A tom boy's transition

One of the first entries I knew that I wanted to share was what it was like growing up queer. Being raised in a traditional, conservative, devoutly Catholic household, acting or presenting like anything other than those very things was not optional. Since childhood, my best friends in school had always been boys. I attended catholic grade school where, by the time I graduated, I was one of five students in my class, total, yes TOTAL. Our school was so small that both the fifth and sixth grades shared a classroom as well as the seventh and eighth grades. Even with combined classrooms, I always preferred befriending the boys, and they welcomed me with open arms.

Everyday at lunch we would sit at the same end of the table in the cafeteria and talk about our beloved sports teams or the latest cheat codes available for our favorite video games. Afterwards, at recess, we would sit on the sidewalk and bond over an intense chess match, while the girls picked flowers and talked about their boyfriends (their boyfriends went to the public schools.) 

I was considered one of the more athletic kids in school, which is not a braggadocios statement amongst a combined one-dozen students, but I was always the first one to be picked for a sport (that’s if I wasn’t already one of the designated team captains.) Not too shabby for a girl, right? Even for the two boys who were in my class, they knew I could kick their asses, so it was in their best interest to keep me close and likely why they preferred to play chess with me.

When it came to our school dances (combined with other schools, for obvious reasons) I preferred to stand and talk to the guys rather than dance with my hands on their bodies with our faces merely inches apart (gross). I feel like my classmates treated me like I was just one of the boys, outside from using the pink colored bathrooms versus the blue ones (yes they really were those colors) Just outside of those very bathrooms, right next to the water fountain was where I heard my first homophobic slur: GAY!

“You’re GAY!” I heard one of the prepubescent boys yell in another’s face. “NO, YOU’RE GAY!” the other one yelled back at him.

Nothing like a quality, catholic education, amarite?

That night I went home, like any sheltered middle school kid in the mid-nineties without Google did, and asked my parents what the word “gay” meant. They told me it was just another word for “happy” which really wasn’t a lie, but I called bullshit when I said those boys definitely had a tone that wasn’t accusing either one of happiness. It was chalked up to “boys will be boys” and it was left at that. Needless to say, the next time the word gay came out of my mouth in front of my parents, they knew I didn’t mean happy either, so I guess I got even? Alas, that fun story/blog post will be coming shortly…

Ok, now back to me being a gay kid…

When summertime rolled around, I would spend hours in our side yard, practicing my knuckleball and fastball deliveries, with a scoop of big league chew or a folded up fruit roll up in my mouth to mimic the big-leaguers’ use of chewing tobacco. (I remember the 90s baseball bros always had wads of chew in their cheeks, like good ole Lenny Dykstra.) So while I was trying to blow my arm out while on a sugar high, I felt no worries in my little boyish brain on those summer days.

Meanwhile, my one and older sister was busy nearby on her lounge chair, sunbathing and reading the latest Stephen King novel. She would occasionally humor me and come catch my 25mph fastball instead of me launching it into the brick and mortar of our childhood home. I was convinced, even as a little girl, that I could pitch like Greg Maddux someday or hit homers out of Wrigley Field like Sammy Sosa. But those dreams eventually died in that side yard, when I was reminded that girls played softball, and that baseball was only for boys, which made me both mad and sad. Just like Tom Hanks famously said in “A League of Their Own” though “there’s no crying in baseball.” So I guess since boys aren’t allowed to cry, that actually all checks out.

Tale as old as time – “boys do this” and “girls do that”

Why?

Well, because we said so, that’s why!

OH, okay.

So, I’ll fast forward like 35 years, and guess what, baseball is actually for everyone. And I’m convinced that while my old classmates can probably beat me in chess today, I can definitely still kick their asses.

– J