Chapter 2
A pivotal event came when I was nine. We kids had a camera and one summer day, when the three girls and I were out in the yard, Flora had the idea of taking a photo, using the remote, of us as a column of four faces; for this we crouched on top of each other, leapfrog style, a kind of pyramid. I was at the bottom of the pile and above me was Meg, her chin on top of my head and her abundant long silky hair hanging down each side of my face, brushing my cheeks. When the photo was printed it showed me with a wide-eyed look of delight on my femininely-adorned face. The girls giggled – they understood.
And so the game went on, but for me it became much more than just a game; Josie was who I wanted to be. My hair was almost shoulder-length, something a lot of boys did at that time, and when Meg and I were by ourselves, and playing Josie, we would arrange it girly style. My parents had no idea all this was going on until Halloween when I was twelve years old. I came from upstairs, ready to go out, in a satin blouse, short skirt, and tights, my hair brushed smooth with a centre-part, a nice, everyday girl style. Mom seemed unsure what to think but Dad was clearly upset, although he didn’t stop us going out. At that point I decided it was time for my parents to know about Josie, so the next day I came down to breakfast in a tunic dress of Meg’s, pantyhose, low heels, a hint of eye-shadow and hair carefully done as yesterday. And I told Mom and Dad who I wanted to be.
That the ensuing discussion was emotional is quite an understatement. Mom and Dad had brought us up to believe that we had to be open-minded and tolerant of differences in others, but for them Joe wanting to be Josie was very hard to take. Especially for Dad, who had been very proud of his only son.
His response was that I must be going through a phase which I would get over; he said that he and Mom would not forbid me from “occasionally” cross-dressing “just for fun”, but in fairness to them I was not to appear that way at mealtimes, nor at family gatherings, and never outside of the house. He asked my sisters not to encourage me: Flora and Fiona agreed, Meg stayed quiet.
From then on it became apparent that Dad wanted to do all he could to reinforce my male personality. I was already into hockey and he arranged lessons to hone my skills as a goalie. But his own passion was motorsport and that was where he felt he could really strengthen the father-son relationship — we already watched Formula One and IndyCar races together on TV. He himself was into racing with a race-prepped 1969 BMW 2002 in a “Vintage Touring Car” series — sedans and coupes, aka tin-tops, such as Mini-Cooper’s, Datsun 510’s, Lotus-Cortina’s and VW Golf’s — and he started taking me to the track, paying me over my normal allowance to pit-crew for him. And in case that wasn’t enough to end the Josie phase, he bought me a racing kart and soon I was competing at a local kart track; later I’d go to the Skip Barber racing school and get my full racing licence.
All fine with me – I did get hooked on racing. But it didn’t stop me longing to be Josie. I followed the rules, although for school, music lessons, and trips to the mall with Meg I pushed my luck with as much androgenous clothing that I could get away with. Secretly I spent time becoming Josie – painstaking work on eyebrows and the subtle use of make-up, with help from Meg and, later, Sarah. And a pair of glasses with super-large round lenses. At night I’d wear a nightie. And I watched videos on the internet showing boys courageously coming out as trans; I was especially envious of English you-tuber, Finnster.