Like A Dirty Penny

I sometimes work in a convenience store. Often, while working, I notice the change in the cash drawer. Some coins stand out from the others. There a shiny new ones, older ones, and then, there’s always one that looks so old and worn you just have to check the date.

Almost regularly, I get a coin that spent the last few years in somebody’s ashtray or on a muddy road. Some of them have been dug out of asphalt on a hot day. The first reaction when I get one is to get rid of it. There is something odd about them, and they don’t fit.

Recently, while getting rid of his stuff in my closet. I noticed old work clothes and things I wore while working in the yard. Like finding a dirty penny in my cash drawer, I was repulsed. Perhaps that is too strong of a word, but I couldn’t imagine wanting to wear those things. I couldn’t remember being the guy who came home form work at night and put them on before going outside.

Since I began transition, many of the things I used to enjoy no longer interest me. Working in the yard appears to be one of them. That might change when warmer weather comes, but I can’t imagine me wearing those clothes again—Ever.

As a side note to this post, I love the changes in me. I feel comfortable for the first time in my life. I used to feel self-conscious about my breasts. I made sure they didn’t show through my outfit. Now, I embrace them. Even when I don’t wear a bra, I love to show them off.

Through all of this change in mind-set, I feel sorry for him. He spent a whole life trying to squelch feminine expressions. He failed, but he tried to play the game. I had no choice when I was born. My genitals didn’t match my feelings. I was born in a time when those things weren’t questioned. What you got was what you were, until you die.

I lament over the life I could’ve had, I made choices based on what I was given, I shouldn’t regret, but I do feel sorry for him.