My Conversion to Judaism : Beit Din and Mikvah

So came the final day. I'd studies so hard over the past year, and deeply involved in synagogue life. At 71 my memory is not what it used to be, but repetition helps until it sticks. I've learned the Hebrew alphabet and some words, working with my chavruta partner. "The Way" that is the holidays of the year, memorizing various blessings, and most important, making may home a Jewish home in partnership with my wife who is not Jewish. It's been an amazing time, driven by a passion postponed for many years. See my last blog post entitled A Conversion Story that says why it was delayed for so long.

But finally the day arrived. We arrived at the Mikvah location where we met up with the three rabbis from Shir Tikvah. My high school buddy Steve who is a Rabbi flew up to participate as well. To say I was nervous was an understatement. Compounding it, the day itself was one of my "fuzzy" days. Something old people sometimes get when the mind is not firing on all cylinders. My wife sat in as did my witness and chavruta partner Kerry who was there to confirm to the rabbis (assuming I got past the Beit Din) that I indeed completely submerged in the Mikvah. In retrospect, I am not too happy about some of my answers, leaving out what I consider important details. But after questioning me on a range of topics related to Judaism and my own Jewish practice, they excused themselves for a short conference, then returned and welcomed me to the tribe, offering special blessings for the moment, then singing a resounding "Mazel Tov and Siman Tov:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1hlcHA6bP8o

Then it is time to go to the Mikvah. First I enter the dressing room to prepare. My wife is there to assist. I remove carefully all clothing. I am to enter the Mikvah totally naked as the day I was born, for indeed I am in a sense reborn as a Jew. I shower and make sure I am completely clean. No cosmetics, clean finger nails and toenails. Each step involves a meditation. There is a word called kavanah, or intention. There are seven kavanot for preparation:

Mayyim Hayyim’s Seven Kavanot for Mikveh Preparation

The Holy One created the world in six days, but made it complete with Shabbat, the seventh day. The number seven suggests wholeness and represents the creative process. Seven steps lead into the mikveh.

These seven kavanot - preparatory meditations - are offered in the hope that your immersion will provide you a sense of shleimut or wholeness and peace.

1. Hineni. Here I am.

Take a minute and think about the transition mikveh will help you mark today.

Immersion in the mikveh represents a spiritual transformation from one state to another. In traditional language, your change is from ritually unready (tameh) to ritually ready (tahor). Prepare yourself by writing in a journal, or saying a personal prayer, or reading something of meaning to you. Breathe deeply. Sigh audibly.

2. Hiddur Mitzvah. The unadorned body is beautiful in itself.

Remove all jewelry as well as makeup, paying special attention to the eyes. Remove nail polish on fingers and toes. (Acrylics may stay on if they have been on for more than a month.)

There is no need for adornment or artifice in the mikveh. There should be no physical barriers between the body and the living waters.

3. Nekavim nekavim. You fashioned the human being intricate in design.

Empty your bladder.

Our tradition celebrates and blesses the body in every possible moment and mode.

4. B’tzelem Elohim. I am made in the image of God.

Remove all clothing, eyeglasses, contact lenses, dental plates, hearing aids.

Each person enters the mikveh as naked as the day of his birth, as the day of her birth. Without rank or status. Simply a human being. Gloriously a human being.

5. Elohai neshama shenatata bi tehorah hi. The soul in me is pure.

Shower or bathe with thoughtful attention to the miracle of your own body. Pay attention to every part of yourself. Wash yourself, head to toe; shampoo your hair, lather your shoulders, back, arms, belly, and genitals. Scrub elbows, knees and heels, removing calluses and dead skin. Wash between fingers and toes.

Relax and enjoy. The water of the mikveh will feel even sweeter after this.

6. Kol haneshama t’halel yah. The breath of every living thing praises You.

Clean your ears, blow your nose, brush and floss your teeth, rinse your mouth.

Stand before the mirror. Consider all of your senses. Look into your own eyes and smile. Think about the words that come from your mouth.

7. Tikkun Olam. We can stand for justice; we can build a world of peace and justice.

Clean under your nails - toenails, too. (Nails do not need to be cut.)

Consider the power of your hands and feet to create wholeness in your life, in our world.

When you enter the mikveh do not rush. Walk slowly. Count the seven steps into
the water, stopping on each one. Relax into the embrace of the water, into
whatever the next moment may hold for you.

In the mikveh, every body is a sacred vessel.

So I begin entering the Mikveh. With each step, a flood of memories wash over me. Of the completion of a decades held dream. The oft used phrase is joining the tribe. It really was a simcha, an celebration, but also an obligation to be held dearly. I remember each step into the warm waters, all the while awash in feelings of joy, love, and fulfilled desire. Down I went and submerged the first time. I remained under a few seconds, then recited:

Baruch atah Adonay Eloheinu melekh ha-olam, asher kidshanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu al ha-t'vilah.

Blessed are you, Eternal God, ruler of the universe, who sanctifies us through mitzvot and has enjoined us concerning immersion.

Then I submerge a second time for a few moments:

Sh'ma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai echad.

HEAR O ISRAEL, THE ETERNAL OUR GOD, THE ETERNAL IS ONE!

Then I submerge the third time:

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheynu melekh ha-olam, shehekheyanu, v'kiy'manu, v'higianu, la-z'man ha-zeh.

Blessed is the Eternal, the God of all creation, who has blessed me with life, sustained me, and enabled me to reach this moment.

In this moment, I am fully Jewish. Kerry awaits with a towel and somewhat dizzy from the flush of emotion, I return to the dressing room. We visit a few minutes outside, then Steve, Kerry, my wife and I head for Cecil's deli for a celebration. It was an amazing day which I will never forget. I still glance at my certificate of conversion and a wide smile appears. A new journey lies ahead.

A Conversion Story: My Journey to Judaism

For many years I have been a part of a church community at First Universalist. It's a wonderful community, deeply devoted to social justice and radical inclusion, and friendships made there will last a lifetime. Still I chose to convert to Judaism, not because of any dissatisfaction, but rather from a deep seated desire over many decades. When a person converts, there is a period of deep study and participation before a Beit Din (Rabbinical Court) is convened, and if they say yes, the person enters the Mikveh (ritual bath) and is fully Jewish. It's a major life change and one I have entered into seriously. Towards the end of our period of study (though study actually continues for a lifetime), I was asked to write a short piece on why I choose Judaism. Here I am sharing what I wrote:

Why I Choose Judaism

History:

My exposure early in life to Jewish practice was minimal. I did have some aunts and uncles who were deeply involved in the early history of the State of Israel, evangelists who for their reasons supported and funneled substantial resources towards Eretz Israel. I saw slide presentations and heard the stories from their repeated journeys there. I had family who were actually there during the six -day war and later the Yom Kippur war. Several classmates were Jewish as well. As a liberal in Tyler, Texas, while attending the UU congregation, there were so few liberals and we tended to cling together with our progressive Jewish brothers and sisters in mutual support, working for our common vision of the world we dreamed.

However, I think I first really became enamored with serious Jewish teaching in a research project studying the Holocaust. My goal at first was to try and understand why it happened and could it happen again. Seen a gay man wrestling with gender identity as well at the time, I knew people like me had been sent to the death camps. I wanted to know why, and could it happen again.

While researching, I learned of the historical, religious, and cultural histories of the Jewish people along with other oppressed groups, and the more I read, well, Judaism resonated deeply. I wasn’t Christian, so no issue there. I wasn’t an Atheist either. I fell in love with Jewish belief and practice. Studying alone from the late seventies (I know this because a new book came out around that time… The First Jewish Catalogue) and into the eighties, I felt I would like to convert. Friends in my LGBTQ community in Houston who were Jewish however said as a gay man, much less trans, conversion wasn’t really possible. Not there, not then anyway. So, I shrugged and set it aside. Over the ensuing years, I tried various Christian denominations, then returned to Unitarian Universalism, the best compromise as a faith community for someone who’s not Christian and can’t be Jewish.

Until recently. My interest in Judaism never waned and I would perk whenever the subject would come up. But it wasn’t until this past year that I learned of changes that had occurred within Reform Judaism. I read of inclusion for LGBTQ folks, and I realized being Jewish was a possibility. I contacted Rabbi Latz and told him I wished to convert and set up our first meeting.

What attracts me to Judaism:

1. I love how we wrestle with Torah, the evolution of faith making our belief relevant in our own time.

2. Marking the passages of time. Seeing G_d within time even as we occupy space, and using that time to reflect on those moments, whether in the daily services, Shabbat, the holidays and festivals or just because of a particular moment.


3. Prayer life. I’ve come to see Shabbat as the highlight of my week. I do daily prayers and it brings me a special peace within.

4. This is a faith that is not just about belief, but responsible action. The three three pillars t’shuvah, t’fillah, tzedakah, i.e. correcting a wrong, prayer, giving.

5. We are not simply a belief or religion. We’re a culture with a remarkably long history. It’s an amazing history. We are responsible for each other, and for the outside world as well. We have 613 mitzvot, a body of literature ranging from Torah, Prophets, Writings, Mishnah, Gemara, Midrash, Kabbalah, literature right up through today, all the while wrestling with our faith within today’s context. There’s an emphasis on study I find refreshing and invigorating. We have rituals both as individuals and as a community carrying us through our life journey.

6. For me personally, I believe in one G_d,

7. I love to sing the psalms, nigguns, and despite inability to carry a tune, I love song as prayer.

8. As a historian, the history of our people is one that has held my fascination since youth. The survival of our people is remarkable. There was the destruction of the Temple and the birth of Rabbinic Judaism. Or the rebirth of Hebrew outside of the ritual role within synagogues. I’ve followed archaeology in the area since the first issue came out of Biblical Archaeology Society so many years ago up to the recent discovery of a seal from King Hezekiah and what may be a seal from Isaiah from the same period. For me, it seems our culture is firmly based within our historical experience.


9. I love Torah study. I plan to continue studying Hebrew to hopefully reach that point where I can understand better the context of Tanach.

10. The communal nature of our faith. Chavruta, whether in twos or more.


11. Tikkun Olam, our responsibility to the world around us. That’s a faith statement and a call to action I hold dear.

12. My community. Shir Tikvah, yes, for it’s a community whose actions speak for themselves. But beyond that, the wider Jewish community as well. I love how Judaism is there from birth to the grave, with rituals to hold, comfort, and sustain us each step of the way as we hold each other in our journey through this life.

13. Traditions. Some hundreds and even thousands of years old. From the Mikvah to our Oral Torah, to rituals more alike than different.


14. I’ve just begun preparing for study of Zohar, and already I know I’ll have to add this to my list.

From that moment decades back when I felt the call to Judaism, that love never left. So “hineni,” here I am. I understand the history and know the worse and the best of being Jewish. I would choose nothing else. I am fulfilling a dream that has been with me for many decades now. My deepest desire, is that when I’m laid to rest, people will say, she was a good Jew.

Jessica Wicks
Yiskah Rachel Bat Avraham v’ Sarah

I cannot explain why the attraction has remained so strong over the years. But I can vouch that it feels so right, and I am where I belong. I will still go back to visit First Universalist, my former congregation. One does not suddenly drop people who have been community for so very long. But spiritually I belong where I'm at. In the next blog post I'll speak to the experience of Beit Din and the Mikveh, and what it meant to me.

In Memory of My Skip, RIP Beautiful Spirit!

It was on August 10, 1997, twenty years ago today, when my beloved partner and soulmate, Skip Wood, departed this world. How can I describe him? I know from day one, we could not get enough of each other, and we would talk into the wee hours. He had been a teacher, mostly in the Catholic School systems but also for a time with Spring ISD in Houston. He was brilliant, with a classical type education that included German, Latin, Classical Greek, English, Theology, Philosophy, and Music. He was well grounded in Classical Music and had befriended Sir John Barbirolli when he conducted the Houston Symphony. I had not begun transition yet, and when we met, it was electric. We simply could not stop chattering, I said then, like two school girls, telling our stories, and it was in short time after that, he moved in with me.

We shared so much together, and it was Skip who showed me a love I could not have imagined. For the coming years, our lives were so completely entwined. Skip lived with Rheumatoid Arthritis, and even after he could no longer work, he would greet me as the car drove up, and we would plan the evening’s adventures. I had never before known such happiness as I did when we were together. Even when I began transition, he did not run away. I will always remember the moment I sat down and talked with him about it. He paused a bit, said there was much he did not understand, but we could talk about it as we went along. Then he said, he loved me, and if this was what I needed to be happy, then he would support me. “Love is like that,” he smiled.

So many memories. Nights at EJ’s or later dinner at Charlies. We watched classic movies or gay theatrical films, or listen to music. We often entertained friends and our apartment became a bit of an open house for neighbors in our complex. I'm smiling even as I write this, remembering the non-stop drama in our small complex, akin to the fictional Barbary Lane so delightfully offered in Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City series. Or we would slip off for a romantic get away to the Hill Country or to Galveston, sometimes on a moment's notice.

Then in July of '97, he began to get visibly weaker and we didn't know why. His voice lowered to a whisper. The doctor put him on a regime of iv fluids to rebuild his immune systems. One night I heard a crash. I ran into the bathroom where he had collapsed to the floor. I ran to the neighbors to have them call the ambulance. I sat there beside him, checking his breathing and vitals and holding him and…

We arrived at the hospital, and after a violent seizure and a spinal tap, he slowly slipped into a coma. I sat with him in the hospital. Days became weeks, and we learned he had contracted viral encephalitis, a direct result of his compromised immunities, and those being compromised by the meds he took for his Rheumatoid Arthritis. Day after day, a watch in i.c.u. and no change. The nurses were so good, and I remember one day a doctor stopped by, asked about him and me, then quietly showed me his Lobo card, code that he was gay. We learned he was not getting better and to expect the worse. Oh I held him so close and even if in a coma, I would tell him the events of the day, and of course, so many times, sharing the love I felt for him. I recall then one night, Jimmy Carper at KPFT had me on the program and he and I did a tribute to Skip. The nurses at the hospital had turned on the radio for him to hear, even if in a coma. I got back to my apartment in the wee hours, only to get a call from the hospital. He’d taken a turn for the worse. I rushed back to the hospital, where I held him, told him how much I loved him, and told him if it was time to go, it was alright and I’d be okay. Okay I lied, but it needed to be done. Slowly he slipped away. August 10th 1997. It was 20 years ago now. The nurse came in, gave me ten more minutes with him, asking if anyone was there for me, then I left and the family and the priest walked in. I headed for the coffee shop where our favorite waiter asked about Skip and when I told him Skip was gone, he held me and we both cried. Then he played "I Will Survive" on the Jukebox.

With time and lots of love from my friends, it did get better. Each year at this time, I hold up his memory. I got a lovely letter after he passed from Lady Evelyn Barbirolli. He would have been so pleased she had done that. Months and years passed and life does go on, and I learned to appreciate all he had been in new and different ways and with new perspectives. After all, he gave me the greatest gift anyone could. He gave us our time together. More importantly, he taught me how to truly love. What a profoundly beautiful gift! I choose no longer to try and get over it, but rather honor it for the gift we had. Thank you Skip. Yes, I found love again. Yes, I love you. Love is like that after all, immortal even if we are not…

Dedicated to my True Renaissance Man...

SAY THEIR NAMES, 2017

It's 2017 and the pace of trans lives lost to violence has not slowed it's pace. Say their names. Hold those names in your heart. Join in working towards the day when such lists will no longer be required. This slaughter of trans persons, mostly women and overwhelmingly trans women of color must come to and end and soon!!!

1. Mesha Caldwell, 41 year old trans woman of color, found shot to death on a road near Canton, Mississippi on January 4, 2017.

2. Jamie Lee Wounded Arrow, 28 year old trans woman Native American member of Oglala Sioux tribe,found dead on January 6th in her apartment in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Police believe her death is a homicide.

3. JoJo Stryker, 23 year old trans woman of color found shot to death in a garage in Toledo, Ohio on February 8rd. Gunshot wound to the chest.

4. Jaquarrius Holland, 18 year old Trans woman of color, killed in Monroe, Louisiana shot after a verbal altercation on February 19th.. Originally she was misgendered in the press and that was not corrected until later.



5. KeKe Collier aka Tiara Richmond, 24 year old trans woman of color shot in a vehicle then dumped out on street in Chicago where police found her on February 23rd. She died hours later at the hospital.



6. Chyna Gibson, 31 year old trans woman of color shot several times in a shopping mall parking lot and found dead in New Orleans, La.



7. Ciara McElveen, 26 year old trans woman of color, stabbed and left on the road in New Orleans, La on February 27. She died later in the hospital.

Thoughts on Saturday's Women's March in St. Paul

A few days have passed since Saturday’s march, giving me time to absorb what all happened that day. Our purpose was pretty clear I think. Following the inauguration of a president who objectifies and physically assaults women, who wants to dismantle health care as we know it, destroy the environment, and a laundry list we all are familiar with.

So yes, the march was political. The political has become personal in our time. So many have reason to be concerned. Immigrants, Muslims, Jews, Lesbian Bisexual and Gays, Transgender people like me, People of color, Women, Disabled Americans, all who have in the past been marginalized. But for the first time, many who felt comfortable in their cisgender, heterosexual, white identities stand to lose as well.

I was grateful to be able to attend. In a wheelchair, I needed others to assist. We gathered to fill up four buses at church. Turns out many volunteered to push me. We sang and prepared for the day to come.

Whenever 100,000 human beings come together in the spirit of justice and with hearts centered in love, it transcends beyond simply political. It was a spiritual experience. Here we were, packed together like sardines, and one would expect crankiness, especially after standing in place for an hour. But rather there was laughter, sharing, planning for the future, and a firm commitment to action understanding this was but the beginning. The crowd began to move, and I had no clue where I was and others had said the same, but we moved, this mass of humanity and yet space was made for my wheelchair (and another we encountered along the way. Old and young, disabled and able bodied, a truly eclectic crowd moving towards our goal. Then we rounded a turn and ahead was the capitol and the view was breathtaking. Later some news media wanted to portray the size of the crowd by comparing it to the RNC protests. But see, I attended those protests and they were no where near the size of this one.

Personal disclosure here, I am by nature an empath. I feel the emotions of those around me. I have to say that on this day, I felt so much energy, so much love that it was overwhelming, in the best sense of course

We live in a world of identity politics, and that is important. As a trans woman, I have to speak clearly about the issues facing my community. I saw some speaking through their signage about the separations they feel and the discrimination they encounter in this country. Yes black lives do matter. Privilege by some is real. What I was seeing on that Saturday was that we all have intersections and by fighting for ALL of us, by loving ALL of us, together we make an impressive response to a president who seems unable to see beyond his own ego and shows little respect for anyone but other greedy billionaires. The energy that day by these huge crowds of women and men was palpable. Here lies the strength to undo the harm since this past election. It depends on all of us to continue to organize, to continue to look out for each other and to grow even larger this community of women and men committed to justice, and we can create the world we dream of.

Make no mistake, the forces of evil currently occupying the halls of power will not yield easily. But if we continue what we began Saturday, then we will prevail. Each of us can ask, what gifts do we have to serve the cause? How do we grow this community? For some it will be civil disobedience. For others protests. We all can call and visit our elected officials and hold them accountable. Officials who don’t seem to be able to serve their constituency needs to be replaced. Some will blog, write op-eds, others may be skilled public speakers. We must organize, organize, and organize. As community, we look out for each other, providing sanctuary, provide safe space for self-care, whatever is needed. But to quote something my pastor said, all of us can love the hell out of each other. This is our time in history. How we respond will be the measure of our futures to come. We must resist and we must prevail. All I can say is bring it on!

Bah humbug

Okay, I need to explain some things first. I hope everyone has a happy and joyous season, whether it be Thanksgiving, Christmas, Channukah, Kwanzaa, Yule, Solstice whatever your observance may or may not be. What I will share is not about what you are doing, but only my own personal perspective on the season. I know I'm not alone in what I will be sharing, and that makes it worthwhile I think.

Here's the thing. For some of us, this is a particularly difficult time of the year. We live in a world where love does not always prevail, and bad things happen. Look around in the inner cities for instance. They are the throw aways, cast outs from families, communities etc. In my case, my wife and I are both ostracized from family. The season is us two, and we are growing old. We are fortunate, for we found each other. What makes this season difficult for so many is the constant reminder of being "other." I look on the pages of facebook, and people are planning to get together, to celebrate the season, to buy gifts for loved ones, to see their children and their grandchildren and I so do celebrate their joy. But it's also a constant reminder of my own daughter and my own grandson that I will not see, or my spouse's son from whom she is separated as well. We turn on tv, and there is just one schmaltzy tear jerker happy ending movie after the other, as if there were an intentional effort to remind us constantly... well you get my point.

Now I'm a big girl. With 69 years under my belt and headed for the big 70, I've learned to cope. It's not like I had a choice anyway. I've memories of a time when I was part of large family gatherings when my presence was welcomed and I so loved gathering with loved ones, but I was to learn that in my family, there was not sufficient room for a member who was trans and gay. What do we tell the children? I was selfish they said. ::shaking head:: I even heard that one family member put forward the idea that I was looking for the 'easy' way. Yeah right.

So the holidays are now going full force. There is no place to run or hide to get away from it. I wish the usual for my friends and even for people I've never met a wonderful holiday. I hold in my heart all those others who are for one reason or another separated from family or loved ones. This is not my best time of the year. So forgive my private scrooge moment when I offer that I simply will be glad when it is all over.

A Tale of Coming Outs: Coming Out Day Version 2016

Coming out often is not one event, but many events over many years. In my case, the normal labels became confused along the way. You see in this photo a child who is confused and a bit melancholy, though I learned early on to cover that up. During the previous year, I experimented with my first coming out. So I'd been visiting a neighbor girl, and we were having a tea party. I dressed up in her Sunday finest and I was the Mommy and she the Daddy. The year was 1950. We had been playing for awhile, and it all felt so fun and so right. Then we hear footsteps coming up the stair and my Mom walks in. She looks startled, and snaps, "Put on your own clothes and come home now! I did so and came home and she said nothing. Then that night, she came to tuck me in. She smiles as she tucks me in, "You're a good little boy."

"Mommy? I'm a girl..."

"No you aren't and I don't want to hear that nonsense ever again!" I'm 69 years old now, yet I still recall that look in her eyes. Anger yes, but there was something else I could not identify at that young age. I now know it was fear. I did not understand, but I did know there must be something terribly wrong about me. From then on my parents set out fully intent on butching me up. Cowboy costumes, guns etc for Christmas etc. I could only be my true self in private when nobody was looking. Don't misunderstand though. I tried really hard to be what they wanted to be. But always there was this little voice inside telling me a. something is wrong and b. it was probably me.

We moved to Tyler, Texas from Illinois and it was a whole new world. By the time I got to be in the third grade, I was getting beat up almost daily, and they were calling me queer and I did not know why and I felt so terribly alone. I fought back as best I could because if I didn't my Dad made it perfectly clear he'd beat me worse. But I did find some respite. Out behind the garage, I dug a pit, about 3 1/2 feet deep. Above it I took sticks and vines and used some of the red clay in which I'd been digging and created a small private hut that was My Space. I even built cubby holes into it, and there I could play the roles I could do no where else. I also would sit in that space with a notebook and I began early on to journal. I couldn't keep the journals. That was too scary. But I could write out my feelings at that young age, and I truly think it kept me alive. As puberty approached, I figured out not only was there this inner feminine, but that I was attracted to guys. I tried to avoid it, but it filled my hormone filled dreams and made life even more scary.

So I grew up. My dad passed away in 67. Soon after I dropped out of college for a year and took off traveling, like so many in that time, I landed in San Francisco. While I spent some time in the Haight, I was drawn to the Tenderloin where I found other people like me. But I could not stay, and I returned to Tyler, and my closeted life continued. Finally I decided to make my last ditch effort at being straight.

Like some other people I've met over the years, I married a lesbian. She was a nurse and over time a drummer in a lesbian band, but then we were making our way trying to fit into something that would be called normal. We gave it our best shot, and even had a daughter, but it could not last and we split up only 3 1/2 years later. I began to find my way to the gay bars more and more. No one person, just satisfying my need to be myself and to express that feminine side more freely. I wasn't really a drag queen though,although I had a number of friends who were, but where they often (not always) were just playing a role, my feelings were not a caricature but reality. I did meet other transgender queens along the way and the feeling grew that it might be possible. For a time though, most of this was in the fog of alcohol and drugs. It was not until I entered a program to become sober that the feelings and the realization that I would have to be true to self began the journey towards reality. Still while I could be out to many of my friends, I could not be to my family. Mom had once told me that if she ever found out that either I or my former wife were gay, she would go to court to get our child and we would not be welcome again. I loved my Mom, even with her feelings about either of us being gay. So with my family, I had to be on the down low. But Mom died in '88. I gave some time to mourn, and then gradually I began to come out to more and more of my family. I also met a man who I fell in love with.

We met at a Dignity Chapter and he was the greeter. Soon someone replace him so we could talk. And talk. We were like two schoolgirls, back and forth and we began spending all of our time together, then there was "that kiss", a kiss that sealed the deal and we were a couple. It was a time when I learned how to really love. This was the love of a lifetime and soon we were setting up house. But there was one thing I had to do. It scared the bejeezus out of me. I had to tell this man, the love of my life, that his partner would be beginning a journey to transition, to truly be how I feel. Here was a man who'd never dated a woman in his life. Yet I was asking him if he could stay with me as I became a woman. To my huge relieve, he said yes. So by bits and pieces, beginning with a rather familiar androgyny and then transition in earnest, my next journey began.

Coming out originally as gay troubled some, including my daughter. But when I began transition, I lost almost all of my extended family, including the daughter and my brother who slipped farther away. It was so much to deal with and the hurt was incredible. But even with the pain, at last I was being truly that person who always dwelled inside and it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. I managed to keep my job when I transitioned. Something else came up though. For the first time I noticed I was attracted to women. My husband noticed it too. With hormones something had shifted. I preferred women in terms of attraction to men. But, I loved my husband. Skip and I talked about it, and I sure wasn't going anywhere. Love is love after all. Then in '97, he became ill and a few weeks later he passed away. He had contracted viral encephalitis. Suddenly I was alone again. But with time I healed. With transition completed, I was attracted to women. I began dating, had some false starts along the way. I got lots of support from my MCC congregation in Houston.

My community held me up during this dark period. See I had come to a place when closets were not desirable besides impossible. I became involved with the community center, hosting a lesbian film night monthly. I volunteered with Lesbians in Business, worked my buns off for Annise Parker who ran for and became a member of city council. She later would become mayor of Houston. I was involved all along with TATS (Texas Area Transexual Support) and GCTC (Gulf Coast Transgender Community.) Then I met Robin. We fell in love, my second love in this lifetime. She and I embarked on a life adventure that led to a very public wedding in San Antonio Texas using a narrow court decision in that state. It was all in the papers, so for a time our lives were quite public and all remnants of a closet were gone forever.

I turn and look out at the world today, and I see young people coming out and transitioning and a level of openness in society I never could have dreamed of in my wildest fantasy. Still I know it is hard for some. Open-mindedness is not universal, and some states bend over backwards to discourage those who are anything other than the norm they visualize. It can take great courage to come out. I can only say, when you do make that decision, no matter who you are or how old you may be, there is a community of people ready to welcome you with open arms. In my life, I heard the call of Harvey Milk to come out. I did so not once but many times as the circle of self truth expanded. I can only say that in taking those steps, I found a freedom and happiness I could not have ever imagined. Yes I did so in an earlier time, and I lost a lot. But I gained so much more. So come out, come out, wherever you are!