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Dear Diary:November 28th

Today was Thanksgiving Day. Before today, leading up to Thanksgiving, I tried to think of something to be thankful for. It was difficult, to say the least.

We went to Grandma and Grandpa Powell’s for dinner. I don’t see how that could have been more painful. And I will have to do it again in a few weeks at Christmas.

I don’t remember if I ever mentioned this before. Mother Dear has siblings. All of them are younger than Priscilla. One would think that with the horror that Priscilla is, they, Grandma and Grandpa, would have the sense to stop. But no, they had to keep trying.

Her siblings are my aunts, Harriet and Renee. They also produced a male, James. He is younger than Priscilla and older than the girls. He is also full blown queer. Queer to the point where he is on the pride parade committee every year. Grandpa Eugene has not spoken to his gay son in over ten years. He will spend the entire day ignoring his son, James. It’s amazing that I seem to be the only one of this family that is bothered by this. I asked Mother Dear about this once. She simply said, “Grandpa doesn’t approve of him.”

My aunts are both married to weak men who somehow managed to father seven cousins, all younger than me. Made up as Roberta, the cousins spent the entire afternoon staring at me.

Of course, by now, everyone knew of my transition. With the exception of Grandpa, they all think it is wonderful.

What they didn’t know was my parents’ separation. Except Grandma. The rest of them were told during dinner. It did not seem to surprise or bother anyone. It was then I finally realized what was wrong with them. This may be the most emotionally dead family ever. Including their brat children .

Robbie was lying in bed on Thanksgiving night in that stage between awake and asleep. Suddenly, her eyes shot open. Her brain had detected a loud noise downstairs and had signaled her to wake up.

Not conscious of what she had heard, Robbie lay in bed listening. All was quiet while she listened for twenty to thirty seconds. Just as her eyelids were closing, she heard it again. Someone was downstairs, probably in the kitchen.

Robbie, dressed in very modest unisex pajamas, quietly made her way to the top of the stairs. She could hear noise coming from the kitchen. Unable to make out what it was, she slowly took the steps down to the first floor. When she reached the bottom, she stopped and listened some more. Someone was crying in the kitchen. That someone could only be one person.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” Robbie asked while standing in the kitchen doorway. Priscilla was sitting at the kitchen table.

Startled, Priscilla quickly wiped the tears off her face. She moved the glass she was drinking from in an effort to hide it then said, “Oh! Sorry, did I wake you? I mean, oh, nothing’s wrong. Go back to bed.”

Robbie continued to watch Priscilla while she spoke, slurring her words. There was a bottle of vodka and a bowl with ice cubes in it on the table. Robbie’s mother was not only drinking alone, she was quite drunk.

Ignoring Priscilla’s suggestion that Robbie go back to bed, Robbie sat down. She took the chair at the opposite end of the table and watched Priscilla. While she did this, she tried to understand what she felt toward her mother. The answer was, nothing.

Robbie was staring at her alcoholic mother who was quite upset about something. Her mother was distressed and Robbie felt nothing. No anger, no love, not even hate or pity.

“What’s the problem?” Robbie finally asked, her voice inflection flat, without any empathy.

“Nothing, go back to bed,” Priscilla said. She picked up the water glass, half full of ice and vodka and took a drink.

“Right, you’re sitting down here drinking alone, drunk and crying, and nothing’s wrong.

“You’re alone, you destroyed your marriage… ”

“I did not! Your father…”

“My father was your pet. You didn’t want a husband; you wanted a servant. Well, now he’s gone. I wonder what took him so long.”

“I’ll be fine. You’ll see. Why are you being such a bitch to me?” Priscilla asked.

Robbie stood up, looked at her mother and said, “I guess I’m growing up. The apple not falling too far from the tree. Good night, Mother.”

Blake Craig, Robbie’s father pulled into the line of cars at Wheaton Academy. Every morning there was a line, usually around a dozen cars in the lot of parents dropping their children off.

“I can walk from here, Dad,” Robbie said.

“You sure? I am not in a hurry,” Blake replied.

Robbie hesitated for a moment, his hand on the door release. She looked at Blake and asked, “Dad, can you pick me up for school in the morning every day?”

“Well, um, I have a surprise for you. I was gonna wait but I’ll tell you now.

“I’m picking you up today to take you to your driver’s license test. You’re ready and I think you’ll pass easily. In fact, you’re way overdue. We should’ve done this two years ago.”

“Really? Seriously?” Robbie practically yelled. “Wait, does Mom know?”

“Yes, she knows. I told her and, of course, she started to protest. I just told her to shut up. That I was gonna do it,” Blake told him.

“And she looked at you with total shock on her face,” Robbie said.

“She did. I’ll tell you what, it feels good to be out from under her thumb.

“Robbie, I want you to know something. No matter what, son or daughter you’re my child and I’ll always love you and be there for you.”

Robbie looked at her father, a tear in her eye, then threw her arms around his neck.

They held each other for a moment, then Blake said, “Here we are. Go to school. I’ll see you at three.”

As Blake drove away, they waved to each other. Robbie wiped a tear from her cheek then she heard a familiar voice from behind.

“Hey, wait up,” Stephanie yelled out to her from among the kids walking toward the door.

“Hi,” Stephanie said when she caught up with Robbie.

“Big news,” Robbie said while they walked on.

“Yeah, what?”

“My dad’s taking me for my driver’s license today. I’ve been practicing with him,” Robbie said.

“Cool. It’s about time. You gonna get a car?”

“I don’t know. That would be up to the Evil Queen. We’ll see.”

“I went to another meeting, my second one, last night,” Stephanie said.

“What meeting?”

“You know, I told you about it,” Stephanie whispered. They were inside the building and she did not want to be overheard.

“Oh, the one for trans girls. The support group.”

“Yeah, that one,” Stephanie said.

At that moment, the ten-minute warning bell rang.

“Oh, shoot,” Stephanie said. “I gotta get to my locker. It was good. I’ll tell you about it later during study hall.”

Robbie hurried to get to the study hall early. Stephanie was already at their table when she got there.

“Okay, so…?” Robbie asked after sitting down.

“It’s what I told you it was. It’s a support group for trans girls. There are all kinds of them that belong. A few younger, not many, mostly older. There are several in their twenties. One of them, Sherry, first names only, is very bitter about the trans she went through.”

“How many members are there?” Robbie asked.

“I’m told almost twenty. They don’t all come to every meeting. They meet three times a week. Tuesday and Thursday night from seven to nine, Saturday afternoon from two to four. It’s at the YMCA on York in Edina,” Stephanie explained.

“Yeah, like I said, Sherry’s bitter but not negative to everyone. I think she just likes to let everyone realize it’s okay to be, I don’t know…”

“Really pissed off about what was done to them,” Robbie said.

“Are you?” Stephanie asked the question she had wanted to ask Robbie for a long time.

“Dyke patrol,” Stephanie whispered.

The two girls transgendering to boys that Robbie had problems with entered the study. Only this time, and ever since Robbie broke the nose of one of them, they walked away from Robbie’s table.

“Am I what?” Robbie asked. “Bitter and angry. Sometimes, than other times, I guess I accept it.”

While she said this, she was looking at Debra Gillian, their study hall teacher/monitor. Ms. Gillian was walking toward them and heard what Robbie said.

Gillian stopped at their table, looked at Robbie and asked, “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure, I guess,” Robbie said.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, but Robbie, you may be the prettiest trans girl on the planet. And, the bell’s about to ring so, get some schoolwork out,” Gillian said. Two seconds later, the three o’clock bell did ring.