Charlotte's Blog ♥

A Little Personal Growth Makes Things Okay

Charlotte ♥ — Wed, 12 Aug 2026 16:00:00 EDT

I don't think that I've been very active blogging lately. I've just been occupied with other hobbies, so it has been hard to want to put fingers to keyboards in the same way.

While out running errands yesterday, I stopped in at an outlet of a ubiquitous and market-distorting chain of drug stores to make use of their blood pressure cuff and BMI machine. Not only do I have a virtual appointment coming up with my NP on matters relating to hormones (and need to have a recent blood pressure measurement), but also to get a more recent weight.

Since surgery, I have been eating quite a bit more than before. I was (rightly) concerned with my previous intake levels that I would face additional complications in healing. I'm already middle-aged (and am slower on recovery) and it would have been unwise to add anorexia to steepen the hill.

That Seems Like a Quick Turnaround!

It was! But like I explained in another post longer ago, I have a fairly strong drive for compliance with rules and authority, so when the hospital fed me, I snapped right into it and complied like a good girl. I did the same in the clinic 20+ years ago too.

In any event, as the changes in my body have become more apparent, I began to get concerned again with weight. For the past few weeks, I've been looking at food differently again and beginning to question some of my choices. While I thought I'd largely found a soft place to land after a post-surgical increase, without knowing, it was easy for me to feel that it was too much. Coming out of another restriction spiral has to be done slowly.

It was ▇▇▇ lbs + 8.33% = ▇▇▇ lbs.

So about what I was looking to gain and now I have space to continue shifting into something that looks more like maintenance. In the end, I don't think the specific numbers matter too much, but what it indicates to me sort of does.

None of that means that I am ever again going to own a scale though.

August 12, 2026

I Really Can't Avoid It, Eh?

Charlotte ♥ — Fri, 07 Aug 2026 12:00:00 EDT

In many (or even most) ways, in comparison to many other places, the trans experience in Canada may be somewhat charmed. It's not perfect of course, and the good parts might be more recent than we might appreciate.

Worryingly, some provinces have introduced similar policies that we have seen in other jurisdictions and, judicial appeals notwithstanding, those politicians appear to be more comfortable keeping their fights in the political realm where open norm violation is a popular tool among the far-right.

I would also be lying if I said that I didn't find the anti-trans din that surrounds us both frightening and concerning and I find myself wondering when the hammer will fall and not if. After all, it is not as if Canadians have, in general, a strong sense of the active warm'n'fuzzies for us: just more of a lukewarm "should have rights" posture we report while saying nothing when we see the rights of Indigenous peoples, women, unhoused individuals, refugees, temporary foreign workers, and really, any social outgroup being violated.

If the muted popular response to legislation and policy in Alberta and Saskatchewan might be any indicator, should government turn hostile, I am not so certain we'd see much of a groundswell of support.

Still, it's important to appreciate the blessings we do have and to live life with our awareness tuned what is actually happening. It does us no good to carry on as if we exist somewhere much more hostile.

Outside of some street harassment, the occasional death stare, and the still-more-occasional death threat, my experience as a visible trans woman has been mostly uneventful. Of course, I won't pretend that my age (mid-40s), job (federal public servant) and socioeconomic bracket (upper-middle household income) isn't a factor. It wasn't for nothing that I didn't feel safe coming out until after I became indeterminate when I was 38.

You See Something, Why Don't You Say Something?

Since I am a federal public servant, one of the sorts of terms of my employment requires that I remain nonpartisan and focused on implementing the agenda of the government of the day, regardless of what it is.

If I find myself uncomfortable with that (or cannot reconcile it with my personal ethics), I can offer advice regarding alternative options or I can resign my position.

In the event that I do take a public position on something and since it is known that I am a federal public servant (though I have never publicly shared which department I work for), it is possible that I could appear to be speaking in my capacity as a public servant and not as a private citizen.

To avoid any trouble, I generally avoid speaking on any particular political matters. I am not in secure enough financial position to risk losing my employment or making a decision to end relationship with the public service.

Keeping global anti-trans din at a reasonable volume remains a considerable challenge, however. I interact with trans people from all over the place on a regular basis and deeply care about their safety and happiness.

While there is precious little I can do from my place here in Ottawa, I think it's important to know what the lovely people I interact with daily are experiencing and I think it's also important that I have a decent understanding of what Canadian politicians are likely to attempt when given the opportunity.

Canada's political class may be a number of things, but novel or original thinking isn't one of them. Most of what gets proposed in this space has been either attempted or implemented elsewhere.

August 7, 2026

Competitive Pleasure-seeking

Charlotte ♥ — Thu, 06 Aug 2026 07:00:00 EDT

Although I have a little page where I keep track of the books I've read, I also have an account on StoryGraph. I find it handy to track which books I've read, but I don't really use it to find new books, connect with others, or write reviews.

One of the site's features presents a set of statistics about the books you've read and tracked using the website. It plots out the moods, genres, medium (i.e. paper, e-book, audio book, etc.), it also indicates the average time you have taken to complete a book and plots out the number of books/pages that you have completed for each month.

These statistics are somewhat interesting, though I don't need software to tell me that I seek out queer books packed with emotion or that I only read printed books. I suppose the statistical dashboard is more for others, or at least facilitating interaction with them.

It's interesting though. It seems to crop up more frequently during the "end of year" wrap-up season, but many people seem to get really competitive about the number of books they've read.

Or I suppose, "read" is more accurate.

One doesn't have to spend too much time on the internet to trip over a nest of Book-stagrammers, -tokkers, or -tubers one-upping one another for the number of books they've consumed over they year, what they're on track to achieve, and how they've accomplished such feats of superhuman literacy.

That's where you learn that it's less about dedicating themselves to great stories, feeling-the-feels, or learning something new about the human condition, and more about dedicating themselves to the little internet trophy: skipping entire portions of the book, focusing on audio books listened to at 1.5x, 2.5x, or even 4x, and even choosing books that are written in a certain way that are easier to digest (i.e. those that are dialogue heavy, written for young adults, or skipping expository or descriptive text, etc.).

I suppose they're deriving pleasure from competition, because it doesn't sound like they're deriving pleasure from the actual content of the books.

A Tradition of Performance

It all reminds me of two different things that share the same performance-oriented root: academics and the weird 1980s "thing" with speed readers.

When I was in grad school, I encountered both faculty and would-be faculty (PhD students studying for their comps) who took great pride in letting undergrads and Masters' students in on a little secret: the reading list might look long, but it's only long if you've not yet learned how to skim and summarize. Some took it further and claimed only to read the introduction and perhaps conclusion.

The idea being, of course, that you only need to know what a particular scholar has argued, less whether or not their argument actually stands on a foundation of evidence. You don't need to worry about that: you've planned to apply some form of existing theory to your argument. A long-deceased pederast has done the thinky work for you.

The real ones know that it's better to engage widely than it is to engage deeply. A long list of works you've only skimmed in your bibliography means you've successfully performed the core work of the intellectual.

I realize that this comes off as a little cynical, but the further I get away from being in a university fold, the more that sort of performative and cynical way to engage with the work stands out.

Of course, it's not limited to academics: we all work with people who engage with their tasks strategically to maximize benefit while minimizing effort. Since the principal role of the university is the manufacture of prestige (they'd operate somewhat differently if their purpose was the pursuit of knowledge and truth), it makes sense.

It's an all-too-common way to burn out us Lisa Simpson types.

It also reminds me of speed reading, which I remember being something of a trend in the 1980s, complete with variety shows and news broadcasts where they'd have someone stand on stage, run their fingers quickly over the text in a book (often while mumbling said text) and then turn around and tell the host what the book was about. I remember it sometimes being serious, but often presented using the same production style as when they'd get a dolphin to use a cash register.

The idea was that the faster you could read (or summarize, get the gist of) something, the smarter you are.

Getting to the Point

Seeing my little line graph and its reflection of the considerable amount of reading I have done in recovery from surgery, a little voice of encouragement has sort of begun to show up in my mind that I have to keep going. And indeed, as I've been healing enough to get outside more and do other things that aren't bed rot, I've come to feel just a twinge of guilt as my reading has also slowed down a little.

This gremlin has long been with me: intelligence and academic achievement being among the the things I could do to establish my value as a person.

On the upside (?), another digital metric prone to creating meaningless and joyless competition — the step counter on my iPhone — has been seeing a mirrored increase in numbers, almost as if there is a mathematical relationship between steps and pages.

One page = one step not taken; One step = one page not read.

It turns out that I'm not a woman who can have it all...

August 6, 2026

It's just a little pinch.

Charlotte ♥ — Wed, 05 Aug 2026 07:00:00 EDT

It's a bit unintuitive to me, but since bottom surgery, on-and-off, I've been getting night sweats. I've complained about that here before, but now it has been pretty well established that my sleep has become ...perimenopausal in experience.

It's just unintuitive to me because I haven't changed the HRT regimen I'm on (although adding weeks of post-surgical care to my routine has sort of made my dosing less consistent) and, I'm not certain what losing my body's main producer of a hormone I didn't want would have to do with plummeting estradiol. A quick search of the usual places shows that I'm hardly the only one who has experienced this, with many reporting that it goes away ...eventually.

Still, I think that my time with sublingual administration of estradiol (2mg, 3x daily, for 6mg overall) has come to an end and that it is time for me to request a switch to injections.

I have two main reasons for this:

Stability. Sublingual administration is quick to increase levels and they then trail off. Most of my blood tests have been in my waking trough: that is, the nearest trough when I am awake, usually somewhere around 11:30am, or 5½ hours following my morning dose. My last reading was 455pmol, which is satisfactory (between 350pmol and 500pmol would be considered to reflect a general premenopausal cisgender average). Of course, my real trough would be when I wake up. My last dose is at 8pm, first is at 6am, so that is a 10-hour gap. No accessible blood lab is available to me at 5am to measure that trough, which would most definitely be low. My night sweats would be an indicator suggestive of that.
Convenience. Having to remember to administer on a weekly-or-near-weekly cycle may be preferable to multiple times daily. From what I understand from how others put it, the greatest satisfaction is with a 5-day injection cycle and this is what I am going to ask for. The 7-day is most common from what I understand, but I've heard far too many complaints about those last two days of the cycle to believe that a 7-day is ideal. It's not just remembering: my mid-day dose is at 1pm, right when I do often have work meetings to be on.

While I have to admit that I'm a little nervous to begin using needles - I really am a little afraid of them and while I don't find them anywhere near as painful as other things I do regularly (electrolysis) or have done recently (surgery), it's still not pleasant - I know, though, that it will quickly become second nature.

I had thought about requesting an increase to 8mg (2mg, 4x daily), but that would not solve the fairly violent bottoming-out of my estradiol levels while I'm sleeping and just keep me at a higher daytime peak. Instead of sweats at 1:30am or 2:30am, I'd probably just get them at 3:30am or something. It also wouldn't solve melting a tablet while I'm supposed to be being fully present for meetings and not stiffly smiling, quickly an introduction ("HiImCharlottejustananalystonthefile")

August 5, 2026

Waiting For Charlotte

Charlotte ♥ — Sun, 02 Aug 2026 14:00:00 EDT

Posting before-and-afters had long been a fairly popular activity for trans people. Well, at least some trans people, and at least in the social media era. Usually tied in some way to an anniversary for starting hormone replacement therapy, or when another wave of "it's never too late" hits, you don't need to spend much time around trans people before you see it.

It's never too late?

Two things are true about transition: (a) the younger you begin, the more likely you are to have a transition the brings you closer to a sort of cisgender result (especially beginning before puberty); and (b) that (a) is generally true doesn't mean you won't be pleased with your own results when you begin later.

Unfortunately, many have taken (a) to mean that there is a point - often comically young (ex. 19 or 20) - where it is too late to successfully transition and that one should just give up.

As someone who socially transitioned at 40, began HRT at 43, and had bottom surgery at 44, you may correctly imagine that I reject the premise that (a) negates (b).

Despite not giving credence to some sort of transition deadline, I don't participate in the before-and-afters.

Looking in One Direction

I have very few photos of myself from before 2022. While a major reason for this is that I didn't like being in photos while wearing the "▇▇▇▇▇ costume", an even bigger reason is that I deleted more-or-less all of what did exist.

I may have inhabited a certain identity for decades, but I don't see it as mine: it was mostly assembled from things others wanted to see in me and I wore it out of fear and for their convenience. Sure, it's all the same body and brain, but I don't (and can't) see see any "before" photo as being of me.

Not really.

▇▇▇▇▇ didn't become Charlotte. ▇▇▇▇▇ was a disguise for a Charlotte that already existed and who felt the need to hide. As such, photos made before I made myself known in 2022 are not of me and don't belong in a sequence.

Writing it out, I realize that may be interpreted as evasive, but it's consistent with my comfort. I deeply value a clean break.

Tipping the Scales

As I've written before here, I have struggled — intermittently, but for decades — with ~~restriction~~, no, ~~an eating disorder~~, no, anorexia, and the last time was very recently: leading up to surgery in June. I've only really come out of it since then, but while I've been doing well, the tapes tapes still play in my head. The more my healing progresses, the louder the volume gets. To make matters worse, some of the weight I'm gaining seems to be settling in places I'd prefer it didn't.

In so many ways, my physical transition is inextricably tied up with my weight. Much of how I had chosen to eat, the type and amount of alcohol I drank, and the extent to which I took care of myself pre-transition were a major part of my performance as ▇▇▇▇. Cumulatively, those resulted in me looking noticeably different than today.

As a result, I would be lying if I didn't say that I have a bit of a hard time telling the difference intuitively what HRT has contributed to my appearance, what proper hair, clothes, makeup and grooming have, and how much of it is just weight loss.

I haven't owned a scale since I was admitted to the eating disorder clinic in 2005. I was rightly urged to get rid of it, since I was not using that information responsibly and was unlikely to. They were probably right.

Because of this, I can't say for certain, but I'm reasonably confident that, at last weighing (when admitted for surgery), I was about 50-55% of my COVID-era peak.

I suppose that if my goal was to have body and mind in greater alignment, then none of those questions really matter. Who cares how I got to where I am? So long as I am (and continuing to head in the right direction), then does it matter?

On the one hand, no it doesn't.

Although dysphoria brain has different solutions than anorexia brain, neither fill the mind with reliable words and neither make for a clean mirror, so wondering if I look that different because of dysphoric feelings is listening to a voice I know to be unreliable.

At the same time, I might know that the train of self-perception is never on schedule, but when I look at myself today and remember the reflection that would look back at me when disassociation failed, the first thing I think isn't "✨🌈✨ HRT IS MAGIC!! ✨🌈✨", but rather something rather less celebratory and more uncertain.

Not really bad, like before, but more like transition feeling a bit like walking through molasses. Sticky, slow, and exhausting, wondering how I could be in last of three heats, but also knowing that if I keep going, then the complete Charlotte I picture can finally look back at me.

Until then, I've got nagging questions: is it the weight? Is my HRT effective? When does it feel like magic? Is that something people just say?

...and until then, unless you happen to have known me through transition...

August 2, 2026

Why Not Both?

Charlotte ♥ — Fri, 31 Jul 2026 08:00:00 EDT

Internet arguments seem to work like a well-run subway system: don't worry if you miss one of them, there will be another in a couple minutes.

The one that made its way into my face yesterday on Bluesky was brought to us my Jeopardy! host Ken Jennings talking about how him and his wife like to play the New York Times' spelling bee game.

Seems fairly inert, doesn't it?

On of the responses to his post was that being a New York Times game, showing off that you play it (which means you're paying them) is fairly insulting to trans people. After that, it was off to the races and the argument spun out from there.

I don't think there is much to debate in the rightness or wrongness of the argument: as the sort of Anglosphere's "newspaper of record" the New York Times, is also, as a matter editorial direction, profoundly opposed to trans rights and existence in general.

See the following:

Exclusive: How The New York Times Changed Its Coverage of Trans People, Why are America's largest newspapers stigmatizing queer people?, The New York Times Helped Turn Trans Rights Into Political Controversy, Analysis Finds, The New York Times Quotes Trans People Less Often Than Other Major News Outlets, The New York Times Fails to Include Trans Voices in Majority of Articles About Trans Issues, Instead of reporting on actual news, the New York Times goes after trans people again, and A mom asked the NYT publisher about harm from trans coverage. He defended the process instead

Given how frequently the Times had been cited by US courts and politicians and their wider influence vis-a-vis sentiment across certain sectors in society, I believe them to be among the more malignant factors in the recent erosion of trans rights in the US and elsewhere in English-speaking countries.

Given this, I think it would be reasonable to avoid giving the Times money, since, like a certain YA fiction writer, they use financial success as encouragement for their editorial and extracurricular direction.

What Happens When They Don't Care?

Access to just-so recipes geared to the desires and anxieties of white middle-and-upper-middle class people, crosswords that are just challenging enough for professionals who could use confirmation that they still remember a film theory course they took in 1994, and word puzzles that help pass the time are all clearly more important then trans peoples' right to participate fully in society.

This is to say nothing of the sense of self-importance many people may derive from paying for access from an "important" newspaper.

Don't laugh, I am in their target demographic, at least where income and education are concerned. I can't begin to count the number of times over the years where the posture straightens just a little once they list the New York Times, usually after a quick skate over The Globe and Mail, to prove that they're locally-minded enough to also support the "good" backwater paper.

So, we have one of the only successful-in-its-own-right newspapers out there and its paying supporters are emotionally attached to it and what it says about them. It reminds me a bit of the niche Apple holds (or at least held before phones came into the picture).

What's a transsexual to do? When they see someone who they believed was fine on trans rights plugging quarters into a rights-grinding machine? Second-order to buying certain wizard-related merchandise in 2026, but there is still a direct dollar-in-rights-removed mechanism at play.

Well, if you're like me, you say nothing.

You note it with some disappointment and skate on. At least they're making the right mouth noises most of the time and it's just a crossword. It's not ideal, but at least they haven't made elimination of our rights their personality.

If you're like others with an internet connection, you'll say something. Sometimes sensitive, sometimes not. Sometimes, you'll upbraid them angrily.

Risky Business?

There is always a bit of a fear that if we upbraid and correct people for their seemingly uncontroversial purchases and make them feel bad, they'll flip their position on our rights and join those opposed.

This isn't a fear without foundation: people disappointed, ashamed, or otherwise unhappy with being corrected will often flip to opposing the source of that discomfort instead of considering what they've been communicated.

It's not at all limited to us: every human rights movement experiences this. The minute their advocacy requires others to give up their treats, a large contingent will change from positive support (or more usually, an uninitiated semi-positive neutrality) to opposition or at least contemptuous neutrality.

Few rights endeavours have succeeded when they've played to these loose fish whose respect for rights is first-gate contingent.

At the same time, I don't have an answer to the question of whether it's better to lose your rights in the face of overwhelming mass opposition or in the face of a dedicated opposition while an immobile majority half watches.

Why Not Both?

So, in the grand scheme of things, I don't know if hounding people over these things really accomplishes very much (perhaps outside of catharsis), but at the same time, I don't know if my saying nothing at all really accomplishes anything anyway.

If I were to trust my instincts, it would be that every successful rights movement needs the fiery, the revolutionary, the calm and calculating, the strategic, the passionate, the misdirected, the visionaries, the works.

It has never been the case that rights have been won through well-timed landmark speeches alone and it has never been the case that they've been won through unconstrained and misplaced rage and violence alone.

💜

July 31, 2026

Dumb Memory of the Day

Charlotte ♥ — Thu, 30 Jul 2026 16:00:00 EDT

For one reason or another, today's road trip memory is from 1996. It was another one where it was my Dad and I, but this time we were helping an aunt relocate from Timmins to Guelph.

On the way back, we stopped outside of New Liskeard to use the washroom at a truck stop and get a few things to eat. It didn't make sense to stop with only about 2 hours left.

In any event, I was wearing two t-shirts of slightly different sizes, which was a style among sort of alternative girls and closeted transsexual girls, but in the case of the latter, not really fitted. The top layer was a black Nine Inch Nails t-shirt (it looked like this) and the bottom layer was a sort of peachy-coral colour t-shirt, whose sleeves and hem were visible from beneath.

When I was finishing up in the washroom, a man walked in took a look at me, made a sort of threatening stomp-like motion (like to get me to flinch), and said "nice shirt, faggot."

When I got back into the truck, I didn't say anything to my dad about it (he'd have agreed with the man), but I mainly remember feeling threatened (mission accomplished) and I remember feeling like I needed to be more careful: even the wrong colour can inadvertently communicate something about myself what I was trying to hide.

Even if I was at the time trying to do the traditional thing of giving clues and hoping someone asks me directly so I can break down and say "...yes..." in a faux-nervous-faux-relucatant way.

Though again, they never did get their terms for me accurate. Although, the rare time it happens today, notwithstanding the trans and lesbian pins on my purse, they still get it wrong in the same way.

July 30, 2026

Is it 2am already? Time to wring out my nightie!

Charlotte ♥ — Tue, 28 Jul 2026 13:00:00 EDT

One thing I have welcomed into my life since surgery is absolutely terrible night sweats. It's not every night, but it had become quite often that I will wake up at 2 or 3 am (not uncommon for me) absolutely drenched in sweat.

My first thought is that something is now out of balance with my HRT regimen. It's most definitely a super common symptom of perimenopause, menopause, and even follows some post menopause, and is caused by drops in estrogen levels.

There are certainly other causes unrelated to hormones, such as infections (I'm under control and healing well, any remaining wound areas are tended to), an overactive thyroid (no other signs and symptoms), sleep disorders (I come from a long line of 6½-hour sleepers), cancer treatment, mental health and alcohol use (I haven't consumed any alcohol in 8 months and very little the 10 months before that), and B12 deficiency (I take a supplement).

Fortunately, I have a follow-up booked for a few weeks from now, and I will be getting a new trough reading in preparation for it. I had already planned to change how my estradiol is administered, and this adds another dimension to the upcoming discussion with my NP.

Yesterday's Successes

Yesterday's dental cleaning went very well and, contrary to whatever nagging fears I might have had, sitting and reclining weren't bad. I also walked further than I have since surgery and in more comfort.

The cherry on top?

A seemingly rare event for trans people: I was not misgendered while I was there!

(New!) Back To Electro

After six weeks away from it, I returned to my usual Tuesday at 4:30pm slot for electrolysis. It felt good to get going again since I should have about a year left until everything is cleared.

...now I just need to get used to the feel again!

Six Zero Four Eight Zero

It has now been six weeks since surgery!

July 28, 2026

Plans, With A Side of Nerves

Charlotte ♥ — Mon, 27 Jul 2026 08:00:00 EDT

I have to admit that I'm a little nervous. I've got appointments this week, beginning with a dental cleaning today and resuming electrolysis tomorrow. Vegans Who Snack on Friday.

It might seem a little weird to be nervous: I'm feeling pretty good at the moment. Aside from a minor tear and yet more minor dehiscence, things are going well. Swelling is not gone, but less frequent and less intense, not much pain, and my bed sore is like 98% gone.

The Big But

However well things are going, it feels fragile and provisional. My little complications are newer, with the dehiscence being something I might have felt two days ago and identified visually yesterday when applying Vitamin E cream to my scars.

On the other side, attending all of these things will see me going further than I have since surgery and, save for Vegans Who Snack, on my own to boot.

When I think about it, the fear's still silly: I'm a grown woman in her mid-40s who, yes, had major surgery, but who is healing very well and who has been out and about since coming back from Montréal almost six weeks ago.

I'm just glad that I was given 13 weeks away from work in the end (I will be returning after Labour Day), since I think it will take time to trust that I'm actually healed.

When it happens.

Since I'm not yet.

July 27, 2026

A Trip to Guelph

Charlotte ♥ — Sun, 26 Jul 2026 08:00:00 EDT

For one reason or another, I was remembering a road trip to Guelph my Dad and I took - I think it must have been 1989 or 1990 - probably in 1990, some time around when I turned 9.

We sometimes took these trips, just him and I. It was the sort of thing that fathers and (then) son-shaped children did. Or at least, I had always heard that. Possibly it began when something inside them might have been a little concerned that something wasn't quite right with their son-shaped child.

That past First Communion season I had been very obstinate (at least by my highly-compliant standards) about the outfit I was to wear, which included a pale yellow shirt with tiny dark grey polka dots and a medium-grey leatherette zipper tie.

Naturally, I didn't want that! I wanted floof! White tights! Patent mary janes! Like all the other girls would surely have.

I was smart enough to keep these thoughts locked up in my mind palace, but I had a really hard time hiding my sense of sadness and disappointment. Raised in a blue-collar family, my received lines about ties, discomfort, and nooses weren't delivered convincingly.

I might have also undermined my poor attempts at keeping my little gender Potemkin village standing when, proceeding to my room at bedtime after the First Communion ceremony with a face so long as to risk being underfoot, I closed the door, and quietly sobbed in envy over the other girls' little outfits.

I knew exactly what I was missing.

It was the previous summer, when my sister and I were being babysat by a neighbour with two daughters after my mom returned to work, that I would steel myself away on the regular to the dress-up trunk and twirl around in a brown Gunne Sax inspired dress. I felt sooooooo good.

I'd tell them I was going to play on the computer, a Tandy 1000 I only had a passing interest in. I wasn't really allowed to (the husband didn't want the kids on it), but the sitter let it pass as I was the only boy-shaped child in her care.

While nobody came to check in on me, I can't imagine my sobs punctuated by muttering about fairness and dresses were entirely unnoticed. Only a single wall divided my bedroom and living room, the TV wasn't up loud (it never was), and it was very unlike me to have the door closed.

Like most things in my family, it certainly went uncommented on and, along with the health of my parents' marriage and my sister's relationship with my Mom, it was kept in the family's subtextual realm, which I think was somewhere between the main floor and basement of our 1930s CMHC design home.

What I do know is that my Dad started being more present in my life outside of organized activities. We'd spend more time together, I'd have to do more man things like woodworking and stuff, and in the early summer he told me that we'd be taking the 8½ drive to Guelph to visit his mother soon - just him and I.

It was a little out of the ordinary, to be honest. While parents usually aren't open about their favourites, my sister and I were clearly divvied up, so if there was a special trip to go on, absent any other motivation, it would have been her.

Nothing untoward happened. I think that if his greater presence in my life had some reactive dimension to it, he was hoping it would be through osmosis. I know they believed in the idea of a healthy "male presence" as being a key prophylactic against boy-shaped children being... "strange".

After my parents separated in my mid-teens and I was trying to find a safe way to tell my Mom who I am, she would instead arrange for me to golf or hang out with an uncle, telling me a healthy male presence was important.

I don't think my Dad was necessarily up to the task.

I have nothing at all to back this up, but over the years, I have been convinced that: (a) he sensed I was some variety of queer very early on (but didn't know exactly which, and didn't know what to do with it); and (b) didn't have an entirely sturdy cishet foundation of his own.

He took that all with him when he died in 2023, but when I look back, I keep getting the feeling that his own performance was as convincing as my own was.

So fas as the road trip was concerned, I mostly remember how much I loved the feel of getting proper south (the feel usually began as we hit the Muskokas and the highway divided), that we'd stop at Weber's (so popular they have an overpass!), and, well, his taste in music.

Especially for those long sections of highway where little radio was available, we'd pop a cassette in. He loved Madonna, and I remember going through I'm Breathless (from the Dick Tracy movie) and Like a Prayer a number of times along the journey. I think he liked her then modern sound more, but you can bet that his copy of Like a Virgin had been very well worn.

Yes, this also meant that he'd turn up the volume in the K-Car when Vogue would play.

July 26, 2026