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EIGHT YEARS AGO

Robert ‘Robbie’ Craig-Powell, age 11, stood at the chain link fence watching his classmates. On his feet were the latest high-priced Nike sneakers for boys, courtesy of his mother. Next to his feet, discarded, were the used and somewhat battered Rawlings baseball glove, and red and white used New Balance baseball cleats. On his head was the baseball cap Robbie had paid for to try out for his middle school team. Robbie bought the gloves and shoes himself at a garage sale a couple of blocks from his home.

Thirteen sixth grade boys had tried out for the team. Robbie, making his first appearance on a baseball diamond, was the only one cut. Just as well, he knew. If his mother found out, she would have a fit. What if he actually made the team? How would she even be able to show her face at future meetings of the Women for Women Organization or whatever trite name they called themselves?

Robbie, who was finishing his first year––sixth grade––of middle school, was the only child of Priscilla and Blake Craig-Powell. Priscilla, age 40 was the executive vice-president of a medium size cosmetics company. Blake was a 42-year-old building inspector for the City of Minneapolis. It was Priscilla’s salary and her parents’ money that allowed them to live where they did. A fact Priscilla never missed an opportunity to shove in Blake’s face.

The power structure in the marriage had been established before the wedding. Blake was the Craig in the Craig-Powell family name. Priscilla Powell, the number two offspring of Norman and Elizabeth Powell, had been raised to have power over others. Daddy Norman saw to that. The Powells, while not wealthy rich, were certainly well-off. Lake Of-the-Isles and country club well-off.

“Hey Robbie,” he heard a male voice from behind him say .

Robbie removed his fingers from the fence and turned around. “Oh, hi, Mr. Peterson,” he said to his algebra teacher. Peterson was also an assistant coach of the baseball team.

“You okay?” his teacher asked.

“Yeah, I guess,” Robbie replied.

“Don’t let these guys’ teasing get to you. Especially Junior Bonner. Just between you and me, someday he’ll be working for you. He may be a better ballplayer than you, but …”

“He’s a better player than most high school kids,” Robbie said. “Besides, I’m used to being teased. I get it all the time. I’m just not very athletic. When we play dodge ball, I’m always the first one out.”

“You need to learn to duck quicker,” Peterson said.

Robbie laughed and said, “I sure do.”

“You’re a good kid, Robbie. I wish all of them your age were as good.”

Robbie laughed again and said, “Yeah, but that sucks. I can’t even get into trouble. I don’t know how.”

“Well, don’t learn.”

Robbie bent down, picked up his glove and spikes, took off his hat and handed them to Mr. Peterson.

“What?” Peterson asked.

“Put them in with the other used equipment. I guess I won’t be needing them.”

“Don’t give up.”

“Maybe I’ll try golf,” Robbie said.

“Take some lessons first. Learn the basics. Golf can be fun,” Peterson said trying to encourage him.

“I was kidding, Mr. Peterson. I tried golf once. I swung at the ball fourteen times and didn’t hit it once.”

“It can be difficult,” Peterson agreed.

“I gotta go. See you tomorrow, Mr. Peterson,” Robbie said.

Robbie Craig-Powell was just one of those kids who develop late. Small for his age to begin with while some of the boys in his class were already entering puberty. A stage they had learned about in physical health class. Robbie was one of the unlucky ones still waiting .

It did not help that he was also the youngest boy in his class. Many of the others had already turned twelve. Robbie secretly believed the class bully, Junior Bonner, was at least fifteen. Although he had to present a birth certificate to play baseball.

It also did not help that Robbie seemed smarter than everyone else. Maybe not necessarily the girls, but certainly the boys. Robbie’s real problem, in fact his only problem, was that he simply did not know how to make friends. This made him seem a bit odd. Unknown to Robbie, a lot of the kids thought he was a snob.

The day after being dropped from the baseball team, Robbie was, as usual, eating lunch by himself. At least in the lunchroom, Junior Bonner and his pals had stopped harassing him. He could eat his lunch more or less in peace.

“Robbie,” he heard a familiar female voice say from behind him. He turned his head to see Ms. Hart standing next to him.

“Yes?” Robbie answered.

“Are you almost done?”

“Yes, do you need me for something?” Robbie answered again, only this time, hopefully. Ms. Hart was young, early twenties, and Robbie had a bit of a crush on her.

“You’re wanted in the school psychologist’s office,” she told him.

“Did she say why?”

“No, she didn’t.”

Being summoned to the school psychologist’s office was not a surprise. Since returning to school following the holiday break last January, Robbie had been seeing Dr. Andrea Brie on a regular basis, once or twice a week. Robbie believed he needed someone objective to talk to. To listen to his inner difficulties, let him speak of them and get an emphatic ear.

Robbie dumped his lunch tray then headed toward the exit. As he walked out, he saw Junior and his pals at a table near the door .

“Hey here’s the shrimp who throws like a girl. You know, we need a waterboy,” Junior said.

Robbie stopped, looked at Junior while waiting for the laughter to die down. When it did, he said, “Someday, Junior, you’re gonna be working for me. Maybe I’ll let you wash my car.”

“Ooooh!” several of Junior’s pals said trying to goad Junior into doing something.

“Watch yourself, little man,” Junior snarled as Robbie walked away.

Robbie knocked and started to open the door before he heard her response.

“You wanted to see me…” Robbie started to say. What made him pause was the site of two other people in the office. One of them was the school nurse, a bit of a heavyset woman in her late fifties or early sixties.

Alice Griebler had been a nurse in the Minneapolis public school system for over thirty years. No children, never married, of course the rumor mill made her out to be a lesbian which was not true. As was the psychologist, nurse Griebler was very well acquainted with Robbie.

The other unexpected person in the room was Robbie’s mother, Priscilla Craig-Powell.

“Mom, why are you here?” Robbie asked.

“We need to talk, Robbie. About you, of course, and your future happiness,” Priscilla answered.

“Robbie, we’re all friends here, please have a seat,” Dr. Brie said.

Priscilla and nurse Griebler were sitting on opposite ends of the couch. Dr. Brie was behind her desk. The chair set up for Robbie was positioned so all three women could look at him and he could see them.

Dr. Brie began by saying, “Robbie, we’ve reached a point with your, well, I guess we could call it, your well-being, that we, the three of us, decided it was time for a candid conversation.”

“Okay,” a puzzled Robbie shrugged and said.

The light in Robbie’s head turned on and he continued by saying to Dr. Brie, “Do you mean…you know, what we’ve been talking about for the past month or so…? Um, that stuff? ”

“Yes, Robbie,” Brie answered.

“Have you talked to my mother about it?” Robbie asked.

“Yes, in fact, she knew about it,” Brie replied.

Priscilla, who was the one sitting closest to Robbie, leaned forward and placed a hand on his right arm.

“Darling Robbie, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Priscilla said.

Robbie gave a startled look at his mother and blurted out, “Does dad know?”

“Of course not,” Priscilla answered.

“Have you talked to her, too,” Robbie asked Priscilla referring to Nurse Griebler.

“Yes, and well, we’re all in agreement,” Priscilla replied.

“Robbie, we’ve talked about this and…”

“And I didn’t decide,” he quickly said. “I mean, well, I don’t know. Sure, I know, I have had some feelings, but I like girls, I’m attracted to girls.”

He turned from Dr. Brie to his mother and quickly said, “Shouldn’t I be? I mean, well, I know about, you know, sex and everything and I think about girls.”

Priscilla took Robbie’s right hand in both of hers while Dr. Brie said, “That’s perfectly natural. Normal even.”

“We want you to do something. Dr. Brie knows an expert in gender dysphoria,” Priscilla said.

“He’s a highly reputable psychiatrist at the University of Minnesota. A professor at the medical school. I have already spoken to him. He wants to meet you. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock in the morning,” Dr. Brie said.

“I’ll pick you up from school and go with you,” Priscilla said trying to sound reassuring.

There was a silence between the four of them while Robbie thought it over. It lasted for a long minute.

“Robbie, you need to do this. Go, see the man. What can it hurt?” Griebler quietly said.

“I guess, yeah, okay,” Robbie finally said.

“Robbie, I had your mother sign a consent form so I can send both my records and session notes and nurse Griebler’s to Professor Friedman,” Dr. Brie said .

“That’s the shrink at the U, this Friedman guy?” Robbie asked.

“Robbie! Do not call him that,” Priscilla admonished him.

“Okay, I won’t,” Robbie replied.

“Yes,” Dr. Brie answered him. “I understand he’s a brilliant man. Go see what he has to say.”