have forgotten to set the alarm. I went to the window and opened the shade. It was a dreary day and looked like it was going to rain. Not that I had any outdoor activities planned. I looked in on Jamie and she was still sleeping. I went downstairs and looked through the local paper while I had my morning cup of tea. I checked the weekly event calendar to see if there were any mother-daughter activities. There was a promotion for a two o'clock performance of Jack and the Beanstalk at the Children's Puppet Theatre. Jamie would enjoy that. The main branch of the library offered a weekly story on Wednesdays at eleven o'clock. Jamie would like that too. He couldn't read yet, well, he sight read a few words, but he could get some picture books and I could find a novel or two. That would work perfectly. Good, Ginny, you had the day planned.
I went up to Jamie's room and stood by his bed.
"Good morning, sleepy head. Rise and shine. We have a fun day today. We're going to the library to hear a story and then to a puppet show. Let's get you washed up and dressed before you have breakfast. That way we can get going after you eat."
I pulled back the covers, revealing Jamie in her nightgown. She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. I put out my hand, she took it and I took her into the bathroom.
"Go to the bathroom first, and then I'll help you wash up."
Jamie stood in front of the toilet, but hesitated. I realized that she was used to pulling down her pants instead of lifting up her dress for access.
"Turn around, reach up under your nightgown and pull down your panties. Then pull your nightgown up to your waist and sit down," I explained.
He followed my directions.
I remembered that when she was being potty trained the seat came with a guard to insert at the front for boys to avoid accidents.
"Make sure you point down," I cautioned him.
She finished and started to get up.
"Wait, Sweetie."
I handed her a folded up piece of toilet paper.
"Make sure you're dry and then drop it in the bowl."
She patted himself, disposed of the toilet paper and stood up.
"Good, now pull up your panties and straighten out your nightgown."
I supervised her washing up and brushing her teeth. Back in her room, I gave her a clean pair of panties. She would be sitting a lot today, so I dressed her in the skort and top she wore when we went to the park to be on the safe side of girls' fashion. I brushed her hair, put in the butterfly barrettes and accessorized with the earrings and necklace. Looking at her, I thought to myself that, although she wasn't born a girl, she should have been. Ginny, I reprimanded myself, that's silly. He may look girlish now, but remember what Jenny said about what she had to go through to be feminine, hormones, implants and surgery. You couldn't wish that on Jamie.
I gave Jamie a bowl of cereal with fruit, toast and a glass of juice so that it would be a quick cleanup and then we could leave for the library, but I was interrupted by the telephone. I assumed it was a sales call, but then I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Karen's office number. It was unusual for her to call me during the day, especially from her office.
"Karen, hi."
"Hi, Ginny. I knew you were anxious about this weekend. Ginny, I need to explain …," she hesitated - I had never known Karen to be at a loss for words before - "… but the short answer Sis is no. I'm sorry. I love Jamie and I would do anything for him, but the timing is wrong. Ginny, I want you to understand, I gave this a lot of thought. I researched it and, just to get another perspective, I talked it over with a gay couple I know, in the abstract of course. It all lead to the same conclusion, that Jamie's not ready to come out."
"Karen, I don't understand," I said with my hand in front of my mouth, so Jamie wouldn't overhear. "Jamie's already out. She wears girls' clothes, she had her hair done in a beauty salon and everyone who sees her thinks she's a girl. She really looks pretty all dressed up," I bragged. "I'm sure Debbie and Cindy will accept her as a girl. So will Dave, once he sees her."
"Yes, Ginny, they will and that's my concern. Jim and Chuck, my gay friends, said it best, that coming out redefines you. I want my family to love Jamie for himself or herself, but we don't know which one yet. Do you understand Ginny? If Dave and the children do accept Jamie as a girl, then that is how they will continue to see him, even if it turns out that is not how he sees himself. I hope you're not upset with me, Ginny."
"No, Karen, of course not, but why did Jenny, Dr. Mitch..., sorry, approve of it when I made the suggestion.
"Did she?"
"Did she what?"
"Did she approve of it?"
I thought about what she said.
"Well, no, not exactly, I guess. She said I should talk to you about it and then speak with her on Thursday."
"Ginny, the more I hear about Dr. Mitchell, the more impressed I am with her. A good therapist doesn't want her patients to become dependent. You're Jamie's parent. You have to decide what is best for him. Counseling you afterwards allows her to discuss your decision without influencing it."
"Oh, that makes sense. If she didn't feel Jamie was ready, then she would have advised me not to do it, but now she doesn't have to, because I decided not to do it on my own."
"Well, it's more of a compliment to you that she trusts your judgment, rather than an effort by her to avoid counseling you, but yes, Sis, that's the general idea. I'm sorry, but I've got to go. I just wanted to get back to you as quickly as possible."
"Thanks so much, Karen."
"You're welcome, Ginny. Please call me."
"I will, Sis. Love you, bye."
"Love you too, bye."
As I went to hang up the phone, I saw Jamie standing by the door, waiting patiently like a little angel."
"I'm really sorry, Sweetie. I had to talk with Aunt Karen," I explained.
I looked at my watch. It was only a little after ten.
"We have plenty of time."
We drove to the library. I parked and we went in. I asked the woman at the front desk where to go. She directed me to the children's section, which was upstairs. I was familiar with the library. I came here often with Jamie after Jim died, just to get us out of the house. The children's area was a happy place, with low shelves loaded with books and small futons that the kids could climb on to read or look at pictures. I noticed about a dozen boys and girls, from toddlers to a little older than Jamie by their looks, who I assumed were waiting for story time to begin. I let go of Jamie's hand. She loved books and I let her wander around, picking up whatever caught her attention.
Browsing myself, while we waited, I was impressed with the selection. Bears, bees, birds, bunnies, butterflies, cats and kittens dogs and puppies, lions, snakes, every animal imaginable and imaginary had their own story. There were lots of stories about children too. I wondered if there was one about a boy who wanted to be a girl. Probably not, it would be too controversial. That got me to thinking about what the people here would say if they knew about Jamie. What if I told them? Would they tease her? Children can be cruel. Would the ignore her? Adults can be insensitive. Would they accept her? Accept her as what? Not a girl and not a boy. Karen was right, I realized. Coming out changes the way people define you. Better to be sure than sorry.
At about a quarter to eleven, an older woman came into the area. She clapped her hands to get the children's attention.
"Boys and girls, I'm Mrs. Altman. Welcome to the library. Story time will begin in a few minutes. Please find yourself a place to sit. Today I'm going to read you the story of Peter Rabbit. She held up a large picture book she was carrying. He is a very naughty bunny who has a very exciting adventure. Mother's if your child needs to use the restroom, now would be a good time." She had obviously done this before.
A few of the mothers took Mrs. Altman's advice and headed off with their child in tow. Jamie had managed to claim a futon. A few unruly boys tried to bully their way into a seat that was already occupied, but Mrs. Altman refereed. She had definitely done this before. Mothers with the little children sat cross-legged on the floor with them in their laps. A little girl, perhaps a year or two younger than Jamie came over to him and, to my astonishment, she slid over to make room. The two sweet little girls sitting together looked like sisters, I though nostalgically.
At eleven o'clock Mrs. Altman moved to the front of the circle of children and clapped her hands again.
"All right boys and girls, I'm going to start story time. You need to be very quiet." She held her finger up to her lips and made a shushing sound. "Quiet like a mouse, she emphasized. An itsy, bitsy teensy, weensy mouse," she added for dramatic effect. She waited while the children quieted down. Looking to the back of the circle, where I was standing with some of the other mothers she offered, "Ladies, if your child is old enough to be on their own, then you may use the library facilities. Story time will be over at eleven thirty. Please be sure to return by then and please, if you do leave, make sure your child understands that they are not to leave the circle until you are back. Thank you."
I looked over to Jamie and motioned that I was going to go. She smiled, which I took to mean she was comfortable without me around. I waved, so that she would know that I was leaving. She waved back. I heard Mrs. Altman pleasant voice begin the familiar story, "Once upon a time there were four little rabbits, and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter." She held up the big story book to show an illustration of mother rabbit with her little bunnies. I turned and quietly left.
Downstairs, I looked through the current best-sellers and found two books by authors I enjoyed. I took them to the front desk. I opened my pocketbook to get my library card. As I was rummaging around, I came across the note that I got from the mother of the little girl at the playground, Merry. I tucked it away, got out my wallet and gave the librarian my card. She checked out the books and handed it back to me.
"One week on those novels," Ms. McCarthy, she reminded me, reading my name off of the computer screen. "You can renew for one additional week by telephone. The slip in the inside pocket has the code."
"Thank you Edna," I read the name off her tag, "I know." Since I still had some time before I had to go back, I asked her, "I'm sure most people renew, so why not two weeks to start with?"
"If we gave people two weeks, they'd take two weeks and then they'd want a third week. It's human nature to procrastinate," she observed cynically.
Human nature is to judge a book by its cover too, I thought to myself. I took the books and went back upstairs. Mrs. Altman was finishing the story. I pretty well knew it by heart. It was one of my favorites growing up.
"... Peter was not very well during the evening. His mother put him to bed, and made some chamomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter! ... ." She held up the big story book to show an illustration of mother rabbit dressed in an apron cooking up dinner for her bunnies. All except Peter, who was too tired from his adventures, the end. The children all clapped enthusiastically. They started to leave and Mrs. Altman watched carefully to make sure that each child was reclaimed. I got Jamie and took her over to Mrs. Altman.
"Say thank you to Mrs. Altman."
"Thank you, Mrs. Altman," Jamie complied.
"You're most welcome, sweetheart. Please come again."
"Jamie, would you like to find some books to take home?"
She nodded.
We looked through the books and found four picture books that looked interesting. I checked them out and we drove home.
It was noon and the puppet show didn't start until two, so there was time for me to make lunch. I got out a loaf of white bread, grape jelly and peanut butter to make the always favorite standby, a PB and J sandwich. I poured a glass of milk and called Jamie down to eat. Of course she came with her doll. While Jamie was eating I thought about the note in my pocket book. I took it out. It had the woman's name, address and telephone number. I wondered. I wanted Jamie to socialize as a girl, but she couldn't go to her cousin's house, because they knew she was a boy.
The mother at the playground, Helen, had offered to have Jamie and her daughter play together. What if I took her up on it? She thought Jamie was a girl. Jenny was not concerned about the encounter in the park. Merry seeing Jamie again would make it more difficult for him to go to school as a boy. Even so, she might not go to school as a boy and then it would be even better to have a girl friend in her class, I rationalized. If worse came to worse, I could enroll her in a different elementary school. If Jenny could arrange for Jamie to go to school as a girl, she must be able to get her transferred as a boy. It would be inconvenient having to drive him across town, but I have nothing else to do. Or, I could send her to private school. That's an option. We can afford it. Why didn't I think of it before? I guess because Karen and I went to public school, but that would be the perfect solution. It wouldn't matter what happened when they got together, because he won't be in school with her. Brilliant, Ginny.
Maybe, I thought, we should go slowly. Let the girls get to know each other. I doubted that they'd be home, although it was a dreary day, so maybe they were. I could invite her to go to the puppet show with us. Then maybe out for ice cream. If it worked out, I could arrange a play date. Was Jamie ready for that? She looked like a girl, but she knew nothing about being one, other than dressing her doll. Would Merry catch on? Was it too soon for Jamie to socialize as a girl? Was it too risky? What would happen to her, if she was rejected or worse, ridiculed, by a real girl? Maybe I should call Jenny and ask her advice, but, like Karen had said, I was Jamie's mother and it was up to me. Okay then, Ginny, try the puppet show and see what happens. I picked up the phone and dialed the number on the note.
TO BE CONTINUED
By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part VIII
Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.
The phone rang four times. I was just about to hang up when a woman's voice answered.
"Hello."
"Helen?"
"Yes."
"This is Virginia, Ginny McCarthy. I'm Jamie's mother. We met last week in the park. I hope I'm not calling at a bad time."
"Ginny, no, not at all. Your timing is perfect. We just walked in the door. I took Merry to get her hair cut."
"Oh, that is a coincidence. Jamie got her hair cut on Monday. Listen, Helen, I'm taking Jamie to a puppet show this afternoon, Jack and the Beanstalk. It starts at two. I know it's short notice, but, if you don't have any plans, would you and Merry like to come?"
"Ginny, that is so sweet to think of us. Honestly, Merry's been pestering me to get together with Jamie, so I was hoping you'd call. We'd love to go. Wait a second while I get a pen and paper. Okay, go ahead. Where is the show?"
I gave her the address.
"It starts at two?"
"Yes."
"I'll meet you there. Do you think it will be crowded? Maybe whoever gets there first should buy the tickets. Oh, do you mind? I'll pay you back."
"It's okay, Helen, don't worry about it. I have your phone number. I'll just call you morning, noon and night until you pay up."
She laughed.
"See you at two."
"Bye."
"Bye."
I hung up the phone. That went well, I thought. I hadn't said anything to Jamie about inviting Merry to go with us to the puppet show. I wondered how she would react when I told her. There's only one way to find out, Ginny. I went up to her room.
"Jamie, Honey, listen. Do you remember Merry, that nice little girl you played with at the playground?"
"Uh huh."
"Yes?"
"Yes."
"Yes, Mommy?"
"Yes, Mommy."
"Good. Well, she and her mother are going to go to the puppet show with us this afternoon. Won't that be fun?" I asked encouragingly.
Jamie nodded.
"Yes?"
"Yes."
"We need to leave in about a half hour, if we want to be sure to get tickets and good seats. Finish up playing. I'll call you when it's time to go. Make sure you use the bathroom before we leave, please."
I was getting the laundry started when I heard the doorbell. I wasn't expecting anyone. I went to the door. It was the mailman. He handed me some letters and a large manila envelope. It was too big to fit through the mail slot, he explained, and it said 'Photographs - Do Not Bend,' so he didn't want to fold it. I took the mail and thanked him. I had no idea who would be sending me photographs. Then I saw the return address was 'Priscilla's Pageant & Performance' and realized that she had kept her offer to give me a copy of her photos of Jamie. I took the mail into the kitchen, put the letters on the counter and used a knife to open the envelope. I carefully took out the photos. They were very professional eight by ten glossies. I didn't realize she took so many, three different poses, right, left and front and two close-ups of just Jamie's head and shoulders, full face and a profile. She looked like a real beauty queen. I wondered if I'd ever be able to show them to anyone. Would Jamie?
I glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was time to leave.
"Jamie, Honey, we have to go. Don't forget to use the bathroom," I reminded her. You never know what kind of facilities these places have and it would be a nuisance waiting to use it.
A few minutes later, Jamie came down carrying her doll.
"Are you taking her with you to the puppet show? Do you want to show her to Merry?" I asked expectantly.
For a moment, I thought that she was becoming more social about her doll, but from her surprised look, I concluded that she wasn't aware she had it with her. She put her down on the stairs, confirming that the doll was still a private companion. What did you call it, Ginny, a private companion? Was the doll just the equivalent of the imaginary friends children create? Have you been overly concerned that it's a girl? Do children have to create imaginary friends of the same gender? What about the clothes though? They're not imaginary. Jamie didn't need to put on a party dress to play with the doll. Why wouldn't he want to look like his friend? Did he know that boy's couldn't dress in girl's clothes? How would he know that? You told him, but he wasn't convinced. Was this all a big mistake? I looked at my watch. We'd be late if we didn't hurry.
"Jamie, let's go, Sweetie."
I took her hand and we went out to the car. I drove to the puppet theatre and found a parking space. It was about ten minutes to two. I looked around, but didn't see Helen or Merry. There were lots of children of all ages with the mothers in line to get tickets. We joined them.
"Ginny?"
I turned towards the voice.
"I got the tickets already."
I got out of line and went over. Merry was standing next to her.
"Hi."
She handed me two tickets.
"Let's go in and get seats."
I was still holding Jamie's hand in the crowd. Merry took her other hand as we waited. Helen and I both let go and the two girls ran ahead and sat down next to each other in the first row. Helen and I looked at each other, silently agreed that the girls were fine on their own, and found two seats farther back.
The theatre filled up quickly and at about five minutes past two the lights dimmed, the curtain opened and the show started. Obviously familiar with their young audience, the show was in three acts, each fifteen minutes long, with a ten minute intermission between them. When the show was over, everyone applauded, the puppeteers came out to take bows and the children and their mothers started to leave. Helen and I waited for Jamie and Merry and escorted them out.
"Did you have fun, Sweetie?" I asked Jamie.
He nodded.
"How about you Merry, did you enjoy the show."
"Yes, I liked it. It was very amusing."
'Amusing,' from a six year old pre-K? Where did that come from? I gave Helen a funny look. She smiled and shrugged.
"Helen, how about some ice cream?" I looked at my watch. "I don't think it will spoil their dinners. I'll treat."
Then I remembered I hadn't paid her for the tickets.
"Oh, Helen, that reminds me."
I opened my pocket book and took out my wallet. I handed her a ten dollar bill.
"You're paying for the ice cream in advance?"
"No, silly, for the tickets. You bought them for us."
"Oh, right."
She took the ten dollars and put it in her pocket book.
"Ginny, how about if the girls come back to our house for milk and cookies instead of ice cream. They can play for a little while. Would that be okay?"
I wasn't prepared for this. It was supposed to be a limited get together in a neutral environment. I suppose I could lie and say we were in a hurry, so just a quick stop for a scoop of ice cream and then we had to go. I'm sure that Helen would interpret that to be a rejection. I had already put her off once. Jamie hadn't played with another child since this whole thing began. He and Merry got along so nicely. He deserved a playmate and it's only for an hour or so.
"Ginny?"
"Oh, sorry, Helen. Okay, fine, for a little while anyway. I have to do some grocery shopping or we won't have any dinner, but it can wait. What's your address?"
"We live at 22 Maple Terrace, a few blocks from the park. It's a white colonial with black shutters at the end of the street. Do you know how to get there? You can follow me."
"Okay."
We got into our cars and drove off. I didn't know exactly where she lived, but her street was in one of the nicest areas of town. Sure enough, after about a fifteen minute drive, we turned onto a tree lined street and arrived at a large house with a circular driveway. Like the other houses in the neighborhood, it had a beautifully maintained lawn and landscaping. Helen pulled up in front and I parked behind her. She got out, opened the front door and waited for us. Merry ran over as Jamie was getting out, took her in tow and disappeared inside. Helen shook her head as she watched.
"It's so nice to see Merry with a friend, Ginny. You know, well, of course you don't, we moved here a few months ago. Have I told you this."
"You mentioned that you had just moved here and Merry hadn't made any friends yet when we were chatting in the park."
"Oh, well, Art, my husband Arthur, he was relocated by his company. It was a big promotion. We couldn't turn it down. The company found us this house. It's very nice, but, well, you can see the neighborhood is," she shrugged, "you know, older. I was hoping that once she started school she'd make some new friends, but I'm so happy we met you and Jamie. Don't get me wrong, I love spending time with Merry, but there's only, you know, so much you can do with a six year old.
I nodded.
"What about your husband?" I continued with our girl talk. "Jim, my husband, he used to spend time with Jamie."
"Really? That's so nice. Sometimes fathers and daughters don't have a lot in common."
Then she frowned.
"I'm sorry, Ginny," she comforted me, gently touching my hand. I forgot your husband passed away, didn't he."
"Yes."
"That must make it doubly hard for you, if he and Jamie were so close.
"Yes."
"Art is an accountant. He supervises bank audits and he's always traveling. He comes home on the weekends, but he's tired and wants to rest." She paused and then added, "He's a really good father, Ginny. He does it for us." She sighed. "It's just, well, sometimes I wish ...," she trailed off. "Oh my, I am such a bad hostess. Would you like a beverage and there's some coffee cake, and I told the girls that they could have milk and cookies."
Helen got up and started going through cabinets.
What kind of cookies does Jamie like? Merry is a chocolate chip-aholic. If I don't hide the bag, they're gone. Oh, I wish I'd baked cupcakes. That's one of the things Merry likes to do, cook with me. Does Jamie like to cook?"
"No, not really."
Helen put an assortment of cookies on a plate, filled two tall glasses with milk and set two places at the table. She got a box from the refrigerator and took out the remainder of a coffee cake. She sliced it into pieces and put them on a plate, which she brought to the table with the plate of cookies. She poured two glasses of iced tea from a carton.
"Oh, Ginny, I'm sorry. I didn't ask. Is iced tea okay? There's fruit juice and I can make coffee or, oh, I'm sure we have some soda in the bar."
"Iced tea is fine, Helen. Thank you."
"I'm sorry, Ginny, I guess I'm trying too hard. I, well, I haven't made any friends and, well, I was hoping, since our girls get on so well, maybe, well, you and I, we ... ."
"We can be friends." I finished her sentence. "Yes, I'd like that Helen."
"Really? I mean that's wonderful."
Yes, I thought to myself, wonderful. A friendship based on deception. Way to go Ginny.
Helen went to the hall and called upstairs.
"Merry, Jamie, girls, cookies and milk. Please come down."
A few minutes later there was the thumping of feet and the two girls appeared. Merry made for the table, plopped herself in the chair, grabbed a cookie off of the plate, dunked it in her milk and stuffed it in her mouth.
"Merry!" Helen scolded her. "Wait for Jamie and mind your manners."
Jamie got onto the chair next to Merry. He looked at me. I nodded. He picked up a cookie and took a little bite, then a sip of milk.
"See, Merry, Jamie doesn't gobble her food."
Merry looked at her mother, gave Jamie a big smile, grabbed another cookie, dunked it and ate it.
"Merry! That is enough, now behave."
Helen gave me an exasperated look. I smiled back sympathetically.
Merry waited for Jamie to finish her cookie. She jumped out of her chair and pulled on her arm.
"Let's go."
Jamie looked at me for permission. I looked at my watch.
"Helen, it's getting late. I think we should be going."
"Please, just five more minutes," Merry pleaded. "Please, please," she persisted..
"What are you girls doing?" I asked her.
"I'm teaching Jamie to play cat's cradle. She's really good. We're up to foursies. Do you want to see?"
She put her hand in the pocket of her shorts and took out a long multicolored loop of string, which she deftly wove between her fingers into a crisscross pattern.
"Okay, Jamie, your turn."
To my surprise, Jamie went over, intertwined her fingers with the string, twisted her hands around and produced another pattern. Merry, studied it for a second, then reached in, pinched some of the strands together and lifted it onto her own hands. Jamie looked at the new pattern."
"Come on, Jamie. You can do it," Merry encouraged her. "Remember, what I showed you. Here, take it."
She held the string out and Jamie reached in to duplicate the configuration. Once it was transferred, Merry reached in again and took it back in another multiple diamond pattern.
"Please, Mom, just five more minutes. She's almost got it. Please?"
Helen looked at me. I nodded my assent.
"Okay, five minutes. Then she has to go."
Merry grabbed Jamie's hand and they ran off.
"I hope I didn't inconvenience you," Helen said apologetically.
"No, not at all," I assured her. "The groceries can wait. It's more important that the girls are having fun together."
She broke into a big smile.
"Ginny, I have a great idea. Why don't you leave Jamie here and go do your shopping? She can have dinner and then you can come back and get her." Helen thought for a moment and then added excitedly, "better yet, Ginny, they can do a sleepover. That would be so much fun. Art will be home tomorrow, so this is our last free night this week. Would that be okay? I was going to make hot dogs on the grill. Jamie likes hot dogs, doesn't she? All kids do," she answered her question. "I have plenty. Jamie and Merry are about the same size, so she could borrow some pajamas," she went on with her sales pitch, and ended with the extra inducement, "I have an extra toothbrush too."
Obviously, Helen was well prepared for drop in guests. I shook my head.
"I'm sorry, Helen, no, Jamie can't stay."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Ginny. I didn't mean to put you on the spot. I understand. Some other time."
I looked at Helen and shook my head. She gave me a curious look.
"No? Jamie doesn't like to sleep over other people's houses. I guess some children do get homesick. I could bring her home later."
"It's not that, Helen. Thank you, but we should go."
"Ginny, what's wrong. Did I say something to upset you? I'm sorry. Really. Please don't let whatever I did spoil the girls' friendship," Helen pleaded frantically, "or ours."
Wonderful, Ginny, you've hurt two innocent people. You can't let Helen blame herself. It's wrong and you know it. Whatever the consequences, you have to tell her the truth. That will put an end to it.
I sighed.
"Helen, Jamie's not a girl, she's a boy."
Helen paused for a minute and then started to laugh. I couldn't imagine why my revelation was so funny.
"Oh for goodness sake, Ginny," Helen said with relief, "is that all? Merry can be a tomboy too. I'm used to it."
"No, Helen, not a tomboy, a boy. Jamie's male, not female."
"What?" she gasped incredulously. "You mean she's got a ... ."
"Yes, Jamie's got an outie and not an innie," I answered her unfinished question.
"How," she searched for words, "how, how could you do that to him? Turn him into a girl. Why would you do it to him?"
"I didn't do it to him, Helen. This isn't punishment. This is something we're trying to work through with the help of a psychiatrist."
I had a flashback to the incident with Priscilla. Is this how it always goes when you come out to someone, having to defend yourself? Karen was certainly right about the timing being wrong.
"I really am sorry. It was thoughtless of me. I'm sorry. We really should be going. I've done enough damage."
I got up to leave.
"Ginny, stop!" Helen said assertively. "Sit back down"
I sat down.
"My mother always said, to have a friend you have to be a friend. You said we're friends. Are you taking that back?"
"No, Helen, of course not, but I should never have gotten you involved in this. What about Merry?
"What about Merry?"
"Aren't you afraid of how this will affect her?"
"Affect her? You mean like your son is contagious? I don't think Merry will turn into a boy. No more so than she already is, anyway. In fact, maybe she'll learn something from Jamie about being feminine," she contradicted me, making light of the situation. "Besides, right now they're girlfriends and they're having fun. There's no reason to disappoint Merry or embarrass Jamie. Ginny, please tell me what is going on?"
I thought about whether I wanted to confide in her. Was she truly concerned about someone she hardly knew or was she just a busybody? Was she sincere or just curious? Did her motive matter? She wasn't family, so she could be critical without worrying about hurting my feelings. She wasn't a therapist, so she would see things differently than Karen or Jenny. Would she be judgmental? Did I care what she thought of me? Yes, I liked her, but I would get over it. Jamie liked Merry, but he'd get over it too. Well, any port in a storm. Why couldn't Dad come up with good sayings like Helen's Mom?
I started telling Helen about Jamie picking out a doll for a birthday present and went through his wanting to dress like her, our shopping trips and Karen's advice to get counseling. I told her about Dr. Mitchell and our attempt to determine whether Jamie was transgendered. I could see from her expression that she wasn't familiar with the term, so I explained how it meant someone who wanted to be the opposite sex. Helen was skeptical.
"I can see why a girl might want to be a boy. There's a lot more tolerance for misbehavior. I remember when I was growing up, my brothers would get into all kinds of trouble and Mom's attitude was boys will be boys. There's a lot more freedom too. Boy's get to do things girls can't do. My brothers played football and hockey. I took piano and ballet lessons. I can even see why a woman might want to be a man. They have more social and occupational opportunities. But I don't understand the reverse. What's so special about being a woman? Long hair may be pretty, but it's a nuisance, our clothes and shoes are impractical and uncomfortable, we spend a small fortune on cosmetics and beauty products and it takes us hours to put ourselves together. Don't get me wrong, Ginny. I love being a woman, but that's who I am. I don't understand why someone would put themselves through all of that, if they didn't have to?"
"I don't think people want to be transgendered, Helen. They can't help themselves. I'm sure Dr. Mitchell could explain it better. She's a transsexual."
"You left out that little detail. Dr. Mitchell is a man?"
"She was. She had a sex change."
"I wasn't a whiz in biology class, but from what I remember, if you're born a male you remain a male, with or without the equipment. So the person who's encouraging you to let Jamie be a girl is a man who's living as a woman?"
"I don't think you'd say that if you met her. She's as female as any woman I know, maybe more so," I argued in her defense.
"Ginny, I'm sure Dr. Mitchell does a great job of impersonating a woman, but this isn't about her, it's about Jamie. Why don't you find someone who will help him to be the boy he is, rather than the girl he isn't." Helen paused and thought for a minute. "Has Jamie said he wants to be girl?"
"No, we tried to talk to him about it, but it upset him."
"By 'we,' you mean Dr. Mitchell."
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, Ginny. I'm a financial analyst and nobody has nominated me for a parenting award, so I'm not an authority on children's behavior by any means, particularly when it comes to raising a boy, but I think you're making a mistake listening to Dr. Mitchell. You should go home, take away the doll and get rid of the clothes. Jamie may be upset for a while, but sometimes tough love is necessary. That's my unprofessional advice."
Now I was conflicted. What Helen said made sense, but I trusted Karen and she trusted Jenny. Did they know what was best for Jamie? Did Helen? Did anybody? My thoughts were interrupted by Helen's voice.
"Ginny, you're so quiet. I hope you're not mad at me for speaking my mind."
"No, not at all, Helen. I'm supposed to call Dr. Mitchell tomorrow to update her. You've given me a lot to think about. I appreciate it."
"Well, whatever you decided, I'm here, if you need me."
I went over and gave her a hug. We held each other for a minute.
"See, Ginny," Helen commented as we released, "we women have something special when it comes to comforting each other."
You haven't hugged Dr. Mitchell, I thought to myself. She's a world class comforter. What else are you wrong about?
"You and Jamie are going to stay for dinner, aren't you? You didn't go grocery shopping, so you have nothing to eat at home. You can' admit to fibbing to me, so you're stuck," she teased. "I'm going out to start the grill. There are some packages of hotdogs in the freezer. Would you take them out? Take out a big pot too, the one with the handles on the sides. It's in the cabinet under the island. I like to parboil the hotdogs first. They taste better. Oh and grab a package of buns out of the freezer, please.
The kitchen connected to a back hallway that went out to a large patio set up for entertaining. There as a big grill on one side and a round glass table with four chairs and an umbrella for shade. Beyond the patio there was a large backyard with an elaborate wooden swing set and play structure. I assumed that she went to the park so that Merry would have someone to play with. When dinner was ready, she called the girls. A few minutes later they came running out, laughing and giggling. Helen gave me a perplexed look as their compatibility confounded her advice that Jamie was better off as a boy. I smiled and shrugged in response. Merry seated herself and Jamie sat down next to her. Helen served her and she immediately attacked her meal. She finished while Jamie was still eating and hopped up. Helen sternly directed her to sit back down until her guest was finished eating. She reluctantly complied. When Jamie finished, Helen offered them ice cream, but Merry was anxious to get back to whatever they were doing and tugged on Jamie's arm.
"Merry, please behave. Jamie, do you want ice cream?" Helen intervened.
"No thank you," Jamie responded politely, in deference to Merry's efforts to pry him away from the adults. He looked at me to be excused.
"Thank you for dinner, Helen, but I think we should be going. Jamie, say goodbye to Merry, Honey."
Merry pleaded for Jamie to stay for a little while longer. Unlike Merry, Jamie was not used to challenging my decisions. He hesitated, not wanting to disappoint his new friend, but not wanting to disobey me either.
"Please, Mrs. McCarthy. Can Jamie stay a little longer?" she advocated on his behalf.
Jamie was having a good time.
"Just for bit, while I help you mother clean up.," I compromised. "Then we have to go."
The girls ran off. I helped Helen bring the dishes and glasses inside. Everything was plastic picnic ware, so the dishes and glasses went right into the dishwasher, the condiments went in the 'fridge and the utensils were disposable. Once the kitchen was cleaned up, Helen asked me if I wanted anything else. I told her no, we really did need to get home. She called upstairs for Merry and Jamie to come down. We waited a few minutes and then Helen invited me to go upstairs to investigate. We went down a hallway and into Merry's room. It was beautifully decorated with a lilac carpet, coordinating window treatment, bedspread and pillow shams, white wood shelves with an assortment of dolls, toys and games, and matching white wood dresser, desk, nightstand and headboard. Looking around the room, there was a large dollhouse in one corner, but no girls. Helen and I looked at each other. She put her finger to her lips and we stood silently. After about a minute there was a rustling from the door which must have been the closet. Helen opened it. Hiding inside were Merry and Jamie. We pretended to be surprised. They burst into laughter at the joke they thought they played on us.
"We have to go now Jamie. Say goodbye to Merry and thank Mrs. Nelson for having you over and for dinner."
"Thank you, Mrs. Nelson."
"You're welcome, Jamie. I hope you come back soon."
"That was Merry's cue."
"Tomorrow? Please, can she, pretty please?"
"Maybe," I equivocated. Have your Mom call me and I'll see what we can arrange. Okay?"
Merry nodded enthusiastically.
We went downstairs and out to our car. Merry followed along. She gave Jamie a big hug and Jamie hugged her back. Their innocence was touching. It was going to be hard to explain to Jamie why he and Merry could not be friends. I could see that Helen was troubled too.
"Goodbye, Ginny. She held my arm. Please call me tomorrow. I, well, you know.
"I know, Helen. I will."
We got in the car and drove home. I thought about calling Karen, but I was sure she would give me the same advice she did the last time, talk to Jenny. Jenny was expecting me to call her tomorrow, so I might as well wait. It was Jamie's bedtime, so I got her ready. I debated whether to put her to bed as a girl or a boy. She hadn't worn the cute pajama set yet. I had already taken the tags off, so I couldn't return it. One more time couldn't make a difference. After Jamie was snuggled in bed with her doll next to her, I quietly left, looking back at what probably would be the last night I spent with Jamie as my daughter.
I went into my bedroom and got ready for bed. It was still early, so I went downstairs to watch TV. I didn't want a TV in our room when Jim was alive. We had better things to do when he was home. There was no reason I couldn't have one now. I tried to watch a current events program, but I was too distracted by rehearsing in my mind what I was going to say to Jenny tomorrow. I didn't come to any resolution and about ten o'clock I gave up. I got into bed and made sure the alarm was set for seven thirty. I tossed and turned, looking at the clock which crept along in ten minute increments, until I finally fell asleep around midnight.
The alarm went off. I woke up and got out of bed. The rain must have gone through overnight, because it was another hot sunny day. I got dressed, pulled my hair back in a ponytail with a scrunchy and went to check on Jamie. She was still sleeping. I went downstairs and made myself breakfast. No sense reporting to Jenny on an empty stomach. I kept an eye on the clock on the microwave and at eight o'clock I decided to take a chance and call. Kelly didn't come in until eight thirty, but maybe Jenny was in early. She came in for us, so maybe she came in for other patients too. I dialed the office number and got a recording in Kelly's voice.
"You have reached the office of Dr. Jenny Mitchell. Our office hours are eight thirty am to four thirty pm, Monday through Friday. If you need critical care, you should go to the hospital emergency room. Admit yourself as Dr. Mitchell's patient and they will contact her. If you need to speak with Dr. Mitchell, please leave a message and your call will be returned. Thank you."
I thought about leaving a message, but I wasn't sure when they checked the answering system. I decided to call back after Kelly got in. I'd rather talk to her than a machine anyway. I went through the bills on my desk and wrote some checks. At eight thirty-five I picked up the phone and dialed the office again. To my relief, Kelly answered.
"Hello, Dr. Mitchell's office."
"Hi Kelly, it's Ginny McCarthy, Jamie's mother."
"Oh, right, like I forgot who you were. Geez. How are you and how's my favorite patient. Ooops, bad Kelly, she's not supposed to tell you that. Forget I said it. I like all of Dr. Mitchell's patients equally. Except for the one that comes in smelling like she fell in a vat of perfume. Somebody needs to tell her that being a woman is not determined by how much fragrance you use. Oh, and the one that thinks that spandex and silicone go together. Oh, and … ."
"Kelly, I need to talk to Dr. Mitchell before she gets busy," I interrupted her. "She asked me to call her today."
"Well why didn't you say so, Ms. McCarthy?"
"Lack of opportunity, for one, Kelly," I chided her.
"Me? She's not in yet. I just thought you needed some entertainment while you waited. Do you want her to call you back? Her first appointment is at nine. It's twenty of now and she's usually in by quarter of."
"Yes please. I'm home and I'll wait for her call."
"Good enough, Ms. McCarthy. I'll give her the message. Are you keeping your usual Monday appointment? I haven't been able to unload the lollipops. I should have gotten the sugar-free ones. All of Dr. Mitchell's patients are trying to keep their girlish figures, as if." She laughed.
"I'm not sure Kelly. You'll have to ask Jenny after I talk to her."
"Okay, will do. Anything else?"
"No. Thanks Kelly. I'll wait for Jenny's call. Bye."
"Goodbye."
I hung up and stayed near the phone. I didn't want it to wake Jamie. About ten minutes after I got off the phone with Kelly, it rang.
"Hello."
"Ginny, good morning, it's Jenny Mitchell. How are you?"
"I'm okay, Jenny, but I have a lot of questions. I hope you have a little time to talk."
"Of course, Ginny. Let me put you on hold while I tell Kelly to hold my other calls and tell Tiffany that I am running late."
The phone went dead for a minute and then Jenny resumed the conversation.
"I hope I'm not inconveniencing you, Jenny."
"No, Tiffany's is a pre-op. That means she's waiting to have SRS, sexual reassignment surgery, a sex change. It's a one way procedure, as you can imagine," what I pictured was not pleasant, "so a TS can't have it without psychiatric pre-approval and I'm not ready to sign off. Not everyone is cut out to be willy-less. That's a TG joke. Anyway, a short session today won't make a difference, so don't worry. Now, Ginny, please tell me what's happened."
"Well, Jamie spent the week as a girl. I dressed him in girl's clothes and had his hair done, like you suggested. We found a really nice woman at a salon that specializes in girls who do pageants. Jamie really looks cute. I have some pictures she took. Do you remember the little girl we met in the park, the one who is going to be in Jamie's kindergarten class?"
"Yes, the one who you were worried would discover that Jamie was a boy when he started school."
"Yes, her. Her name's Merry. Anyway, she went to a puppet show with us and then we went over to her house and Jamie played with her. She had a really good time. I was surprised they got along so well."
"How did you go from worried to happy?"
"Oh, I kind of jumped ahead, Jenny, sorry. I called Karen to see if Jamie could visit as a girl. She was concerned that her family would have a hard time getting over seeing him like that, if it turned out he wasn't going to stay a girl. She said she talked to some gay friends and they said, let me make sure I say it right, they said that coming out defines you. That's how she put it."
"That is the perception. I don't agree with generalizations. It might have been innocuous and it might have been problematic. Your sister knows her family best and, given her background as a therapist, I assume she erred on the side of caution. I can certainly understand that. I told you how concerned I am about telling my own children that I am a transsexual."
"That's one of my questions, Jenny. If you didn't think it was good idea, why did you let me do it?"
"Your sister already knows about Jamie, so there was no harm in asking, Ginny. It's up to you and her to work it out. I help my patients deal with their problems, but I don't run their lives."
"That's what Karen said you'd say."
"It's standard practice, so no surprise. You said it was one of your questions," she emphasized the word one, "so there must be more. Go on, please."
"Well, Helen, that's Merry's mother, was skeptical about my treating Jamie like a girl. She saw no benefit to being female that would justify a sex change. To be honest, she was critical of your advice too, especially when I told her you were a transsexual. I hope you're not mad at me."
"Ginny, it's not a secret. If you feel it's pertinent, you're welcome to reveal it. As to Helen, I've heard it before and she's right in the abstract, but we don't choose our gender in the abstract. Did Helen want to be a man? Do you?"
"No, of course not."
"Why not?"
"Because that isn't who we are."
"That's not who I am either."
"Jenny, please don't take this the wrong way. Helen's argument was that you can change your anatomy, but you can't really change your sex. Please Jenny, please don't be insulted. This is very difficult for me to understand. Helen says that you're just a man who is pretending to be a woman and that I shouldn't listen to you."
"Is that what you think?"
"No."
"Are you just saying that to be polite or do you mean it?"
"I mean it, but this isn't about you. It's about Jamie and I don't want to make a mistake and ruin his life."
"If Helen is wrong about me, maybe she's wrong about Jamie too."
"Maybe I'm wrong about you and she's right about Jamie. I just don't know what to do. I am so sorry I bought him that stupid doll. None of this would have happened."
This conversation was not going well and I was getting more and more frustrated. Jenny must have heard it in my voice.
"Ginny, I will make you one promise. You have to trust me on this. Nothing bad will happen to Jamie. I told you before and I will tell you again, you cannot turn a boy into a girl by dressing him as a girl or treating him like one. If Jamie isn't transgendered, then nothing that you have done so far will make a difference. He will grow up to be a normal boy. However, if he is transgendered, then early recognition will save him from a lifetime of unhappiness. I have to see my next patient soon, but let me tell you one case history.
"I will call her Angela. She was one of six children in a devoutly Catholic family. She grew up knowing that she was different, but she couldn't reveal it. She hated herself and had a miserable childhood. When she went off to college, she joined the campus GLBT group, it's an alliance for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered students. That's what the initials stand for. They convinced her to come out. Her parents cut off her tuition and refused to have any contact with her. She got into drugs and ended up on the street as a prostitute to support her habit. I got involved with her when she was hospitalized after being beaten up by a customer, which is an occupational hazard for these girls. We are trying to work through her guilt and lack of self-esteem, but she is so self-destructive that it's only a matter of time. Now do you understand why I am not concerned about toys, clothes and playmates? It's Jamie's future, not his present, that's at risk. If you're not convinced, Ginny, you should find another therapist. I won't be offended. I mean that with all of my heart.
I was overwhelmed with emotion by how much Jenny cared.
"Ginny?"
"I'm here, Jenny. Thank you. I am sure you're the right woman for the job. What do you recommend I do now?"
"Whatever you think best and I'll see you on Monday."
"Why did I know that you were going to say that?"
"Consistency is a virtue," she retorted.
"Thank you, Jenny."
"Thank you, Ginny."
She hung up. I felt much better. Definitely waffles for breakfast. We're going out. As mother and daughter, I decided, and Jamie was going to wear her white eyelet dress. Then maybe we'd get our nails done. My plans were interrupted by the phone. I wondered if it was Jenny calling me back or maybe Kelly to confirm our Monday appointment.
"Hello."
"Ginny, hi, it's Helen. I'm sorry, I couldn't wait. Did you talk to the doctor yet? What are you going to do?"
"Yes and nothing to answer your questions in the order which you asked them."
"I don't understand."
"I've decided that my daughter and I are going to spend the day together. Would you and Merry like to join us? I'm taking her to the pancake house for waffles and then I thought we'd get a manicure."
"Ginny, I still don't understand. I thought you were going to put an end to Jamie pretending to be a girl?"
"Jamie's not pretending to be anything, Helen. Right now she is enjoying being a girl and having Merry as her playmate. Monday we will decide whether or not to continue."
"I have to say, Ginny, I've never had a friend like you. Merry already had breakfast, but she's a little chow hound. Where is the restaurant? I'll meet you there. What time? Are you sure about this?"
"You mean about having waffles? Yes, I'm sure. In about half an hour."
"Ginny, really. Have it your way. For once I hope I'm wrong. That didn't come out right," she said with a laugh. "I'm wrong lots of times, but this time I want to be." She paused considering her logic. "I give up."
"See you soon."
By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part IX
Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.
I went upstairs to wake up Jamie and get him ready to go out for breakfast. He was sleeping peacefully, with the doll next to him on the pillow. I bent over the bed and gently stroked his hair.
"Wake up sleepy head, rise and shine. We're meeting Merry and her mother at the pancake house, won't that be fun, and then you and I are going to get manicures. Girl's love manicures, that's what you call having your nails polished, and I want you to wear your pretty new white dress. Now we have to hurry. 'Spit spot,'" I mimicked Julie Andrews getting the children ready to go to the park in the 'Mary Poppins' video.
I pulled back the covers, revealing Jamie in her adorable jammies, and playfully pushed her legs off of the mattress, pulling her into a sitting position with my other hand. She looked at me sleepily. I left her sitting on the edge of the bed while I got out her dressy white nylon panties. She was going to wear a sundress, so she didn't need anything under the top. I went and helped her up.
"Undies off, quick like a bunny," I coaxed her.
She slid the panties down and stepped out of them. I handed her the clean pair and picked up the ones she had worn, dropping them in her laundry bin. I unzipped the back of the dress and held it for her to step into, pulled it up, slipped it over her arms and zipped it up. Her white sandals without socks completed the outfit. I stood back to admire her. She looked beautiful. Oh for goodness sake Ginny, you were in such a hurry you didn't take her to the bathroom. Well, she needed to practice going in a dress. Did she? It might not be life skill that she would use much longer. I took her into the bathroom and reviewed the process. A quick once over with a washcloth, tooth brushing, a session with the hairbrush and we returned to her room. I couldn't resist adding her headband, the gold locket necklace, this time with the matching bracelet, and her earrings. We were good to go, except, of course, I needed to get myself ready. I left Jamie with her doll and hurried into my room, paying a lot less attention to my appearance. After all, it was Jamie's day. I collected Jamie, we went downstairs, I got my pocketbook and we left.
Fifteen minutes later, we were at the restaurant. I made a quick check of the parking lot, but I didn't see Helen's car, so we were there first. I went in and gave our name to the hostess. She said there was about a ten minute wait. We sat on a bench in the waiting area. I reminded Jamie to collect her dress when she sat down. About five minutes later, I saw the door open and Merry came bounding in with Helen following her. She ran over to Jamie and hopped up next to her. Helen came over. She studied Jamie and then turned to me.
"You are serious about turning Jamie into a girl, Ginny, aren't you?"
"Please Helen, keep your voice down. Let's go over there," I pointed to the area near the door. I got up and took her arm. "I told you that Jamie was going to continue to be a girl until Monday, when we meet with Dr. Mitchell."
"Yes, but my God, Ginny, I never expected this. You've turned him into a fairy princess."
I glowered at her use of the word 'fairy'. Did she mean to say 'fairytale' or intend to be derogatory? She ignored my reaction and went on.
"Whatever advice Dr. Mitchell gave you to encourage this charade is just plain wrong. I'm sorry, but I won't be a part of it. We have to go." She turned to Merry, "Merry, we're not staying."
Helen walked over and reached out to take Merry's hand.
"Mom, please, I want to eat with Jamie. Please, Mom?"
"No, Merry, we are leaving now and no backtalk young lady."
She took her daughter's hand and pulled her towards the door.
"Bye Jamie. See you," Merry called over her shoulder.
Jamie waved at Merry's back as the door closed behind her. I looked to see her expression. Luckily she didn't understand Merry's abrupt departure.
"I'm sorry, Honey. Merry's Mom forgot they had something else to do this morning. She couldn't call me, because we had already left, so she stopped by to tell me. That's what we were talking about," I covered up. "We can still have breakfast and go for our manicures."
I went over and told the hostess it would just be the two of us. She had a table for two open and seated us. Jamie got a placemat and a small box of crayons to color with while we were waiting. The waitress came over and I ordered the number two breakfast for me, two eggs, an English muffin, juice and tea, and the strawberry Belgian waffle for Jamie with a glass of milk.
Jamie was full after finishing half of the waffle. I paid and we left. I wasn't going to let Helen spoil the day. How could she judge me and how could she be so cruel to someone so vulnerable? I suppose it was my fault for trusting her. Apparently honesty is not the best policy when your child is transgendered. Well, once bitten, twice shy. At least Dad had one useful expression. I won't let it happen again. So, Ginny, all dressed up and somewhere to go, we're having our nails done. I remembered passing a nail salon in a small shopping center on our way to the restaurant. We didn't need anything fancy.
Jamie was quiet as we drove. I glanced at her to see if she was sad about Merry, but, if it bothered her, she didn't show it. I parked and walked to the entrance. A sign in the window said walk-ins were welcome. Looking inside, I didn't see any customers. We entered and were politely greeted by an older Asian woman. Two young Asian women were seated at stations chatting in their own language.
"My daughter and I would like manicures, please. This is her first time, so it=s special."
The woman looked at Jamie and grinned.
"Yes, yes, mama, special," she agreed. "I do. Come."
She motioned us to an open manicure station and pointed to the chair.
"She sit, prease."
I had Jamie sit down.
"You go, mama" she pointed to the station opposite where one of the young women was sitting. I went over and sat down. I was nervous that I couldn't see what was happening with Jamie. I tried to watch over my shoulder, but the older woman smiled and waved for me to turn around.
The woman doing my nails added her assurance. "Hi, I'm Kim. Aunty Mai raised three daughters. My sister and I," she pointed the orangewood stick she was holding at the other girl," are her nieces. This is a family business and we take good care of our customers, especially the young ones," she said with a big smile. I turned back and decided to enjoy being pampered for a little while.
Kim was very good. When it was time for the polish, I chose a dark red. She applied it in long smooth strokes. It wasn't until she finished and my nails were under the dryer that it struck me I hadn't chosen a color for Jamie. What would it be, I wondered? Oh well, it didn't matter really.
"Do toes, mama?"
"Aunty wants to know if you want her to give your daughter a pedicure too?"
"Rittle toes, no pay," Aunty offered as an inducement.
It may well be a once in a lifetime experience for Jamie and the price was certainly right.
"Yes," I agreed. "Thank you."
"Jamie, the nice lady is going to make your toes look pretty like your nails, Honey. It's called a pedicure."
"You come, prease."
Aunty took Jamie's hand. Looking towards the back of the salon, I could see that there were chairs set up with foot baths. I hoped Jamie was going to enjoy her day, or at least morning, of beauty.
"Go ahead, Honey."
"You too? No charge. Introductory offer," Kim enticed me.
"No, I couldn't. Please, only if I pay for it."
"Okay, you win. One dollar, American money," she teased me.
I knew when to give in.
"Okay, you drive a hard bargain," I teased her back.
She laughed and brought me to the back. I sat down in the chair next to Jamie. It really was delicious to relax and forget about everything that had happened. Having a daughter was an advantage. I could never do this with Jamie as a boy. It didn't seem fair. If Jim was around, then he and Jamie could do guy stuff, but that left me out. I wondered how Dad felt with two girls. Did he envy Mom? Did he secretly wish that one of us was a boy? Was it different for fathers? Were they more detached from their children than mothers? What if Jamie went back to being a boy? No, he couldn't go back to being what he already was. What if it turned out that he wasn't transgendered? Would our relationship change? How could I let that happen? There must be way for a mother and her son to be close. I suppose I could do guy stuff with him. Be a soccer mom or a Cub Scout den mother. He'd look a lot cuter in a Brownie uniform. Did they still wear those silly beanies with the loop on top?
"Other foot please," Kim directed me, interrupting my thoughts.
When we were finished, the women brought us to the front.
"You like, mama?" Aunty asked me.
I inspected Jamie's fingernails. They were bubble gum pink, with a tiny white flower design on the pointer fingers and his toes matched, except for the flower. Aunty really had done a beautiful job, much more than a usual manicure. What a sweet woman. I wished we could make this a regular routine.
"I like them very much. They're lovely. Thank you."
I took out my wallet and handed her a credit card. I didn't even bother to check the amount. I just signed the charge slip. Aunty was the owner and I didn't want to insult her generosity by offering her a tip, but Kim certainly deserved one. I took out a ten dollar bill and offered it to her.
"No, please. One dollar, American money," she insisted.
"No, please take it. This morning was priceless. I'm not sure if we will be able to come back. We may be moving," I made up as a reason, "so please let me thank you for your kindness. Please."
I put the money on her station and she accepted it graciously.
"That is very generous. Thank you."
"You're very welcome. Thank you."
I took Jamie's hand and we left. I looked back at the smiling women. Who cares about Helen!
We got in the car and I tried to think of something else for us to do as mother and daughter. I looked over at Jamie, sitting like a little angel with her pretty hands resting in her lap. A tea party would be perfect. I imagined Jamie with a group of little girls in pinafore dresses, sitting in a circle with their dollies next to them and sipping tea in little floral decorated china cups. Too bad my little Alice doesn't have a magic rabbit hole to tumble down, I sighed. We could go shopping, but there was no point in expanding her wardrobe until we knew whether she wanted to be a girl. Should I ask her, I wondered? Jenny tried at our last session and upset her, but maybe it was too soon then. Jamie had more time to sort out her feelings.
"Jamie, your nails look very nice," I began casually. "Do you like being a girl?"
She looked at her hands.
"Yes."
Brilliant, Ginny, wrong question. Yes, she agrees her nails look nice, or yes, she likes being a girl, or yes to both? And why wouldn't she like being a girl with all of the attention she's been getting. That's just the type of encouragement that Jenny had cautioned you against initially. Even if she likes being a girl, does that mean she wants to be a girl? She likes vanilla ice cream, but it doesn't mean she wants to have it every day for the rest of her life. Is that a silly analogy? And even if she does want to be a girl, is it because she thinks that's what you want her to be, you certainly act like it, or because it's what she wants for herself? Should I ask her the right question? What is the right question? Do you want to become a girl permanently? Are you really a girl? Not on the outside. On the inside? Would she understand the difference? Would it be the right answer? Only Jenny would know and you still have three days before you see her again.
We arrived home and I sent Jamie upstairs. She hadn't had any playtime with her doll today and I expected she would enjoy the opportunity. I puttered around, trying to decide how to spend the rest of the week. Other than socializing with another girl, which was out of the question, given my experience with Helen, there was nothing left for us to do that was uniquely feminine. What would happen, I wondered, if Jamie went back to being himself? Wasn't he still himself, just wearing different clothes? What would happen, then, if I went back to dressing him as a boy? Whether he refused or accepted the reversion would be a good indication of how he felt about his gender. Even better, as a boy I could take him to visit Karen's family. Excellent, I will call her tonight.
The rest of the evening went as usual. I didn't want to spoil her manicure and pedicure by letting Jamie soak in a bath and she hadn't done anything that would require one, so I just gave her a once-over with a washcloth. Since tonight might be her last as a girl, I let her wear her panties and nightgown to sleep in. I completed her girl's bedtime routine by brushing her hair, cherishing what might be our final activity as mother and daughter. I read her a story with the doll resting on the pillow between us, waited for her to get drowsy and tiptoed out. Looking back, I lingered over the vision of my little sleeping beauty and struggled with the thought that the next morning's waking kiss would turn her into a prince. Not that there was anything wrong with princes, I reminded myself.
I got myself ready for bed and passed the time watching the news and reading until it was a little after nine o'clock. I picked up the phone and pressed the speed dial.
"Hello."
"Hi, Karen."
"Ginny, I'm glad you called. I've been thinking about you. How are you and Jamie doing?"
"Honestly, it's been difficult. We, well I, had an unpleasant experience with the mother of the little girl Jamie met in the park."
"The one you were worried about, because she was going to be in Jamie's class?"
"Yes, her, Merry."
"How did you happen to run into them?"
"Actually, I arranged it."
"Ginny?"
"Well, I decided that Jamie should socialize as a girl, so I called her mother. She had given me her number, so the girls could get together. I thought I could keep things under control by not letting them get too personal, so I invited them to go to a puppet show. After the show, I suggested we go out for ice cream, but Helen, that's Merry's mother, asked us to go back to their house. I know I shouldn't have, but this was the first time since this all started that Jamie had a playmate and they got along nicely on the playground and at the show, so I thought it would be harmless."
"Obviously, it wasn't," Karen anticipated.
"Well, it was, up to a point. I told Helen that we could only stay for a little while, because I had to go shopping, so I would have an excuse to leave. She thought she was doing me a favor by offering to let Jamie stay for dinner while I went to the store. That led to her suggesting that Jamie do a sleepover, so I didn't have to rush back. I don't know why, Karen, but I felt guilty about the deception. I tried to say no politely, but I ended up by telling her the truth."
"And she reacted badly?"
"No, not badly. She was, it's hard to explain, curious, or maybe dubious is a better word, I don't know, as to why a boy would want to be a girl. I think she believed that this was just some kind of whimsy in which I was indulging Jamie and that he or I would eventually realize that there is no reason to be a girl if you weren't born one."
"Why were you bothered by her questioning the benefit of being female?"
"It didn't bother me, it encouraged me."
"What?"
"I told her about Dr. Mitchell and that we had an appointment with her on Monday to make a decision. I thought she understood and would go along with letting Jamie and Merry being friends until then. So, the next morning I called her and invited them to join us for breakfast at the pancake house. She said yes. I got Jamie dressed really pretty, in a white cotton sundress. When Helen met us and saw her, she got angry and walked out. Luckily, Jamie didn't catch on. That's why I was upset, because it was a mean thing for Helen to do after leading me to believe that she didn't mind Jamie was a boy and she wanted to be my friend.
"I'm sorry Sis, but if you knew the woman was dubious, to use your word, why did you challenge her by dressing Jamie up. You could have had him wear something less conspicuously feminine. If I was analyzing your behavior, which I'm not, I would say that subconsciously you were testing her acceptance of Jamie as a girl."
"Karen, no, I wasn't. I wanted Jamie to look pretty so she would have something in common with Merry."
"Merry was wearing a dress too?"
"No, I mean that they were both girls. I wanted Jamie to feel really girlish."
"Why?"
"I thought that Merry would like her better that way."
"Did Merry not like him the way he was before?"
"No. They got along fine. I just wanted Jamie to look pretty. What's wrong with that?" I asserted defensively.
"Ginny, nothing is wrong with that in the abstract. Jamie is supposed to be exploring his gender. Obviously, something is wrong with that in real life or it wouldn't have ended the way it did. I'm not being critical, Sis. I know you meant well, but I'm at a loss to understand why you got together with the girl in the first place, considering how anxious you were about their being classmates."
"Karen, it's been really hard for me to find things to do with Jamie as a girl and I felt guilty about her being with me all of the time. I wanted her to have some fun and you didn't want her to play with Debbie and Cindy, so Merry was the next best alternative."
It was Karen's turn to be defensive.
"I did what I thought was best for both Jamie and my family, Ginny. You know that."
"Yes," I conceded, "I do. I'm sorry, Karen. Actually, that's why I was calling. Jamie's done about as much as she can do as a girl, so I was going to let her return to being a boy. I was hoping that we could spend the weekend with you. I mean, you don't have to. I'd understand. I, well, I really need to be around someone supportive after what I went through with Helen. Could we Karen? Would it be alright? She'd be a boy and she doesn't have to bring her doll."
"Ginny, for goodness sake, of course you and Jamie can come for the weekend, with a doll, in a dress, it doesn't matter. If you need us, we're here for you, Sis."
"You've changed your mind?"
"I thought it would be best for both Jamie and my family, if they didn't seem him as a girl until we were sure he was one. That was a preference, not a prohibition, Ginny, and, since you've decided to bring him as a boy, it doesn't matter, although you might want to stop referring to him as 'she' and 'her'."
"Oh, yes. I, well, I've been so careful about not outing him that I have to get out of the habit of referring to her, him, as a girl. Once she's, he's, back to being a boy it will be easier. I really appreciate you letting us come, Karen. It means a lot to me," I sniffled.
"When will you be here?" she asked, moving our conversation in a less emotional direction.
"Jamie isn't up yet and I want to straighten up the house before we leave. How about around dinner time, would that be okay?"
"Of course, Ginny, I'll do barbeque. Jamie likes hot dogs, doesn't he?"
"Yes. That would be fine."
"Great, I'll do the works, potato salad, coleslaw, pickles and watermelon for desert. It'll be just like old times, Sis."
"Thank you, Karen. I need some nostalgia. I wish Jim was here" I added with a note of sadness in my voice. "If he was, we wouldn't be in this mess."
"Ginny, this isn't a mess. Jim might have had a different view as to how to deal with Jamie, but he couldn't prevent it or change it any more than you can. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself, just because you had a bad experience. I'll see you tonight. Love, you."
"I love you too. See you tonight and thanks again."
"You're welcome again."
I hung up the phone and went upstairs to wake up Jamie.
"Sweetie," I whispered, so as not to startle her.
She, well she was still in girl mode, rolled over and opened her eyes.
"Good morning, rise and shine. We're going to Aunt Karen's this afternoon, so we have to get ready."
I went to her dresser and got out a pair of white cotton briefs.
"Arms up."
I slipped the nightgown over her head and folded it neatly, putting it in her bottom bureau drawer with her pajama set. I handed her the boy's underpants. To my surprise, she put took off her panties and put them on without any resistance or reluctance. It was the same with the rest of her boy's clothes. Was she just being compliant or didn't she care. I suppose there was no reason why she should. Her feminine outfits were my choice. She never expressed a preference, except to dress the same as her doll, and we seemed to be over that. I suddenly realized I was still referring to Jamie as a girl. He's a boy now, I reminded myself. Well, with his girl's hairstyle, more like a tomboy. I needed to do something about that.
I remembered that Priscilla had offered to do a unisex style. Should I wait to have it cut until after Jenny makes her diagnosis on Monday? What about Karen? I told her I was bringing Jamie as a boy. I decided to call Priscilla. I knew her salon was closed, so maybe I wouldn't reach her. If not, then Jamie would go the way he was. I would put it in the hands of fate, I dramatized.
Once Jamie was ready, I walked him downstairs and gave him breakfast, just cereal with milk and a banana, cinnamon toast and orange juice, nothing fancy. While he was eating, I got the phone book and looked up the number for Priscilla's Pageant and Performance. I dialed and got a recording, as I expected. I left her a message, cryptically reminding her that I was the mother of the redheaded girl who she photographed last week and asking her to call me back this morning. I left Jamie to finish his breakfast while I went upstairs to pack our suitcases. I was in his room when I heard the telephone ring. Could it be Priscilla getting back to me so quickly?
I hurried into my room and answered the phone on the fourth ring. It was Priscilla.
"Hi. I didn't think I would catch you," I greeted her cheerfully, although I had mixed feelings. After the usual pleasantries and thanking her for the photos, I asked whether she had time today to do a unisex cut. Maybe she didn't. No, she could do it at eleven o'clock. The Greeks were wrong. Fate is obviously a man. I confirmed the time and fibbed that I was looking forward to our visit. I hung up and went back to finish packing.
Jamie had come upstairs and was on the floor with his doll. I worked around him, trying to be unobtrusive, but curious about his interaction with the doll. Whatever he was doing with her, it didn't appear to be the kind of fantasy play that Karen and I did with our dolls. We pretended to be the mommies and cared for our babies. From what I could see, Jamie treated the doll like she was his friend, not his child. I finished packing, closed his suitcase and took it into my room. I still needed to put in his toothbrush. Karen would have toothpaste, shampoo and the other bath items.
I kept an eye on the clock and at ten fifteen I asked him to get ready to leave. We got in the car and I drove to Priscilla's salon. On the way, I told Jamie that I was going to have her trim his hair, so it would be easier to take care of when he started school, which was true enough. We arrived at the salon about fifteen minutes early. I went up and tried the door. It was locked, so we walked to the coffee shop a few stores down. I got an iced tea for me and an iced chocolate latte for Jamie. We sipped on our beverages while we waited for Priscilla to arrive. A few minutes before eleven a yellow convertible pulled up in front of the salon and a tall, attractive woman got out. There was no mistaking Priscilla. I took Jamie's hand and we went out to greet her. She unlocked the door and had us wait while she deactivated the alarm and turned on the lights. Once we were inside, she directed us to her station in the salon area. She had Jamie get in the chair and looked him over, turning his head from side to side. She took me aside.
"It appears you've decided to let him be himself," she said discretely. "Do you want a regular boy's haircut?"
"He's always been himself, Priscilla," I politely disagreed. "Whether he's more comfortable as a boy or a girl is what we've been trying to decide. For the time being, he's a boy and I want him to look like one. You suggested a unisex style. I'd like that please."
"Of course, Mrs. McCarthy. He'll either look like a very boyish girl or a very girlish boy, depending on how you dress him. Is that what you want?"
"Yes, that would be a good compromise."
"I can always take a clipper to him later," she jested.
"I can always buy him a wig to cover it up," I countered, provoking a smile.
Priscilla took Jamie over to the sink and did the same shampoo routine as before. She toweled him and brought him back to the chair, using scissors to shorten the back and angle the sides, leaving a fringe over his forehead. When she was finished, she used a styling brush and blow dryer to smooth it into shape.
"Viola," she pointed with the brush.
I expressed my approval of the attractive little boy who emerged. I thanked her, offered to pay, which she refused, gave her a hug and had Jamie do the same, and asked if she wanted before and after photos. She laughed and told me that she didn't want to spoil the illusion. She walked us out and waved goodbye as we drove off.
By the time we got back home it was almost one o'clock, so I made Jamie a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich and gave him a glass of milk. While he was eating, I finished packing. We really didn't need a lot for the weekend. Play clothes for Jamie, a sweatshirt if it got cool, and some jeans and shorts for me. I could borrow a sweater from Karen if I needed it. I went into the bathroom and thought about taking my cosmetic bag. I wore makeup for Jim, when he was home, but had stopped using it, except for lipstick. I studied my face. There was no need to impress Dave, but there was no need to look like a Russian peasant either. I found a pair of tweezers and plucked my eyebrows into the semblance of arches. I had forgotten what a pain, literally and figuratively, it was to look pretty. Since I had been spending so much time with Jamie, I hadn't been in the sun and looked pale. I rummaged through the vanity drawer and found a tube of some type of bronzing stuff. God knows how old it was, but I supposed that it doesn't go bad. I took a dab and applied it. Satisfied with the improvement, I continued with the application.
I made my bed, straightened up the room and then went into Jamie's room and started to make his bed. He came in as I was pulling up the spread. His doll was on the pillow. I handed it to him to hold while I finished.
"Okay, Sweetie, it's time to go."
We started downstairs and I noticed he still was holding his doll. I considered saying something, but decided not to make it seem important. Maybe he would realize he had it with him on our way out and leave it downstairs or maybe he would take it with him in the car, but not bring it into the Karen's house. It was his choice. Karen said he could bring the doll and there was no need for me to be involved, although his leaving it at home when he was a girl and taking it with him when he was a boy seemed backwards. Then again, I was becoming quite aware that six year olds don't think like adults.
I put our suitcases in the trunk and we pulled out of the driveway. It was about two thirty and the trip usually took a little over an hour. Leaving now, we would avoid the Friday rush hour. I looked over at Jamie in the passenger's seat with his doll in his lap and remembered the pretty little girl in her white sundress and bubble gum pink nails who had been sitting next to me the day before. Bubble gum pink nails, Ginny. He still had them! So much for going to Karen's as a boy. I pulled over, waited for traffic to pass and made a u-turn.
"Jamie, Honey, We have to go back home. We need to take off you nail polish. It will only take a minute."
Did I even have nail polish remover in the house? I must have some somewhere. We pulled into the driveway and I took Jamie upstairs to my bathroom. I rummaged through the vanity and found a bottle and some cotton balls in the back of the cabinet under the sink. I watched Jamie for any emotional reaction as I applied the saturated cotton ball and swabbed off the polish nail by nail. I supposed that having polished nails was not something that mattered to him. Girl's, well most girl's, like to look pretty, because they're indoctrinated into our beauty culture by their mothers. There's no reason why he should be disappointed about having something unfamiliar taken away.
I inspected his nails to make sure there were no traces of pink and touched up a few areas around his cuticles. Once I was satisfied, we got back in the car. I kept some tapes of children's songs in the car for when we made the trip to Karen's. I put it in the player and we passed the time to "there was a farmer, had a dog and Bingo was his name, O, b-i-n-g-o, b-i-n-g-o" and another tape of Disney movie tunes. Would you like to hear my rendition of "Under the Sea"? Neither did Jamie.
Traffic on the interstate was heavier than I had thought it would be. Apparently a lot of people decided to head home early for the weekend. It was a little after four when we turned onto Karen's street. Her house was a ranch, near the end of a cul-de-sac. As we approached I saw Debbie on a bicycle and Cindy pedaling a big wheel. Debbie recognized my car, Karen must have told them we were coming, and waved. I made sure they were out of the way and pulled into the circular driveway. Debbie and Cindy got off their bikes and ran over to Jamie's door, but couldn't get it open, because the doors locked automatically when the car started.
I pushed the unlock button and they opened the door, excitedly tugging on Jamie, who was still held in by his seatbelt. I watched to see Jamie's reaction when the girl's saw his doll. Noticing it in his lap, Debbie asked me in typical children's self-centered curiosity, "Aunt Ginny, is that for me?"
"No, Debbie," the doll was Jamie's birthday present," I explained. "It's his," I repeated to make sure there was no question.
"Oh," Debbie said rebuffed in her enthusiasm for an undeserved gift. "Can I see her?" she asked, reaching for it. To my surprise he let her have it. Letting go of the doll freed Jamie's hands to release his seatbelt. In the meantime, Debbie gave the doll a thorough going over, even lifting the dress to check her underwear. When Jamie finally slid out of the seat, she handed it back to him and expressed her approval.
"Neat. C'mon."
She ran off to the house with Jamie and Cindy trailing along. I was surprised by how readily she accepted Jamie having a doll. She and Cindy had dolls, she didn't have any brothers who were told they couldn't and at her age I doubted she played with boys, so why would she know any different? Jenny was right when she said that prejudice requires maturity. They disappeared into the backdoor. A few minutes later Karen came out, apparently alerted by the girls that we had arrived.
She hurried over and gave me a gigantic hug. I really needed it. We held each other for what seemed like ten minutes. I couldn't let her go. All of the doubts and worries of the past few weeks seemed to melt away by the warmth and affection of my sister. Karen just let me hang on until I was ready.
"It's good to see you, too Ginny. Let's get your stuff inside. She reached into the trunk and took Jamie's smaller suitcase. I picked up mine and closed the trunk. She shifted the suitcase into her offhand and took my arm, escorting me to the door. We went to the guest bedroom, where we left the suitcases. Debbie had bunk beds in her room for sleepovers and the usual arrangement was for Cindy to move in with Debbie, Debbie being older took the upper bunk for safety, and Jamie stayed in Cindy's room. Her room was pink and pastels with the usual assortment of dolls and toys. I thought how ironic it was that Jamie had a boy's room when he was being a girl and a girl's room now that he was back to being a boy.
Dave had not gotten home yet, so Karen and I had time to catch up on her family. We talked about Debbie going back to school. Even though she and Jamie were both six, she had started kindergarten last year, so she would be a first grader. Karen showed me her 'Hello Kitty' school bag with all of the crayons, blunt scissors, pencils and little pencil sharpener required for her academic debut. Cindy was in pre-school and loved her teacher, who was the same one Debbie had when she went to the Teddy Bear Club. The owner was French and for enrichment the children were taught the language, so Karen told me how cute it was for Cindy to go around calling her 'mere' and her father 'pere,' the French words for mother and father she explained, since I took Spanish. Of course, Karen went on, Debbie had no idea what her sister was saying and made fun of her for talking baby talk, which gave both of us a laugh. Karen carefully avoided talking about Jaie and it was nice to have a conversation with her that didn't involve his gender.
About an hour after we arrived, Dave came home. He greeted me with a big bear hug. It felt good to have a man's arms around me, even if they belong to my brother-in-law. He was a really nice guy and Jim and Dave got along wonderfully. They would go off and talk sports for hours. I think Jim would have wanted Jamie to be an athlete. He played four varsity sports in high school. He didn't go to college, he went into the service and then to a technical school. I was sure that Dave would be disappointed if it turned out that Jamie was transgendered, which confirmed Karen's judgment about postponing the revelation until we were sure.
Dave went to change and wash up. When he came back, we chatted while Karen prepared dinner. Since it was barbeque, she bought most of it at the deli and only had to empty the containers into bowls. Dave went out to start the grill. When the hot dogs were ready, we called the girls. Ooops, and boy. Jamie came in carrying his doll. Debbie and Cindy had dolls too. Apparently they intended to have a doll's picnic. There was a child-sized plastic table with attached benches for them to sit at and Karen set places for them with paper plates. If Dave thought anything was strange about Jamie having a doll, he didn't mention it. He probably thought the doll belonged to one of the girls and that Jamie was just humoring his cousins by taking part in their game. I didn't see any need to change his mind.
We had a lovely dinner. Jamie always got along with his cousins and, with their company to keep him busy, I could relax with a glass or two or three of wine. By the end of the meal, I was feeling really mellow. Dave and I helped Karen bring the leftovers into the kitchen. We excused him and he went off to do whatever guys do while the women do the dishes. Not being much of a drinker, I wasn't a great deal of help. Mostly I swayed and giggled for no reason. Karen was very patient with her tipsy sister. She offered to put Jamie to bed when she did the girls. I accepted her offer and told her that his toothbrush and pajamas were in his suitcase. She gave me a patronizing look at my statement of the obvious. I went into the den and sat on the couch next to Dave. I didn't think Karen would mind my appropriating her husband for a bit, not that I had anything intimate in mind. It just was nice to have adult male company. We watched a nightly news program until it ended and then he asked if I minded if he changed to the sports network, which I didn't. By then Karen came in to report that the kids were all tucked in. She noticed that I was sitting next Dave and sat in one of the upholstered armchairs on the other side of the room, indicating her acceptance of the arrangement. She really was a good big sister.
I woke up the next morning with a headache. Sitting up slowly, I saw that it was almost ten o'clock, a luxury I could never enjoy at home. I noticed that I had fallen asleep in my panties and bra. I changed into clean underwear, pulled on a pair of shorts and a top, slipped on my sandals, ran my fingers through my hair and went to the kitchen. Karen was sitting at the counter sipping a cup of coffee and reading the paper. There was still half a pot on the coffee maker. Coffee wasn't my beverage of choice, but today it was just what I needed. I poured myself a cup and doctored it up with milk and sugar.
"Thanks for letting me sleep in, Sis," I said appreciatively.
"No problem. Three's as easy as two. Sometimes I regret not having another baby, a boy for Dave. He loves the girls, but I think every man wants a son. Of course there's no guarantee if we had another child it wouldn't have added to his harem," she rationalized, "and it would have been harder for me to go back to work."
"Where are the girls, umm kids."
"They're playing on the swing set."
I went over and looked at the patio door. Debbie was pushing Jamie in the swing and Cindy was going down the slide. They always played nicely together. I tried to remember back when Karen and I were the girls' ages. I recalled more fights than fun. Maybe they were on their best behavior for company. I went back and sat next to Karen on one of the stools at the counter.
"Where's Dave?"
"He's playing golf with his buddies, like he does every Saturday and Sunday. They have an early tee time, so he should be done by noon. I thought we'd meet him at the club and the kids could use the pool. There's supervision for the little ones, so we can grab a couple of lounge chairs and get a tan."
"Sounds great, Karen, except that I didn't bring a bathing suit for Jamie."
"No problem, he can borrow one of Debbie's."
It was the first time the subject came up and we both laughed.
"Do you think Dave is ready to meet his niece?"
"No. Seriously, Jamie can wear a pair of Debbie's shorts. They're just plain cotton pull-ons and she has plenty of flip-flops."
"I brought some shorts for him."
"I know, he's wearing them."
"You dressed him?"
"Yes. I thought you would prefer that to having him run around naked. As unfamiliar as I am with boy's clothing, I managed to put shorts on him," she teased me. "I let him put on his own underwear."
"I didn't pack a bathing suit for me either. Is it okay if I wear what I have on?"
"Suit yourself," she punned.
Before we left, Karen made the kids lunch, ants on a log, peanut butter stuffed celery sticks for the logs and raisins for the ants, with big glasses of milk. Soft-baked chocolate chip cookies finished the meal. Karen suggested we wait to eat at the snack bar. They had really great vegieburgers. Karen was into health food. After lunch, Karen sent the kids to their rooms to change. She instructed Debbie to find a pair of her shorts and flip-flops for Jamie. A few minutes later, Debbie came running in.
"Mommy, Jamie has nail polish on his toes," she tattled. "I want polish on my toes too. He's got it," she repeated to enhance her argument.
Karen gave me a puzzled look. I completely forgot about our pedicures when I did his nails. I looked sheepishly at Karen and shrugged.
"Debbie, Honey, I was doing my toes and, well, I goofed around and did his too. Let me see if your Mom has some nail polish remover and I'll take it off, okay?"
I gave Karen a questioning look.
"Didn't you notice it this morning when you got him dressed?"
"I told you, he put on his own underwear."
"Oh, right. Do you have any remover?"
She went out and came back a few minutes later with a bottle and some gauze pads. I took Jamie outside and took off the polish while Debbie supervised.
The club was fun. Dave left early to putter around the yard at home. We got back around four thirty. Karen offered to order pizza for dinner, which brought a profuse expression of gratitude from Dave, who was usually deprived of such exotic fare. Having learned my lesson, this time I had lemonade with my dinner. After we ate, I suggested to Karen that she and Dave go out to a movie and I would babysit. She enthusiastically accepted my offer and dragged her husband from in front of the TV. I got Cindy ready for bed, reminiscing that Jamie had a Barbie nightgown too. Debbie and Jamie changed by themselves and I supervised their washing up and brushing their teeth. I offered to read them a story and they both got their dolls and sat on the bed in Cindy's room. When the story was over, I walked Debbie back to her room. I tucked her in and then went back to say goodnight to Jamie. He was already asleep, cuddling his doll. So far, so good, I commended myself.
Sunday morning Karen reciprocated and let me sleep late again. The kids were already in the backyard when I came downstairs. Dave was with them and had set up some type of game where they hit a ball off of a stand with a bat. Karen explained it was called T-ball, a form of baseball for little kids. I was surprised that both Debbie and Cindy were on a team and even more so to find out that Dave coached it. Girls would never be allowed to play on a boys' team when Karen and I were growing up. It also answered my question about what fathers did to spend time with their daughters. Times had changed, although not enough in Jamie's case it would seem.
"Debbie is one of the best players on her team," Karen bragged. "In part it's Dave's coaching, but girls have better eye-hand coordination than boys at that age. When they reach puberty, the testosterone makes the boys stronger and the estrogen gives us our curves. Well, most of us," she teased me. "Co-ed teams don't work well after that."
I watched as Jamie made a number of attempts to hit the ball off of the stand. Most of them whiffed over it, a couple hit the stand under it and a few glancing ones dribbled it to the ground. Debbie patiently picked up the ball and teed it up each time. Finally he connected, the ball rolled about ten feet and Jamie ran to the base with Debbie and Dave cheering him on. There were no fielders, so speed wasn't required, but it didn't matter. Jamie proudly jumped up and down on the base. Jamie played with his cousins for the rest of the afternoon. Karen reverted to her old ways and served tuna noodle casserole with soy cheese and organic pasta. It tasted like cardboard soaked in glue, but I was a good guest and complimented her cooking. Jamie didn't seem to mind, although I worried that it might have done permanent damage to his taste buds.
After dinner we said our goodbyes. If Dave thought anything strange about Jamie carrying a doll out to the car, he was considerate enough not to say anything. At home I got Jamie undressed and ready for bed in boy mode. I read him a story until he got drowsy. I went to the kitchen and checked the mail. There was nothing important. I watched the news and got ready for bed. We had to be up early for our session with Jenny tomorrow. I tossed and turned most of the night, worrying about her diagnosis. If he was transgendered, how would I deal with a boy who was a girl? So far, I hadn't done very well. If he wasn't, could we go back to the way things were after everything that has happened? I doubted it.
TO BE CONTINUED
By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part X
Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them. This is the final chapter for those (few) waiting to find out if Jamie is transgendered.
I woke up at six thirty and got dressed casually, putting on tan slacks, a white cotton short sleeved blouse and white sandals. I washed up, did my teeth, ran a brush through my hair and put on some lipstick. Looking in the mirror I noticed a few stray hairs on my eyebrows, so I tweezed them. Jenny always was meticulous about her appearance. It wouldn't hurt if I paid attention to how I looked too. When I was satisfied, I went downstairs and made breakfast, keeping an eye on the clock.
At seven, I went upstairs and gently woke up Jamie.
"We have another appointment with Dr. Mitchell. You remember she has that nice secretary, Kelly, with the lollipops," I reminded him. "We need to hurry."
I got him dressed as a boy, just the same as when we were at Karen's. Jamie didn't complain. We went downstairs, he ate quickly and at twenty past seven we were in the car. I parked and we took the elevator to Jenny's office. It was a few minutes before eight when we arrived. I tried the door and it was open. Kelly was sitting at her desk.
"Ms. McCarthy and Jamie, hi," she greeted us cheerfully. Turning to Jamie, she pretended to tell him a secret, but made sure I could hear. "I got a bunch of red lollipops for you and no excuses this time. They're in a plastic baggie." She gave me a smirk.
"Thank you, Kelly, that's very nice, and thank you for coming in early for us again. If it's okay, Jamie will get them when we leave."
"No problem, Ms. McCarthy, and I will take good care of the lollipops, don't worry Jamie. Nobody messes with Kelly's candy." She scowled and held out her hands in a pretend Karate pose. "I've got a black garter belt, eyaah." She gave me a sheepish look. "Sorry, it's a tranny joke." Then she turned towards the office to see if her shout had gotten the doctor's attention, which it had. The door opened. Kelly put on an innocent look.
"Dr. Mitchell is expecting you, go right in," she stated in her best office demeanor.
Jenny shook her head at Kelly's characteristic foolishness and motioned for us to come in. As we followed her to the conversation area, I conducted my usual surreptitious survey. She had on a beige skirt suit and an ivory linen blouse, open at the collar with a gold bead necklace. Tan open toed mid heeled shoes which showed off three plum polished toes completed her ensemble. She turned and seated herself, primly arranging her skirt, which had a front slit. I smiled at her and she smiled back. She had the coloring book and markers ready for Jamie.
"Jamie, your mother and I have to talk for a bit. You can color."
He got down on floor and opened the coloring book, skipping over the pages he did at our last appointment and beginning a new page. When he was focused on his artwork, Jenny looked at me.
"It has been a confusing week," I volunteered anxiously.
"Confusing, Ginny? Why would you use that word?"
"Well, Jamie spent most of it as a girl. He seemed to enjoy it. Like I told you on the phone, I got his hair done at a salon that specializes in children, particularly girls who do beauty pageants. The owner, Priscilla, was reluctant to give Jamie a feminine style when she found out that he was a boy, but changed her mind when I explained that he might be transgendered. It was the opposite with that woman, Helen. I thought she understood that we were exploring whether he was transgendered and then she confronted me about my dressing him up like a girl.
"Is that what has you confused?"
"Yes, well, two people having opposite reactions is confusing enough, but there's more. Jamie and I got our nails done," I held out my hands with the fingers pointed down to display my nails. "And pedicures too," I added, moving my foot forward and wiggling my toes. I saw Jenny's eyes shift to check Jamie's hands as he was coloring. "It was a fun mother-daughter activity," I continued. I wondered if Jenny would react to my using 'mother daughter', but she didn't. "That was about all I could think of to do with Jamie as a girl, so I called Karen to see if she would let him visit as a boy. To make a long story short, …" which did get a reaction.
"Please, Ginny, don't give me the abridged version. Sometimes what seems trivial can turn out to be useful," she reminded me.
"I'm sorry, Jenny, I didn't mean to leave out anything important."
"I know," she sympathized, "but until we come to a diagnosis, there is no way to know what is important."
Mindful of Jenny's directive, I went back to her unasked question about Jamie's nails. "I took the polish off when we went to visit Karen. Actually, I forgot to take the polish off of his toes. He had on socks, so I missed it," I explained, "which got Debbie's, his cousin, the one who is his age, interest, but she was satisfied when I borrowed some remover from Karen and took it off. It wasn't a problem."
"If it wasn't a problem, then what happened at Karen's that added to your confusion?
"Jamie brought his doll with him. It was the first time that he had taken it out of the house. He even let Debbie hold it. Most of the time, Jamie and the girls played outside on the swings or a yard game. Dave, that's Karen's husband, coaches something called T-ball, Debbie is on a team, and they played that. When they were inside they did art projects or watched TV or videos. I don't know if they played with their dolls or did other girl stuff, because they were in Debbie's room by themselves. I would guess so, because she has girl's toys, but I couldn't tell if he was behaving like a girl or a boy during our visit." I shrugged. "That's why I'm confused, Jenny. After everything we've been through, I still don't have any idea how Jamie feels about being a girl and it's getting closer to his starting school. Do you know?" I asked hopefully.
Jenny gave me a reassuring smile.
"Yes, he told us and what you've told me confirms it. We just weren't listening. Adults do that. We assume that children are not capable of expressing themselves, but they do. We just need to interpret it in context. They don't have our vocabulary and they don't have our experience, so they use non-verbal behavior.
"By non-verbal behavior, do you mean the doll?"
"Yes, the doll."
"So Jamie is transgendered. He wants to be a girl."
"Why would you say that?"
"Now that you've shown me how to understand what's happened, it's obvious. The doll is a girl and Jamie wants to be like her, to wear the same clothes, so Jamie sees himself as a girl."
Jenny gave a small laugh and shook her head.
"No?"
Instead of answering, Jenny asked me a question.
"What makes you believe the doll is a girl?"
"Jenny, I don't want to play truth or dare. I need an answer."
Realizing that I had raised my voice in frustration, I glanced down at Jamie, who seemed to be unmindful of our discussing his future, and ameliorated my outburst with "please."
"Ginny, be patient," Jenny said calmly. "Do you remember a conversation we had about being lost in the woods?"
I thought back.
"Yes, vaguely, but what does that have to do with anything?"
"I told you, I'm only a guide. I help my patients to find their own way. You are Jamie's parent. I know you trust me, but there is no way for you to know if I am giving you good advice. You've already expressed some concern about my ability to be impartial.
"Yes, but that was before … ," I started to protest.
"No offense taken, Ginny," Jenny interrupted me, holding up her hand, "caution is important when it comes to making life decisions, even more so, if that is possible, when you are making life decisions for a child. Work with me and you will arrive at the answer for yourself. Then you will be confident that you are doing the right thing."
I nodded my understanding.
"What makes you believe the doll is a girl?" she repeated."
"It's obvious."
"Perhaps it is obvious to you, but maybe not to Jamie. Genetically, a female has two X chromosomes. You have a nursing background. Is the doll female?"
"No, of course not."
"Biologically, a female has ovaries. Is the doll female?"
"No.
"When I was Jamie's age, was I female?"
I was at loss how to answer Jenny's question without hurting her feelings.
"I assume from your hesitation that the answer is 'no' and that you're too considerate to say it, but I have no pretensions. Genetically and biologically I was and, as your friend or ex-friend Helen observed, so you tell me, will always be male."
"Jenny stood up."
"Look at me, Ginny. What do you see?"
"A woman," I confirmed.
"What makes me a woman?"
"You're clothes, your appearance."
"For a time, Jamie dressed in girl's clothes. He even had a girl's hairstyle. Did that make him a girl?"
"I don't know, maybe, if that's how he felt about himself. Oh," the light bulb went off. "It's how you feel about yourself, right? That's what makes you a woman."
"Yes."
"I still don't understand, Jenny, where is all this going?"
"It's going to help you answer your question, Ginny. Let's go back to the doll. What makes you say it is obviously a girl?"
"From what we've just been talking about, I guess it isn't so obvious."
"What would happen if you dressed the doll as a boy and gave it a haircut."
"I guess it would be a boy, wouldn't it?"
"Would it?"
"Ginny, I get the point. The doll is whatever you make it."
"No."
"I give up."
"Try one more time. Think Ginny."
She waited patiently.
"If the doll isn't a girl and it isn't a boy, then it has no gender."
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, Jenny, I don't understand. Jamie's not a doll."
"Didn't you quote him earlier as saying he was like the doll?"
I tried to recall our discussion.
"Yes, I said that, but I meant that he was a identifying with the doll as a girl."
Jenny shook her head.
"I'll give you a hint. Couldn't Jamie have been identifying with the doll as a doll?"
"You mean that he didn't see it as a girl?"
"Yes."
"Why wouldn't he?"
"Why would he? As adults we associate certain types of clothes exclusively with a particular gender, but a child does not necessarily make that association by himself."
Thinking back, I remembered when we were in the department store and Jamie wanted me to buy him the dress like the one his doll wore. He didn't understand when I explained that only girls wore dresses.
"Then Jamie isn't transgendered?"
"Not as that term is commonly applied."
"I'm sorry, Jenny, I'm back to being confused. You helped me to understand that Jamie did not see the doll as a girl and that his wanting to be like the doll didn't necessarily mean that he wanted to be a girl, even though it appeared that way to us, just that he wanted to be like the doll. I get that now, but, if Jamie doesn't want to be a girl, then he isn't transgendered, is he?"
"What makes you think that Jamie wants to be a boy?"
"Jenny, he has to be one or the other."
"Why can't he be like the doll?"
"You mean not have any gender? Because he's a person, not a toy, that's why."
"Biologically," Ginny lectured me, "in order to reproduce you need to have two different sexes, a male and a female. Neither Jamie nor I can escape our birth sex. Psychologically, gender determines how we relate to others. I am a woman, a wife and a mother. Jamie has not yet recognized his gender. I think when he said that he was like the doll he meant it literally. He doesn't see himself as a boy or a girl. He and the doll are both just Jamie."
"So he still could be transgendered?"
"It is too early to tell. Right now, gender is not relevant to him. He is as happy as a girl as he is as a boy. As his parent, you can choose for him, keeping in mind that the wrong choice can have unfortunate consequences, or you can let Jamie make his own choice when he's ready."
"When will that be, Jenny?"
"I don't know. The more Jamie socializes, the more likely it is that he will identify with one gender and, if he hasn't chosen by the time he reaches puberty, then nature will make the choice for him. I doubt it will come to that. Every transgendered person I know, and I know a lot of them, says that they realized they were different as a child."
"What do I do until then?"
"About what?"
"Jenny!"
"You wanted a diagnosis, you got a diagnosis. You want me to run your life too? I can't even run my own very well, Ginny. It's up to you."
"Should I send him to school as a girl?"
"What do you think?"
"You're not going to make it easy for me, are you?"
"No."
"He's registered as a boy and his medical forms say he is male, so I suppose I can't send him to school as a girl, can I?"
"You could, but it would require my intervention. Do you want me to speak with the school administration?"
"Not right now."
I looked at her to see if there was any sign of agreement, but, obviously anticipating my seeking her reassurance, she gave me an enigmatic smile and looked down at Jamie.
"Jamie, your mother and I have finished our conversation. Thank you for being so quiet while we talked. You might have heard that your mother was worried about your having a doll and wearing girl's clothes sometimes, but there's no problem. I want you and your mother to come to visit with me once in a while, just to see how you're doing. Would that be okay?"
"Yes."
"Good, then we're done. Ginny, I think about every four months would be a good interval to follow up. If there's something that concerns you, of course call me. I'm always here for you. And please tell your sister I said thank you for her referral."
"Thank you, Jenny, I will, but there's one more thing I need before we go."
Being a very insightful therapist, she walked over and gave me a big hug. Then she bent down and hugged Jamie. If she wasn't Jamie's therapist and happily married, I definitely would have considered dating her. Surprisingly, at least it surprised me how I felt, her being a transsexual didn't matter to me and I couldn't have cared less what people thought. I hoped people would be as accepting of Jamie, if that's how things turned out.
Jenny stood up and went to the door.
"Kelly, please schedule Ms. McCarthy and Jamie for an appointment in four months. You can make it an afternoon appointment, after Jamie gets out of school. Actually, my last appointment of the day would be good. Then we wouldn't have to rush. She waved to us as she went back into her office and closed the door. Jamie waved back.
"That stinks," complained Kelly.
"What?"
"All of her other patients are here day in and day out and you two are on holiday for four months."
She got up from behind her desk and gave the bag of red lollipops to Jamie.
"And what am I supposed to do with the rest of these?"
"Eat them?"
"No way, George says I'm too fat."
"George doesn't know a good thing when he sees it," I complimented her.
"Too much of a good thing, unfortunately," she retorted, patting her butt.
"Well, now that Jamie will be starting school, I'm free until two o'clock. How about if I stop by and have lunch with you?"
"You'd do that?"
"I'd love to do that."
"Yes, please. I'd like that very much. When?"
"Kelly, I don't know. I'll call you."
She pretended to wipe a tear from her eye.
Then I had a thought.
"Better yet, Kelly. I'm a nurse. This is a hospital. Doh. I will have time, I should volunteer. Do you know if there are any opportunities?"
"Are you kidding? If they knew you were a nurse, they'd never let you leave without signing you up. Of course, I'll arrange it. Then we can have lots of lunches."
"What about your weight?" I teased her.
"We have a great salad bar."
"Deal."
"I'll call you with the information. You'll have to stop by Human Resources to do some paperwork and they have to do a background check. It might take a few weeks."
"No problem. Like I said, I need to get Jamie settled at school."
"Great, talk to you later, Mrs. M."
"Ginny, please, if you're going to be my lunch date."
"Ginny. Bye, Jamie."
She blew him a kiss and he waived back. The day that I dreaded turned out to be one of the best days of my life. Jamie got a clean bill of health, mental health, so to speak, I resolved my issue with Jamie's school, I got something to keep me occupied while Jamie's in school, something that makes a difference, and I made another friend. What a great day!
"Jamie," I said euphorically. "Let's celebrate. Let's feast on ice cream."
The rest of the summer went quickly, now that I could let Jamie play with other boys. I wasn't worried about them making fun of his doll or discovering that he wore girl's clothes. I tried to find a T-ball team for him to join. If I couldn't be a soccer mom, at least I could get involved with that, but it was too late in the season. I wondered about cub scouts too, but there wasn't a local den. There was a Brownie troop, but it would have been too complicated and yes, they still wore those beanies with the loop on top. Someday maybe, since from time to time he picked out girl's clothes to wear. I let him make his own selection and he preferred to sleep in his nightgown. I gave him panties to wear when he did and I got him a pair of bunny slippers and a nylon robe, for when it got chilly in the fall. He also enjoyed dressing up his doll in the different outfits and dressing himself to match. He got very good at putting tights on both of them and mastered the art of fastening a kilt. All together, it was a wonderful time and I never felt closer to him.
School started the Wednesday after Labor Day. Memorial Elementary School was within walking distance of our house, but I decided to drive, just in case there was a problem and we needed to leave. I also wanted to wait until just before class started, so I would be there to intervene, if necessary. Who knows what that hateful Helen had done to poison Merry, the other children or their mothers against Jamie? Maybe she even complained to the school authorities. I wouldn't put it past her. I had bought Jamie his back to school wardrobe of boy's clothes at the beginning of the summer and last week I went back to Priscilla, who was wading through a bevy of little girls getting their fall pageant cuts, but found time to give Jamie a trim. We were ready. I got in the car, buckled Jamie into his seat, checked to make sure he had his lunch box and off we nervously went. At least I was nervous. Jamie seemed happy as a boy on his way to his first day of school.
I had to drive around, waiting for someone to move their car, so I could park. It was almost eight o'clock when I finally got to Jamie's classroom. There were a few other mothers waiting to introduce themselves to the teacher. I got in line and then realized that Helen was ahead of me. So much for my plan to avoid her by coming late. I looked for Merry and found her surrounded by a group of girls all chattering away. Whether it was because she was older or just her personality, there was no doubt that she was the alpha female, if there was such a thing, or maybe queen bee would be a better title. Oh, oh, Merry was looking our way. She stopped talking, stared for a minute and then hurried towards us. I stepped in front of Jamie, like a mother bear protecting her cub. She stopped.
"Jamie?"
He peeked out from behind me. Merry moved forward. I waited, ready to pounce, but I didn't want to make a scene on Jamie's first day of school, so I hesitated. Maybe she would just say something mean and leave. She looked at me, smiled, took Jamie's hand and escorted him back to the group of girls. I watched nervously as she introduced him. Were they going to make fun of him? The girls resumed their activity with Jamie in the middle of them. What in the world?
"Ginny, hi."
I turned to find Helen standing beside me.
"I see Merry found Jamie."
I ignored her.
"Ginny, please, I hoped I would run into you here. Merry has been pestering me to get together with Jamie. Please don't punish her for my behavior."
"Did she know that Jamie was a boy?"
"Yes."
"You told her?"
"Yes. I thought that would put an end to it, but I was wrong. She's a better friend than I am. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. Listen, Ginny, this year I decided to wait to have Merry's birthday party until September, so she could invite the girls in her class. Merry wants Jamie to come and so do I."
"As a girl?"
"He doesn't look like a girl," Helen observed, "but yes, if that's how you want to dress him."
"Jamie picks out her own clothes," I challenged her, deliberately referring to Jamie in the feminine to see Helen's reaction."
There was none.
"Does," Helen paused, "she," another pause, "have a party dress?"
"Yes."
Helen shook her head. Looking at Jamie and Merry's happy reunion, she conceded, "Jamie can dress as he or she pleases, just so long as he or she comes to Merry's party, although it would be easier if you or he or she picked one or the other, so I wouldn’t have to keep referring to him or her in the alternative. Okay? Now will you please have coffee with me? I'll buy."
"Yes."
Helen took my arm and we left.
"Maybe Jamie will make Merry a good wife."
I wasn't sure if she was joking or serious, but I punched her in the arm just in case. It was turning out to be a very good year for Jamie and me
THE END
... and a little child shall lead them. Isaiah 11:6