INTRODUCTIONS ARE IN ORDER...

This is my first blog, to date, so I figured introductions were in order. 

This blog may just turn out to be all over the place, so hopefully you enjoy my irreverence. If not, go eat a cheese puff. 

The best way for me to introduce myself is to present a non-jaded innocent version of me, from youth. 

As a youngster, I always dreamed of being a girl. I wanted to be a princess. These weren't transexual tendencies because I was proud to be a boy, but I was jealous of the girls. I grew up an Orthodox Jew - of a strict caliber - and within that community, girls got all the perks. Very early on, I saw the distinct differences between men and women. While men worked and spent most of their waking time in synagogue (at least in the confines of Orthodoxy), women stayed home and managed the house. As a serious Mama's boy, I wanted to stay home. I didn't want to get my hands dirty. I wanted to decorate the house and go shopping.  

Boys also had to participate in sports and rigorous activity, while girls were able to play with Barbies, obsess over clothing, and gossip. All pastimes included, I preferred the girls' option. I only saw these two distinctions around me, I never knew there could be a grey area. For this reason, I grew up jealous as hell.

This is why, as a youngster, I decided I wanted to partake in certain feminine pastimes. I played with barbies, I loved pink, and I stayed close to my mother. In school, I attended an orthodox Jewish day school attached to our community's synagogue. Most often, I was picked on and isolated from the boys due to my lack of interest in sports and anything little boys like. I would keep close to the girls. I was reminded - often daily - that boys and girls need to play separately. This was a governing theme of my childhood. While my parents never seemed to have a preference as to whether I hang out with boys or girls, the Orthodox powers that be were not quite so supportive.

Because I did not understand at that young age why it was so wrong for me to want the company of girls, I found myself acting out in my own Orthodox Jewish child form. What was this, you may ask...? I started wearing t-shirts on my head. Well, to outsiders they were t-shirts. To me, they were only the finest wigs in existence. (Feeling so restricted within my rigid world, I would often fantasize as children often do.) 

My parents allowed the "wigs" hesitantly, but strictly in the house. Just around the house. I would prance around the house admiring my "long beautiful hair", often in a pair of my mother's kitten heels. If that wasn't the most sure fire way to announce you're gay, I don't know what is. The problem was that I didn't know I was gay and no one around me would have dared introduce the topic. The community I grew up in didn't keep up with anyone outside the Orthodox Jewish persuasion.

Then, one fateful Saturday, this all came to fruition. Saturday is the Jewish day of rest, more commonly known as the Sabbath. Attending Synagogue on the Sabbath is like attending an awards show for the religious rite. It's all about who shows up and what's going on with them. Everyone observes and gossips after service. For me, young and naive, I wanted to show off my "wig". Perhaps I could play with the girls after they see my beautiful hair... I came down the stairs, ready for Synagogue, in appropriate attire accessorized with a bright pink t-shirt on my head. My father was not too happy with this. This was the moment where I realized that the t-shirts were to remain inside the house. I had to promise him that I would never try that again. Smart child that I was - Diva in training, I brought the t-shirt in my pocket. I arrived at our synagogue with my father. Shortly after paying my duties inside the synagogue, I separated from my father and ran out into the lobby in search of other kids. I ripped that pink t-shirt from my pocket and placed it firmly on my head. The rest: history.

Needless to say, we didn't stay until the end of service that day.

This was just one of many embarrassing childhood acts of rebellion for feeling different and misunderstood. I see that now, but at the time, it seemed so important to act on my gut.

Thoughts or Opinions?