Sparkly Purple Bicycle.. and pieces never fitting

When Did I Know?

I grew up in a town caught between two worlds. One side leaned liberal, shaped by the university nearby. The other leaned conservative, shaped by timber, the industry most people worked in. My side of town was a working-class place, and it could be a tough environment for a kid who didn't fit in. Growing up, there was no such thing as "transgender." I had never heard of trans-anything, and words like gay and lesbian weren't part of everyday conversation, though looking back, there were rumors.

I was an awkward kid. I grew up with siblings, a mom who was a good and loving mother, and also a quiet, working, functional alcoholic, carrying the weight of trauma from her own childhood. My dad was protective, loving, and a good man who had lived a big life before I came along. He liked a drink too. Not an alcoholic, just human. They had both done and seen a lot. We moved around a lot before finally settling in that town, where my dad found steady work.

At the end of my first year of elementary school, there was going to be a bike ride to a park, and every kid needed a bicycle. I told my dad, and he found a cheap old Schwinn: one gear, big tires, that sort of thing. We put big handlebars on it, a banana seat, and tassels, because I wanted them. My dad let me pick out the paint, and I wanted sparkly, glitter-filled purple.

He was fine with it. Well, maybe not entirely fine, but he let me be me. My dad was cool but tough, a guy who liked guns, a drink, and "guy stuff," and I think he carried some demons of his own. Still, we spray-painted the frame and forks and made this amazing sparkly bicycle. I loved it. I must have looked like Kermit the Frog on a bike too big for me, long skinny legs pedaling away, but I was delighted. It made me feel good.

I'm sharing this because people often ask, "When did you know?" Most transgender people fall into one of two camps: they always knew, or they didn't. I was in the latter camp. I knew something wasn't right, but I didn't know what the heck was wrong. Ever try to fit a square peg in a round hole? Yeah, my life was like that. The pieces just didn't fit.

I didn't know what transgender or transsexual meant. I knew I wasn't gay, because I was attracted to women, yet I wanted to be attractive too. I knew I didn't fit in with the boys, but I had male parts, so I was classified as male. And yet I knew I was different. Male didn't fit. I was drawn to feminine things, to female friends, to wanting long hair. I marched to my own drum and was off in some way I couldn't name.

I share the story of Kermit the Frog riding a "girly" purple sparkly bicycle with a long banana seat because, looking back, it's a perfect example of just being naturally different. And that's okay. It's wonderful, actually. I don't beat myself up over it. The tapestry of my life is woven with clues like that one, bread crumbs that were all part of what it took to reach my "aha" moment.

That moment of epiphany, clarity, and awakening came years later, as an adult, when I read about what it means to be transgender. Of all things, I was reading about the creators of The Matrix, because I'm a big sci-fi fan. Suddenly it explained everything: a life of pieces not fitting, relationships that kept going off the rails, shaving my legs and wearing women's clothing without knowing why it made me feel better, the self-hatred I felt when my body betrayed me by losing my hair and I was helpless to stop it, the self-sabotage, the oddities, the way I always felt wrong inside.

And once that moment happened, I couldn't un-know it. It was like a sun being born, the idea exploding into light and burning fiercely. You cannot un-know a truth, and for me, this is the truth.

I am transgender. I can't un-know it, and I don't want to.