Tag: Peg

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Epiphany by Peg

     Life is an epiphany.

     Beginning with a transition from total dependence for all of
our needs, secure and warm, protected and nourished, oblivious of everything
beyond the walls of our mother’s womb.  Forces beyond our control begin to squeeze and push, in a while we enter
a completely different dimension. 
Suddenly we are now separate, an individual and well designed for this
new experience.

     When we die, what new dimension will we enter?  What epiphany will that turn out to be?  That answer lies far beyond our
understanding.  Some have certainty,
others don’t, in my mind I’ll just wait and see.
     I see life as Lewis Carroll wrote, “As through a looking
glass.” Picture a window in a wall; from inside, the view is very different
from the view observed from outside the glass. 
We can interpret the same scene in quite different ways.  Looking in we might see a place of comfort,
safety, and security in everything being known and predictable.  To another’s perspective that scene might look
confining, stifling and boring.
     The glass has no opinion of it’s own, it doesn’t care.
     From the other side of the glass looking out, one might see
danger, uncertainty and insecurity.  To
another it calls for exploration and discovery, and perhaps a strong need to
experience complete uncertainty.  What
each perceives is his or her own personal choice, we alone decide.  It’s our choice; we may experience peace
achieved through reasoned negotiation, or war driven by greed and the desire
for supremacy.  Life is a series of
choices.  All are decided by our own or
collective needs and wants.
 
     The glass has no preference it is just there.
 
     The glass is in it’s own dimension, existing both inside and
outside at the same time.  If it had eyes
it could see both ways at once, if it had a mind it could know every thought
produced by each observation.
     The glass doesn’t care what we see or do with the view.  In truth, the glass doesn’t see anything, it
doesn’t feel anything or think, it is just there.  It has no preference if the scene is peaceful
or a battlefield, is the weather calm or stormy, is it day or night.
     The glass doesn’t care.
     My epiphany?  Long ago
I was taught that the glass was there and did care. I believed that the window
provided the scenes for us, put there to test us and decide our fates.
     I have since then made my own choice by believing that the
window that guides us is a myth.  I am
not directed by dogma and I decide myself how to interpret the scenes.  I understood that I can decide my own destiny,
that others beliefs and opinions are theirs and my life is mine alone.  If someone has some difficulty with that,
they have the problem not me.
     There is no glass there to care. 

     Someone
long ago decided otherwise, he believed the glass was there, did care and since
he had that belief, he also believed it needed a name; and he called it …  God.

About the Author

I was born and raised in Denver Colorado and I have a divided history, I went to school, learned a trade, served in the military, married and fathered two sons. And I am Trans; I transitioned in 1986 after being fired for “not fitting in to their program”. 18 years ago I fulfilled my lifelong need to shed the package and become female. I continued working in my trade until retiring in 2006. I have been active in PFLAG Denver and served five years on the board of directors, two years as President of our chapter. Living now as a woman has let me be who I always knew I was and I am genuinely happy.

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Details by Peg

Without details you wouldn’t have stories. Without details, life would be missing all its color and purpose. Relationships are all about details, how could you like someone if it weren’t for the person’s characteristics; their appearance, your common interests, or purpose, personality and chemistry.

Details bond families. With conflicting details; blood relationships fail and friendships dissolve. Wars are fought over details; contracts are all about details, without them laws would be impossible.

This short essay is about relationships that cannot flower because necessary details are missing.

I have grandchildren, two are my son’s, and two are of a previous marriage. I have not seen any of them for over eight years, and the reason for that long absence is the desire of their parents. A certain detail, my being Transgender is the core of their decision. Fear of what might happen IF, the father of the older two children were to find out that me, the grandfather of my son’s children is Transgender, and with that information, he MIGHT cause trouble for the family.

Another detail is how to explain me (now a woman) to the children and what they might do with that information. The existence of me (the missing grandfather) has been questioned but never honestly answered.

I know the children only by what their grandmother tells me, and the pictures she brings home with her. I don’t hear their voices, see them at play, or listen to their interests. I can’t watch them grow from the toddler and two year old they were the last time I saw them, develop into the people they are now or will become. Without all of those details, a relationship with them is impossible.

Still, I feel them, they are a part of my being, yet they might as well be someone else’s children and if I were to see them on the street; I might not recognize them without an introduction. I love them though they don’t know anything about me; a great void exists because…we don’t know any or all the necessary details.

About the Author


I was born and raised in Denver Colorado and I have a divided history, I went to school, learned a trade, served in the military, married and fathered two sons. And I am Trans; I transitioned in 1986 after being fired for “not fitting in to their program.” 18 years ago I fulfilled my lifelong need to shed the package and become female. I continued working in my trade until retiring in 2006. I have been active in PFLAG Denver and served five years on the board of directors, two years as President of our chapter. Living now as a woman has let me be who I always knew I was and I am genuinely happy.

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Writing Your Story by Peg

          A few years ago I decided to write my memoir, a project that soon occupied most of my conscious thinking. I would write for hours, often till two or three o’clock the next morning. A friend who was writing a fictional account of her family invited me to join a writing group she liked and for a year or so I attended their twice-monthly meetings. What I learned from those meetings was that my writing was not very good; my writing had no depth and didn’t hold the readers attention. A memoir, I was told is probably the hardest form of writing because it can speak from only one voice, a singular perspective and in a case like mine, a very narrow view of the world.

          I was asked to include the words of observers, the thoughts that friends had of our interactions to include the world we lived in from their perspective as well. But how could I, when this story was of a secret that only I knew and was too confused about to share with anyone, even my very best friend. I had no other perspective from which to write.

          As I continued writing a catharsis settled in, I wrote about things I had long ago put behind me, but as I saw those words appear on the screen, I began to better understand decisions that resulted in missed opportunities, and prevented essential understanding of the world and my place in it. I wrote about someone who was more an observer than participant, a boy who had to watch and learn how to act; I learned to fake my way to get along, without exposing my confusion about much of what was happening around me.

          I read about a small, safe, and risk free life. The world I devised was kept small because I had more control, I could better protect my environment and if I felt that my ignorance regarding what other boys were doing, saying or things they already knew that I didn’t know about would be exposed; I could find some excuse to leave.

          Writing my story opened up many doors, giving me a second look at a life that once seemed to have no place for me, and no one else to connect with in a healthy way. I saw a lonely over protected ignorant boy, the older I got, the more naïve I was socially, the farther I fell behind the other boys the more I secluded myself.

          Leaving High School was a great relief for me, I was able to start over, meet new people, men who were my dad’s age and my new role as their only apprentice gave me a secure position free of competition and an opportunity to express new skills and develop a realistic sense of self that I didn’t have while in school.

          While learning a trade, or wearing the uniform of an airman, and surviving in the macho military environment, forced me grow in spite of a continuing ignorance of what I was supposed to be, and how I was to act. Somehow I found strength, a toughness that I had not known before, I learned that I did have a self after all, that I did have individuality. I created a person who could fit in, some of that new me was genuine; some was a copy of others who I admired.

          I married and together we raised our family, two boys who are and always will be the grandest accomplishment of my life. Seeing both of our sons grown and finding their own passages in life. One raises his own family, while the other explores new knowledge with his research in far away London, each in his own way has given us great satisfaction.

          I wrote a memoir that was much criticized and after many changes, rewrites and re-arranging I wound up with a jumbled up mess. I still have what is left in a large folder, standing in a corner of my closet. When the time is right, I may try to put it together again. Who knows; perhaps someday someone will dust it off and read it.

          That written story has already succeeded in putting me at peace with myself. It helped me understand an uncommon life but hopefully it has been useful in educating some who never understood that Gender is not a nice neat binary package. There are many genders, a hundred different ways to express who we are, and different ways to couple and love one another.

          I long ago departed from religion, but I did learn much from my exposure to it. Something I learned is how many people miss the meaning in a popular prayer. It is not just about receiving gifts from God, but a charge…. To first give love before expecting that gift to be given you. “Thy WILL” (my wish for you) will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. These are directions, not suggestions.

          My own warning to the believers; what your build here, you will be building for your future experience… Willful ignorance? Discrimination? Bigotry? Build it here; know it there.

          All of us; Gay, Lesbian, Trans, Bi or Questioning have a story; I wish we could all shine a bright light into the corners of fear and ignorance that still drives the beliefs of narrow minds. I hope that each story we tell will open at least one heart, one mind that had otherwise been closed to a much wider world.

          Writing my story….I’m glad I did it.

About the Author

I was born and raised in Denver Colorado and I have a divided history, I went to school, learned a trade, served in the military, married and fathered two sons. And I am Trans; I transitioned in 1986 after being fired for “not fitting in to their program.” 18 years ago I fulfilled my lifelong need to shed the package and become female. I continued working in my trade until retiring in 2006. I have been active in PFLAG Denver and served five years on the board of directors, two years as President of our chapter. Living now as a woman has let me be who I always knew I was and I am genuinely happy.

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History by Peg

          History is either
real or imagined, in the telling it is not always simple to know the
difference.  The truth has always been
colored by the biased memory of events as told by witnesses or others who were
relying on rumors.  After conflict,
the victor relates tales of patriotism, valor and heroism.  The stories told by the vanquished tell of
the cruelty and brutality, the unwarranted destruction they suffered and the
bravery of their own in the face of a lost cause.  I used to listen and believe the stories of
valor and service above and beyond the normal call of duty.  I used to watch the  Movietone news at the theatre along with the
stirring martial music, and the breathless commentary while images of war
flickered on the screen.  It never
crossed my mind that others in movie theatres in Europe or Japan were watching
a different take of the same battle.
          My grandfather
Collins told me many grand stories of his service in Her Majesty’s Navy.  He told me of his exploits in the jungles of
India, as a member of a navy squadron serving with the Indian Gurkha Rifles
chasing and capturing rebels who wanted the end of English rule. I heard
stories of sailing on the icy seas of the north Atlantic and going up the masts
to break ice away so the ship would not capsize in the rough seas. Recently with our
son we examined my grandfather’s service record that described the ships he
served on.  None had traveled anywhere
near the Far East, and he was not awarded any of the special service awards he
claimed.
          Gramps was born in Cork Ireland, ran away
from home as a young boy and signed on the navy ship that was in port.  He did leave his home behind, however he took
a good measure of the Blarney with him. I do believe that his hands were injured when closing a hatch and that
he did have to break ice while the ship drove into the frozen gale.  Years later after my dad was born, Gramps
answered the call and enlisted to serve with the Canadian Army Engineers in
Europe during the First World War. 
Though my father didn’t care for his dad, he never told me that Gramps
was regaling in overblown tales of exploits others experienced.  At least I enjoyed his stories, and retold
some of them since, but now I always finish with the caveat, it’s all Blarney.

About the Author

I was born and raised in Denver Colorado
and I have a divided history, I went to school, learned a trade, served in the
military, married and fathered two sons.  And I am Trans; I transitioned
in 1986 after being fired for “not fitting in to their program”. 18 years ago I
fulfilled my lifelong need to shed the package and become female.  I
continued working in my trade until retiring in 2006.  I have been active
in PFLAG Denver and served five years on the board of directors, two years as
President of our chapter.  Living now as a woman has let me be who I
always knew I was and I am genuinely happy.