Nobody has supported my transition as warmly and openly as my mother.
Not that we always got on so well. 30 years ago, my mother was busy keeping upset with the Joneses. We struggled a lot - she was driven to see me playing sports and learning karate (i.e., being a 'normal boy'). I was sullen, full of the anti-establishment axioms of the day. I had few friends - which prompted her to sent me, briefly, to a shrink; luckily for me, she was not aware of my afternoons, alone at home, in which I wore her clothes and makeup.
However forcefully she attempted to impose it on me, I could tell she hated her lifestyle. I always thought: 'One of these days, she's gonna tell the old man to stuff it and go off on her own to see the world.' And, around 2000, she did. At 65, she hiked the Appalachian Trail - then made her break. Goodbye job, goodbye husband, goodbye house. She now winters in Mexico, lives out of a tent - a total hippie.
Her own path of self-actualization has been a major source of inspiration.
She just returned from a three-week Mexican beach trip, and was camping out somewhere in the Arizona desert watching the sunset. I told her the news about getting my own apartment - she was delighted. She was amused to hear of my latest passing adventures. And she said, 'I've got this terrific skirt to send you; since it fits me, I'm sure it'll fit you.'
Well, that's pretty damn full-circle, isn't it?
