Preface of my New Book: Rough Draft

As I wrote previously, Sandy Empanada, Lisa's soul mate, asked me to write a book about Lisa Empanada's life.  I have spent the last few months doing the research- official documents, etc.  I'm about to start interviews- the coroner who responded to the police call, the man who found her, and, most importantly, her loved ones.  In any case, I decided to write the preface.  I've already shared it with Sandy.  Now I share it with you.

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


Lisa Empanada did not exist.

Neither did Lisa Ann-Marie Newell.

Legally.

However, Thomas Vernon Newell did exist legally.  He died on September 16, 2013.  Cause of death: Suicide by Carbon Monoxide asphyxiation.

I never met Thomas Vernon Newell, known as Tommy to his friends and family, until I gazed down at his lifeless corpse at his funeral.  I didn’t drive all the way to Baltimore to attend his funeral.  I drove there for the funeral of my dearest friend:  Lisa Ann-Marie Newell, aka Lisa Empanada.

You see Tommy was Lisa.  Lisa was Tommy’s soul.  Lisa was Tommy’s Truth.  Lisa died with Tommy.

Lisa was Transgender.  She was a woman born in a male body.  That male was Tommy.  However, Tommy was Lisa.  She was ALWAYS Lisa, but had to hide it.  So she did.

In the end, Tommy killed Lisa.  Murdered her.  Murdered my best friend- my Sister.

Me?  I’m Sophie.  I am also Transgender.  I exist legally, because I was able to Transition to my True Self, where Lisa died before she could do the same.  There is a story here- and that is what this book is about: that story.  It is Lisa’s story.

But I can’t tell Lisa’s story without telling my own.

Lisa was a Light in the lives of many people.  Her death was felt in the Transgender community across the world.  Many of us drew closer to comfort each other, and we had honest, open discussions about suicide, and the feelings that drive a person to it.

I call those feelings “the Darkness.”

Research has shown that 41% of transgender people attempt suicide.  Many transpeople succeed.  Lisa was one of them.

I have walked that path as well.  That’s how Lisa and I really connected, because I knew EXACTLY how she felt.  I did my best to bring her back from the Darkness, along with her therapist.  One can NEVER defeat the Darkness alone.  So I tried.  And I failed.  And Tommy killed Lisa.

And she’s gone.

This book is about the Amazing Woman I knew.  She called me her “Best Friend,” aside from her wife and soulmate Sandy.  Her “Sister.”   Why should you could care about her?  Well, Professor Jennifer Finney Boylan wrote that “You can’t hate someone whose story you know.”  Lisa was a wonderful human being.  Her story is worth knowing.  This book is about her Life, her Darkness, her Light, my life, my Darkness, and her Death.  In it, I will try to make sense of a life that ended far too soon.  I will celebrate that Life.  I will celebrate my Best Friend.  Maybe, someone will learn from it.  And maybe, just maybe, the Pain of her loss will ebb from my soul.

In any case, I want people to know my Sister.  And why she was who she was.

From Lisa's Funeral

Glad at GLAAD

Friday afternoon I was on break at work.  May 5, 2017.  And I'd received a message from a dear friend.

Jennifer Finney Boylan wanted to know if I wanted to attend the GLAAD Media Awards.  The one that costs $500 to attend.  Minimum.  She had an extra ticket- free.

She asked ME?????

I had to work the next day, so I couldn't make it.  After a few minutes, the head manager walked through the break room and into her office.  I went in and told her about the offer.  She quickly made sure I could attend.

HUGE thanks to my manager: Lisa!

I sent Jenny my confirmation, and I asked a few questions.  After all, I'd never been to a high powered celebrity studded gala before.

Then, I assessed my financial situation.  Rent was paid.  Still outstanding bills...  however, one of the credit cards I'd been paying down had a little room- enough for a mani/pedi and the $40 for parking that I was quoted.  (Turns out my assessment was wrong, but that's another story.)

So at 10 Am on May 6, I got a mani/pedi.  Went back to the apartment.  My roomie and bestie, Linda, graciously consented to do my makeup.  She is a Hollywood trained makeup artist of enormous talent.

I tried to put on my blue gown from the last Keystone, but the hook atop the zipper was missing.  So no go there, as it's strapless and I didn't think a gala would be a good place for the Girls to come bouncing out to play.  That said, Tinder WAS one of the sponsors...

In any case, I went with a backup gown that I'm surprised wasn't on storage.  The strappy shoes I wanted to wear had heels that were too high for extended comfort, so I went with pumps.  First pair of hose?  Runner.  In the end, I knew everyone would be in designer suits and gowns, it being a New York City LGBT Gala and all, and I'd be the Hick in the off-the-rack rag.

I actually was quite worried about this.  But, in the end, I figured that these people didn't know me, and I'd never see most of them again, so who cares?

The Look

I climbed into the car and drove through the rain over to New Jersey, and up the New Jersey Turnpike (I wasn't counting the cars, though.)

I spotted New York City, and eventually went through the Lincoln Tunnel into the city.  This was my first time in NYC as a Woman.  And I didn't think twice.  I had to drive a tad... um... aggressively to get where I was going in any kind of time.  I'm sure a cab driver or two probably used colorful metaphors towards me.

I arrived at the Hilton Midtown, where the event was held, got my valet ticket, and went to find the room.  I found it quickly enough, as there were TONS of volunteers to direct people to the event.  I called Wife to let her know I arrived safely, and texted Linda the same.  I then went upstairs and checking in at the gala, where I received my table assignment:  Table 39.

One of the sponsors was Ketel One vodka.  They had kiosk bars set up at strategic locations.  Open bar.  Each kiosk served only one type of drink.  The first place served a mixture of Ketel One orange vodka, simple syrup, and champagne.  It was VERY yummy- and, since champagne was involved, very intoxicating.  There were cocktail tables scattered strategically about, and they all had a magazine called FourTwoNine on them.  I stood at a table; people watching.

Occasionally, someone would stop by, and we would chat.  The first one was a gorgeous slim African American woman who worked for one of the sponsors: Turner.  She used to work for the Obama Administration.  Degree from Howard- Masters from University of Chicago.  We had a nice conversation regarding her feelings about the event, and what it was like to work for President Obama.

I bounced around a bit, and went into another room.  As I stood at a table in this other room, a woman strode over.  She was impeccably dressed, beautiful, and radiated confidence.  Everything about her said "I am happy with my life, and I am in control."  She was everything I have always wanted to be.

She started flipping through one of the magazines on the table. She asked if I'd heard of this magazine.  I said I hadn't.  She said that she thought it was an online only magazine.  Maybe this was their first print issue, I said.  She kept paging through and mentioned something about the layout.

I asked if she had magazine experience.  She smiled and said she worked for Curve magazine.  I've read Curve, and we sell it at the bookstore where I work.  I'd had a few beverages at this point, and I asked if they were looking for writers.  She smiled at me and said she was always looking for talented writers.  I quickly gave my resume (New York Times, International magazines, blog...) and gave her my card.  She gave me her card, which I put in my bag.  I told her that I'm "one of those annoying people who follows up."  She smiled again and said she expected me to do so, and wanted me to- if she didn't, she wouldn't have given me her card.

She was called away by someone, and we parted.  The next day, I looked at that card.  She is Merryn John- Editor in Chief of Curve!  I was stunned!  Wow!  And yes, I have followed up.

After she left, another beautiful came striding up to the table.  This one I knew- the Amazing Lana Moore from Ohio.  She is on the board of GLAAD, a former Captain of a Fire Department, and is one of my heroines.  I'd met her once before, at Southern Comfort 2013.  She greeted me and we hugged.  She knew my name!


Lana an I spoke briefly when my dear friends Jone and Christina came over as well.  Both wore gorgeous gowns.  I knew they were in NYC, but didn't realize that they were coming to the gala.  I wasn't surprised, though, as both are very generous to LGBT charities.  We all spoke for a bit, then Jone and Christine left.  I spoke a little more with Lana, and then she was called away.

I stood stunned.  Lana Moore knew my name!

People started drifting toward the other side of the floor, as seating began for the dinner.  I bumped in Jenny Boylan, who was surrounded by pretty men in impeccable tuxedo.  It was almost like a musical.  We spoke briefly, and she said she'd catch up with me later.  I found my table, and chose a chair.

The dinner was wonderful.  I was at a table with fantastic people.  To my left was a beautiful transwoman from Detroit, and to my right was the amazing and beautiful Jenny Boylan.

The dinner was chicken, couscous, and some veggie.  I'd never had a $500 dinner before, so I don't know how it compares.  The wine was good and the company even better.

That is $500 worth of dinner.

About half way through the dinner, a guy came over and started chatting with Jenny.  He wore a suit over a t-shirt, had tousled hair and smelled of clove cigarettes.  He was very outgoing and demonstrative.  I thought he was from Europe.  Nope- Hollywood.  Jenny had him pull up a chair, so he was next to me.

His name is Louis Stephens, and he was very nice in a cheesy sort of way, despite the fact that he misgendered me several times.  Apparently he's a well-known musician in Hollywood- and a metal guitar player if my google search is accurate.  Everything about him was larger than life.  I don't know why, but I got the feeling that he was blustering because he was actually very scared and lonely inside.

Lana Moore with Louis Stephens (pic courtesy Lana Moore)

The dinner was followed by an awards ceremony.  Several celebrities presented awards and/or won them.  There were some touching moments.  There was also some music.  The band was DNCE.  I never heard of them, but apparently it's the new band for one of the Jonas Brothers.

Then there was one of the big awards-The Excellence in media award, which went to Debra Messing.  Her speech made headlines, as she called out Ivanka Trump on her hypocrisy.

With Jenny Boylan

After the awards, there was the after party.  I took my leave from Jenny, as I had to drive alllll the way back to Philly.  I said goodbye to a few others.  On my way to the escalators, I met a couple of celebrities, very briefly.  I met Trevor Noah of the Daily Show, as well as Whoopi Goldberg.  I said "hi!  Love your work!" and they said "Hi!  Thank you!"

I reached my car, found my way through the city, and made it to the New jersey turnpike.  Then to the PA turnpike.  Then home.  It was 1:30 AM.  I was exhausted.  I was falling asleep at the wheel during the last ten minutes.  I made it home, took off my gown, clothes, jewelry, and was asleep when my head hit the pillow.

 What did this all mean to me?

Wow.  It's been over a week and I'm still processing.  I mean, New York City... celebrities... being invited at all... meeting people who could shape my future...

I came home exhausted.  But... is the word "Empowered?"  I was in a room full of the Movers and Shakers of LGBT America.  These are people who fund the fight, and fight the fight.  These are the professionals... not some backwater amateur with a blog like me.  Their enthusiasm was contagious.  It was almost like going to a Transgender conference, where everyone shares that ONE trait that makes us all Different... or Special.  However, that one trait was many traits here.  It made me feel, for one night, that maybe, just maybe, we, civilized rational people who happen to deviate from the norm, could actually survive what is happening today.  That maybe one person can make a difference.  maybe the word is "strengthened."  I'm still not sure.

One thing I know for sure- the woman who drove up to New York City that afternoon was not the same woman who returned that night.  We all learn and grow from experience.  I learned.  And perhaps even grew.


The day after the gala, I went to the movies with Wife, Daughter and Linda.  I showed Wife and daughter the pictures.  Daughter said "Your makeup really shows off your deep wrinkles."

Thanks kid.

Deep Wrinkles

What Have We Become?

We have a new guy at work.  He is also a Penn Stater, but he is far younger than me.  He was one semester short of graduating when his money ran out.  He was there when Paterno was fired, etc.  For the sake of this entry, I'll call him NG.

As I said, NG is far younger than me.  He is a snappy dresser, having come from the hotel industry.  We were talking about our respective times at Penn State the other day, and how so much has changed.

Things Change

One of the major changes is the policy towards alcohol.  When I was at PSU in the mid-late 80s, the University's attitude toward alcohol was FAR more laissez faire.  My fraternity would routinely go through dozens of kegs at a regular Thursday night party.  There was a MAJOR philanthropic event called Phi Psi 500, which was essentially spring homecoming.  It was a running race involving chugging beers at various local bars.  It raised a ton of money for charity.  People would walk around with opaque cups full of whatever.  The police would look the other way, as long as you behaved yourself.  That was the key- "don't be an asshole."

Phi Psi 500 1985 (pic: Kathleen Prince for La Vie)

That began to change during my time there.  The University President, Bryce Jordan, started clamping down on the partying.  He hated that image of Penn State as a "party school."  And this WAS the Reagan era, after all.

Things changed.  As the years went along, I read about riots during Arts Festival in the summer.  We never had riots in my time.  According to NG, riots weren't uncommon during his time.  We beat Ohio State?  Riot.

It seems (I have no numbers to back this up) that the number of rapes and sexual assaults has gone up.  But, it's strongly possible that more are just being reported.  Or that the authorities are believing the victims more.

However, another disturbing trend has surfaced.  Recently, the Penn State Greek system has become a series of horror stories.

In the past few years, there have been houses closed for hazing (having pledges literally catch sh*t from the brothers), KDR was banned for posting pictures of passed out women on Facebook as well as hazing, SAM was closed down for violating every one of the new alcohol rules over parent's weekend, and the worst- a pledge died when he fell down the stairs after being forced to drink.  And those are all recent.  Several houses are closed for hazing and/or rape offenses.

During my time, the mid 80s, only one house was closed:  ATO due to a gang rape.

The Washington Post even published an article on the subject of Penn State fraternities called At Penn State, one woman's rule at fraternity parties: Don't go upstairs (The Washington Post, March 24, 2015)

All of this makes me wonder- what happened?  All this violence and rape and flat out stupidity...

When did our children become so savage?  And why?

As a member of the Greek community, I understand both sides. What we did in the 80s seemed harmless. But now, a young man is DEAD.   The University is considering ending the Greek community.  However, the school administration has a share of the responsibility in this matter.  Beta was banned before for hazing, yet recolonized.  They are a RICH house.  Powerful alumni.  I hope they are proud.

The fraternities have to own up as well. They've been playing a game of one-upmanship for decades. Each generation tries to outdo the last. It's just a big "dick fight."  Macho bullshit. And now, with social media, they have a peer audience. Unfortunately, the audience is more than peers- and we are Horrified.

Most of these kids probably never had to endure the consequences of their actions.  They got away with everything- slid through life.  They've never been told "no." Guess what guys- unless you're SUPER rich, there are ALWAYS consequences.  Always.

The alumni of the fraternity community share responsibility as well. We are supposed to advise and guide these students, not wink and laugh. (KDR alums were INVOLVED in their facebook porn site.)  In the end, these are OUR children.

There are no easy answers. I don't envy anyone's position in this. At all.

But the fact remains- a boy is dead.

How did it come to this?

What have we become?

Book Review: Long Black Veil by Jennifer Finney Boylan

I've been reading a lot of trans- related books of late.  However, I have not reviewed them here.  It's not that they weren't worth it- I just... haven't.

Luna. Dress Codes, If I Was Your Girl, This is How it's Always Been...

However, this one hit me hard, for various reasons.  The fact that it was written by my dear friend, the incredible Professor Jennifer Finney Boylan, is a bonus.

If you read this blog and don't know who she is, shame on you!  ;)  Click here for a bio and stuff, and HERE for a something I wrote about her.

Long Black Veil is Jenny's first work of fiction in twenty years.  It is a mystery/thriller, set both around the Philadelphia area and in Maine.

I've sold many copies of this book already.  How?  I describe it thusly:

Six college friends enter the old Eastern State Penitentiary in 1980.  They get locked in.  Are they alone?  Only five come out- one has disappeared.  Over thirty years later, a body is found in the prison.  Whodunnit?

It's also a meditation on Secrets.  We all have them.  As Jenny has said often (paraphrasing) the biggest change in Coming Out wasn't changing gender, but from being someone WITH a big secret to being someone WITHOUT a big secret.  And. she is absolutely correct.  There is one more theme.  I'll get to that.

Everyone in this book has a secret.  True, some are bigger than others- but all play a role.  And that's another wonderful facet- all of the characters, major and minor, are all fully realized.  They are all people.  Are there stock characters anywhere?  Yes- filling in the edges.  But in the book you meet such characters as Backflip Bob (from Boston!), Herr Krystal, Wailer, and many more.  And have google ready, as here there be Art History- and it means something!

After all, Paintings do speak, right?

What about trans issues?  Is there a trans character?  Well, take a close look at the cover.  The top and bottom.  The very faint pink at the top and the baby blue at the bottom.  The colors of the Trans flag. Think there may be some trans stuff?

At Bryn Mawr Presbyterian Church, at Jenny's signing for this book

One passage absolutely floored me.    I quote:

I thought about it, but at this point all I could feel was exhaustion with her, with the whole teeming world of people who are not transgender, with their endless questions and interrogations.  Enough already.  I'm sorry, but I have to ask:  What is wrong with you people?  Does a human soul really require an explanation before she can be deemed worthy of human kindness?  Does compassion for one's fellow humans really demand a test first?

So incredibly True.  That's the point, isn't it?  Why can't people just Accept us for who we are?  Why do they demonize us, hunt us, kill us?  Why do they try to legislate us out of existence?

Sorry.  Derailed myself for a second.

I mentioned another theme.  It's something I am still contemplating.  I quote Jenny:


The question posed by the book is, how to we connect those two halves of our lives, so we don't wind up traumatized, as people living two lives instead of one, as people who are whole, with a full history that includes both before AND after?... 

Everyone I know has a before and an after of some kind.  It's the nature of being alive.  If you DON'T have an experience so profound it's hard to get over--whether its really good or really bad-- it's kind of like nothing ever happened to you.  And who would want that life?


I think about MY befores and afters.  (Hell, I wrote about the topic HERE)

As I read the book, I messaged with Jenny about my thoughts.  She was kind enough to discuss some points with me, and listened to me prattle on with my ideas.  I mentioned how familiar the characters seemed, and she replied "Everyone in this book is me."

And they are.  As with all great writers, the characters populating the story are facets of the writer's soul.  I see it in my fiction.  I see it in every book I read.  It is an inescapable Truth that we can only Truly write about what we Know, and so all characters will be a part of the writer.  And characters ARE the story.  One can put characters in the most foreign science fiction landscape or distant past event- it doesn't matter.  Stories are about the characters.  Without them, there is nothing.  This is why people like certain authors- those authors speak to their soul through their words and characters.

After all, Books do speak, right?

In Long Black Veil, Jennifer Finney Boylan spoke to my soul.  I finished the book a couple weeks ago, and I'm still pondering its message.  It haunts me.

It's a fun ride- a worthy ride... a book I recommend very highly.

Go to your local Brick and Mortar bookstore and buy it!

Eastern State Penitentiary

Birthright Perspective

I was speaking with a coworker today.  She is graduating from Rosemont college with a Masters in Publishing.  She told me that the customer I just served was a Rosemont student- going for an MA in Creative Writing.  My coworker had heard this person, who teaches English locally, read her final project.

It was titled "Calm Your Tits."  It was a comedic look on how boobs are a pain in the butt.  She said it was extremely funny.

I asked how boobs are a an impediment.  She said they get in the way, they make things more difficult to fit, guys stare at them, etc.

I smiled.

I see it as a difference in perspective.  

Women grow up knowing that someday, they will grow breasts.  They will eventually menstruate.  They could become mothers.  They know these things will happen, as these things are their birthright.  This is how the human female reaches adulthood.

And to some women, their breasts ARE an annoyance.

But to me, and transwomen like me, breasts are a Godsend.  When we are teens, we see the girls blossoming and feel left behind.  We spend our lives wanting- needing- wishing- that we had that which they take for granted:  Womanhood.  

I started hormones in December 2012.  As most people, I started on a low dose, but eventually increased it.  I had no idea how the hormones would affect me.  I mean, I had an idea- I know biology after all- but how would they affect me personally.

As it turns out, I hit the jackpot when it came to my chest.  Large breasts run down my matrilineal line.  I am lucky and I know it.

Yes, I'm a goofball

It's nice to have SOMETHING go right.

I waited my whole life for my breasts.  I never thought I'd have them.  I thank God that I lived to see the day!  Do they get in my way?  Not really.  Are they inconvenient?  If you mean having to wear a bra- oh darn!

There are many parts of womanhood I will never experience.  I can never give birth, as I don't have the equipment, and never will.  That means that everything associated with the female reproductive system is foreign to me- such as periods.  As I can't afford surgeries, I will never experience having female genitalia.  

I transitioned mid-life, so I will always, physically, walk between genders.  For me, womanhood is earned Every Single Day.  It is something for which  I strive.  

That gives me a different perspective.  

Not right or wrong- just different.

Be well!

 

Thinking About Going Back

I posted the following on facialbook the other day.

Thinking out loud.

Doctorate.

Well, for me to do this will require a LOT of planning and "selling." None of the 3 people I spoke with seemed thrilled with the idea of me applying.

I would need to retake the GRE. Get my recommendation letters, which will require coming out to at least 2 former professors.

I will have to pitch have what I want to do, which will essentially be transgender studies. What cisgender prof would sponsor that?

Then there's paying for it all.

Insurmountable? No. Difficult? Perhaps.

Then there's Linda Michelle Lewis. Will she want to move to State College?

How often will I see my daughter when I'm 3 hours away?

And in the end- will it be worth it?


I received many wonderful replies.  Some people said I shouldn't go to PSU.  So people wondered how I'd pay for it, while others suggested foundations, grants, etc.

Another Saturday night at work

My academic dream has always been to write books and teach at Penn State.  I have worked at Penn State as an instructional designer, and seen the politics of academia.  Yet, I still want it.

And, as you can see, my career and life are thriving.  *eye roll*

But the question becomes "why?"  Why would I want to do this?

I've ALWAYS felt the need to do something- a compulsion, really.  I volunteered as a paramedic at 16.  I chose teaching instead of something lucrative.  Veteran readers know these things.  Is that because I've always felt others were more deserving than myself?

November 2015

Perhaps, in the end, I want to prove to myself that I CAN scale that mountain- that I CAN get a Phd.  I can look at myself in the mirror and say I've done something few others can do.  Verification of intelligence and all that.  Validation.

Hey world, See?  Sophie IS intelligent.  She IS worthy.  She is MORE than just some freak of nature.

Or maybe, just maybe, I will look into that mirror and say the same things...  and believe it.

That would be the most difficult challenge of them all.

Be well.

Hopes, Dreams, and PSU

Today, my roomie and bestie Linda and I went to State College.  Penn State!  I'd been planning the trip ever since I received my schedule for the time.  You see, I am seriously considering getting my doctorate, so I wanted to talk to some people about the programs.  And while I was there, I stopped in at the Penn State LGBT Center.

And yes, I called ahead, so they knew I was coming.  And they didn't evacuate the building.

Linda and I before setting out for PSU

When we left the apartment, it was raining.  Rained most of the way up as well.  But, as we approached Penn State, the clouds broke and the sun shone.  The temperature hit the high 70s and it was humid as hell.  And as we were doing a lot of walking, that meant Sweaty Sophie.

Music Memories

Walking onto campus, I stopped to take this picture.  Bit of history here. This is a courtyard next to Atherton Hall (the honors dorm.) Here, on a beautiful April afternoon in 1987 (30 years ago???) 2 guys with acoustic guitars sat playing on a bench which was where the bush on the left is now.
They played current hits, including the new song by REM It's the End of the World as we know it. They knew every word, and played brilliantly. I was with my girlfriend of the time, walking around. maybe 15 people saw this performance, mostly curious people like me.

It's one of my favorite memories of college. Two guys, enjoying the day making music just for the fun of it. And I was having a wonderful day with my girlfriend.  THIS, to me, was Penn State.

Our first stop was at the HUB (student center) to use the restroom.  There was quite a celebration going on- a LOUD DJ, cake, many "staff" in striped shirts.  I found out that this was part of the annual "Movin' On" celebration for the seniors.

Our next stop was across the street at Boucke Building.  The Penn State LGBT center was there.

When I was at PSU in the 80s, there was no LGBT center.  In fact, to be LGBT at that time was downright dangerous.  There was (and still is) a gay bar downtown (Chumleys) but to be seen going there meant social ostracization or a beating.  When I was a student, a story circulated about a "guy who a friend knew" whose roommate was "gay," and dressed as a girl for Halloween.  This person apparently did it quite well, because at this apartment party, the roomie was being hit on by, and eventually left with, a member of the football team.  That's when people would laugh.  Everyone KNEW what happened next.  Football player- paragon of Manhood- finds out the girl is a guy and the fag gets his ass KICKED.  But no one knew what happened next.  If it ever happened.

But that was the attitude towards Transpeople back then.  And now?  Now Penn State has an LGBT Center.

I was greeted by an intern.  I introduced myself, and she immediately contacted Sonya Wilmoth, the Assistant Director of the Center.  We spoke for a while about many things.  I told them that I was at their service, and they seemed very happy to hear that.  In fact, she wants to bring me up sometime in the fall to do a program.  I did my best to play it cool, but failed miserably, as I was VERY excited.  Speak at Main Campus?  Sign me up!

After a wonderful time there, Linda and I went to three different offices for various departments, hoping to speak to people about their programs.  I managed to speak to someone at Women's Studies, but at the other two places, I encountered staff.  They all said the same- everything is online.  look it up.

So I guess I won't be talking to people.

A quick stop at the Penn State book store, then to the Deli for a late lunch.

All over campus were people with graduation gowns.  I didn't think graduation was until after finals, but there were SO many.  They were all over campus- getting pictures taken in groups and alone.  (The Nittany Lion Shrine was MOBBED.)

See that line of white dresses?  Graduates.

I thought about this a lot on the way home.  I'll come back to this.

Anyway, after lunch, a quick drive by my fraternity house for some pictures, then I pointed my car east for the three hour drive back to the apartment.

At the House

The apartment.  Where Linda and I live.  But in many ways, Penn State will Always be my Home.  It is my happy place.

Anyway, as I said, on the way back, I was thinking.

I thought about those new grads- and about how their Penn State time was at a close.  They would be entering the "Real World."  They would become "Adults" and live their lives.  Many would marry.  Have children.  Careers.  This was the end of their childhoods.

And how many of them realized it?  Or cared?

And the more I thought of it, the more I thought of what college means.  The entire idea of going to university is based on Hope.  The Dream.  The Dream of finding a great career doing something they love- of being a success.  Of making a difference.  All Hopes and Dreams.

And, as I have written before- Dreams Lie.

How many graduates actually use their degrees?  How many end up in dead end jobs because no one is hiring?  Real life is Harsh.

But for them- the students- it is still ahead of them.  Life is but a Dream.

How I envy them.

"The Elms" view looking south toward College Avenue

I wrote about this in the last chapter of my book, which I quote here.


Penn State has left me and my classmates behind.  As we visit the campus, we see new buildings, small or significant changes, and we watch the campus grow.  Stores open and close.  Fashions change.  New kinds of music blare from the balconies in Beaver Canyon.  But one thing never changes- the students are frozen in time.  The students will always be somewhere between seventeen and twenty three years old.  Yet we alumni continue to get older and older.  We continue with our lives, which for the most part have taken us far away from the place most of us love so dearly.


My Penn State no longer exists as a physical place.  It exists as a memory in the minds of those who were there at that time.  We are now all in our late forties and early fifties.  My Penn State lives in my soul.  It visits me in my dreams.  In unguarded moments, it makes me wistful- or sad.

I hated leaving.  When I graduated, I fell into a very deep depression.  I wanted nothing more than to go back through time and start it over- to have that time and experience again.  And again.

Eternal Youth.  Eternal Hope.

Eternal Tears.

Be Well.

1987 Fraternity Pic by Chuck Fong

See me reading this blog entry  HERE

Because the Night...

I haven't posted in a bit.  Sorry.

It's the same reason as many other times- writer's block caused by the Darkness.

For those of you new(ish) to this blog, I define the terms I use HERE.  But, for brevity's sake, I'll just define what I mean by the Darkness here as well.

"The Darkness":  My name for the pain and thoughts surrounding suicidal depression.

I've started and abandoned several entries.  One actually became my TG Forum column last week.  See that HERE.

The others never made it out of the notebook.  This one is being typed directly from my head, as I don't intend it to be long.

I know so many of you are tired of me whining.  Tired about hearing about the Darkness.  I don't blame you.  I am too.  I'm trying not to even talk/write about it anymore.  It is there, but talking about it isn't doing anyone any good.


[deletes an hour's worth of typing]


My therapist thinks I'm my "own worst enemy."  Maybe she's right.

But in any case, that's where I've been.  And Am.

Art: Jim Starlin  Death of Captain Marvel  1982

Forgiving

If I didn't mention it, I am back in therapy.

Last week, the therapist (yes, she understands Trans issues- very well in fact) and I discussed Forgiveness.  She asked me what I saw it as- how I defined it.  The only word I could think of is "Surrender."

Yes, I know that's not good.  In fact, it's really bad.  I have never been a forgiving person at all, and I know it's a nasty character flaw.  So the therapist asked me, as a bit of homework, to try to define it better than that.

I figured to define it, I had to understand Why I can't do it.  I mean, it's easy to say "I forgive you" but it's FAR harder to actually mean it.  To let go of whatever Pain the other entity caused.  As my veteran readers know, I'm not very good at letting go of Pain- in fact, I hoard it.

Why?  That's outside of the scope of this entry.  And I have no idea in the first place.  Speaking of that, Religion is also out of the scope of this entry, so spare me the theology, please.

I've spent several days thinking about it.  Last night, I worked from 8 PM to 5 AM, and I had a lot of time to think.  And, I think I may have dug something up.

I don't Forgive- because I'm rarely Forgiven.


I'm not talking for stupid little things like accidentally spilling someone's drink or passing gas in an elevator (which, of course, I've never done.)  I'm talking the Big Ones.  Like Transitioning.  *

How do I know this?  Because people keep throwing my Sins back in my face.  Even years later in some cases.  It seems like my every misstep is recorded and ready to play back at a moment's notice- even things I didn't realize were mistakes.  It's like watching your life roll past your eyes, but only the parts where you screwed up.

"It`s not the torment of the flames
That finally see your flesh corrupted
It`s the small humiliations that your memory piles up"

And people wonder why I have Trust issues.

In any case, Forgiveness, like Trust, goes both ways.  In any case, some things are beyond forgiveness.

Of course, carrying all those grudges gets heavy.  But I don't see it as carrying a grudge- I just cut the person out of my life (if possible.)  It's much harder if the entity in question is your employer, and Yes, I have had employers who seemed to delight in cataloguing my every Sin (but not the good things I accomplished- funny that.)

Ok, so having identified the WHY of it, can't I be the bigger person?  You know- Grace and all that?  Forgive even when They don't?  I'll come back to this.

A very dear friend last week was very hurt by someone they deeply cared about from their past.  She asked my advice, and I gave it.  But it made me think- how would I have responded to that situation?  Well, knowing me, I would've been crushed for quite some time, taken it out on myself, and never spoken of it to anyone.  And I'd never have forgiven or contacted said person again.  That is NOT the advice I gave this person.  I told them how I TRY to purge it- by writing.

This person, like most people, has a far greater capacity for forgiveness than me.  Maybe that's why they are happier.

So, why not just forgive and forget?  Release the burden?  Well, that's the problem of having a sharp memory- it's VERY hard to forget.  And I have the scars to prove it.

So, this appears to be the crux of the issue- WHY can't I just do that?  Why can't I be the bigger person?  Well, maybe I'm TIRED of being the "bigger person."  Maybe I'm tired of "turning the other cheek" only to have it beaten bloody.  Maybe I'm tired of constantly being the person who "let's things go" only to be stepped on again and again.  Maybe I'm tired of being perceived as Weak.

Maybe I have drawn the line and said "NO MORE!"

Or maybe I did- years ago.  Maybe one of those many nights of quietly crying myself to sleep as a teen, I made the conscious decision NEVER to forgive and NEVER to forget while there was breath in my body.  Maybe I wanted- NEEDED to inflict the Pain back at my tormentors.  To have my Vengeance.

Sounds corny as hell, right?  Like a bad Batman plot.

Maybe that happened- but if it did, it's lost in the blur of Pain that time has become.  I remember a LOT of pain from my childhood/ teen years.  I remember the insults.  The beatings.  The loneliness.

So, it could be said, I was practicing for transition.

Going into work the other day

Wow.  I just typed all of that in a burst of like three minutes.  And I feel drained.  And I'm not going to edit it.  (Except to put an asterisk where it began.)

So, if that's the heart of the matter- that's why I said that forgiveness is "surrender."  And I'm so very very tired of surrendering.

To be Transgender is to Fight.  Every day.  For your dignity.  Your human rights that others would deny you.  For your very Life.  We Fight.  We Fight.  And we Die.

We Die. At Their hands and our own.

There is no forgiving that.

Be well.

Keystone Conference 2017- Passing Moments

The Ninth annual Keystone Conference was held last week from March 22-26 at the Sheraton Harrisburg/Hershey.  I have never missed one to date.  Over 700 people attended this year's conference, which again sold out the hotel and spillover hotels.

Each year, I take away something different from the conference.  Usually, I present a seminar as well.  This year, I learned a few things, met new people, and saw old friends

Some memories stand out- scenes from a week.

With the Gorgeous Stephanie Wardlow Friday night

Wednesday night, I went to the Lancaster Brewing Company with a few dear friends.  Mary was the first to leave the table, so while she was gone, I informed our waiter, Arlee (who looked like Dean Cain) that it was her birthday.  So as the meal was winding down, Arlee brought a bread pudding dessert, and we all sang Happy Birthday to her.  She looked like a deer in the headlights.

She didn't want the dessert.  Now, during our dinner, three busloads of ladies from the conference arrived at the restaurant.  This was a Vanity Club run shopping function for attendees.  There was dinner then a shopping trip to a Dress Barn that was staying open after hours just for them.

L to R:  M, Kimberly, Mary, Stephanie, Ashlee

Leading that group was Vanity Club president Colleen O'Donnell.  Knowing that, I took the dessert, and went over to the area where that group was sitting.  I called for the crowd's attention, told them it was Colleen's birthday, and then everyone sang to her.  Colleen looked ready to kill me.

Oh, it bears mentioning that I have NO idea when their birthdays actually are.


Later that night, I was sitting at the bar speaking to my dear friend Gina Marie Conners.  A guy who looked like Touche Turtle came over and stood behind me.

Guy: Are your toenails painted?

Me: Yes

Guy: Can I see them?

Me: No.

Guy: Can I suck on your toes?

Me: No. I'm married.

Guy: I don't see why that means I can't suck on your toes!

I turned my back on him.  That's when I noticed what was sitting on the bar in front of me.

Ummmm...

Thursday night was karaoke night.  I tried a different song this time:  867-5309 (Jenny) by Tommy Tutone.  It was, unfortunately, recorded.  So... HERE it is.  You were warned.

Friday morning, I was having breakfast with a couple of girls, when a few tables over, a girl stood up and fluffed out her gorgeous natural black hair.  She swished it side to side like a hair model in a commercial.  All three of us at the table commented about how jealous we were.  She and her companion walked past our table, and I mentioned to the Hair Model how amazing we all thought her hair was.  She smiled and thanked us, and her companion pointed out the hair care regimen she was on.  She then pointed out how dry MY hair was, and how it needed some products.  I said that I thought products dried it out.  She said "absolutely not!  And believe me- I KNOW hair!"

I looked at her nametag.  "Dr, Marci Bowers."  I stood and introduced myself.  She smiled and shook my hand.  So I had a Rock Star of the community tell me my hair was too dry.  I have since purchased moisturizing shampoo.  Oh, and the hair model?  According to Marci's website, her name is Angelita, and she works with Dr. Bowers.

Friday I spent some time in the hotel hot tub with some friends.  I wore my Star Trek bathing suit.  Most of the other women rocked bikinis.  And I mean ROCKED!  A woman wearing a black one piece came in who I didn't know.  I was struck by her beauty and poise.  She kinda dismissed me though, but was friendly to many others.  Oh well.  

Tonight's Special:  Boiled Sophie

Friday was also the Vanity Club dinner.  It was the largest Vanity Club dinner to date, and was held at Duke's Bar and Grill, which sounded like a redneck dive bar.  I was very pleasantly surprised at what it really was.  We had to walk through the entire bar, with a Friday night crowd's eyes all following us, but there was no trouble.  It was a wonderful time with amazing people.

Saturday morning at 9 AM was my presentation:  Crafting your Coming Out Letter.  This was my first time doing this particular seminar, and I'd re-written it twice.  Where my other Keystone seminars had a light touch, I set the tone for this one as serious.

I started with my story, then my letter to my parents.  Using that, I had the class draw inferences, and went into structure.  I emphasized that this is a One Way Path, and is deadly serious.  I had an audience of eight, most of whom stayed the whole time.  I received good reviews.

My bestie Linda was enthralled by my presentation

Saturday afternoon was a Vanity Club social.  Wine was free.  I brought Jack Daniels.  

I also made sure that Gina West was invited.  You see, I met her Wednesday night.  It was her second night out- ever.  Yet she seemed so comfortable and genuine.  I was so impressed.  She was speaking with someone for whom it was the FIRST night out.  Both were gorgeous and seemed like they'd been "out" for years.  I bought them both a Laphroaig scotch to toast.  On Thursday, I bumped into Gina again, and she said she was "still tasting the scotch."  So I bought her a Jack Daniels as "mouthwash."

Me, Jack, and Gina

In any case, she was at the social, where we spoke some more.  Hell, at MY first Keystone, I was scared to leave the hotel room.  Here she was mingling like she was a GG.  Yes, I was jealous.

Saturday night was, as always, the Gala.  I had some trouble finding a seat.  After some rearranging at one of the VC tables, I was seated next to a person from another table.  Dana was wonderful company.  She pointed over to another table and mentioned that she knew Sandy Empanada.  So we started talking about Lisa.  After a few minutes, Dana said "Wait a minute.  Sophie... you're Sophie LYNNE?"  I said I am.  We continued discussing Lisa, but the questions became more... personal.  How it affected me, etc.  She'd heard of me through mutual friends, and of my connection to Lisa.

She would later write to me:

Didn't realize I startled you.  I had seen your pics and writings connectected to Lisa's story as well as here and there online.  When I sat down I was about 12 inches from your face, a much different perspective than seeing a digital, full body photo on the computer.  

... I suppose hearing Lisa's back story was illuminating.  So many people were quick to attribute her death to the stereotypical hard life of most TS's. Certainly that was a component but, like I suspected, there were many more moving parts.

Gala Gown

As usual, I spent the rest of Saturday night in the bar, chatting with dear friends.  I had a wonderful conversation (and several drinks) with the incredible Diana Fronterhouse from Arizona.  She and Donna Rose co-host a wonderful podcast The Deeper End.  Required listening!  Diana was just fun to speak with and went movie line for movie line with Linda and myself.  No small feat!

Lacy, Me, Linda, and Diana

Sunday, Linda and I had breakfast with friends, packed and left for home.  And, as always, I think of what my dear friend David Denton wrote about the end of the conference back in 2013.  I'll close with that.

"It was eerie. When I close my eyes and think about the walk to the Dog & Pony on Sunday morning I swear I can hear dying echos of the most genuinely delightful laughter. It's like hearing ghosts from the past, Sophie."

Be well.