Then, one day about a week before Christmas, with the rain coming down and the sky dark with winter clouds, the doorbell rang.  I heard Mother go to the door, so I just remained in my bedroom.  A few minutes later, Mother rapped on my door and, as she came in, said someone would very much like to see me.  I glanced up to see Father standing beside her.   

I froze in my seat!  On the one hand, I was excited to see him after so long, but at the same time my brain was momentarily frightened about Dad seeing me.  I do recall it being rather a strange sensation at the time.  I just looked at him…and then I saw a warm smile on his face and quickly stood up and ran over to hug him.   

“You’ve changed a lot since I last saw you, I’d say…my goodness Cathy…you’ve become a very pretty young lady!”   

At least, that’s a summary of what I heard.  I also remember apologizing to Mother about running, but I had gotten so excited and…she laughed and told Father how she was trying to get me to remember ‘nice young ladies don’t run!’  He laughed along with her, and I just…cried.  Father asked if something was wrong, but Mother simply said I was experiencing ‘growing pains.’ 

“Oh…I see!” he said, as if he understood perfectly.

He took my hand and walked me down the hall toward the entry way where he had left his suitcase and asked if I would be kind enough to give him a tour of the house.  I guess I looked puzzled because he waited a moment, then reminded me he had only seen it briefly on his way through Portland on the way to Japan.  I giggled, and asked if he wouldn’t rather take the tour with his bride (yes…wise at the ripe old age of nine) and he smiled…  “She can show me things later, I think…right now I just want to get acquainted with my new daughter.”  So together, we walked all around the house with me trying to talk my silly head off.  It was…well, it was wonderful to see him again, and for the first time, I didn’t feel one bit self conscious!  I have no idea why, but I remember that very clearly.  Had I finally come to terms with the idea I was a girl…finally?  

Late that afternoon, Mother and I started preparing supper…something we had been doing as routine.  Father sat in the kitchen chatting, and watching Mother and me.  He talked about Japan, his work, how things were going, and different things he had seen and done.  I soaked it all in, and for a brief moment wished I could have been there with him.  But…I was happy I stayed.  

*    *    *    *

Christmas that year was one I’ll always remember because of the unexpected (at least to me) visit of Daddy.  But, as good things sometimes do, he had to leave again.  He and I talked a great deal during that visit…about all kinds of things, but paramount was his concerns about how I felt in my new role as ‘daughter’ instead of ‘son.'  Did I have any regrets about anything?  What did I think about the future?  It was the last one that needed the most conversation though.  What did I think about the future! 

I had always been interested in science and how things work.  I always imagined myself becoming an engineer, I guess, and even though I was immersed in learning things so diverse from that, I still imagined I would eventually work toward that.  

“Well…I don’t see why not,” he would say.  “But…you have to remember, women aren’t typically in that kind of career.  That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t, but it will be difficult, I imagine.  But…” and he chuckled a bit, “you certainly have some experience in accomplishing something difficult, now don’t you?” 

He smiled at me, and then continued talking; “Cathy, I firmly believe women shouldn‘t be barred from something they want to do just because they are women.”   

Mother joined into the conversation  and she looked like she was proud of Father at that moment. 

“You know…I bought a perfectly fine sewing machine for your daughter and before I knew it, she had taken it apart to see how it all worked!”  She laughed a little and continued, “And before I even had a chance to scold her, she had it all back together again and working better than it did new!” 

Father smiled, nodded his head and reached for his pipe. 

“Well, young lady, just remember…keep your grades up and study hard.  It’s not easy to get your degree in engineering…but it’s the best career on the planet, I think!”  and he laughed.

 *    *    *    *

A few days later, Daddy left again, back to Japan and work.  Mother had taken this picture of me earlier and gave it to Daddy to take with him.  I hated that he had to leave again, but it wouldn’t be too much longer and he would be home for good. Over the remainder of the holiday season, I didn’t do very much studying.  Mother and I spent more time on…’girl classes,’ as she called them.  Each morning began the same way: Shower, do my hair, get dressed, fix coffee for Mother, and take vitamins and a pill my doctor had prescribed for me.   And, after Mother made it to the kitchen and had her first cup of coffee, we fixed breakfast and began ‘girl classes’ again.  Two days before Mrs. Marsh was to resume my school studies, I had an appointment with my doctor.  He just wanted to do another routine checkup and see how I was coping with the medications he was giving me.  Happy with the results, he called my mother in and began to discuss the future.  “Your mother already told me about changes in your breast tissue…and I see other, more subtle things, I think.   We can pretty much keep things just as they are the way it looks.  You seem to be adjusting very well, but I have to inform you both that at some point, there will be no turning back the clock.  At that time your male hormone production will just…well, sort of give up.  Not completely, mind you, but enough that you would never be comfortable as a man.”

Mother looked momentarily startled.  “I…I guess I never thought about that before.  I…”  And she turned to me.  “Cathy dear, I think we have to have some long serious talks about this, don’t you?”  I just looked at her, confused for a moment.  I cleared my throat and told her I didn’t worry about ever turning back.  “It was because I wasn’t comfortable being a boy that got me here in the first place…how could I ever be comfortable as a MAN?” 

The doctor suggested we maintain the current dosages, and let things settle a bit.  “Nothing to lose being cautious, I suspect.  After all young lady…you haven’t quite reached the age where you can be sure what it is you want.  Although I have to admit, you’re maturity un-nerves me a bit, at times.”   

So yes….Mother did the right thing, for you that may wonder what kind of woman would allow her child to be ‘experimented’ on like that.  And yes, my mind had been made up.  After experiencing only a little over five months living as a girl, I never once thought of wanting to go back.  I knew I might experience problems down the road, and I knew I would never be a REAL girl, and I knew I was still a boy, but I also knew I didn’t want to go back in hiding ever again.   I liked the female world!  I loved dressing up, being weaker than I should be at that age, everything! 

And so we went on.  In retrospect of course, the medication regimen was all way out of whack.  But at the time, of course, there wasn’t a lot of data to rely on.  I was technically known as a ‘transvestite’ during this era; the term 'transgendered' wouldn’t enter into wide use for quite some time.  The only sex change information available was Christine Jorgenson, a male tennis champion who, despite all odds, successfully underwent ground breaking surgery to change from male to female.  That would have been a good sign for me, but the fact was, I didn’t necessarily want to have that kind of surgery done to me.  I don’t know to this day why, but I was content…no, happy, to be living as I was.  Maybe no commitment?  Maybe fear?  Maybe I really was just crazy! 

The simple fact was, however, that the medications were causing changes that I now realize were non-reversible.  My breasts developed and by my 12^th Birthday, I was about as female up top as any girl my age.  My whole body had changed, in fact, although it wasn’t as obvious as having two protruding breasts sticking out for the world to see.  My hips were wider, my skin softer than other boys my age, my voice was unmistakably feminine, and body hair was almost non-existent.  So subtle, and yet so distinct from what my body would have matured to.  And…I was happy with it all.