I Like Pink

I like pink. I always have. I hate about myself that I have spent my life pushing that away. Firmly, passionately away. I grew up in a place and time where liking pink wasn’t masculine. So, I didn’t like pink. One time, my wife and kids got me a pink shirt and asked me to wear it. I didn’t want to disappoint them, so I wore it. But I don’t think I ever wore it again. Another time, they got me a purple shirt. I don't think I ever wore it. In the meantime, I passed on several shirts, some of them really pretty colors, because men don’t wear those colors, and I pushed away anything that didn't seem "manly". I regret that.

Why do I regret that? Because I let fitting in dictate who I presented myself as, and I pushed away from something I liked because of what people might decide about me. I refuse to do that any more.

You know what? I like the pink. Frankly, I’m nuts about pink. Purple is pretty cool too. I don’t care what that makes me. I still have time to wear pink shirts, pink socks, pink shorts. Bring it on!

My Wife and Pink

My Wife and Pink

My wife (I'm talking about the transgender woman in the marriage - I know it can get confusing) loves pink so much that she can't walk past something pink without checking it out.  It is amusing and interesting to me that she fought so long and so hard about wearing pink shirts.  Over the years, she would make a huge fuss whenever I would pick out a pink shirt, and once a darker pink tie to go with it really got her going. She refused to wear pink.

One time, years back, our daughters and I were shopping for Father's day.  We had been looking at different things and still hadn't really decided on anything.  This shopping was done a few years before my wife started transitioning.  The girls and I had walked past a display of men's dress shirts with matching ties.  The three of us zoned in on a purple shirt with a darker purple tie.  It was a great color and we all three felt it would look great on their dad.

We bought the shirt and when it came time to give my wife the shirt and tie, the girls were excited.  Let's just say we didn't get the reaction we thought we would.  My wife was like oh, and she thanked us for the gift.  She said she liked it but you could tell she wasn't thrilled about getting it.  She never wore that shirt or tie.  Even though deep down I know she loved that shirt.  The thing is she was still so firmly in the manly man aspect of her life and felt wearing purple or pink wasn't a masculine thing to do.

One thing to watch for, when you're hoping to help your trans partner, when you're trying to figure things out, and they're trying to figure things out, is clothing telltales. It's not unusual for trans people who are not out, and not transitioning, maybe who haven't even realized they're trans yet, to refuse to wear certain clothing articles that resonate with them, out of fear or being uncomfortable that the clothing resonates with them. They might not even realize why. Sometimes how much a clothing item of the "opposite" gender's range, be it style or color, is something they like so much it shocks them, and they hide from it.

California Manly Girl

2017

While attending military training in California, I was quartered in a barracks with lots of men. It was an atmosphere I found extremely uncomfortable. Using the restroom in the barracks was especially bad, and so I sought a different source. I had discovered that the chaplain would leave the chapel unlocked at night if he knew someone wanted to use the kitchen. It was pretty well known that the chaplain did this for Soldiers.

I Wish They All Could Be California...

On my second day there, it occurred to me that the restrooms in the chapel were thus accessible for me after hours. The chapel was right down the street, only about a three-minute walk, and I had a car. Accordingly, when I needed to use the restroom, I went down the street to the chapel. This worked very well for several days.

One thing we had to do as part of our training was that each person had to take turns leading a briefing on current events and how they impacted our branch of service. We had a range of topic areas to choose from. I chose a topic no one would expect and briefed on the new Army policy regarding the integration of transgender Soldiers. I discussed this with my wife in advance, and she agreed it was a good topic, but wisely cautioned me to make sure that no matter what, I did not come out as part of that discussion, because at that point, transgender Soldiers were still being discharged. About 1/3 of the way through the discussion, I noticed one female Soldier, an E-6 who I will not name, suddenly sit up, and her eyes get big as she watched me. Then she smiled, a Cheshire cat sort of smile. I remember thinking “I’ve screwed up. She knows. She’s figured it out”. I had no choice but to continue on as though nothing was wrong, but inside, I was scared. But as far as I know, she didn’t say anything to anyone, at least not that I knew.

Goin' to the Chapel...

Toward the end of my time there for training, as I entered the chapel one night to use the restroom, I was surprised to bump into another person, coming out. That person was equally surprised to see me. This person, the female E-6 from my transgender discussion, was someone I had thought was a typical “woman in the Army trying to be like one of the guys” female Rambo type, who acted tough, talked tough, and wasn’t at all feminine. Not at all.

This Soldier asked me why I was there, and I told the truth. To use the restroom. She and I had some conversation then, and again later. I was surprised to discover that this person was actually a female to male (FTM) transgender Soldier (pronouns they/them), who had also hit on the idea to use the restrooms at the chapel to avoid restrooms in the female barracks, where they were forced to stay. What were the odds?  I was intrigued to meet someone in the same sort of situation, and in my own small group of Soldiers! We ended up hugging and exchanged some furtive smiles over the next few days, and at one point, they complimented my sandals (see the story titled “California Girly Girl").

I discovered over the next few days that they were on hormones, and had been engaging in binding their breasts to minimize them. They wore androgynous clothes, and interestingly, wore men’s boxers. They didn’t ever wear earrings anymore, and I noticed that their hands were rough. I asked, and they said they made a point of working without gloves because they had naturally soft, smooth skin, and didn’t want feminine hands.

They asked me about my routine, and I explained about having begun shaving my body, that I wasn’t sure if I would be doing hormones, and that I had only just begun to feminize my wardrobe. They suggested I try wearing toe rings.

They Think You're Gay

They also told me that female Soldiers in their barracks had been making jokes about me, saying I seemed gay. It seemed I didn’t seem very masculine, which of course I don’t.

The reason they had sat up straight suddenly in my talk in class a few days previous, with really large eyes, is they had "put two and two together", and then when sure, that had prompted the smile I had misinterpreted as malice. 

I watched them over the next few days, intrigued by their body, their walk, their comportment. They were doing the exact same thing, in reverse, that I was doing. They were trying desperately to minimize their physical gender so they appeared female still, and yet be who they really are as a person, while trying hard to keep others from making the connection.

Both of us expressed how much we appreciate the other one, and the good will we expressed toward each other. For me, it was oddly relaxing to know there was another transgender Soldier in my class.

There was a quick “good luck” and a hug as we left at the end of training. All I know is that having someone else in my situation there made things so much more relaxed for me, and gave me a lot more confidence.

California Girly Girl

2017

As our journey of exploration continued, I was sent by the Army Reserve for a 15-day course in California. I had decided that while I was there, with California having the reputation of being much more forgiving than my home state, I was going to step out a bit, and try some new things, and see what felt like me, and what didn’t.

A few days after arriving, I had acquired some feminine shorts that were shorter than men's shorts typically were, and more importantly, some cute women’s sandals that not only fit but looked great and were very comfortable. My toenails were painted with a polish that was pretty discreet. You’d have to be paying attention to see it, but it was there. My wife had helped me pick out the shade before I left, so I could still paint my toes, but not be crazy obvious.  

A Razor Is My Friend

I had been shaving my legs for a few years at this point, but shortly after arriving, I felt a strong urge to shave more. That evening, late, I went into the shower room. Unlike many men’s barracks, this shower area had individual areas, with glass doors across them. So, you could still be seen fairly well, but you at least had the illusion of privacy. There, I got my body wet, began to lather up shaving cream, and got busy. About an hour and a half later, I had shaved my legs, my chest, stomach, and armpits. Yes, it really did take me about an hour and a half. I had no idea what I was doing, and so I proceeded cautiously. Shaving your body is nothing like shaving your face. I remember feeling amazing, standing there, the water cascading over me when I was done. I shaved my body a few more times, while I was there, to remain generally smooth.

I spent a few evenings around the barracks wearing shorts in the evening, but oddly, either no one noticed my shaved legs, or more likely, they simply didn’t say anything in front of me. Either way, it wasn’t the issue I thought it might be. That gave me a little more confidence that this might be okay, after all.

Tapping into that new confidence, I spent free time in the evenings going around the malls, trying on clothing, with the help of clerks that didn’t even blink. I kept myself shaved, which was a first, and I kept my toes painted, also a first, and I wore feminine shorts, also a first. Honestly? It resonated. I never felt so much like "me".

I adapted a pair of turquoise shorts I had brought with me. My wife and I had purchased them because they were men’s shorts, but of a sort that was androgynous. They just as easily could have been women’s shorts. The legs had a folded up section at the hem, about an inch turned up. I folded the legs up another turn, and they were then the same length as the women’s white shorts I had bought. So now I had two pairs of shorts to wear.

Please. Anything But the Combat Boots.

I had only combat boots, the women’s sandals, a pair of running shoes, and flip-flops. I couldn’t wear the women’s sandals in the barracks, as that was too obvious. At first, I was only wearing running shoes, but I quickly decided to try the flip-flops. Despite the slightly-colored painted toes, no one seemed to notice a thing. As I said earlier, the polish was discreet. There were no reactions of the sort that people give when they see something odd. That gave me even more confidence, and it worked well with the shorts.

The big test came when I went to dinner a few nights before I was due to come home. I wore the white shorts and the most feminine t-shirt I had, and I slipped on the sandals, the first time I wore them on the base. I left the barracks and walked to my car. On the way to the car, 5 Soldiers, three men, and two women walked past me.  It was early evening, and still, quite daylight out. All three men never noticed a thing. Both women, walking toward me, started looking me over. They started at my face, then glanced down my body. When they got to my legs and feet, both of them quickly looked back at my face, and both of them got really odd expressions on their faces. Meanwhile, I was waiting for some sort of outburst, but none came.

I kept walking. Once in my car, I drove off the base, and went to a local thrift store to check out skirts, just to spend some time, as it really wasn’t time to eat yet.

I strode into the store, and the security guard looked at me like I was a leper. I immediately considered leaving but told myself that I’d come this far, and I didn’t want to turn back. I knew if I did, I’d never get another chance. I put on a brave face and continued on. I spent about 20 minutes there, looking at various clothing. The store had a lot of customers, but no one really seemed to notice anything odd about me, which I considered to be good.

One Awesome Mom

I decided to go ahead and head out and started toward the front of the store. As I came around a rack, a girl about 6 years old was standing there. I saw her eyes glancing down at my feet, with the painted nails and sandals, and travel up my shaved legs to my shorts, top, and then my face. When she registered my male facial features and hair, she looked shocked and quickly whispered something to her mother.

As I went past, I heard the mother tell her “It’s okay. He’s just dressing how he feels comfortable, and that’s good”. I admit I walked out of that store with a smile on my face!

I drove the short distance to the place where I intended to have dinner. It was a salad and pasta buffet called Sweet Tomatoes, and I really enjoyed their food. So that was the destination.  I walked in, and ate, and enjoyed myself, and not a soul even gave me an odd look. It was glorious!

I went back to the base, parked, and went to the barracks. I passed several people on the walk to the barracks, and even in the barracks, but it was dark. That was the second to last night I was in California.

Once home, the sandals were put away, and for the most part, so were the shorts. Yet, that experience of stepping out, of taking a chance and exploring, was invaluable.