New York, NY, USA. Before I went stealth, people would always ask me the same set of questions. I’d like to take some time to talk about one of those questions because I think it is the wrong question.

It is a good question, but for me it is framed the wrong way. Here’s the question: “When did you first know you were a girl?”


That’s the question, and I think it is the wrong question. For me the question should have been: “When did you first know you were not a girl?”

Like most people I know we never have to think about what gender we are. We just are. That was the same with me. I just knew I was a girl. I ran like a girl. I played like a girl. I talked like a girl. In my dreams I was a girl. Oh, everyone around kept trying to tell me how to run, play and talk, but I couldn’t be bothered. I was a Texan and Texans are supposed to be different. One of the things that reinforced me was my dreams. In my dreams I was always a girl. Even as I grew older, I grew as a girl to a woman. That will be a blog for another day, but today it is about when I discovered I wasn’t a girl. It is about the yellow dress.

I don’t remember exactly which Christmas it was but I know it was before Sherry was killed (again a story for another day). So that would make me 5 or 6. It was Christmas and Mom had taken us kids to the department store to see Santa Claus. I was so excited, because I felt I was old enough to finally tell Santa what I wanted. Christmas’ before I didn’t really know where all the presents came from on Christmas day. I was just so happy to see them.

Earlier that year when it started to get cold, my grandmother asked me what I wanted Santa Claus to bring me. I didn’t know who this Santa was, so I asked her to tell me. She told me a wonderful story about the jolly fat man who loved kids. I was thrilled.

Before when I’d see the piles of presents I would go to the wrong pile. We used to have our cousins spend the night or we’d spend the night with them and on Christmas morning the presents were grouped by who they belonged to. The grown ups would point us to the right pile. I always went to the pile with the dolls, dresses and the little play kitchens. I was quickly re-pointed to the pile with the firetrucks or the baseball stuff. My heart would sink. Sherry and all the other girls got what they wanted, why couldn’t I?

Well, now I knew the secret. You had to tell Santa Claus. He wasn’t a mind reader, so you had to tell him exactly what you wanted or you just got the left over toys.

So, this year I was ready. We got to the store and there he was. I don’t know why I missed him when I was younger. He was bigger than life. I’d seen his pictures all over the place, but I didn’t know how powerful he was. Wow, I thought, he’s here just for us kids. What a great man.

We waited our turn, and as we got closer he seemed to grow larger to my preschool eyes. So by the time it was my turn, I was really scared. His loyal elves picked me up and sat me on his lap. Mom was standing over to the side outside of the little fence. and he looked down at me and said in a huge booming tone, “And what would you like for Christmas little boy?” I just blinked.

People were always calling me a little boy. I thought it was because of the clothes Mom made me wear. We didn’t have a whole lot of money, so Mom said she only bought clothes that all of us could wear. My sister was still a baby so she couldn’t wear ours yet.

I was going to fix this right here and now.

“I’m a girl, they just make me dress like a boy,” I wanted to say, but I didn’t have the courage. I just sat there on his lap and blinked.

“Are you scared of me, my child?” He asked quietly. Santa smiled at me and winked.

“Do you know what you’d like for Christmas?” again he asked softly. I nodded my head, and my eyes got watery.

“Would you like to whisper it to me?” he whispered to me. Again I nodded. He leaned over and turned his head for me. I lifted my head and cupped my hands around my mouth.

“I’d like a doll, a Snow White coloring book, and a yellow dress. Mostly, a pretty yellow dress just like Snow White,” I whispered into his ear. He wasn’t smiling anymore when he took his head away from my cupped hands. His face didn’t look happy or jolly anymore. He smacked his lips a couple of times.

“Oh well, I don’t know about that,” he said. His voice was no longer booming. It was shaky. “I’ll need to see what I can do. Have a Merry Christmas, run along now.” He started to lift me off of his lap, but one of the elves behind a camera told him to wait. There was a flash of bright light then we put me down quickly. I ran to where Mom was standing, and my brother Cary began to climb mount Santa.

Mom asked me if I told Santa what I wanted, and I told her yes. She asked me what I told him, and I explained that he knows. Mom looked up from me to Santa and he looked back at her and gave her the slightest shake of the head.

It was still a couple of weeks until Christmas, but I was all the more excited about the presents this year. Every night, I’d dream of wearing the yellow dress. Wearing it to tea parties that Sherry and I would give. Wearing it again when we played with our dolls we got from Santa. I’d wake in the morning even more excited than when I went to sleep. Christmas couldn’t come soon enough, but it did.

Once again for Christmas, my cousins came to stay, so it was hard for me to sleep. Sherry and I slept in my bed, and we talked a long time. We had already told each other what we wanted from Santa, so she knew about the yellow dress. She told me that she’d asked for one too so we could match. We giggled and talked until the grown ups came and told us to go sleep or Santa won’t stop that night. Sleep finally came, and once again I dreamed of the yellow dress that I knew Santa would bring. Sherry woke me up in the morning and said let’s go. We sprang out of bed and woke up the rest of the house as we squealed down the hall.

We got to the room where the Christmas tree was and stopped to look around. I saw it. It was there. Santa brought it. I ran to the pile, and I saw the dolls, the coloring books and the yellow dress. I picked up the dress and jumped and squealed. Sherry was still looking for her pile when the grown ups came into the room. My father saw me holding the dress.

“That’s not your presents. Yours are over here,” he yelled. He was pointing to a different pile. A completely different pile.

“That’s Sherry’s presents,” My aunt said angrily, and took the dress out of my hands. I looked at Sherry and she was just as confused as I was. I went to the pile that Dad was pointing at and I saw the same old stuff. This time Tonka trucks and a BB gun (this was Texas after all). I threw myself down and started to go through the pile. No dolls or dresses. There was a coloring book, but it was a Peter Pan coloring book. I started to cry.

“Why are you crying?” Mom asked as she lit a cigarette. “Don’t you like what Santa brought you?”

“It is not what I asked for. I wanted the yellow dress.” I cried. The room got very still for a moment. Then one of my brothers started giggling. The other brother joined him.

“He’s a sissy,” my brother yelled and ran over and started to hit me. The rest of the room burst into laughter at that. I got up and ran to my room as fast as I could, shut the door and buried my head under my covers. I continued to cry and then slowly uncovered and looked around my room. It wasn’t my room by myself. I shared it with Cary, the oldest of the boys. We shared more than the room. We shared clothes, toys and everything. I could hear the laughing slow down and everyone talking down the hall. After a while I heard a gentle knock on the door and Mom stuck her head inside the room. I turned away from her, faced the wall and started to cry again. She sat beside me.

“Why are you still crying?” she asked as she started to pet the back of my head.

“Why didn’t Santa bring me the yellow dress?” I cried, still facing the wall.

“Because boys don’t wear dresses,” she tried to explain.

“B-B-But, I’m not a boy. I’m a girl,” I cried.

“No you are a boy. You are my little man.” That was all she said. I never turned to look at her. She stood up and walked out of the room.

I didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand. I knew I was a girl. My name was Marilyn, not what they kept calling me. I played with the other girls on the block, not with the boys. There was something wrong. I looked around the room again and then I finally realized, they think I’m a boy. Everyone thinks I’m a boy. That’s what’s wrong. I just need to show them. I didn’t know then what it meant to be a boy. I don’t think I really knew what it meant to be a girl either. I just knew I was a girl that everyone thought was a boy. I would have a long way to go.

That was the day I learned I wasn’t a girl. That is why, “When did you learn you were a girl?” is the wrong question. The question should be, “When did you learn you were not a girl?”

Name

Email

Website

Title

Comment

smaller | bigger

I have read and agree to the Terms of Usage.

Add Comment