“You should have been a girl!” is a statement my mother made to me a number of times while I was growing up. Usually she made it after complementing my shapely girlish legs. Or on other occasions, when she mentioned that I “walked like a girl” (on my tiptoes).To compound my gender confusion, whenever she took my sister and I out on her shopping trips, she insisted that I use the ladies’ room when nature called. I don’t recall if I stood or sat to pee, but I used the ladies’ room until I was 10 or 11 years old.Then there was my introduction to makeup.
I was probably between the ages of 7 and 10 and for a day or two, I got the notion that I wanted to be a circus clown when I grew up. I remember I was home with my mother and I covered my face with my mother’s cold cream to simulate a clown’s white face. Then I added lipstick. What a mess!
I showed my handiwork to my mother and she volunteered to do a better job. She removed the handiwork and started anew applying various cosmetics to my face.
When she was done, I looked in the mirror and was shocked. Instead of looking like a clown, I looked like a girl!
In retrospect, I am not sure if she realized what I was trying to do. I do not recall if I was clear about trying to be a circus clown. She may have thought I was trying to be a girl and acted accordingly.
I suspect that later, when I began exploring femininity, she would have been very willing to assist me, but I never asked for her help or revealed my desires even when she prompted me with, “Is there anything you want to tell me?”’
In retrospect, I realize she knew (mothers always know) after finding my hidden stash of girly things and learning about my Halloween excursions en femme, but I was too closeted to tell her the truth that I really was her daughter, not her son.
Anyway, Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.
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| Wearing Ramy Brook |
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| Katherine Cummings femulating at Casa Susanna in the 1960’s |