Having two older sisters growing up, I dressed up whenever the opportunity to have the house to myself presented itself. Over time, I got bored and wanted to raise the bar, so I adopted the practice of walking back and forth in front of our home. I suppose I was looking for validation that “she” existed, with the intent of being seen by passing motorists and hope they assumed I was a girl. It was both exciting and liberating, feeling the warm sunshine on my face, breeze through my hair and the click of heels off the front walk. Our neighborhood was underdeveloped at the time, with a cornfield across the street, and I pretty much recognized all the cars along our street. What possibly could’ve gone wrong?

Nothing, until my junior year of high school, on a fall afternoon after school. While retrieving something from my car, I looked up only to see our neighbors station wagon slowly pull up their driveway. If I live to be a thousand, I’ll never forget the astonished, jaw -dropping expressions on the faces of the lady and her young son. I did an abrupt 180 degree turn, and took the longest walk of my life towards our garage to get out of view. I was absolutely mortified, and can remember thinking ‘never again” and wanting to dig a hole in the ground, crawl in, curl up in a ball, and die.

I spent the next few days on pins and needles, jumping out of my skin anytime the phone rang, wondering if the woman next door was calling. If my mom had been informed, then she never let on she knew. Nothing really changed with the neighbors, as during the subsequent Christmas vacation I worked the warehouse of their business, just as I had the previous summer. However, someone said something. The following summer I was at the neighborhood pool when I spotted the girl who lived behind us talking to a friend. It was fairly obvious they were talking about me, but the only thing I heard said was “ ..dressed up like a girl”. Oh well…