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  I've become more bitter and withdrawn.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.

Thoughts on Coming Out Day

I posted the following on facialbook yesterday.  Figured I'd repost it here as well.  Y'know for reasons.

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If you didn't know, today is National Coming Out Day.  

Many of my friends have posted very touching and thoughtful reflections on what this day means to them.  Like Donna Rose, Mary Almy, Cheryl Katon, and so many others.  I won't even try to equal their amazing stories.  

Coming out is so personal.  It's a process with so many moving parts.  The secret no one tells you is that the process never ends.  Even if a person is "stealth", eventually they come out to everyone who matters over the years.

The hardest part is coming out to yourself- admitting a Truth you may have tried to hide from, or for which you've been searching.  Coming out to yourself never ends either.  You're always learning what your Truth means- to yourself, to those you care about, and what it means to be part of a community new to you.  What does it mean to be who you are?  What does it mean when you don't have to hide any more, especially from yourself?  How does it feel to be relieved of that secret?

Not everyone who wants to can come out, for whatever reasons.  Many don't want to sacrifice the lives they've built.  Some fear the consequences and repercussions that can occur.  These are legitimate fears.  Coming out means creating a new life for yourself.

Not everyone survives the process.

But today, we celebrate those who have come out before, that continue to live their Truth, and those who have yet to come out (or cant.)

Be well.

58 and 11

As I write this, it's mid September.  Long time readers know that I hate September more than Green Day does.  I was thrown out from my family very late August (that counts), I last saw Lisa Empanada in September, and she died Sept 17.  Then there was the funeral. All of these events were in 2013: eleven years ago.  But there's another reason I hate September that repeats every year so far- my birthday, which this year fell on a Friday.  Friday the 13th.  Insert joke here.  Oh, in case you're interested, I was born on a Tuesday, not Friday, despite my bad luck.  

Friday, September 13, 2024

I'm now 58, a fact I don't hide.  So many don't get this far (Lisa was 52.)  I don't deserve to be this age.  I planned to exit quietly when I turned 50, and a few times before that (like when I was 24.) I absolutely wanted to drink myself to death before I was thirty.  

What have I accomplished this past year?

Absolutely nothing.  

I am still at the exact same point in my PhD studies now as I was at this time last year (I wrote about that here.)  In fact, with the exception of a presentation I did on LGBTQ history at Penn State, I haven't written anything aside from the occasional blog entry and a sparse amount in writing notebooks.  I've sat in front of my computer, staring at the IRB screen for hours, blankly.  I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, or hugging a pillow for dear life.  I no longer have hobbies.  My therapist no longer takes my insurance.  I spent Christmas night in the Emergency room in agony.  No more gall bladder.  Over $10,000 in medical debt.  A Group of coworkers turned me down for a job for which I was very qualified (and, when I re-applied after the job was re-posted, HR said I "wasn't qualified.")  Oh, and 45 has a very real chance of winning the election and implementing his fascistic "Project 2025" which will mean suffering and death for many, including people like me. (Yes, I've read the whole 900+ pages- and I urge you to do so as well.)

Ok, but as several people I know would say- let's look at the positive.  I received a fellowship which covered fall tuition.  That helped.  As a last resort, I started a GoFundMe for my debt which raised almost $5,000.  That didn't cover everything but combined with settling up payment plans, it made the medical debt almost manageable.  Using the fellowship, I was able to purchase student insurance that covers so much more than what I had previously- including dental, which means I can get long needed dental work.  I've lost over thirty pounds which put me back into pre-diabetic stage (and means I can fit in a few things again.)  I saw Wife and daughter this weekend, and we had a nice lunch.  

So it is, the positive and negative.  

I often wonder what Lisa would be like today, had she lived until now.  Would she be happy?  Would she be at peace?  What would she think of the world today, and the situation people like us face?  What  would she think of me now, and who I have become?  

Lisa and Ally (who posted this pic), undated.

Obviously, no one will ever know the answers.  Tuesday will mark eleven years since Lisa was found.  For nearly all that time, Lisa's earthly self has resided in various urns and small amounts of ash scattered at various locations.  Those who knew her can only guess, wonder, and endure.  

Eleven years.  Yes, time has assuaged some of pain.  Time does that- it's one of the few favors it allows.  There is still, and will always be, an empty part of my soul, and what is left of my heart.  That part was ripped away when she decided to die.  She died alone, as she planned, with none to stop her.  

This week, I remember Lisa, and also cope with age- something she never had to do.  

Be well.

Branches and Paths

The other day marked five years since returning to State College for my PhD.  I wrote about it HERE and HERE, if you care.  For five years, I've worked on my degree- filling my head with academic articles, books, experiences, losses.  For the past two though, I've been kinda stalled.  I'll come back to this.

I've written here and elsewhere that Penn State is my happy place, and, if I could not live with Wife and Daughter, I may as well be in my happy place.  I dragged Linda (roomie/bestie) with me, and I don't know if she's happy about that.  (I think not, really.) In any case, for the past five years, my life has revolved around academia.  Eventually, I found a series of jobs, both at Wegmans and, for the past three years, here at the LGBT Center (I mention that a bit HERE.)

Since returning, I've taken a LOT of pictures (2,444 as of this second).  It's easy when one has access to a camera on the phone at all times.  I didn't have many photos from my undergrad days, and the ones I had were done with borrowed cameras.  Most of those were for the fraternity scrapbook, which, like the negatives, are lost.  I guess I'm making up for that a bit.  

One of the subjects I photograph often are the pathways here.  They honeycomb the campus like a spiderweb on LSD.  I can't stop thinking about the metaphor they represent.  The paths branch, going to different destinations, or just different paths to the same destination.  When I was in undergrad, I occasionally would take a longer route than necessary to reach my destination (when I wasn't running late.)  I didn't think twice about it, but in truth, each of these choices, conscious or unconscious, changed my life.  Had I taken a different way, say back to the fraternity house, who knows who I would've met?  What could've happened.  Perhaps I would've been hit by a car, or met the love of my life.    

And that's the metaphor of the Paths.  They represent the different paths a life could take- especially when one is younger, say, college age.  Who would I have become had I stayed at Drexel?  What if I got that job at National Records and never had to apply to Burger King, where I would meet the people who defined my Penn State experience for good and ill.  What if I decided "fuck those guys" when I received the cold reception at the fraternity and found a different group of people to hang with?  Who would I be today?

Would I even be alive?

It's a cliche to say that our choices, even the smallest ones, can change and define our lives.  Now in my late  fifties, so much of my life is set in stone.  I can't change my past.  I can't change who I am, or what I've done.  I have a daughter, and that's forever.  while some of the people I've met pass like shadows, others left deep marks and scars on my soul.  (What I hadn't gone to the Raven that night in January 2012, and met Lisa?)  

Nothing is permanent in life.  While I will always have a daughter, the nature of my relationship with her can/will change.  Life itself is temporary- a heartbeat in time.  Moments pass.

Which brings me back to that whole stalled thing.  I've been stuck in the same place in my path for two years.  Some of it has been deep depression.  Some of it has been fear- the fear of Failure, and yes, of the remote possibility of success.  But recently I think I figured out what my major malfunction is: I don't want it to end.  I don't want to leave PSU again.  Leaving in December '88 (and graduating in May '89), threw me into a very dark place.  I would've given ANYTHING to come back and be a student again- to return to that time.  

I was obsessed with it.  Hell, I even wrote a book about that time, trying to figure out what about that time could've caused such a depression when, really, most of the time I really didn't have a pleasant experience.  My brothers were cold to me, my girlfriend cheated, my grades were meh... Why did I want to go back?

But I am back.  I am such a different person now, and much older, which makes me outside the 'target audience.' But there's another big anchor... 

Here I'm employed.  I have a job.  I spent so long after the bookstore fired me on the unemployment line, sending hundreds of resumes and hearing nothing.  Rejection after rejection.  Here I have a job.  Yes, it's part time, but on some days I feel like I actually make a difference- my path intersects another person's.  That I'm actually worth something, if only for a moment.  

My path returned me here.  I fought to get my place, and I've managed to continue while others from my cohort... didn't.  I'm striving to reach the peak of the academic ladder.  I never in my wildest dreams expected my path to lead here.  Then again, I never expected my path to take me to transition.  I thought/hoped/prayed that my path would end before my thirtieth birthday.  And again on my fiftieth.

September 1986.  Pic by Chuck Fong

My road brought me here.  And, as before, I'm afraid to leave.  I'm afraid of failure.  I'm afraid of success.  I'm afraid of unemployment again.  So much for "rush[ing] in where angels fear to tread" (Alexander Pope, 1709.)  So I stare at the ceiling.  I walk around campus, following old paths I trod long ago.  Again.

Tolkien wrote in Fellowship of the Rings: “It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.”  

So true.

Be well.

To Run or...?

As my readers know, I follow politics closely.  I have to, as it seems that so few are paying attention.  For example, as I've posted here, on TG Forum, and on facialbook:

The GOP made clear its plans "Eradication" (see Project 2025, also CPAC march 2023), Trump said "On day one, I will sign a new executive order to cut federal funding for any school pushing critical race theory, transgender insanity, and other inappropriate racial, sexual, or political content onto the lives of our children" (TPUSA speech, June 15, 2024)  

Anti- trans bills skyrocketed from 143 in 2021 (18 passed) to 600 (87 passed) in 2023. In 2024, there have already been 625 bills (47 passed) and we’re only 1/2 through the year. (https://translegislation.com/)...

A careful reading of Project 2025 states intent: 

Project 2025 wants to label our very existence as ‘pornographic’ and threatening to children, which to them is punishable by execution.

“Pornography, manifested today in the omnipresent propagation of transgender ideology and sexualization of children, for instance, is not a political Gordian knot inextricably binding up disparate claims about free speech, property rights, sexual liberation, and child welfare. It has no claim to First Amendment protection. Its purveyors are child predators and misogynistic exploiters of women. Their product is as addictive as any illicit drug and as psychologically destructive as any crime.  Pornography should be outlawed. The people who produce and distribute it should be imprisoned. Educators and public librarians who purvey it should be classed as registered sex offenders [emphasis mine]. And telecommunications and technology firms that facilitate its spread should be shuttered.” (Project 2025, p.5)

 “[The next conservative Administration] should also pursue the death penalty for applicable crimes—particularly heinous crimes involving violence and sexual abuse of children [emphasis mine]—until Congress says otherwise through legislation. [footnote referenced]”. (p. 554).

Oh, what does the footnote say? “This could require seeking the Supreme Court to overrule Kennedy v. Louisiana, 554 U.S. 407 (2008), in applicable cases, but the department should place a priority on doing so.” (p. 576)

554 U.S. 407 reads “Sentencing a defendant to death for any crime other than homicide or crimes against the state is unconstitutional per se under the Eighth Amendment.” (“Kennedy v. Louisiana, 554 U.S. 407 (2008)”)

So... Eradication.  45 is currently leading in polls thanks to an "assassination attempt."  (Sorry- I'm not buying it- I believe it was staged.)  If he wins, the US becomes a dictatorship.  The GQP has already declared its plans (see above.)  

Would I be "safe" in a college town?  Would my door be kicked in at 2 am some night?  Or will Linda or me be pulled over and arrested for being ourselves?  I really don't know.  After all Penn State is a tiny Blue dot in an ocean of Red.  Once one leaves State College, Cult flags, signs, bumper stickers, hats, and tattoos are very common.  

So... should I leave?

With my cousins in Glasgow, Scotland, 2018.

I've explored fleeing to the UK.  I'm eligible for dual citizenship, as my mum and her side of the family are/were British subjects.  There are many hoops to jump through, but it's do-able.  Or I could ask for Political Asylum.  Is the UK ideal?  No- it has its problems, especially with TERFs.  But the UK hasn't said people like me are sex offenders to be "eradicated."

And, should I leave, how long would it be before I see Wife and Daughter again?  I've already missed so much of Daughter's life- fleeing means I'd miss years more.  Wife and Daughter are my life.  

Then there's the issue of Linda.  If she's to come with me (as I hope she would) she will need her passport, which takes time.  That's IF she wants to come along.  As she's not full time, she might be safe.  Might.  

My studies?  I could do that anywhere- including overseas if necessary.  For example, I could/would mov back to SEPa (to be closer to Wife and Daughter) if I thought I had a prayer of finding a job back there.  But, as experience has shown me, I don't- so I haven't.  Besides, Linda and I both HATE moving.  (Going overseas would entail leaving almost everything behind.)

Then there's another issue.  I read a LOT of books about the Maquis and the French Resistance in WW2.  Some of them fled France, only to return later as Allied operatives, trained by British and US intelligence (Jedburghs is one of the names of this program.)  Let's face it- I'm too old and broken for military training, and being obviously transgender means I don't blend in.  So, if I leave, it's for the duration.

I know people who fled from middle eastern countries due to dictatorships- people who fought for the freedom of these countries.  Their choice was to come to the US, survive, and continue their work here in some manner.  

But I Love my country.  Like so many others, I would die for it. Is it better to stay and fight the fascists at my age, probably disappear into a camp or jail somewhere, or to flee, live, an agitate from abroad?   Where could I do the most to help transgender people who are like myself and people dear to me? 

I have several friends who have already made plans to relocate to Mexico, Canada, or even Australia.  Such a move (like to the UK) would cost money I don't have.  Heck, I'm far behind in my bills and we literally have one day of food left in the apartment with no money to get more.  How would I afford to emigrate- even, say, to Canada, which is only a four-hour drive away (to the Peace Bridge, anyway)?  

Another question is this: should the US become a fascist Christian Nationalist theocratic oligarchy (which is what Project 2025 documents,) how long would it be before the Constitution is restored?  45 can't live forever, that's true, but he has sons to whom he could pass power, or to hand-picked (and/or Putin appointed) sycophantic successors.  The last time the world faced such a dictatorship, it cost 6 years and a conservative estimate of 85 MILLION lives to dislodge- most of those deaths due to genocide- and that was BEFORE nuclear weapons threatened global annihilation.  And if 45 wins, the button triggering those weapons would be in the hands of a madman.  

So, dear reader, I ask: what would YOU do in my shoes?  Stay? Go? 

Be well.