Kieron Andrew
11-20-2007, 07:12 PM
http://www.sun-herald.com/floridanews.cfm?id=1302
Born a man, he became a woman, then a man again — what's next?
(Last updated: November 19, 2007 2:49 PM)
DELRAY BEACH, Fla. (AP) — High on prescription painkillers and four
days without sleep, Michael Berke raced his Harley to the megachurch
where he'd found a home.
He barged into the church office, cursing loudly and wearing a mesh
shirt printed with profanity. In his hands he held a picture of a
woman with long, red hair and pouty lips.
"This is who I used to be," he said.
"And this" — he gestured to his breastless chest, bald head and red
goatee — "is who I've become."
He was born a man. After a lifetime as a social misfit, he had
transformed himself into Michelle, a saucy redhead. Then, three months
ago, he had become Michael again — with the financial aid and
spiritual encouragement of Calvary Chapel of Fort Lauderdale.
Now, he wanted to be Michelle again, and he blamed Calvary for making
him the man he had become.
[PHOTO: http://www.sun-herald.com/latestnews/michael.jpg ]
———
It has never been about sex. And the new clothes and 45 pairs of shoes
were fun, but not fulfilling.
Berke wanted friendship — the kind women have.
He dreamed of shopping together and gossiping in the bathroom. "I
always admired how girls can hold hands, girls can hug, cuddle, and
there's nothing abnormal about it. It's not sexual," he says. "The
whole girl lifestyle is just so much more social and caring and loving
and understanding."
His life had not been a happy one. Kids at school teased him because
he was different so he rebelled and often got in trouble.
Michael left home and a strained relationship with his parents at 19,
living on the streets and flitting from job to job. He worked as a
techie for Paula Abdul and Janet Jackson, followed by odd jobs at a
veterinarian's office, tanning salon and as a nail technician. He
drank, used drugs.
Berke has never felt comfortable around men — he's repelled by the
angry, macho, emotionless male stereotype. He isn't attracted sexually
to men, either, and says he has never had sex with one.
In 2003, at age 39, he became Michelle.
He spent about $80,000, maxing out his credit cards on surgery and
provocative women's clothes. He got a nose job, brow lift and fat
injections in his cheeks. His primary-care physician gave him
hormones, and after a year he got breast implants.
Michael kept his penis; that surgery cost too much, and he still
identified himself as a heterosexual. (He's had relationships with
women and says he's still hoping to meet one with whom he could spend
his life.)
The transformation was easy, a dream. He had few friends as Michael
and no steady job, so there was no awkward explanation to co-workers.
Michelle loved pretty things. She made friends easily and was a great
dancer; Michael would have never stepped on the dance floor.
Michelle talked to her mom and sister for the first time in years. She
even flew to Cincinnati one Thanksgiving and met her niece and nephew
for the first time. She went to Narcotics Anonymous meetings for women
and "completely emotionally understood and identified with their
feelings."
But even as Michelle, the same old problems crept in.
"I was still the same person inside. Michelle was just the exterior,"
Michael says.
She was depressed and suicidal and prone to cutting herself. She threw
up her food trying to fit into her jeans, eventually dropping from a
size 12 to a 7. She struggled with drugs and alcohol, just like
Michael.
By 2005, Michelle had tried everything else, "so why not God?" A
friend invited her to church.
[PHOTO: http://www.sun-herald.com/latestnews/michelle.jpg ]
———
An evangelical church with about 20,000 members — one of the largest
in the state — Calvary Chapel has a local reputation for embracing the
homosexual community. Its several homosexual and transgender
participants are not allowed to serve in church leadership, but are
welcome to attend services where a Bible-based message teaches sex is
supposed to be reserved for marriage between a man and woman.
Many evangelical churches have evolved from fire and brimstone
preaching against homosexuals and transgenders and now view those
members as having a psychological illness much like depression —
something that must be dealt with spiritually, says Dr. Melissa
Wilcox, assistant professor of religion and director of gender studies
at Whitman College in Walla Walla, Wash.
"The churches that only see it as sin would not be welcoming to
someone like Michael at all," said Wilcox, author of "Coming Out in
Christianity: Religion, Identity, and Community."
"It's a way of living out their beliefs of you love the sinner and you
hate the sin. Since the early '90s that's increasingly been the
direction that a lot of evangelicals have moved in ... because it
offers hope."
Michelle loved the upbeat music and the feel-good sermons.
Everybody seemed so nice. They put her in a special women's Bible
study group, so Michelle would feel more comfortable. Her new friends
showed her videos about a gay male transsexual who accepted Jesus as
his savior, got married, had kids and lived happily.
You can have that too, they said.
They said "you'll be able to meet a wonderful woman and get married
and that's what pulled at my heartstrings because I really wanted
that," Michael recalls. "I thought I was doing the right thing."
By the time Michelle first met Calvary Chapel Pastor Bob Coy, she was
self-conscious about the D-sized breasts she'd had for over a year and
had started wearing baggy men's shirts to hide them.
During the altar call one Sunday, Berke found God. And several weeks
later, Michelle told church leaders she wanted to become a man again.
"This is a man with tears in his eyes who asked for help," says Coy, a
bearded, charismatic leader whose own story is one of redemption from
drinking, drug-taking and the excesses of life in the music industry.
Church leaders spent weeks counseling Michelle. They brought her to
their thrift store, allowed her to pick out a new wardrobe of men's
clothes for free, says Craig Huston, a church employee. And they
arranged for a plastic surgeon, a member of the church, to remove her
breast implants at no charge.
When do you want to have the surgery, the doctor asked.
"Tomorrow," Michelle joked.
The doctor penciled her in for 10 a.m. And just like that, Michelle
was gone, Michael says sadly.
The regrets came quickly.
Michael turned to the Bible and other theological books, but found
more questions. He questioned the validity of the resurrection, and
the belief that there was only one true religion.
Three months later he stopped going to church and started partying
again, swallowing handfuls of pills and chasing them with vodka.
That's when he rode his Harley back to the church and confronted the
leadership. Michael, now 43, says he was cajoled into the decision to
become a man again; he was the church's "pet project."
Coy says the church had no agenda with Michael. He asked. It helped.
"I'm aware of the legal ramifications and the spiritual ramifications
if someone was forced to do anything," Coy says.
"Anything that we have helped Michael with, he's asked for. The hours
of time that different leaders have spent pouring into his life ..."
Like the time Michael bought a motorcycle and lit it on fire. The
church sent the bike ministry over to help. One of the guys even lent
Michael his bike, says Huston.
"He goes in these waves where he goes from one emotional extreme to
the other," Huston says.
He says Michael was the one who asked for the surgery and pressed to
have it done quickly.
"We encouraged him, but he initiated it," Huston says.
———
Looking at Michael today, it's hard to tell Michelle ever existed or
that he still longs for her.
His head is shaved. There is a faint, rainbow-shaped scar on his
forehead where he had the brow lift.
His red goatee is long and gnarly. He favors jeans, muscle tees and
black combat boots. His mannerisms aren't feminine, his voice is low,
his gaze direct.
He attends a couple of Narcotics Anonymous meetings a day, just to get by.
Sitting in the Delray Beach home his estranged father bought him,
Michael listens to opera and chain-smokes Camel Reds. He talks about
Michelle's favorite strappy heels and pink lingerie like they are old
friends. She loved to shop and nearly bankrupted Michael, he says. Her
clothes went to her best friend, Rachel; it's too painful to keep her
finery around now.
The only reminders are in Michael's bathroom — a hot pink rug,
butterfly towels, a vase of flowers and a white vanity mirror where
Michelle did her makeup.
Realistically, he knows he can't become Michelle again.
"If I do it again people are going to think I'm even more unstable,"
he says. His mom and sister stopped talking to him, he says, when he
switched back to Michael.
He talks about going back to college to study psychology or maybe
writing books about his life. He doesn't work, relying on money from
his father and disability checks from knee injury.
He vacillates moment to moment, between depression and hope.
"I still struggle just living on a daily basis," he says.
Then, minutes later: "Maybe I just need to meet the right woman and
have a relationship. Really I'm without any sense of direction right
now."
Sunline (c) 2007 All rights reserved
Born a man, he became a woman, then a man again — what's next?
(Last updated: November 19, 2007 2:49 PM)
DELRAY BEACH, Fla. (AP) — High on prescription painkillers and four
days without sleep, Michael Berke raced his Harley to the megachurch
where he'd found a home.
He barged into the church office, cursing loudly and wearing a mesh
shirt printed with profanity. In his hands he held a picture of a
woman with long, red hair and pouty lips.
"This is who I used to be," he said.
"And this" — he gestured to his breastless chest, bald head and red
goatee — "is who I've become."
He was born a man. After a lifetime as a social misfit, he had
transformed himself into Michelle, a saucy redhead. Then, three months
ago, he had become Michael again — with the financial aid and
spiritual encouragement of Calvary Chapel of Fort Lauderdale.
Now, he wanted to be Michelle again, and he blamed Calvary for making
him the man he had become.
[PHOTO: http://www.sun-herald.com/latestnews/michael.jpg ]
———
It has never been about sex. And the new clothes and 45 pairs of shoes
were fun, but not fulfilling.
Berke wanted friendship — the kind women have.
He dreamed of shopping together and gossiping in the bathroom. "I
always admired how girls can hold hands, girls can hug, cuddle, and
there's nothing abnormal about it. It's not sexual," he says. "The
whole girl lifestyle is just so much more social and caring and loving
and understanding."
His life had not been a happy one. Kids at school teased him because
he was different so he rebelled and often got in trouble.
Michael left home and a strained relationship with his parents at 19,
living on the streets and flitting from job to job. He worked as a
techie for Paula Abdul and Janet Jackson, followed by odd jobs at a
veterinarian's office, tanning salon and as a nail technician. He
drank, used drugs.
Berke has never felt comfortable around men — he's repelled by the
angry, macho, emotionless male stereotype. He isn't attracted sexually
to men, either, and says he has never had sex with one.
In 2003, at age 39, he became Michelle.
He spent about $80,000, maxing out his credit cards on surgery and
provocative women's clothes. He got a nose job, brow lift and fat
injections in his cheeks. His primary-care physician gave him
hormones, and after a year he got breast implants.
Michael kept his penis; that surgery cost too much, and he still
identified himself as a heterosexual. (He's had relationships with
women and says he's still hoping to meet one with whom he could spend
his life.)
The transformation was easy, a dream. He had few friends as Michael
and no steady job, so there was no awkward explanation to co-workers.
Michelle loved pretty things. She made friends easily and was a great
dancer; Michael would have never stepped on the dance floor.
Michelle talked to her mom and sister for the first time in years. She
even flew to Cincinnati one Thanksgiving and met her niece and nephew
for the first time. She went to Narcotics Anonymous meetings for women
and "completely emotionally understood and identified with their
feelings."
But even as Michelle, the same old problems crept in.
"I was still the same person inside. Michelle was just the exterior,"
Michael says.
She was depressed and suicidal and prone to cutting herself. She threw
up her food trying to fit into her jeans, eventually dropping from a
size 12 to a 7. She struggled with drugs and alcohol, just like
Michael.
By 2005, Michelle had tried everything else, "so why not God?" A
friend invited her to church.
[PHOTO: http://www.sun-herald.com/latestnews/michelle.jpg ]
———
An evangelical church with about 20,000 members — one of the largest
in the state — Calvary Chapel has a local reputation for embracing the
homosexual community. Its several homosexual and transgender
participants are not allowed to serve in church leadership, but are
welcome to attend services where a Bible-based message teaches sex is
supposed to be reserved for marriage between a man and woman.
Many evangelical churches have evolved from fire and brimstone
preaching against homosexuals and transgenders and now view those
members as having a psychological illness much like depression —
something that must be dealt with spiritually, says Dr. Melissa
Wilcox, assistant professor of religion and director of gender studies
at Whitman College in Walla Walla, Wash.
"The churches that only see it as sin would not be welcoming to
someone like Michael at all," said Wilcox, author of "Coming Out in
Christianity: Religion, Identity, and Community."
"It's a way of living out their beliefs of you love the sinner and you
hate the sin. Since the early '90s that's increasingly been the
direction that a lot of evangelicals have moved in ... because it
offers hope."
Michelle loved the upbeat music and the feel-good sermons.
Everybody seemed so nice. They put her in a special women's Bible
study group, so Michelle would feel more comfortable. Her new friends
showed her videos about a gay male transsexual who accepted Jesus as
his savior, got married, had kids and lived happily.
You can have that too, they said.
They said "you'll be able to meet a wonderful woman and get married
and that's what pulled at my heartstrings because I really wanted
that," Michael recalls. "I thought I was doing the right thing."
By the time Michelle first met Calvary Chapel Pastor Bob Coy, she was
self-conscious about the D-sized breasts she'd had for over a year and
had started wearing baggy men's shirts to hide them.
During the altar call one Sunday, Berke found God. And several weeks
later, Michelle told church leaders she wanted to become a man again.
"This is a man with tears in his eyes who asked for help," says Coy, a
bearded, charismatic leader whose own story is one of redemption from
drinking, drug-taking and the excesses of life in the music industry.
Church leaders spent weeks counseling Michelle. They brought her to
their thrift store, allowed her to pick out a new wardrobe of men's
clothes for free, says Craig Huston, a church employee. And they
arranged for a plastic surgeon, a member of the church, to remove her
breast implants at no charge.
When do you want to have the surgery, the doctor asked.
"Tomorrow," Michelle joked.
The doctor penciled her in for 10 a.m. And just like that, Michelle
was gone, Michael says sadly.
The regrets came quickly.
Michael turned to the Bible and other theological books, but found
more questions. He questioned the validity of the resurrection, and
the belief that there was only one true religion.
Three months later he stopped going to church and started partying
again, swallowing handfuls of pills and chasing them with vodka.
That's when he rode his Harley back to the church and confronted the
leadership. Michael, now 43, says he was cajoled into the decision to
become a man again; he was the church's "pet project."
Coy says the church had no agenda with Michael. He asked. It helped.
"I'm aware of the legal ramifications and the spiritual ramifications
if someone was forced to do anything," Coy says.
"Anything that we have helped Michael with, he's asked for. The hours
of time that different leaders have spent pouring into his life ..."
Like the time Michael bought a motorcycle and lit it on fire. The
church sent the bike ministry over to help. One of the guys even lent
Michael his bike, says Huston.
"He goes in these waves where he goes from one emotional extreme to
the other," Huston says.
He says Michael was the one who asked for the surgery and pressed to
have it done quickly.
"We encouraged him, but he initiated it," Huston says.
———
Looking at Michael today, it's hard to tell Michelle ever existed or
that he still longs for her.
His head is shaved. There is a faint, rainbow-shaped scar on his
forehead where he had the brow lift.
His red goatee is long and gnarly. He favors jeans, muscle tees and
black combat boots. His mannerisms aren't feminine, his voice is low,
his gaze direct.
He attends a couple of Narcotics Anonymous meetings a day, just to get by.
Sitting in the Delray Beach home his estranged father bought him,
Michael listens to opera and chain-smokes Camel Reds. He talks about
Michelle's favorite strappy heels and pink lingerie like they are old
friends. She loved to shop and nearly bankrupted Michael, he says. Her
clothes went to her best friend, Rachel; it's too painful to keep her
finery around now.
The only reminders are in Michael's bathroom — a hot pink rug,
butterfly towels, a vase of flowers and a white vanity mirror where
Michelle did her makeup.
Realistically, he knows he can't become Michelle again.
"If I do it again people are going to think I'm even more unstable,"
he says. His mom and sister stopped talking to him, he says, when he
switched back to Michael.
He talks about going back to college to study psychology or maybe
writing books about his life. He doesn't work, relying on money from
his father and disability checks from knee injury.
He vacillates moment to moment, between depression and hope.
"I still struggle just living on a daily basis," he says.
Then, minutes later: "Maybe I just need to meet the right woman and
have a relationship. Really I'm without any sense of direction right
now."
Sunline (c) 2007 All rights reserved