First Impressions of an Old Friend

I've been here in State College for a month now.  State College is the home of the Pennsylvania State University. (PSU).  As the few of you who read this blog know, I graduated from PSU in 1989.  Thirty years ago.  Ugh.

I tried to travel back to PSU once or twice a year as an alumnae, so I've been watching as the university and town have grown and changed.  I remember when Playland closed.  Many other stores and bars closed, even the Rathskeller which had been open for generations.   For that matter, the entire character of the town and campus has changed.  There are some many high rise apartment buildings now dominating the landscape- and many more being built.  The “small town” feel of the place is quickly disappearing.  PSU seemed like an isolated “self-sufficient oasis” in the middle of nowhere back then.  Well, it’s still in the middle of nowhere, but thanks to the internet, it’s not so isolated.

High rise cranes.  There are many of them...

Some things haven’t changed.  The campus is still an oasis of tolerance in the middle of Trump country- but it’s become far more enlightened since the 80s.  For example, LGBT (especially gay men and transgender women) had to hide or face beatings.  For that matter, I don’t remember seeing any transgender people back then at all.  There was a rumor about a “gay guy” who dressed as a woman for Halloween, and was “picked up” at a party by a football player… with the assumption that violence was the end result.  There was and still is a “gay bar” at PSU called Chumleys.  It’s small, but fun the few times I’ve been there- all since re-discovering myself.

It’s so very different, but then again… so am I.  I’m now over fifty, and living my Truth.  The co-eds wear their yoga pants (it’s like a uniform up here!  They all wear them!) while I wear a skirt.  No need to “compete” with girls young enough to be my daughter.  Not that I could if I wanted.

The other day, someone asked me why I love PSU so much.  I paused a moment to think, then replied  that I wrote a book on that very topic (part of which I've been serializing on this blog.).  That book took me years, and I still don't have a definitive answer.  I guess a short answer would be that it's part of my identity.

Wednesday Sophie Selfie

In any case, I'm back.  I'm finishing the fifth week of classes, which means I'm already one third through this first semester.  Papers and presentations are coming due.  I'm overwhelmed with reading.

Still, I guess things are looking up.  My roomie/bestie Linda has probably found a job.  Wife and daughter visited this weekend (in fact they just left a few minutes ago.)  Nice visit.  I miss them desperately. 

It’s now fall, yet the temperatures are still over 80.  I’m guessing it’ll be a mild winter, so I won’t be listening to the hissing snow as I walk to class.  Not that they have class when it snows these days.

In any case, I'm here.  And it's time to get back to work.

Be well.

Men of the Skull Chapter 56: Pyramids

Getting involved with a "pyramid scheme" wasn't the smartest thing I'd ever done.  Eventually those guys were caught and arrested.

Lesson learned.  Cost me $25.

Chapter 56: Pyramids

Saturday, March 27, 1987 Probing into strange past of Gary Heidnik

            The kegs were tapped and the chairs sat on the porch.  It was an absolutely beautiful day in Happy Valley.  I stopped at the house after classes for dinner and walked smack into a porch party. 

            I left my book bag in the phone room next to the front door, and tapped a beer from the keg there as well.  After all, it was now the weekend!  As usual, the girls appeared from nowhere exchanging smiles for beer.

            All the talk was about this new money making scheme the guys had joined. 

            “So what you do is pay in fifty bucks to join.  Then, when people join after you, you get a piece of what they pay in, as do the people above you.  The more you recruit, the more you make.  It’s called a ‘pyramid’ and eventually you’re at the top!”  Windex said. 

            Wow!  Free money!  And all I have to do is buy in and wait.  Did I mention how stupid I was when I was 20?

            Standing next to Windex was a guy I never saw before.  Kyle was just a little shorter than me.  He was built like a runner with powerful legs and thin frame.  Oh- he was also black, with a flat top haircut and a goatee.  We didn’t get many black people hanging around the house for whatever reason.  I always figured they wanted to hang with each other- after all we had several black fraternities on campus.  Actually, the truth is I never thought of it.

            In any case, Kyle was here, and he was really cool and a lot of fun.  He was more accepted by the brothers than I was. 

            “Hey Lancer!  You want in?”  Windex asked. 

            “I don’t have fifty bucks to my name!”  I said.  Damn!

            “Do you have twenty five?  We could split a spot!”  Kyle said.

            “Umm.  I guess,” I said.  “Who needs to eat anyway?”

            “Let’s do it!”  Kyle said, holding up a hand for a high five.

            A high five, chugged beers, and we were off.  First, I had to stop at the MAC machine (ATM- people from Philly called them MACs) to get my $25.  From there we walked to Sigma Pi, where the guy running the thing was a brother.

            Sigma Pi has a beautiful house right on the end of Fraternity Row.  (Yeah, there’s a street in State College named “Fraternity Row.”  Lame, I know.)  Sigma Pi even registered their house as a historic landmark, arrogant bastards!  Anyway, Kyle and I headed up the walk, there were guys playing volleyball off to the side and music blasting from a window.

Open your heart to me, baby
I hold the lock and you hold the key
Open your heart to me, darlin
Ill give you love if you, you turn the key

The door was wide open, so we just walked right in.  Their foyer was so dark compared to the bright sunshine outside!  We stopped a passing Sig Pi brother and gave him the name and code word that we’d been given.  He seemed shocked to see us.  Was it Us or Kyle?  I don’t know.

Anyway, we were told to wait, and that’s what we did.  Maybe ten minutes, during which time we looked around the first floor.  I noted the locations of all their composites for possible future “liberation.”  (I never got around to it, though.)

Eventually we were shown upstairs by a pledge wearing a tie to a room where there were two guys sitting next to windows so they were kind of in silhouette.  I guess they were trying for drama.  We told them the code word we were given. 

“Who gave you that word?” the one on the left asked.  His hair was a mess, like he just woke up.

“Windex” I said.

The two checked a handwritten list.

“Are either of you cops?”  asked the one on the right.  He was all sweaty.  I’m guessing he was out playing volleyball.

“No,” Kyle answered.

“Do we look like cops?”  I asked, not realizing I was wearing my Police concert shirt.

“We always ask,” said Left.  Then he laughed a stoner laugh.  Huh huh huh.

So we wrote our names on the Pyramid drawn on the paper, paid our money, had the code words explained (duh!  I think we figured that one out already!) and after some handshakes and huh huhs we were back out into the daylight.

Did I just pay those assholes twenty five fucking dollars?

Kyle and I walked back to the Bone.  Now we waited and watched as the money would start pouring in. 

Right?

           

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

53 and 6

Today, as I write this, is my "berfday."  I was born 53 years ago, according to my Mum.  I'll take her word for it, as she was there, and I don't remember it.  Besides, it's on my birth certificate.

That means it's four days until the 6th anniversary of one of the worst days of my life: the day Lisa died.

These days will remain linked for the rest of my life.  One leads to the other.  Bim bam.

Three years ago today, I did my best to join her.  However, my stupidity prevented it.  So here I am.  Fifty three.

Fifty three is one of my friend R's favorite kinds of poker.  "Fiddy three" he'll call when he deals.  Been a while since I sat at the table with him.  Last time I lost $20.  We play low stakes, which is a courtesy to me as I can't afford the stakes my friends usually play.

So, I'm 53.  I live in State College now, where I just started working on my PhD.  I'm told it will take five years, so I'll be 58 when I graduate.  Assuming I do.

My friend Jeanine did her PhD much faster than that.  Her's was in American Studies, and she went to Penn State Harrisburg.  I tried to follow in her footsteps, but didn't get accepted.  She died before I was accepted to my current program.  I miss her.

Now late at night.  I'm tired.  And I'm 53.

And I'm thinking of Lisa.  Six long years since we last spoke, laughed, and hugged.  I cried on her shoulder that final night.  She was 52 when she died.  I'm  now older than she ever was.  I remember reading a poem about how the fallen in battle will remain forever young.   They never age.  So it is with Lisa.  52 forever.  Would she still have the same style?  Would  her hair have finally grown out enough to ditch wigs?

What would she say about me being here at PSU?

So many questions.  No, I'm not "over" her death.  Six years and the Pain is still a scar on my soul.  I cant imagine how her widow, Sandy feels.

My birthday and her death.  Forever intertwined.

At the Nittany Lion Inn

It's now Saturday.  I have a slight hangover.  I'm doing laundry while watching the Penn State/Pitt game.  I have a ton of reading to do yet, but it can wait until after the game.

Bestie/roomie Linda and I went to dinner at the Nittany Lion Inn using money from an "anonymous" gift.  We then went down to Chumleys, an LGBT bar on College Ave.  there we met a few people, including Sophia, who just started to realize her Truth.  Someone told the bartender it was my (and a classmate's) birthday, so the whole bar sang to us.  We left relatively early.

So.  Life continues.  Thanks to all those who sent me birthday wishes.  I don't deserve you.

Linda at dinner

A wave and huggses to Joanne and Ellen, both of whom recognized me from this blog within an hour of each other on College Ave last night.  I was deeply moved.  Thanks.

10 hours

Yesterday, I read 10 hours of hardcore academic stuff, and STILL didn't finish my reading assignment.  By the time I reached hour whatever, my brain was mush.

When we discussed the reading in class today, I could barely recall any of it.

I feel like I should be sitting at the kids table.  And I have a presentation tomorrow which I haven't started.  (I'm typing this as a study break.)

And I haven't started my 20 hours of Graduate Assistant work this week yet. 

What have I gotten myself into this time?

Oh, then there's this:

I added the red stuff

I got it fixed but, what the f**k?  None of my documentation has my dead name on it anymore.  They had to go LOOKING to find that.

I'm so tired. 

"Tomb of Horrors" for Charity

On July 27, 2019, I was Dungeon Master for a charity game of 1st edition Dungeons and Dragons (DnD) which benefited the Phoenixville Women's Outreach Center.   This event occurred at Nerd Merch, which is a new gaming "store" in Phoenixville, PA.

The game Dungeons and Dragons was published in 1974.  I started playing in 1978, just as the first edition (1e) of Advanced DnD was being released.  This is the version I played the most- all the way through college and after.  Second edition (2e) was published in 1989, and that's the edition that was current when I worked for TSR (company that fist published the game) from 1992-4.  In 1997, TSR was purchased by Wizards of the Coast (WOTC.) WITC was purchased by Hasbro in 1999.  DnD is currently enjoying a new resurgence with its 5th edition (5e). (Wikipedia)

I can't say I'm a big fan of 5e.  Power gaming at its worst.  And dumbed down like crazy.  That's why I prefer earlier versions.

A seat at the table cost $20.  That got you your character.  If your character died, you could "re-buy" another for $10.  Every cent was going to the Center.  The module was Tomb of Horrors, (ToH) known by gamers as the deadliest dungeon ever written.  The (surviving) creator of DnD, Gary Gygax, was tired of players complaining about how tournament modules were too easy, so he wrote ToH to absolutely kill characters.  In this module, characters died.  Often.  So, the rebuy was going to raise more money.  I also set up an online fundraiser.

I arrived and the staff at Nerd Merch helped me set up the tables.  I pre-made appropriate characters, chose appropriate spell, and put them in color coded folders.  I figured that if the players were shelling out $20 per seat, they should get the best I could make it within my means.  I did my best to set the players for success.  All was ready and set up for noon... and nobody showed... until near 1.  Sigh. 

Mt set up behind the screen

Eventually I had eight players- mostly around my age.  The store was crowded, and people playing whatever at other tables were curiously looking over.  We recruited one from another table.  Score! 

First Corridor

After a few "false starts" the group finally found the true entrance.   This first corridor was loaded with trap doors... and a "false path" of red tiles set into the floor.  These traps would claim the first kill- a paladin who was impaled on poison spikes.  The group found their way into a second hallway, and pressed onward.

Oh, I forgot to mention, each player had one "Mercy."  It was essentially a re-roll.  The party leader had two of these.  You could buy more for $5.00 each, again going to the Center.  You could also get more for good role playing or having a great idea.  By the end of that first corridor, the party had used almost all their Mercy. 

Original art.  Want a gem?

I used all the original pictures as player aids.  I made enlarged copies so they were easier to see, though. 

The idea was to play until all characters were dead or surrendered.  By the end, all but one had been magically deposited, butt-naked, back at the Tomb entrance.  The one who hadn't was at the entrance, having run away earlier.  The others surrendered, so the one guy won the "prize:" a never released Citadel miniature so rare that even staff only ever got one (this one was mine.)

What did I get paid for all this?  3 bottles of Fiji water- exactly what I requested.  Between the day and the online, we raised over $300 for the Phoenixville Women's Outreach Center... which they didn't expect as the guys at Nerd Merch never told them that the event was happening.  *facepalm* I received a very nice email from the director of the Center- and that was more than enough for me.  I helped, and I got to play a game I love.

I used to play DnD all the time.  I played ToH as a player twice back in the day, and DM'ed it twice (counting this.)  Doing this game, and knowing it was a good cause really reminded me of how much fun the game was and is.  Also, it was a fitting way of saying "goodbye" to the town where I'd lived for over 16 years on and off- but that's another story

If I could find a group willing to play an old edition of the game up here in State College, I'd jump at it.  Alas, I fear it will not be. 

Still, I was able to help a little. 

Be well.

Night Before Returning

I wrote this yesterday.

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

I’m scared.  There- I said it.   

I have many emotions returning to Penn State to study for my PhD.  I graduated from PSU U-Park in 1989: a lifetime ago.  So much has changed in my life since then.  Time and Pain will do that to a person.   

Then there was Transition.

The University changed as well.  The Penn State I knew exists only in the memories of those of us who were there.  Now, children of my classmates have already come and graduated, and their youngest children are now here.  Penn State tends to be a family tradition. 

Not so for my daughter.  She is only eleven and made her first visit to PSU (that she remembers-she was here as a toddler) when she helped me move up to State College on Sunday.   

My daughter is one of my Fears.  I usually saw her once a week.  Now I might see her once or twice a month (her mother and I lived apart).  I’ve already missed her childhood.  What else will I miss?  

Will I make her proud of me? 

Will anyone even care? 

Monday, August 26, 2019.  An hour early for my first class

All my life, people told me that I’m smart.  I’ve relied on my brain to keep me alive despite it wanting to kill me.  Now, for the next five years, I will be testing whether I’m as smart as so many people thought I was.  It’s not a given that I will succeed- I've failed at so much in my life.  I define myself not by what I know, but by what I do not.   

Tomorrow is the first day of classes.  First step.  I know I have a support network, but in the end, it’s up to me to do this thing.  

I’m so scared. 

Men of the Skull Chapter 55: Busy Week

Sorry it's been a while.  I've moved back to PSU to start my PhD.

back then, what happened that night didn't bother me.  It was a typical social.  With hindsight (and age) I see how many horrible things were happening here.  The social was meant to get the Little Sisters drunk and "in the mood."  It was rape waiting to happen.

And not only didn't I care, I thought it was a great idea.  What does that say about the person I was in 1987?  I'm ashamed of myself.

I'd like to say fraternities have outgrown this, but a look at the headlines during the school year shows me otherwise.

I remember thinking back then that if I had a daughter, I'd NEVER want her to attend PU because I saw what the guys were like. Now all these years later, I have a daughter.  I fear for her.


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

Chapter 55: Busy Week

Wednesday, March 25, 1987 A holy war erupts among television’s evangelists

            Pimps and ‘Hos.  That was the theme for that night’s Crow social for Brothers and Lil Sisters only: no dates.  The brothers of Alpha Chi Rho were looking to get laid that night.  See the idea was that if the girls dress sluttier, they’ll behave sluttier.  Get it?

            Virginia wore her black tube top and blue spandex leggings with borrowed six inch heels and heavy make up.  I found out later that Judy wore a white pant suit with a tight cleavage revealing top.

            Me?  I did homework and ordered pizza from Pizza Pi with Mark.  What I didn’t know was that it was the beginning of a very busy weekend.

From the Collegian, March 25, 1987

          

            About 3 AM the fucking phone rang.

            “Who the hell is that?”  Mark grumbled.  I stumbled into the kitchen to answer it.

            “CannIcom-comover?”  Virginia slurred.

            “Where are you?” I asked.

            “At ththth-house.”

            “Want me to come get you?”

            A pause.

            “N-no.  Can mmake it.”

            Fifteen minutes later, I met her at the back door of the apartment building (it was normally a five minute walk.)  She could barely stand, even though she lost the shoes somewhere, and she looked disheveled but still incredibly slutty, but with one difference.  She had her belligerent look on her face.  I expected to hear all about the night, but no- she collapsed into my arms.  I helped her upstairs and into my bed where she immediately passed out, smelling of smoke, beer and whatever, with her clothes still on.

Thursday, March 26, 1987 Men Held in Torture Killings

            Another really fucking early morning found me headed back out to Kishacoquillas High School with four classmates.  Virginia was still out like a light.  I thought about that for a second.  My girlfriend just spent the night in my bed and no one said anything against it.  I watched her chest rise and fall as she slept.  That thought kept me going through the day.

           

            The trip home was nice.  Spring finally reached the mountains a bit.  My one classmate, Sandi was wearing a tight, blue low cut dress for the day.  Appropriate?  Who cares!

            We were all hungry, so the guy driving pulled into the Burger King on University Drive. 

            “Didn’t you used to work here, Lance?”  Sandi said as we all piled out of the car.

            “Last fall.  Seems like so long ago,” I said.

            The four of them stepped over to the registers.  I had no money, so no food.

            Then, Judy, dressed in her tight BK uniform rushed out from the door to the back.  I must be dreaming!  She quit last fall around when I did!

            “Lance, I’m so glad I was able to speak to you first!”  Judy said. 

            I shook off the surprise and tried not to stare at her breasts.  “When did you start back here?”  I said.

            “Today is my first day back, but that’s not important.  I need for you to listen to me.  I need to explain something to you!”

            “Oh.  Ok.  What?”

            “Nothing happened, despite what Virginia thinks.  Really- nothing happened.”

            “What are you talking about?”  I said.

            “One of our pledges” she said, looking down at the floor, “spent the night in my room last night.  But nothing happened,” She said, looking back up at me.

            So why am I feeling that too familiar stab of pain in my gut- that rotted hollow feeling?  I shouldn’t.  I have Virginia now.

            “Ok.  Nothing happened.  Why do you care what I think?”  I said.

            She glared at me for a second.  “Because we’re still friends aren’t we?”

            “Yes,” I said.  “And I want you to be happy.”

            “Thank you.  Remember: nothing happened.”

            She ran back through the crew door.  Maybe a minute later, she brought me a chicken sandwich.  So when the others finished through the line, I already had food.  I just smiled at their questions.

            Nothing happened.

            An hour later, I arrived back at the apartment.  The sheets of my bed were clean and my bed was made.  Good!  I was really tired.  I collapsed onto the bed as twilight collapsed into night.

           

From the Collegian, March 25, 1987.  Yes, they got the year wrong

            “Wake up!  Wake up you lazy bastard!”  Virginia was shaking me by the shoulders.  How long was I asleep?  Only forty five minutes?  What the fuck!

            “Ok.  I’m awake.  What’s up?”  I said.  I wasn’t too fucking happy.

            “Judy cheated on Rich!”

            No shit.  I knew that last October.

            “So what?”

            “Miss Goody Two Shoes whore cheated on her boyfriend!” she said.

            “Wow!  How do you really feel?”

            She hit me in the arm really hard.

            “OW!  What the fuck!”  I said.  “Virginia, why is what she does any of your business?”

            “You don’t have to live with her fucking superior attitude!”

            “Aren’t you overreacting?”

            WHACK!  In the arm again.

            “Stop hitting me!”  I shouted.

            “You’re not listening!” she shouted.

            “Ok.  Tell me what happened.”

            “I got back to the room and there were clothes all over the living room- Judy’s and Buck’s.”

            “Who?”

            “He’s a pledge who has a crush on her.  All the brothers were pressuring her to hook up with him.”

            “So you’re saying she did,” I said.

            “There were clothes all over the living room floor and on the couch and the bedroom door was locked!  I took a shower and when I came out all the clothes were gone.  What else could they have been doing?  Virginia said.

            “Maybe he was wearing your clothes?”

            She hit me again.  Same spot.

            “OW!  Stop that!”

            “He’s taller than you!”

            “OK.  So maybe she slept with him.  So what?”  I said.

            “She cheated on Rich!”

            “The brothers don’t seem to care!  They encouraged it!”

            “She’s always been Miss Uppity!  Now she can’t do that anymore!” she said.

            “Why not?  Besides, I never thought of her as uppity.”

            “That’s because you’re a guy she likes.” 

            She does?

            “She always plays little Miss Innocent around you,” Virginia said.

            Not really.  I thought of Judy’s naked breasts.

            “Something tells me I don’t want to get in the middle of this,” I said.

            “Why don’t you care about the things that are important to me?”  Virginia said, almost shouting.

            I reached up and pulled her down on top of me.

            “I care, but Judy is also my friend.  And no matter what happens, someone I care about will get hurt, and I don’t wanna be a part of that.  Does that make sense?”  I said.

            “No.”

            “Then just kiss me,” I said.

            And she did.

           

Next Chapter

Last Chapter

First Chapter

Two Pillows

I've mentioned many times on social media that I often cry myself to sleep.  That's true- I'd say 90% of the time.  (The other 10% is when I drink myself to sleep, or when I'm so tired I'm asleep before my head hits the pillow.)

When people ask me about it, I usually just say "I cry about all I lost," which is true, if vague.

Last night (Weds, Aug 7) I was very tired, so I retired relatively early.  Yeah, I'm old.  I read until the melatonin started kicking in, closed the book, and turned out the light.  Without thinking, I rolled over onto my side, and pulled a pillow to me.

My Bed, today.  See Mum, I make it sometimes!

You see, since I was in junior high, I've used two pillows.  I remember thinking that TWO pillows- that was the pinnacle of luxury.  My room was on the third floor of the house, where there was no heat in winter (the house was heated by a wood burning stove downstairs, so the first floor was toasty; the second floor was slightly chilly; and the third floor was freezing) and the only cooling in the summer was a small fan and windows.  It was what it was- I was just glad to have my own room. And... I had two pillows, so I was great!

After dating a year, and being engaged a year, I married Wife in 1993.  Every couple who sleeps in the same bed, they choose sides.  She slept to my left, with my right side facing off the bed.  Wife also had two pillows (and she was very possessive of them, so almost nightly I'd steal them.) I would wrap my arms around her, spooning, and we'd both quickly fall asleep.  I would drift off to the sound of her breathing.  J'entend ton coeur.

The end of this month marks six years since I was thrown out of MIL's house.  I remember that day like it just happened.  I remember my daughter's tears.  I remember holding Wife as she cried with me in the driveway before I left with the last load.  (Most of everything went into storage.).

August 2019

I had dinner with the people who helped me move.  Then, I went back to my new home, where I lived at the charity of a dear friend.  I brought my pillows with me.  I collapsed into bed, and cried for years.

The loneliness.  The rejection.  The unfamiliar smell of an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room.  My Wife and daughter were miles away.  I found out later that Wife had daughter sleep in our bed that night, as she didn't want to sleep alone.

You see, like me, she had problems falling asleep alone.  Whenever I was traveling for my job with Games Workshop, both of us had major insomnia.  I remember many nights while in the U.K. That I couldn't sleep a wink.  One week, I didn't sleep more than an hour total.  

Codependent?  I guess.

So last night, I pulled my pillow to me and started crying.  Why?  Same as always.

After nearly six years, I still miss being curled up next to Wife.  The smell of her hair.  Softness of her skin.

Yes, I miss my daughter, whose childhood I've missed.  I miss my dearest friend, Lisa.  But when I climb into bed, instead of my bride of 26 years...

...All I have is a pillow.

Superman

I've written before about how I grew up reading comic books (I rarely read them now as I can't afford  them, and other reasons.). Yes, I was and am still a geek.

Seems like everyone has a favorite superhero.  These days it seems that most people are Batman or Spider-Man fans.  I love those characters too, but the one I identified with the most growing up was Superman.

Art: John Byrne

Some say Superman is boring or corny, or that he's too powerful.  I never saw the character that way. I had a few reasons for this.

First is really the basis of the character.  I remember they talked about it in an issue of World's Finest 292.

Superman as the Example- the beacon of Hope and Good.  Living as an example for people to follow, even without powers.

Kingdom Come #4, Mark Waid- writer, Alex Ross- artist

But there is something else- Superman is "the last son of Krypton."  Supposedly.  I mean, not counting Supergirl.  Or Superwoman.  Or New Krypton.  Are they still in continuity?  Oh whatever.  For this discussion, he's the only one.


Superman, for all his amazing powers, was alone.  Yes, he has adopted parents, friends, and a harem of women with the initials "LL," but could any of them crush coal into a diamond or fly?  (Ok, there were some cheesy 50s stories, but work with me.)

He was different, and he KNEW it.  He couldn't tell anyone about this difference.  Neither could I.

Remember, I grew up before the internet.  All I knew was my dying small town, and I KNEW how they would react if I announced my Truth.  If I even could announce it- all I knew is that I was different, that I was really a girl, and I thought I was the only one in the world like me.

Of course, I didn't want to BE Superman.  I mean, MAN.  No thank you.

I wanted to be Supergirl... or Superwoman.  I wanted to pull open my shirt and see the "S" on my breasts.

Being one of kind, even (especially?) with that kind power, is a special kind of lonely.  I couldn't talk to ANYONE about it.  In fact, I had to hide it, and do my best to deny any much desired femininity.  Remember, the 70s and 80s were the time of the "macho" hero.  Burt Reynolds, Lee Majors, Sylvester Stallone, Chuck Norris...  I could go on all day.  Almost every guy admired them and their ability to kick ass.  Not me.  I admired someone whose strength was that while he COULD kick ass- he could destroy the world- his strength was in NOT doing so.

Back then, that was considered "sissy girl" thinking.  Oh wait- even now that's considered "sissy girl" thinking.  Power is to be used- Might makes Right.  Ends justify the means.

Sorry, I don't subscribe to that way of thinking.

Superman changed a lot over his (currently) eighty years.  The eighties saw a shift in perspective- Clark was the person, and Superman the identity, not vice versa (and he was a yuppie, but we won't discuss that.)  In the 90s, he revealed his identity to Lois Lane, and they married.  (How in the world would they have sex?  Surprisingly, that topic's been approached!)

In several stories, he's been changed to a woman, including a genderswapped timeline.  Oh to have magic in our world.  Here I am Mr. Mxyzptlk!  Change away!

Eventually, every secret comes out.  Well, the ones not taken to the grave, anyway.  Lois discovered Clark's identity.  Pete Ross knew it for years.  keeping my secret was no longer an option, so I transitioned.

Eventually, I bought a Supergirl costume- a version more like her original.  And, finally, I looked down and saw the "S" on my breasts.  ("My breasts."  I still can't believe it even after over six years on HRT.)

Sept. 16, 2018

I'd waited a life time.  I may not have the power to destroy the planet, or to fly, or being impervious to physical harm... but I'm a Woman.  A mortal woman- with all the frailties and problems that entails (does Supergirl get 2/3 the credit Superman does for saving the world?)  I also have the issues that come with being a "non-passing" transgender woman in 45's America.  

Speaking of mortal women- Supergirl isn't my first Superhero costume.  That was Captain "Mary" Marvel, the World's Mightiest Mortal.  This was the first costume made for me by the incredible Lorraine Anderson.  These days, Captain Marvel is better known as Shazam (and Mary is "Lady Shazam").  She appealed to me because the idea of a single word changing me from a lame skinny boy into a Powerful Woman in an instant.  Oh how I wished!

Makeup by Amanda Richards

But I digress.  Even though Captain Marvel (1940) was clearly inspired by Superman (1938), and Supergirl (1959) (or, to nitpick, Superwoman in 1943) was inspired by Mary Marvel (1942).

Would I want all those powers, and the responsibility that come with them? (Astro City did a wonderful issue about these pressures in their first issue.)   Absolutely.  If I had to settle for one power though, it would be flight.  I'd love to soar to the clouds with the wind in my ears.  

Above the powers and all, I understood the above mentioned loneliness, and the desire to just Be who I needed to be.  I knew Superman understood that loneliness as well, if in a different way.  Neither of us could do anything about it.  Yes, I transitioned, but I missed on being a young woman, a college age woman... everything until I was 47.  I spent all that time yearning.  In many ways I still do.  I am incomplete in so many ways.  

But at least now, I can wear the "S" and Dream.

No wig- just me.