March of Questions

The cold rain falls here in State College, flutily trying to cleanse the Earth.  Evil has gripped the US.  It was on full display the other night during a televised speech to Congress.

Rainy days always make me reflective.  Perhaps rain are the tears of God or the dead.  Perhaps they are a metaphor for renewal and life, as water evaporates, rise, condenses, falls back to Earth just to eventually evaporate again.  

Wow.  Corny metaphors... and I'm not even drunk.

In any case, In the past week, people asked me questions that really gave me pause.  I figure writing them down would help me think through and process my answers.  You lucky people.

Recent pic

The first was asked  to me by a co-worker the other day, then by a therapy student last night:  What would healing look like for you?

This first came up during a discussion about Justice.  My coworker (who is against carceral state) believes that punishment doesn't help the victim at all.  My counter-point was "so the perpetrator just commits a crime, and gets away with it?"  Their point was that these are two separate issues- that society cares more about punishment than restoring the victim.  The coworker was once the victim of a hideous crime (I'm not at liberty to say what) while living in Hong Kong, and said that the first thing the authorities there did was to help them recover from the crime.  (yes, the perp was caught and punished.)  Hence the question. 

My answer: Wow.  I really have no idea. I've lost so much and have the scars to prove it. Move to a different house with Wife and daughter and live as a family again?  (and drag Linda along as well.)  The issue here is that if someone comforts me (like says "I'm proud of you), I don't believe them.  It bounces off my armor and doesn't get through (just like compliments.)  I've thought of this for a couple of days... am I beyond healing?  I mean- there's no way to have my years restored to me.  Apologies, while helpful, don't restore.  The "plate is still broken" so to speak.  

Of course, I could just let go of the past, and all the Pain.  But that Pain defines me- drives me.  

Without the experiences that caused the Pain (and other experiences) that make me who I am, for good or for ill.  That Pain gave me my drive and passion for justice.  Would justice on those who hurt me long ago bring me healing?  Not now.  Justice must be swift to be helpful.  That said, there are some graves that it would me great pleasure to, ahem, defecate upon.  

This is a question I need to really consider.  A lot.  

I thought of the second the other night while watching Casablanca.  That's a movie about many things, with regret being a major theme.  I thought about the losses I've endured- the many regrets I've piled up in my life.  Then I asked myself: Is it worse to regret something you did or something you did not do?

I posted the question on facialbook and received some good answers.

My answer: Something I did NOT do.  It's the hell of "what if."  When I regret something I did, I at least tried and found an outcome.  For example: I transitioned, and the following happened: blah blah.  I maintain that those results are better than wondering where my life would've been had not transitioned, but still wanted to.  If that makes sense.  (I already know what the alternative to transition would've been: death.)  

The third question was asked to me at a presentation I frequently do here at PSU: it's a brief LGBTQ 101, followed by the stories of the presenters, then a Q&A.  Usually the audience are undergrads, as we (me and the other presenters) are invited to speak to classes by the professors.  An F2M person (they told me) asked me the following:  What is your favorite part of being a woman?

In my eleven years of presenting about transgender issues, no one has EVER asked me that.  A question I get frequently is "What do you miss about being a man?"  (I usually steal Jennifer Finney Boylan's answer to that: "Pockets.")  Yet never the opposite.  The student said they couldn't imagine wanting any part of being female.  I get it- that's dysphoria.  

The answer I eventually gave was the 'permission' to feel and express emotions.  Guys really aren't allowed to do that lest they be accused of being "gay."  (Masculinity is a rigid, narrow course.)  Now, if I wish, I can cry, laugh, express all the emotions I wish.  After all, there's no 'restrictions' on women for expressing emotions.  Also, the estrogen allows me to feel more emotions.  There are emotions I experience that I can't even name.  (Did I install an emotion chip?)

In any case, all three are questions I need to keep considering.  If nothing else, to take my mind off the hell on earth that MAGA has made the world.

Be well.

"Living the Dream"

 Yesterday, while preparing to leave for work, I was putting on my shoes and bantering with my roomie/bestie Linda as usual: a typical day.  She said "have a good day" and I replied "living the dream."

That's when my two remaining brain cells nudged me.

I was sitting on the couch while wearing a dress.  I was also wearing a bra which supported my own breasts, pantyhose (yes, I'm old), and pierced hoop earrings.  I was also fully made up and had styled my hair.  I was dressed as the woman I am.  

I thought for a moment about that.  For so many years, this WAS the dream- an impossible dream.  The idea of stepping out the door, never mind going to work, dressed this way, was so beyond possibility that I didn't dare even consider it.  

Yet I've been doing that very thing for almost eleven years.  

Yes, I've paid the very steep price (and will do so the rest of my life), but also yes- I guess I AM living the dream!

And so I went to work.

Be well.

February So Far

 I'm still here.  My existence is in itself an act of protest (or something like that.  Laverne Cox said it.)  I still haven't been sent to a camp somewhere.  Yet.  I'm still here, in spite of my Scottish cousin's repeated appeals.

Here we are on week 3 of the descent into fascism.  People far more informed than me have already written about all that's happening, especially to transgender people.  Here are some links:

Timothy Snyder (noted expert on fascism) on how the government is being dismantled.

Jessica Weingarten on calling out the Trump tax.

Heather Cox Richardson om Musk's government takeover.

Erin Reed who keeps her eye on transgender issues.

Melissa Ryan on multiple topics.  At the bottom of this one is an interesting news item, which I reproduce here:

"Declassified CIA Guide to Sabotaging Fascism Is Suddenly Viral (404 Media)

I read this guide when it first went viral in 2017 (and probably linked to it at some point). Amused that it’s going viral again, I assume it's being passed around at least in part by civil servants determined to hold the line."  

People who know me know I have a passion for history- in particular the history of resistance against the Nazis in WWII.  The headline above is inaccurate- when this guide was published in January 1944, the CIA did not exist.  This book was published by the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), whose brief was "coordination for the gathering of intelligence" (from the above linked article.)Yes, it eventually became the CIA, but it wasn't at that time.  

Nit picking, I know.

Since the beginning of the semester, I've put an effort into my appearance at work.  I've pretty much gotten my makeup speed back by keeping it simple.  That said, this morning I was enraged by my getting cover-up into my hair.  A lot of it.  After a lot of other small things that had gone wrong, that was the one that put me over.  I wanted to tear the room apart, rip out my hair, wipe off all my makeup, and just disappear.  Those who knew me before my transition knew I had a violent, hair-trigger temper.  Transition really helped calm that storm, as has decades of therapy.  However, since November, I find my patience is getting ever thinner.  I want to isolate myself from everything ("turtle" as I call it.)  Of course, not being able to afford a therapist (finding one that takes my insurance is hard) hasn't helped either.  Nor has medical bills piling up by four figures almost daily (my insurance really sucks.)  

Work Sophie Selfie

I know: wah wah.  Cry me a river.

Still, I'm not in a camp somewhere.  I'm still employed.  I can still fight the fascist take-over (as we all should.)  I guess all of those are something.

Be well.

Solstice Scribblings

As I type this, the sun has set on the shortest day of the year.  This entry will be a mish mash of bits I've written over the past few months, some stuff I'm just typing in randomly, and whatever I feel like.  Call it a "clip show" if you will, but without Commander Riker.  

Bonus tribbles for anyone who gets that reference.

I dolled up last weekend.

Anyway, as I mentioned, today is the winter solstice, also known as Hibernal solstice, and, to my friends of the Goddess: Yule.  The Yule celebration is where we in the US get most of our Xmas traditions.  I think I wrote about that once.  Oh yeah- HERE it is!  As to those friends:

"Wishing you blessings this yuletide and every day. This Yule, may you and yours enjoy the blessings of the season and the joy of rebirth. As the light is reborn this winter solstice, may your heart lift with the joy of new beginnings and nature's blessings."

I forget where I dug that up, but I like it.  I didn't write it.  Cut and Paste is your friend.

I'd love to report incredible progress on my PhD but nope.  Still stalled.  Still my fault.  Same reasons, really.  Depression.  Imposter syndrome.  In an effort to kick my ass into gear, I decided to apply for a post doc kinda thing.  

The good news is that I had a class with Dr. Hil Malatino, who is in charge of this.  The bad news is that I also had a class with one of the other professors on the team during my first semester of my PhD studies, and, well, we didn't see eye-to eye.  In any case, I spent several days updating my CV, filled out the application (which included two essay questions of at least 500 words) and submitted it last night.  Do I have a prayer of getting it?  Doubtful- especially since I don't have my PhD yet.  But I COULD have it by August if I get my ass in gear.  So there's that.

As I showed above, I dolled up a few times this month.  I guess I just wanted to feel something.  Maybe it was because it felt so good dressing up for the reunion.  A big reason was that I've lost a lot of weight due to Ozempic and diet change (diabetes sucks), and I was going through my closet trying on things I stopped wearing because I was too fat.  I found several including my jeans!  Another reason I dolled up was because I kept practicing with false eyelashes.  Again and again.  Eventually, I was successful.  So, I dolled up to celebrate.

Look at what I did!

Another piece I fit into was my fave purple sweater.  

Bathroom selfie!

So that was a good thing since my last blog entry.  

Xmas is next week.  Wednesday in fact.  I won't see Wife or Daughter that day, but I may see them on Monday.  I hope so. 

What else is going on?  The usual end of semester money woes which mean trips to the food bank.  Added to that was the fact that my roomie/bestie Linda was sick for 5 weeks and out of work.  My income barely cuts it when both of us work, so that was crippling.  To distract myself from concentrating on that and spiraling deeper into my usual holiday depression, I decided to help a Vampire bride.  She was in a nasty car accident, which totaled her car.  As she ran her own driving business, this is devastating.  Add to that her injuries and broken glasses... it was a stake to her heart.  Like me, she is too proud to ask for help, so I started a GoFundMe for her.  

Hopefully this link works.

Oh, why am I calling her a Vampire bride?  Because we met when we were both in Dracula together at the Forge Theatre.    (Hmmm I thought I had a pic of all four brides, but I don't.)

Two of the four Brides rehearse getting Harker all "bloody."

She has it worse than me.

Penn State won its first playoff football game at Beaver Stadium today against SMU.  It was 25 deg F with a windchill of 10 deg, which I'm guessing was far too cold for those Texans.  Also, it was a "White Out" so it was LOUD.  I didn't score tickets in the student lottery, so I watched it from my couch.  Oh, here's a bit of trivia: at PSU we say "WE ARE PENN STATE!"  This started because of our last game against SMU in 1948.  

Oh, back in July I wrote a blog entry wondering what I would do if fascism won the election.  It did.  And they've already started clamping down of TG people.  In any case, I decided what I'm going to do.  I'm staying here.  There are a few reasons.  The first is that Linda doesn't have a passport, and I won't leave without her.  Second is that I simply don't have the money to leave.  Third is that if I left, I'd feel guilty for leaving.  I can't leave and let my transgender sisters fight on without me.  I've fought all my life (and have the scars to prove it), and I won't stop now.  Fascists need to be fought.  To do any less is to dishonor everyone who fought it last time- in the 40s.  

In any case, that's all I have.  Enjoy whatever holidays you observe.  Be well.

40th reunion already?

On Saturday November 16, 2024, the Spring Ford High School Class of 1984 gathered at Copperfield Inn, Limerick, Pa., for their 40th reunion.

That's all you need to know.  Bye!

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Oh, ok I'll write more.  

Group shot from the Class trip.  I'm not in that photo

Wow.  Forty years in a heartbeat.  Heck, TEN years in a heartbeat.  Yet, in those ten, so much has changed.  I've gone from being new at transition to being a mentor: a trans "elder."  I've moved away from SEPa to State College, where I'm (supposedly) working on my PhD.  My daughter has gone from a child to a teenager.  The political scene has reached a boiling point.  I've made a friend or two but more than that have died.  The world survived a pandemic.

I have less years ahead of me than I have behind, and those years fly by.  I'd like to think that time has made me a better person, but I know that isn't true.  I've become more bitter and withdrawn.  I have gotten better at makeup though, despite rarely wearing it.

I wasn't going to attend this reunion.  It was $45 I didn't have. But, like the 30th, I was "bribed" by Eva, a classmate now in California.  She said she'd get me a hotel room for the night so I wouldn't have to drive back to State College that night.  Why she made me this offer, I don't know.  I still don't know why she offered to pay ten years ago.  

In any case, I made plans to get my hair styled near the hotel as I'm clueless.  It looked great for a while (until I started sweating.)  I then picked up wings at a local cheesesteak place that I must say were very disappointing.  I drove a backroad to the hotel that reminded me of what the area looked like when I was growing up- farms instead of strip malls and McMansion farms.

Limerick, PA

After meeting up with Eva (2 doors down in the hotel), she gave us both Korean facials (I have no idea what was in them- just that they were on plastic strips.)  She also wanted to do my makeup.  We settled on her doing my eyes and applying fake lashes which I simply cannot do.  She did a wonderful job on the eyes (I touched up one spot where there was a smudge) and I did the rest.  I wore the red dress I wore in Vegas with a bit of a push up bra.  Yes, I wanted the girls to shine!  I wanted to slay as best as I could.  That meant cleavage for miles, dammit!  

As I finished my makeup, the third of our group arrived.  She was my old friend Sue, who attended the 30th as well.  I went back to my room and watched the Penn State game as they changed and finished getting ready.  We rode over together in Eva's rental car, arriving just after 6.  When we arrived, we met a few other classmates in the parking lot.  We met another at the door.  Let's just say that back then, he and I didn't get along back in school.  Back then, we ended up in a fight which I handily won (remember- this is when I was still in the dojo.)  I did not introduce myself.  

I managed to reach some old classmates about this reunion.  One I hadn't seen (or heard from) in 30 years- not since the 10th reunion: Alecia.  She was #2 in our class (beaten by a razor thin margin) as well as an athlete.  Back then, we used to talk a LOT.  She was a sounding board after a couple of nasty events I will not discuss here.  When I first reached out to her (about the Scitman book) I wondered how she'd react to my transition.  I needn't have worried.  She took it all in stride, as I'd hoped (and rather expected.)  I'm guessing she googled me or something before responding, being a scientist and all.  Yes, she is a bionic scientist.  She can rebuild you.  She can make you better than you were.  Better, stronger, faster.  In any case, her husband was actually the one to talk her into going.  

With Alecia.  My hair already flattened.

She looked amazing (and yes, that's her natural hair color!)  We talked about old times, old friends, new times, her daughter's PhD... I always figured she'd become a doctor.  Nope- scientist.  Her husband was a delight as well.  He was content sitting back and watching people his wife knew from the day.  His opinion he kept to himself.

Eva, Thomas, Me, Dawn, Sue, Terri

I was surprised inside when I saw another old friend who'd moved to Houston: Dawn.  Dawn was a hairdresser by trade, and she was the one who did my makeup that Halloween fateful night in 2008.  Had I known she was in the area, I would've had her do my hair!  I was very glad to see her, and we sat next to each other at dinner.  (Dinner was nice, btw.)

As we're getting older, the number of "empty chairs" gets larger.  This time, there was a poster naming those who'd died.  It's missing a couple: John Cauffman and Don Schantz.  

Looking around, I noticed something: most of us looked our age.  Some looked younger.  Some looked FAR older.  Time had not been kind, and I assume neither had disease or such.  There but for the grace of God...  There were a couple of faces I hadn't seen at a reunion before this.  Alecia was one.  Another I will not name, but he was thrown out of the venue for being too drunk.  

Flat hair due to sweat- it was very hot in the room

I must say he wasn't the only one who made an ass of themselves.  I was standing in line for a drink when a slim, beautiful blonde and I started chatting.  I didn't recognize her, so I figured she must be a spouse.  She asked what I thought of the reunion, blah blah small talk.  She then asked what my opinion was of a certain classmate, whom I will call AH.  I didn't even think for a second as to why she would ask about such a specific person (who was in attendance) and said "He's an asshole. A bully.  He loved tormenting people smaller than him, thought women owed him sex then discarded them like toys, and all he ever talks about at the reunions is the spectacular football play he made our senior year.  (It actually was pretty spectacular, but still...)

I stopped myself before pointing out how, at the 30th, his wife wasn't there so he was flirting with many of the women.  Then I said, "Why do you ask?"  

She replied "Oh, I'm his wife."

Open mouth and insert leg!  I felt so incredibly stupid and apologized for my candor.  I bought her a drink.  She wasn't angry.  She explained that I wasn't the only one with that opinion.  Apparently, she knew very little about his high school days.  I said, "So you don't know about the 'the catch'?"  She rolled her eyes and said "oh believe me I've heard about THAT so many times..."  Anyway, she wanted to ask people about her husband to find out about his past from other people's point of view.  Perhaps she'd asked him and wasn't convinced by his answer.  In any case, she missed the 30th due to surgery.  I apologized again, and we parted.  We spoke again later, and she bought my last drink of the night (of 4).  

With Michele G

For the most part it was a quiet night, rather sedate.  I spoke with the people I expected/hoped to speak with, (including Michele G and Tony S) and that was nice.  My transition was old news, and only one person brought up the class trip (which was nice.)  That said, early in the night I had an affirming moment.  A female classmate (I won't say who) told me "I am so jealous of your tits!"  I thanked her and replied that I was very lucky.  

Still, that makes me smile, even as I write this.  At least SOMEBODY was impressed with my look for the night.  

After returning to the hotel, Eva, Dawn, a classmate named Al (who was very well dressed) and I hung out in my room, drinking and talking.  It was my favorite part of the night.  We learned things about each other and rehashed the events of the evening.  I finally went to bed at 3:30.  I was up at 8 to shower and go see Wife and daughter, followed by the long drive back to State College.  As you can imagine, by the time I arrived at the apartment I was exhausted.  I was really dragging at work the next day.  

I've had over a week to think about the event, of the people I saw, and where life had taken or done to us all.  After the thirtieth, I wrote "What brought me to this event?  What brought the others?  I think it's the need for Connection.  All we have in common is that we lived in the same area and were about the same age, so that made us classmates...  Connection.  We all need it.  Maybe in time all wounds heal, but they never heal alone.   Sometimes it takes Change... and someone extending their hand."  

That still applies.  I'd add to that these reunions also connect us to our long-lost youth- the halcyon days of energy, vigor, spectacular catches, and a life wide open with possibilities.  It seems that's all some people have.  That's not an indictment or a judgement: it just is.  I spoke to my dad about the reunion.  He had his sixtieth reunion several years ago- it was the first he'd ever attended.  He also said it would be the last held, as their numbers dwindle (they are all in their 80s.)  That's twenty years away for me- a heartbeat or last breath.  A wise friend once told me "Days drag, but years fly."  

They weren't wrong.  

Thanks again to Eva for her kindness in getting me a room for the night. 

Be well.

For Ty

On Wednesday November 6, 2024, Ty Torres died of head trauma after a surfing accident.  He was 55.  He leaves behind his wife, Robin, and his son, Coltrane.

Photo by Dave Sieling

According to a memorial site:

On the morning of November 5th, 2024, Ty Torres went for an early surf session, something he had done countless times before. However, this time, tragedy struck. Witnesses say that after riding a wave, he appeared to lose control and was knocked unconscious after being thrown off his board. Although lifeguards and bystanders rushed to his aid immediately, performing CPR and attempting to revive him, Ty was ultimately declared dead at the scene. The exact cause of death is believed to be related to a head injury sustained during the fall, although authorities are awaiting a full autopsy report to confirm the details.

His obituary.

The memorial is inaccurate.  He was taken to a hospital where he was declared brain dead, and his wife had him disconnected from life support equipment the next morning.  

Ty was a professor, artist, raconteur, polymath, father, brother, husband, and a great man.  He was also my fraternity brother, one of my closest friends from my undergraduate years, and one of the very few who stayed in touch.

1990

Many people are writing tributes to Ty which talk about his recent accomplishments- about the philosophy classes he taught, his art, his love of life, and his expertise at surfing.  Yes, he was an avid expert surfer.  He even appeared on the cover of a surfing magazine in his youth.  You could say he died doing what he loved.  One of his childhood friends wrote on facialbook "...great soul who understood people and found the salient part of every individual on Earth, never passing up a chance to make anyone feel good."  That really sums up Ty perfectly.

I met Ty in the Fall of 1987.  One of our pledges of that time went to high school with him, and invited him to our parties, eventually talking him into pledging as well in the next semester.  Ty had long, flowing black hair and an easy smile.  I'm not much into guys, but he was really good looking.  I knew he could seduce any person he wished.  

But here's the rub- while he KNEW he was hot, It didn't go to his head.  He was genuine, friendly, and CARED about people.  He actually listened.  He was easy to talk to and easy to like.  When he was "rushing," he and I drank together often.  He was amused that I'd never even tried drugs.  He didn't treat me like an outcast- he treated me like a brother: HIS brother.  He always had my back- and I had his.  There was never a doubt.

With Ty 1991

Ty pledged with the Spring 1988 pledge class.  His pledge class had several really good guys in it, but I think Ty was the engine that kept them going.  They became brothers in late April 1988- the week after the annual Toga party.  (They would've gotten in sooner, but we needed pledges to work Toga.)  

Fare you well, fare you well I love you more than words can tell.  (Grateful Dead)

As a brother, Ty was a phenomenon.  You couldn't ask for a better brother.  He was an incredible ambassador for the letters, and his hotness brought MANY women to our events.  

After I graduated, we stayed in touch.  He was kind enough to let me sleep on his couch a couple of times when I visited PSU before he graduated.  Eventually, he was elected vice president of the fraternity.  He also played "Sahntah" at the annual house Christmas gift exchange- which in our house was a great honor bestowed upon a senior.  When Wife and I visited California, we made it a point to visit Ty, his wife, and their newborn son.  He told me I'd gotten fat.  (He wasn't wrong.)

"Sahntah"

Then I transitioned.  Ty was one of the people I told via video (as I didn't have the money to fly out to California.)  He immediately gave his support.  He never dead-named nor misgendered me.  When my fraternity's 125th anniversary weekend came in 2015, Ty talked me into attending, as I wasn't going to do so.  He said he would walk with me to the House from the hotel to support me.  He also told me of pre-event happies in another brother's room.  At the event (which he helped plan and run) he was a dynamo of energy, and made sure to check in with me occasionally to make sure I was ok.  Seeing him, was really the highlight of the trip.  I told him his beard made him look old.  

The last time I saw him alive was last was at a mini-reunion.. 

With Ty 2015

We kept in touch, usually via text or facialbook.  We had fun destroying the arguments of 45 cultists on Ty's fb feed.  We talked baseball and Penn State football.  The last text I sent that he saw was a meme making fun of his Yankees, who had just lost the World Series.  

Then, the day after the election- a chilly, rainy day here in State College- I received a text from my dear friend (and fraternity little sister) Iva disclosing the horrific news.  I was downtown running an errand for work.  I walked back to work, stunned (I must've looked like a zombie.)  Once back at work, I went into the breakroom and broke down sobbing.  One of the undergrads I work with gave me a hug.  But my life and the world had changed.  

Ty was gone.  

I can't imagine how his family felt.  I can't comprehend the magnitude of their loss.  

His vigil

Soon, tributes popped up online- FB, Insta... all social media.  I knew Ty was popular and amazing, but I didn't realize how many lives he'd touched and changed. I shouldn't have been surprised.  People all around the world: former students, classmates from various schools, co-workers... family.  HIS family.  The family he created one smile at a time.  

Such a long long time to be gone and a short time to be there.  (Grateful Dead)

The following night was a candlelight vigil at Salt Creek beach (Dana Point, CA- south of LA) where he surfed, and a shrine created on the large rock that...  I saw pictures of the vigil.  So many people; so many candles; so many lives.

Ty was one of a kind.  He was a beacon of optimism and, yes, kindness.  This world has been around for billions of years, and may be here a lot longer, but I'm blessed to say that not only did I live at the same time as Ty, but I also had the honor of calling him "brother."  The world desperately needs more people like Ty Arthur Torres, but he was one of a kind.  He was one of the finest men I've ever known.

My deepest condolences to Robin, Coltrane, and his extended family.

May the four winds blow you safely home, Ty.  The world is lesser without you in it.  

Would I Join Now, Knowing...

A friend of mine has a freshman son who is considering joining a fraternity (Theta Chi, if you must know.)  They messaged me with all sorts of questions, the specifics of which I am not at liberty to say.  That said, one of the questions gave me pause:

"If you had to do it over again, would you join?"

One of the undergrads where I work asked the same question a week later.

Oooo.  Wow.  It's that whole "knowing what I know" thing.  

In both cases I said "I don't know."  However I wanted to think about it more and consider what either decision may have meant to my life.  

For those new(er) to my blog (does anyone read blogs anymore or is it all substacks?), I joined Phi Kappa Sigma (Skull) fraternity in May 1985 while at Drexel University  By August '86, I'd transferred to Penn State, where the fraternity was very different from the one I'd pledged.  At PSU, Skull lived in a mansion near campus, and was the #1 fraternity on campus according to the sororities.  These were the rich kids and former jocks (who weren't playing college sports due to injuries, usually, but we had a few people on Penn State teams, especially Rugby.)  

The House 1987

I wrote about pledging, etc, in part 1 of my unpublished book: Men of the Skull.  I've posted many chapters from Part 2 here, but only one from part 1, because... reasons.  I just think Part 2 is better and has more bearing in my life.  That said, Part 1 has more to say about why I joined Skull.  Maybe I should post a couple of the Part 1 chapters so they can be ignored as well.  Or not.  If I do, I'll link them here somewhere.  In any case, back to the question.  

Answering it means weighing the positives/negatives of the fraternity experience then and now.  What has the fraternity meant to me as far as my growth as a person?  What benefits did I receive?  What have been the downsides?  

When I was given a bid (invitation to join), I was genuinely shocked.  I hadn't actively thought about joining a fraternity.  But, things change.  My thought process was "they're taking a chance on me, so I'll take a chance on them."  So I pledged along with a group of guys I'd never met.  The idea was that your pledge brothers would be your "closest friends for the rest of your life."  While my pledge brothers were all great guys, I'm only marginally in touch with three of the eight others.  Some I haven't heard from since leaving Drexel in 1986.  So much for that.  

My Bid.  Yes, I still have it.

That said, when I started pledging, I only knew the few people on my dorm hallway and a few others here and there.  Pledging forced me out of the dorm to meet many people, many of whom were unlike anyone I'd ever met.  It wasn't just the brothers- it was people I'd meet running errands for them, like at the 7-11, whom I got to know by being there so often.  There were people from other houses, and some of the few women who attended Drexel at that time.  (Back then, Drexel was 7 guys to every girl. According to their website, Drexel is now 49.6 male, 48.4 female- which leaves 2% left over for non-binary (I'm guessing.))  I met Jewish people, people of color, Muslims, and even *gasp!* LGBTQ people!  I'd never met such a diverse group in my pathetic small town, and meeting them expanded my perceptions.  

Add to that, pledging was hard.  Aside from EMT work, it was the hardest thing I'd done to that point (voluntarily.)  I finished it- I succeeded.  I really didn't know if I would, so that gave me a major sense of accomplishment.

In 1986, I started the process to transfer to Penn State.  I HATED Drexel.  I hated living in the city.  I hated my life.  PSU seemed like heaven.  I'd never tried anything as audacious as this before... and again I succeeded.  There were a few people I miss from Drexel (I always wondered what happened to my roomie "Ripper."), but my biggest regret was leaving the Drexel brothers behind.  I felt like I belonged for the first time in my life, and it would be decades before I felt anything like that again.

At Penn State, as I mentioned, Skull was VERY different.  I was very different than the brothers there, and they never let me forget it.  Eventually, I was 'accepted' and allowed to live in the house, but I think I was more 'tolerated' due to my going above and beyond to do things for the house in general.  Eventually, I made some friends, but only one of them were active when I first arrived, and we became friends after he graduated.  The few I became friends with have been loyal friends ever since.  That said, of the people I knew and were close to at PSU, far more were not from Skull than were.  I learned that I could drink prodigious amounts of alcohol- frequently drinking others "under the table."  

Being a Skull at PSU opened opportunities for me.  The name carried prestige then.  I wouldn't have met certain people without my affiliation cracking open doors for me.  I eventually was on an Interfraternity Council Committee (community relations) which I would've never gotten if I weren't in a a "top" fraternity.  Just being in the Greek system gave me an "in" to meeting two of the people who would define my PSU experience, and whom I wrote about extensively in my book: "Judy" and "Virginia."  They absolutely changed my life, for good and ill.  

Right- so the negatives.  The way I was treated by the brothers when I arrived at PSU was horrible.  I was treated like a plague by almost all of them.  I was told many times that I didn't belong, and that I "wasn't a real brother"- even years after graduation.  This rejection (hazing?) hit me right in my insecurity and Pain.  I felt worthless.  I even wondered for a while if I'd made a huge mistake by transferring.  In some ways, I never recovered from that.  Perhaps I became so close to Judy and Virginia because of the rejection.  I don't really know.  What I know is that I felt alone, lonely, and vulnerable.  Perhaps that is one of the (many) reasons I started drinking like I had a death wish.  

With Ty 2015

I've been working on this bit for a few weeks.  On November 6, I learned that one of my dearest fraternity brothers, Ty, died in a surfing accident.  That puts a lot of this in perspective.  

The weird caveat to this is that Judy and Virginia were both Little Sisters of a different fraternity.  IF they still got to know me, etc., there's a good chance they would have strongly encouraged me to join that fraternity.  It was a mid/low tier house, but some of those guys were really great.  Virginia and I dated a while, and the breakup was... difficult.  After that I lost touch with those brothers, but, funny enough, not the little sisters who I knew through Judy and Virginia.  They invite me to tailgates and such.  But I digress.

So.  In the end, my undergrad experience with the fraternity was bittersweet.  Had I not been a Skull, what sort of PSU experience would I have had?  No idea.  If I still became close to J and V, there's a chance I would've joined their house.  Or not.  

Then there's that whole transgender thing that I was actively suppressing then.  

Knowing what I do now, and remembering who I was then... Yes, I would've joined at Drexel.  I desperately wanted people to like me, and had few friends.  That said, I think that, again knowing what I do now, I wouldn't take as much hazing from the PSU brothers.  I would stand up to them more.  There's a good chance I would've simply stopped going to the House, and let that part of me fade away... but I took an Oath.  So, aside from standing up for myself, I probably would've stayed in.

It seems weekly that another story hits the news about fraternities being suspended for hazing.  In the eighties, we hazed.  Hard.  Everyone did, despite repeated denials.  Maybe those people asked about if I'd do it again after hearing one of the reports.  Or if I told them about the book.  I figured a fraternity would make a man out of me.  As you can tell from photos and storied on this blog, it really didn't work.

Be well.

"Hear my Voice" Original Poem for Penn State TDOR 2024.

I wrote and read this for Penn State's Transgender Day of Remembrance- Nov 15, 2024.  The you tube video is my recording of it ( Listen HERE) .  In two places, I spelled sentences out phonetically to aid in my pronunciation.  (This is my reading copy)

*******************************************************************************

Hear My Voice

Sophie Kandler, TDOR 2024

 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: VIOLENCE, MURDER, SUICIDE 

 

Four hundred eleven killed worldwide in the past year.  Four hundred eleven names.   

Sixty-nine dead here in the US.  Not a record- 73 were killed in 2022. 

Sixty-nine names. Sixty-nine lives.  Sixty-nine stories.  Sixty-nine endings. 

 

My name is Righteous Torrence Hill, but my friends call me Chevy.   

I ran an Atlanta salon where black LGBTQ people could feel safe and be themselves.   

I was 35 in March when my freeloading cousin shot me in front of my home. 

He has yet to be found by the police. 

Hear my voice. 

 

I’m Kitty Monroe, a Latina transgender woman from Phoenix, Arizona.   

I was the sole caregiver for my infirm mother from Mexico, and now I’m gone.  

How? I was 43 when on New Years Day 2024, I was chased by a man and woman, and the man kept beating me on the back with a gun until I collapsed.   

He then got into his pickup truck and ran over me.  I was then accidentally hit by another car.   

Neither the couple nor the other driver, who fled the scene, have ever been identified.   

The police and press misgendered and dead named me.   

Escucha mi voz.  (EssKOOCHah me vohs.)   

Hear my voice.  

 

My name is Serenity Birdsong.   

I was 21 when I killed myself in the Middle Tennessee State University Library on October 28.  

 Friends said I had the ability to light up a room.     

I wrote a poem once that contained the lines: 

But all in all, that which I hope most 

Is to spend time with those I love before I’m a ghost. 

I had no close family- just chosen family. 

Not enough.  Not enough. 

Hear my voice. 

 

Call me Joan.  You may have heard of me.   

Back in 1431, I was burned at the stake three times until my body was ash.   

They wanted to charge me with 70 crimes, then 12, but the only one they could convict me on was crossdressing.   

While the church has since apologized and tried to make amends, I’m still just as dead. 

My ashes drifted away in the river.  I was only 19. 

Some things never change.  

Entends ma Voix (EEcoot ma vwah.)  Hear my voice. 

 

I have no name.   

Maybe I just disappeared into homelessness and died in a tenement, unidentified.   

Maybe I found more comfort stepping out into traffic than from my parents who rejected me. 

Maybe I was murdered, and my bones still molder in a shallow grave somewhere.  

Or maybe they found me, but the police didn’t bother to look for my killer.   

After all, what’s another dead prostitute anyway? 

Maybe I was found, but deadnamed and my truth never told.   

Not a name- just a statistic.   

I am a number cited by advocates and scholars.   

But once I lived, loved, and had dreams- like you.   

And like you, I am a story waiting to be told. 

 

Where’s your voice? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Three More Days 'Til Halloween

Title stolen from here.

As I write/type this, the date is October 28, 2024.  I awoke early today, as I had an 8 AM doctor appointment (transition med check among other things.)   I was rewarded with a beautiful sunrise featuring peach and blue-gray clouds.  

During my appointment, I found that my gall bladder issues were a side effect of estrogen that's uncommon, but happen.  Huh.  Learn something new every day.

In any case, it's Halloween season.  Samhain for some.  Long time readers know that this marks an anniversary- on Halloween 2008, I "rediscovered" myself.  That night I went out dressed as Lois Lane to my Wife's Clark Kent.  (Full story... hmmm   did I ever write the whole story?  I'll check TG Forum...)  The dam that held back 25 years of denial broke.  

That was *counts on fingers and toes* 14 years ago.  I didn't expect to live this long, never mind being Sophie full time among other things.  But, yes, it'll be 14 years, 10 of which I've been full time.  I feel so old.  But in any case, being my age and having been out for so long, kinda makes me a "trans elder."  I have stories to tell, many of which I've told here or on TG Forum (my last post there was August and concerns stories.  Read it HERE.)

I used to be a Halloween fanatic.  Don't get me wrong- I still love the season.  Heck, I'm wearing a jack o lantern face T-shirt as I type this!)  It's just... not as special.  It's been years since I've been to a Halloween party, and I haven't been out on Halloween night since 2019 (I wore my Supergirl suit.)  We don't get trick or treaters where I live.  I used to LOVE planning Halloween parties, which we held at M's house (see M here).  She didn't mind as I and a few others did all the setup, execution, and clean up.  I miss those parties, and the people who attended them.

Hmmm... it seems I never wrote the full story on that first night in 2008.  I thought I did.  Maybe I just can't find it.  

Right.

The story begins two years before: 2006.  Wife and I loved doing couple costumes.  That year, we did Lois Lane and Clark Kent.  Halloween 2007 we didn't as my daughter was born Oct 26.  No Halloween for Wife.  Anyway, a week before Halloween 2008, Wife and I went out to dinner to celebrate her birthday.  As we waited for our food, she brought up the topic of Halloween.  That year, Wife suggested another couple costume: Lois and Clark again.  I said "we've already done that."  She replied "No- this time YOU'RE Lois."  At that moment, the food arrived.  I seem to remember saying yes to the idea, but Wife isn't sure.

So that set off a week of panicked planning.  I enlisted the help of my coworker Elizabeth to help with an outfit and bra.  I got a wig from a Halloween store.  My friend Dawn, who is a beautician, volunteered to do my makeup.  

It took all week, but I managed to find everything (including getting shoes that fit sent 2 day air).  The night of October 30, after everyone was in bed, I pulled out the items and tried them on.  Everything fit.  I crafted my boobs from birdseed in pantyhose feet (a trick I learned from reading the fantastic I am not myself these days by Josh Kilmer Purcell.)  Everything fit.  

The next night as Wife fed Daughter (the natural way) I changed into my outfit and wig.  With me I had the Superman T shirt that I used for Clark Kent (which I still have.)  I finished dressing, put on the wig, grabbed he t-shirt and my phone, and exited the bathroom.  Wife was in the kitchen.  I called out to her and said "ready!!"  She turned and looked at me with a look of disgust.  I took a picture of that expression.  I then tossed her the t-shirt and said "I'll take care of changing [daughter], you get ready."  Then she remembered what we'd discussed for our costumes.

The first party was one at Dawn's.  We brought Daughter, who was barely over a year old.  Dawn did my makeup, everyone had a good laugh (as well as fussing over the baby.)  Wife wanted to go home, so she drove herself to the party.  

I drove to the bookstore, where I wandered around a bit.  Elizabeth was upstairs working in music, so I went to see her.  No one recognized me except her.  They knew I was a crossdresser, but no idea who it was.  After taking pics with Elizabeth, I went downstairs and revealed my identity to the rest of the staff.  Gasps of disbelief and laughs.

With Elizabeth

After this, I went to the bar where we'd all meet.  Some people I didn't know, then my coworkers arrived.  We hung out and drank (I used the men's room.)  One guy was uncomfortable with me, so I made sure to pester him because I was an asshole.  

On the way home, (I shouldn't have been driving... I'd pay the price eventually) I looked down at myself... down at the fake breasts pushing out my sweater... and thought about how right I felt.  I thought about how, for the first time in decades, I didn't feel anger or Pain.  I was at Peace.

I knew that I was in trouble.  

One of "More pictures"

I got back home, where everyone was asleep (It was after 2 AM.)  I quietly took more pictures, then removed my girl things, probably forever.  I washed my face, and... damn nails wouldn't come off.  It would take a lot of time the next day to dissolve them off.

The rest I KNOW I wrote about more than once.  Find that HERE.

In any case, all these years later, here I sit typing in State College.  My roomie/bestie Linda is in the other room recovering from an illness.  Soon, I'll start making dinner.  Thursday is Halloween.  Maybe I'll go out.  Maybe not.  I doubt it.  No fun going alone.

In any case, Happy Halloween or Blessed Samhain.

Be well.