Another Beginnings Story

[Grace]

My earliest gender role-related memory was when I was two or three. I was in the front yard, and was carrying a doll of my mom’s. Neighbor boys were playing touch football in the yard. One of them ridiculed me for carrying a doll, telling me only girls played with them. Mortified, I went into the house, was consoled by my mom., but never played with them again. A year or so later, after another round of teasing about something else, in which I was called too sensitive, my mom encouraged me, saying I should never lose my sensitive nature, it was one of my best qualities.

In kindergarten, 1953, my mom dressed me as a witch for Halloween, with a skirt made of crepe paper over my pants, and a witch’s hat. I don’t remember any teasing, or pointing out that I’d crossed a gender line. By first grade, though, I was aware of gender roles. We were putting on a Thanksgiving pageant for the parents, with pilgrims and Indians, wearing paper pilgrim hats and paper feathered headbands that kept falling off during rehearsal. Miss Johnson (that’s when I learned about the difference between Miss and Mrs., too) suggested we’d hold them on with hair pins. That bothered me a lot. So that night, I sneaked a hairpin from my mom’s drawer and wore it all night. As it turned out, we didn’t use them when we put on the play for parents anyway—false alarm, but my first experience with CDing, significant though small. It also tells me that I’ve always dealt with the unknown by embracing it.

The first day of second grade was a whole other ball game. I’ve never figured out if Mrs. Harper was sick, or suffering from terrible self esteem, or what. She definitely wasn’t very smart. But she was the only teacher I ever had who made such a big deal about punishment to keep order. Soon after introducing herself, she launched into a discussion about keeping order in the class. She described how she’d punish kids who spoke out by making them sit in the hall, or she’d put a paper towel in their mouths for an hour or so. But for the boys who really misbehaved, she had a special punishment. (Note that she had no special punishment for girls-- interesting.) She then walked over to her closet and pulled out a stack of women’s head scarves, and smiling, said the boys could wear one of those all day.

I still remember the heady, confusing rush of intense mixed emotions I felt. I was already puzzled by the strange emphasis she put on punishment, and the other kids’ apparent passive acceptance of this. But the scarf threat filled me with terror, extreme surprise, and an incredible desire to experience it. Unlike Tommy M., who apparently felt the same urge and deliberately acted up so he could receive his punishment (which included playing in the school yard with the scarf on at recess), I was much too well behaved and timid to act up and be publicly humiliated. So, I sneaked one of my mom’s scarves out of a drawer, and wore it out into the back yard—no one was home. I loved the way it looked and felt, and I felt like I was getting away with eating the forbidden fruit. I got bold and went into a few neighbors’ back yards, only to be seen by Mrs. W., who was doing dishes. Embarrassed, I pointed at the scarf and laughed. She never said anything.

Over the year, I tried on other items of my mom’s clothes, loving each new discovery. The one thing that gave me the same combination of fear and desire was the red lipstick she had (Victory Red—must have been made in the WWII time frame). I finally got up enough nerve to try it, and of course loved the sensuous feel, the look, and the rosy fragrance. Funny, since I generally don’t like fragrances.

In the following years, I endured almost continuous conflict over this pastime, dealing with shame and low self esteem (remember, it started out as a punishment, so the shame was reinforced), finding clothes or lipstick in various places, and stowing them, dressing when I could using borrowed or found items, purging, regretting it, etc. I finally started buying my own things when I was nineteen, and when I was 22 I finally realized that I should stop beating myself up over this, or over anything for that matter—after all, I was the only one inside me, and if I can’t be nice to myself, who will?

I revealed my secret to my first and second wives long before marrying, and they seemed accepting. The first one actually was; the second, however, used it as a way to exercise control over me, playing on my insecurity. I’ll save that for another posting. Anyway, I am in my third really serious relationship, and though my SO doesn’t understand it (who does?), she’s willing to work with me to learn to accept it and come to terms with it. Ours is a life long commitment.

I’ve only told this story to one other person, so you can see, I trust you ladies a lot. Great forum, and a great service to all who have struggled with this.

Grace

[DonnaT]

Great story. Thanks for sharing.

[Chrissy]

Grace,
I admire your memory of your younger days and experiences. Time has clouded alot, but I still remeber some things that were pointing me towards the more female person I am today (or at least hope I am)

Welcome and you'll find some lovely ladies to "tell all" to and feel comfortable about it. I know ive found a safe refuge.

chrissy

[Amelie-Laveau]

Hi Grace, nice story. I find in reading these posts that quite a few Cds had expeienced some form of forced dressing while young, wether by a teacher, friends, or halloween costume. I wonder if this was the cause for CDing or just a spark igniting something that was already there. Not for you in particular, Grace, I just mention this as a generalization.
Amelie

[Grace]

Amilie,

"I find in reading these posts that quite a few Cds had expeienced some form of forced dressing while young, wether by a teacher, friends, or halloween costume. I wonder if this was the cause for CDing or just a spark igniting something that was already there."

I've often wondered this myself, but when I remembered the hairpin incident, it made me think that something innate in me was already there, and the forced part of it simply gave me permission to explore my female side, which, even from the age of 2 or 3 (the doll incident) was already being repressed. It is too bad that the punishment aspect gave me extra baggage to work through until I could admit I simply enjoyed dressing, and that it satisfied a deep need.

I doubt we'll ever know if CDing is nature- or nurture-based, though the society-specific aspects of it clearly are nurture. After all, a newborn has no concept of gender-based clothing of the society (s)he's being born into.

Grace
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[Anita]

Hi Grace--
I enjoyed your story, and it had a lot of subtle points in it that brought back things I'd forgotten. Like you, I was very sensitive about all deviations from gender, probably because I'd been steered away from them at a young age. It really bothered me at 6 when they put lipstick on me for a school pageant, until I saw that they were doing it to all the boys.

Yet at four I had gone along with two of my sisters dressing me as a girl. I thought it was great at first, and then I remember that I started crying hysterically and telling them to take it off (lipstick I remember in particular.) What was that all about? Was I already afraid that I'd like it too much? Neither of my sisters remember this at all.

[Grace]

Anita,

It is interesting how something profoundly significant to one person might be totally insignificant to another. Although I know of at least 3 kids who had my second grade teacher ended up cross-dressing (significant results from that Mrs. Harper's actions) I am sure many others would only remember it vaguely if you mentioned it. To your sisters, dressing you as a girl was probably just something to kill time and had no other significance. To you, it was life-changing.

Sharon,

Please post your beginnings story. I've found every one posted here to be interesting.

Grace