Do you want to know a secret? Do you promise not to tell?

Dear Friend,
Big News . . .

Hey buddy,
I don’t want to freak you out, but . . .

The lyric of that Beatles song, in the title, insinuates my secret isn’t going to blow the minds of my loved ones. As I get closer to my self-imposed date of reveal, the more worried I get. How do you tell your childhood friends about your transition? Even worse, how should I tell my family? I’m sure the news will be a surprise for some. For others, it will explain a lot. Whether I still have any supporters after the conversation, is the big question.

I’m sure there will be an accusation that I’m following the crowd. Many of my friends and family will bring up Caitlyn Jenner and think I succumbed to some kind of fad. The attention she stirred doesn’t begin to explain the suffering, however.

The stupid comments made by national bastards are indicative of the thoughts that will cross the minds of my loved ones. I’ll try to explain how it felt to think I was a freak. I’ll try, but I know they won’t understand. Then again, how could they?

How can I explain my elation when I discovered an article about Renae Richards and Christine Jorgensen? Then my delight with the advent of the Internet, and finding out I wasn’t alone, there were many others. Unlike the famous, however, I was not brave. I wonder how many of my acquaintances will understand the frustration in failing to fill a role.

Will they sympathize when I tell them of my profound sadness at the loss of hope, when I admitted to myself that I would never be a girl? Since they probably won’t understand, should I even tell them?

I try to anticipate the contingencies in our conversation and the questions that might be asked, if they ask anything. Some of the questions:

“Are you gay? Do you like men?”
“I’m attracted to women.”

“How long have you known?”
“I knew there was something wrong from early childhood.”

“Do you think you were born in the wrong body?”
“I don’t believe God makes mistakes. I was born with a mind and an inclination toward the feminine.”

“But that doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t.”

There are some who, really will ask the inevitable question:
“What’s between your legs?”
“It’s none of your business, what’s between yours?”

“Seriously, did you get it cut off?”
“I’ll tell you what . . . I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

I realize the need for the conversation, but I don’t know what to say. Many in my family won’t read a pamphlet. So, how do I express my angst? It’s not a fad. It’s a lifetime need that finally came back to the front of my life.

Maybe, I’ll tell the one person who is guaranteed to tell the world. There would be whispers, but those who matter, will ask the right questions. The others can go away.