Christine VII: Conclusions and Recommendations

Over the summer, Dr. Reynolds had sent me for consultations with more specialists than I realized existed. A urologist here, psychologist there; A sex therapist friend of his, an expert on child development, even an orthopedic surgeon. His reasons: simply gather every possible particle of information about Christine (a.k.a. Christopher) Elliot. By that conference date, there was nothing about me that Dr. Reynolds didn’t know, whether it was worth knowing or not. So the day was finally here. He had scheduled an entire afternoon, had made graphs and pictures and even a few slides. This was a very special case to Robert Reynolds. He knew something about Josh and me that neither of us knew, and that knowledge, together with the special friendship that had developed between the Reynolds’ and the Elliot’s at all levels, made my case of particular interest to him.

The doctor had told me to dress as I pleased, as long as it was neat and on the conservative side. Over the summer I had surprised everyone at how quickly I developed a sense of appropriate dress. Mom had helped me at first, but it wasn’t long before she declared that I was as capable as she to pick the right outfit. I decided to wear one of the school outfits I’d got from Amanda. I thought it was... well... DARLING. There was a dark green plaid pleated skirt, coming down to just above the knees. I wore a long sleeved white blouse with white and green lace collar and cuffs, white knee socks with green trim and plain white leather shoes. I had Mom help me tie my hair in a pony tail with a pale green ribbon holding it in place. She hugged me and told me I looked perfect. Dad didn’t say anything, but he hugged me anyway. I can’t be sure, but I thought I saw the hint of a tear as we were getting in the van. It occurred to me that he was probably thinking something along the lines that he was going to witness the death of his son today.

This was quite a conference for any adult to deal with, and was totally overwhelming for an eight year old. There were three men and a woman there I didn’t know. I found out later that one was a urologist, another a child psychologist, and the other two were from the school board. Another thought occurred to me: those four people are all in the business of caring for, making decisions about, kids; but not one of them smiled at me, or even acknowledged me when I walked into the room.

“I’m going to begin with the absolute facts,” Dr. Reynolds began. “Most of the information we will discuss here today are conclusions and opinions, but there are certain indisputable facts, and I think it wise to get them on the table first thing so we can use them as a basis for the rest of the discussion. In the first place, Christine has undergone six very thorough physical examinations by myself and four other doctors. She is in absolutely perfect health, and physically, she is an absolutely perfect little boy. Everything is there and in perfect working order as nearly as we can tell before puberty, and there is no physical sign of female body parts.” I glanced at my dad, who had a very smug “I told you so” look on his face. I would have been devastated, except that this was not news to me. “Christine’s pelvis seems to be very slightly wider than normal for a boy, but this is not at all uncommon. I believe that the final shape will be determined by the type of hormones in her body as she begins to grow more quickly.

“The third item you should know,” Dr. Reynolds continued, “is that Christine is a very bright child. I am confident that if we were to administer an IQ test, she would score in the genius category. This has shown to be very significant in the rest of our evaluations.”
“I don’t believe in those IQ tests,” my dad stated firmly. “Christopher will never have one as long as I have anything to say about it.”
“I’m afraid you and I will disagree on a lot of things before this meeting is over, John,” Dr. Reynolds said. “But on this point we agree. I think sometimes those tests can be misleading, sometimes downright inaccurate. I was merely making the point that in every examination, every professional who has seen Christine, the conclusion has been the same: she is extremely intelligent, and therein lies part of the problem, and also part of the solution if we handle it right.”

“Are you saying that it’s because he is bright, he is all confused about who he is?” my dad asked. Funny, but I was thinking the same thing. I had never thought of myself as particularly bright, but I knew without question that my dad was no dummy.
“No, John, not exactly,” the doctor answered. “What I’m saying is that her intelligence, her uncanny ability to sift through facts and evidence and come to a logical conclusion, are the very factors that helped her at a very early age to realize there was a problem. Most children in her position, at that age, tend to like to dress in clothes of the opposite sex, even behave in a manner inconsistent with their physical gender, but that is as far as it goes. Christine has analyzed the situation very carefully and come to a conclusion, and she is committed to that conclusion. Incidentally my colleagues and I are unanimous that her conclusions are correct. In our opinion this child is unquestionably a girl in every respect except one: unfortunately the most obvious and undeniable fact that her body carries perfectly formed male genitals.”

Dr. Reynolds introduced a psychologist who told us about three cases in which babies had undergone sexual reassignment at birth. In two cases baby boys had been circumcised and the surgery had been botched. The doctor had recommended that the entire package be removed so the child could live a more or less normal life as a girl. In the third case, the baby had been born with both male and female genitals, and the doctors had judged that the female organs were predominant so they removed the male parts. In all three cases, the children were grown now and all three had experienced a great deal of gender identification problems, and had eventually switched to the opposite gender. “My point is,” the doctor said as he looked directly at me, “children know what gender they are supposed to be, if we would only take the time to listen to them. I have interviewed this pretty young lady, and there is no doubt in my mind that she is female through and through. It would be a shame to allow her to experience male puberty!”

“It should also be noted,” the doctor went on, “even before the issue came to a head this summer, Christopher was a very unhappy child. He didn’t know why, but he simply didn’t fit in with his peers. His tastes in music, dancing, artistic things, his lack of interest in sports, his unwillingness and inability to fight, all served to alienate him from other boys.”
“But there are lots of boys like him,” my mom protested. “Surely you aren’t suggesting that all boys who are good students, who like more gentle things, should be girls?”
“Absolutely not,” Dr. Reynolds answered. “Actually my own son, as you well know, is a very sensitive child. He likes most of the things Christine likes, but I have no doubt whatsoever that he is all boy. The difference is that Josh is confident in his masculinity. He knows he’s a boy and has the self confidence to choose his likes and dislikes, and if other boys don’t like it, that’s their problem, not his. Christine has never had that confidence.

“I further believe that if society were different, we might not have a problem,” the doctor went on. “If little boys were allowed to cry, to play with dolls instead of baseballs, to dance ballet instead of play hockey without ridicule and scorn, Christine might well live out her life happily as a boy, even though she knows deep down that she is a girl. But this summer she has experienced an acceptance as a girl that she never knew as a boy. Whether we like it or not, the lines are drawn between male and female; there is an accepted behavior pattern and any child who dares deviate from that pattern is subject to the sort of rejection that has become a way of life for Christine.”

“So you’re saying that the problem is with society, not with Chris?” my dad asked.
“Not exactly,” the doctor answered. “What I’m saying is that at 8 years old it shouldn’t matter. At 8 years old a child should be able to choose whether to play basketball or not; toys should not have gender attached to them; emotions should be expressed freely and openly. Unfortunately that is not the case, and never has been as far as I can tell.”

There were a lot of questions from various people, the most significant of which came from my mom. Her question was, “So what do we do now?”
“We have three primary options,” the doctor answered. “We can do nothing. We can allow Christine to live her life as a male person acting female. Obviously this will become increasingly difficult as she reaches puberty. Her voice will deepen, she will grow body hair, her genitals will develop and grow, and of course her breasts will not. This option will probably result in a great deal of frustration and depression for Christine. People in this situation are often suicidal, or if they’re lucky and can afford it, they seek relief through surgery and hormone therapy. They are often subject to ridicule because it becomes increasingly difficult to force their body to appear female when it is actually male.

“The second option, and one that has been tried unsuccessfully many times, is to subject Christine to intense counseling to “masculinize” her, or in other words, teach her to be a boy and convince her that the physical evidence is the true test of gender. In both these cases we will have at best a very frustrated, depressed teenager who is capable of all sorts of very distasteful acts. It is not at all uncommon for people in this situation, when they realize they have no other option, to attempt to surgically modify themselves. The results can be pretty bad. They can end up mutilated beyond repair, or even kill themselves. In a worst case scenario they can become very angry and take out their frustration on others. This is the stuff that school shootings are made of.”
“Are saying that my son is going to grow up to be a murderer?” my dad challenged.
“No, John,” Dr. Reynolds said patiently. “But I have never known a school shooter whose parents admit they saw it coming. I just want to illustrate the level of frustration that some kids experience, and this situation definitely has that potential.

“The third option, and the one I strongly recommend, is to begin a plan that will result in surgical modification.”
“You mean a sex change operation?” my dad said, making no attempt to hide his disdain.
“That’s the common term for it,” Dr. Reynolds answered. “It may seem a fine point, but in Christine’s case I prefer to call it surgical correction. To borrow an idea that Christine herself came up with, she has a birth defect which needs to be corrected. This is a rather new way of looking at transgender, but thanks to Christine I think it will explain a lot of situations that heretofore had no explanation. My official report to you, the parents and the school board will be that Christine is indeed a female person with a birth defect that makes her appear male. I will further recommend that we proceed with allowing her to develop as a female, and that we put the wheels in motion to have an orchiectomy performed as quickly as possible, and certainly before puberty.”

There was a deathly silence in the room. I had no earthly idea what an orchiectomy was, but I was far too intimidated to ask. I’d heard the word “puberty” enough by now that it was firmly etched in my brain. That was zero hour, and it was somehow magically related to the age of 12. In my eight year old mind, I would wake up on my twelfth birthday to a deep voice, a hairy, muscular body, and gigantic genitals. “You want to castrate my son!” Dad accused after a long pause.
“Yes, John,” the doctor said. “But I’m hoping before we finish here today that you will come to understand that Christine is not your son and never has been. She’s your daughter, and a very lovely one. We have an unusual opportunity here to halt the progression of her growth as a male before it gets started. With proper hormone therapy she has the potential of being a normal female person in every respect except one: that she won’t be able to bear children. Even that might change with all the research they’re doing.

“Please understand, John, that Christine is already experiencing some distress over those parts she isn’t supposed to have. I’m sorry, Christine, but I’m going to have to embarrass you. Remember the things we talked about, and you agreed I could tell if I had to?”
“Yes, sir,” I said weakly.
‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to tell about those things. Is that still ok with you?”
“No sir, it’s not ok. But if you have to, you have to.”

The doctor went on to tell everyone in the room that I had never ever played with myself or even thought about it. I was so humiliated! “That in itself is not necessarily noteworthy,” the doctor said, “But her reasons are. She absolutely hates her genitals. She hates touching them even to keep herself clean. She considers them to be not really part of her body, but rather some foreign object that somehow attached themselves to her.” Then he looked directly at me! I was trying to make myself as small and inconspicuous as possible. “Christine,” he said, “how do you feel about having those things removed?”

This was getting pretty personal, but the doctor had warned me that it would. Two or three people in the room assured me that I was among friends, but I wasn’t quite so sure. At any rate I had been asked a question, and I considered this my chance. Maybe I could walk out of here today without those parts, what with all the doctors in the room. “If I can’t get my parents to do it,” I said with as much determination as I could muster, “I’ll do it myself as soon as I’m old enough.”
“Do you understand what effect that will have on your body?”
“Yes sir. If they are not there when I am twelve, then I won’t be... I mean, I won’t ever change into a man.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I’m not gonna let that happen. I’m not a boy, so why should I be a man?”

“Christine,” Dr. Reynolds said, “you do understand that you’re embarking on a long journey. There will be lots of counseling, drugs and needles, and surgery. Some of it will be painful. Since your body doesn’t produce the female hormone Estrogen, you’ll have to take injections your entire life. You’ll face ridicule and embarrassment. There’ll be a million people who will say you’re perverted or confused, or they’ll tell you you’re crazy, all sorts of things!”
“I know, sir.”
“Don’t you think that’s pretty severe treatment for a little boy?” My dad suggested. “He’s only eight years old.”
“I agree,” the doctor said. “But look at it this way: What are Christine’s alternatives?”

“We could at least leave things as they are until he’s 18 or so and old enough to make an informed decision,” Dad suggested.
“Believe me that would be a lot easier for everyone concerned, except Christine,” the doctor answered. “To propose to do these modifications on what appears to be a young boy is going to bring all sorts of trouble, accusations and judgments down on all of us. I would not even consider it, but the consequences of waiting will weigh heavily on Christine. She will grow body hair; her bones will grow heavier and thicker than a girl’s; her hands will be larger, her voice will change. Some of these changes are obviously irreversible, and even the ones that can be undone are costly and painful. It would be so much better to do it before those hormones start if you’re absolutely sure, and in Christine’s case, I’m sure. If the male hormones are interrupted before they start and she is put on a regimen of female hormones, there is absolutely no reason not to expect her to grow into a beautiful young lady. And if we do it in the next year or two, she will have the added benefit of having grown up with the same gender she’ll keep for the rest of her life.”

Well, the discussions went on and on. My dad was determined that surgery was just too final, and that sooner or later I would “come to my senses,” so he didn’t want to do anything that was so final. He would let me continue to live as a girl, he said, but he refused to agree that I was really a girl with the wrong parts. The school board officials agreed that they would allow me to register for school as a girl, and I would be excused from any gym showers or any other activity that required me to undress in front of others. The teachers would be informed that I had a “genital malformation” that would require surgery to correct at some point in the future. Dr. Reynolds wanted to continue to see me, which was no problem whatsoever for me; he was my hero now. Even at eight years old I realized what a wonderful selling job he’d done on everyone. Well, almost everyone. My dad said he would not continue any counseling, that he was dealing with everything quite well.

When we emerged from the meeting, I was in tears. And those tears got an extra boost when I spied the members of my cheering section: Josh and Amanda, Gail, Aunt Julia. Josh got to me first and took one hand, Gail the other. “I’m a girl!” I said in almost a whisper. “The doctors said I’m a girl!”
“So didn’t you learn anything that you didn’t already know?” Josh said as Gail hugged me.
“Just a lot of big words that didn’t mean anything to me,” I answered.

The arrangement wasn’t perfect, but it was certainly a start. We had two weeks before school started, so even though our house wasn’t quite finished it was certainly livable now so my parents decided we should move in right away. I was excited, especially when I saw my new bedroom. I’d been afraid that Dad would have painted and decorated it in a very boyish way as Johnny’s had always been, but my fears had been unfounded. It was painted a very light green with white woodwork. Everything in it was very neutral, and I knew that Mom and I could fix it up very nicely. They had planned to get me new bedroom furniture anyway, so Dad agreed that Mom and I could pick it out, knowing full well what we’d come home with. With Amanda and Josh living only three blocks away, this was going to be super.

We had all done the math and concluded that Josh and I would never be in the same school. He was supposed to start sixth grade in the middle school while I was still in elementary. By the time I got to middle school, Josh would be in high school. That wasn’t a major setback, but it was still a disappointment. At the last minute, the school board decided that the middle school was overcrowded, so they moved part of the sixth grade, including Josh, back to the elementary school. Bless the school board!

The first day of school arrived. In spite of all my planning, all my excitement and anticipation, I was nervous. Amanda and Gail both assured me that I’d be fine, that they were already having a lot of trouble remembering that I had ever been anything but a pretty little girl who was rather fussy about her clothes. I wore the same outfit I’d worn to the conference, except that my hair was in pigtails instead of a pony tail. That hair was growing at a terrific rate now, so that my pigtails rested on my shoulders and then cascaded a few inches down my back, or front, as I wished. I had no problems the first morning, and things were off to a good start - not perfect, but not too bad.

Halfway through the first day I was paged to the school office. Mom and Dad had prepared me for this, so I wasn’t at all surprised. Nevertheless I felt even smaller than I was when I walked into the principal’s office and met Mrs. Davis for the first time. The secretary announced me and instructed me to sit in a chair facing the lady’s desk, then left and closed the door.

“There seems to be some confusion here,” the principal said without even looking up. “I’ve received records from your old school for a Christopher Elliot, but your transfer papers show your name as Christine. Is Christopher your brother?”
“No, Ma’am,” I answered. “It’s me. I’ve changed my name.”
“You’ve changed your name from a boy’s name to a girl’s?” she said as she finally looked at me over her glasses.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.
“I’m going to have to have more of an explanation than that,” she said sternly. “Precisely what is going on? Are you a boy or a girl?”
“I’m a girl, Ma’am. But everyone thought I was a boy until I saw some doctors this summer.”

Now I had Mrs. Davis’ full attention. She had been leafing through my records since before I’d walked into the room, but now she set them aside and gave me a look that bored two holes through me. “You thought you were a boy?” she exclaimed. “How on earth could you and your parents make a mistake like that?” I have often thought with some amusement of the various things that must have been going through her head just then; but at that moment I was far from being amused.
“Ma’am,” I said as I began to get frightened, “there should have been a note from the school board explaining...”
“Well, there’s no note that I’m aware of, so I guess you’ll just have to explain it for me.” She was obviously losing her patience, and I was losing my nerve.

I wasn’t sure what to say. Dr. Reynolds had told me I didn’t have to tell anyone anything that made me uncomfortable, and that I should refer any questions to him. But he wasn’t here facing a rather formidable looking woman, I was! I wanted to tell her to look harder for the note from the school board, but she wasn’t the type to be told anything by some kid, male or female. So finally I blurted out, “I... uhh... I have a birth defect, ma’am. It makes me look like a boy.”
“A birth defect? What kind of a birth defect?”
“It’s kind of embarrassing to talk about, Ma’am,” I said defensively. “I have my doctor’s card here, and he told me he would be glad to talk to you if you have any questions.”
“All right then,” she said, ignoring the card I held out to her. “If you’re not comfortable telling me about it, why don’t you just show me?”
“Sh-show you? Show you what?”
“Your birth defect! Just show me what it is about you that makes you look like a boy. From where I’m sitting I certainly see no evidence that you’re a boy or ever have been.”

“No, Ma’am,” I managed to get out before I almost choked. I had never defied a teacher before, and certainly not a principal. She looked at me sharply. From the look on her face I was convinced that she could see right through my skirt and panties to what I had hidden underneath.
“I see,” she said. “So you won’t tell me, and you won’t show me.”
“It’s not that I won’t,” I said defensively. “It’s just that Dr. Reynolds doesn’t want me talking about it or doing anything else that makes me uncomfortable. He said all I need to say is that everyone made a mistake when I was born, and that he would be glad to discuss it with you. But the school board...”
“Who did you speak to at the school board?” she demanded.
“I don’t remember his name, Ma’am,” I answered.

Mrs. Davis was getting rather annoyed, and I was getting downright terrified. Finally in desperation she took Dr. Reynolds’ card and dialed the number. Naturally he wasn’t there. Without leaving a message she dialed another number. She asked for a Mr. Hollingsworth, and when he came on the line she asked him if he knew anything about a Christine Elliot, just transferred from Oak Street Elementary. I could hear the man’s voice coming through the phone, but not enough to hear what he was saying. I did notice that she was a lot more polite to this man than she’d been to me, but that certainly wasn’t unusual. Mr. Hollingsworth evidently knew of the situation because he had a lot to say. Finally she thanked him and hung up, then looked at me. Her face had softened considerably.

“Very interesting story,” she said. “It seems you’ve had a very eventful summer.”

I just nodded.

“And you’re ok now? I mean, doesn’t it embarrass you dressed the way you are, after eight years as a boy?”
“No, Ma’am,” I said with as much force as I could muster.
“That’s good,” she said calmly. “Enjoy it while you can, because I’m sending you home now. If you come back tomorrow dressed like that, you will be expelled.”
“E-expelled?” I echoed. “But... but why?”
“If you have to ask why, perhaps I should just call the child protection authorities now. Now get your tail out of here before I really get mad.”

I didn’t know what else to do, so I high-tailed it home. Mom was there, thank goodness she was always there. In fact it’s that exact moment that I decided that if I was ever a mother, I’d be a stay-at-home mom. “What on earth happened?” she said as I crashed into the house, crying my eyes out.
“I got sent home,” I wailed. Then I told her the whole story.

Before I had even finished with the day’s events, Mom was on the phone, calling my dad. “Please don’t,” I begged. “Dad told me if I ever got sent home from school it would be the sorriest day of my life. He’ll kill me, Mom!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “This wasn’t your fault. Your father will deal with our Mrs. Davis.”
“Please don’t call him,” I pleaded. PLEEEEEASE, Mom!”

My dad was home within the hour. He found me sitting on the sofa in the living room, so terrified that I was trembling all over. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t hold the glass of juice Mom had given me, and... and I had wet my pants. “Get yourself cleaned up,” he ordered gruffly when he saw and smelled the mess, “I’m taking you back to school.”

School was the last place in the entire universe I wanted to be right now, but it was still more attractive to me than crossing my father. My mom met me in my bedroom and gave me a warm hug. I could tell she’d been crying, and we both cried as she hugged me. “You don’t need all this garbage, Angel,” she said to me. “Just lie on the bed, ok? I’ll get you ready.”

I got on the bed and lay down face up on the towel she had put down for me. She proceeded to strip me naked, then washed really well where I had wet, then powdered me with some of her talc. “Honey, I’m gonna put a diaper on you, ok? It’s not punishment, I just don’t want you to have another accident at school. I know you’re frightened and upset, and I’m only doing it to protect you, ok?” I only nodded. I never did tell her, but right at that moment I had never felt so cherished, so loved, so special as my mom brought out a cloth diaper and pinned it on me. Then she produced a pair of plastic panties and put them on me, then a pair of regular panties over that.

I guess maybe I’m weird, but somehow that diaper gave me confidence. Mom took a pink cotton dress from my closet and had me stand while she put it on me. She buttoned up the back and tied a big bow in the back, and I felt like a million again. When we went back downstairs I began to shake again. Dad had been on the phone the whole time I was getting changed, and now he hung up the phone and looked at me. I began to tremble again. “I put her in a diaper,” Mom said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “She is so frightened I’m afraid she might lose control again.”
“Good,” Dad said simply. I tried to read his face, to figure out what he had meant by that one word, but I couldn’t. “Come on,” he said, and I followed him to the car. Mom didn’t ask, she just locked the front door and followed us to the car.

By the time we got to the school, Dr. Reynolds and Mr. Morgan from the school board were already there. The first and second grade kids had already left for the day, and the third grade was just being dismissed when we arrived. We were ushered into Mrs. Davis’ office where everyone was already assembled, including Josh. I was really relieved to see him, but then I remembered that I was wearing a diaper. Would he know? But I knew that Mom was right, and that I would more than likely use it before this was over, and I would far rather he see me in a diaper than see me all wet around the crotch. But what was he doing here anyway?

“Mr. Elliot,” Mr. Morgan said as soon as we were all seated, “I want to apologize on behalf of the school board. There was a paperwork screw-up and Mrs. Davis had not received the memo I had prepared. She didn’t know of our arrangement.”
“So now you’ve apologized, and everybody lives happily ever after, is that right?” My dad said. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Mr. Morgan. This woman has upset Chris more in one day than the entire world has managed to do in eight years. Chris has endured more humiliation and turmoil this summer than any child should ever have to endure, but none of it was as traumatic as what happened today in this office. Your apology is NOT accepted! Our whole family is having a great deal of difficulty dealing with this whole situation, and we don’t need some self righteous, pompous school teacher turning the whole thing upside down.”

“Mr. Elliot,” Mrs. Davis said, and then she eyed Josh and me. I was trembling big time now, and I could feel myself starting to wet again. I seemed to have no control at all! But thanks to my Mom, at least I wasn’t embarrassed by a wet crotch. “Children,” the principal said, “perhaps you’d like to wait in the outer office.”
“Chris, don’t you move!” Dad ordered. I don’t think I could have moved anyway. I shot a glance at Josh, and he was making no effort to move either. “This is about the children,” Dad said, “I want them to hear just what you have to say for yourself. But I do have to ask, what’s Josh doing here?”

“Show him, Josh,” Dr. Reynolds instructed. Josh nodded and stood up. I think he was trembling almost as bad as I was. With a shaking hand he held out a piece of paper to my dad. “Everyone was given this paper to take home today, sir,” he said with a shaky voice. “I called my dad right away.”

I watched my dad as he read the paper Josh had given him. It was one of Mrs. Davis’ famous notes to parents. It told how a male student had transferred from another school, and had shown up dressed as a girl. It went on to articulate some of the possible reasons for such behavior, suggesting all sorts of things included deranged parents, sick little boys trying to sneak peeks at girls in the bathroom, mothers trying to feminize their sons. The note went on to state that such behavior would not be tolerated in this school under any circumstances, and that any infractions would be dealt with promptly and harshly. It ended by saying that the student in question had been sent home and instructed not to come back until he was dressed properly, then there was a place for the parent to sign the form. It did not give my name, but it might as well have. The way it was worded, there could be no doubt whatsoever that it was talking about me.

I swear to this day, as I watched my dad read that note, I saw smoke coming out of his ears. I have never in my entire life before or since seen him so angry. I was so transfixed by the absolute savage look on his face, it never even occurred to me the significance of the note: that now the entire school knew my secret. By now everyone in the room had been given a copy of the note. The only sound in the room was Josh, sobbing quietly. Yes, Josh was crying! I don’t know if it was anger, fear, tension, or perhaps all three. But Josh was definitely crying. I wasn’t - I was too scared to do anything.

“We’ll have to make arrangements immediately to transfer Christine to another school,” Mr. Morgan announced. “Mrs. Davis, if you had only not acted so hastily.”
“Don’t even try to lay this on me,” Mrs. Davis said with that same authoritarian tone she’d used with me. “If the school board had done its job and forewarned me, all of this unfortunate incident could have been avoided.”

“What I don’t understand,” Dr. Reynolds said, “why was this note written? As I understand it, you spoke to someone at the school board before Christine ever left the school. That means you must have known about the arrangement when you wrote this note.”
“I have seven hundred students to deal with,” Mrs. Davis replied, “not just one. “This note is not just about Christine, or Christopher, or whatever the child’s name is. I have done nothing wrong. I was merely trying to protect my students.”

About four people opened their mouths to say something, but closed them again when my dad stood up. I was afraid for a moment that he was going to attack Mrs. Davis, or perhaps Mr. Morgan, but he didn’t. He started to speak in a quiet, controlled, almost kind voice. I had heard him use this voice before, and it was usually just before Johnny or I got our tails torn up big time! This tone of voice was so terrifying to me I felt myself wetting again.

“It’s really unfortunate that you sent this note home with the entire student body, Mrs. Davis,” Dad said quietly. “You have done more damage than you realize. You have invaded a child’s privacy; you have humiliated one of the students you claim to be so committed to protect; you have undoubtedly confused half the kids in this school, and you have gone totally against the recommendations of at least five doctors. And now Mr. Morgan is going to reinforce your efforts by kicking my child out of this school as if he is no longer worthy. I think I know my child well enough to know that’s not the answer, and it’s not what we’re gonna do.”

My dad’s hands were shaking; his face was so red it looked as if he was going to explode. But still he used that same quiet monotone that let anyone who heard him know that he wasn’t about to take any crap from anyone. “What we are going to do is this,” he said. A casual listener would presume that everyone in the room had gathered to receive their orders. There was no indication in his voice or demeanor that there was any doubt; he was telling us what was going to happen. Period.

“Christine will not be in school tomorrow,” he went on. “I find it quite impossible to allow her to be in the same school at the same time with Mrs. Davis. So that will give the lady time to move her things out of this office. Christine will return to school on Thursday, and it WILL be Christine who returns, Not Christopher. Is that what you want, Christine?”
“Uhhh...” I gulped. I hadn’t been expecting to be called upon to give my opinion. “Y-yes, sir,” I finally managed.
“It’s gonna get rough,” Dad warned me. “The whole school knows about you now. You’ll be in for a fair bit of teasing. You can transfer to another school if you want to.”
“I’ll stay,” I said. An inner voice was screaming at me, demanding to know what in hell I was doing. But suddenly I was firm in my resolution: this would come sooner or later, and I might as well get it over with.

“Mr. Elliot,” Mr. Morgan protested, “I’m really sorry that this all happened the way it did. This has been a very unfortunate incident. But that doesn’t give you the right to come in here and start dictating what we do with our personnel. We can’t just move Mrs. Davis out of her office just because she has annoyed you.”
“You’re right,” Dad replied in that same even, soft tone. “Unfortunately it’s not just that she annoyed me. She has caused more damage than we’ll be able to assess for years. Perhaps I should just let my attorney sort it out in terms of law suits. And then of course there are the possible criminal charges...”
“Criminal charges?” Mr. Morgan questioned. “I hardly think...”
“I’m sure you do hardly think,” Dad said. Still calm, still that voice that scared me to death. “I hardly think that this information was shared with you. But child abuse is a very serious charge. In fact I would suggest you think long and hard before giving this woman authority over young children again. The fact is what made her really angry today was that she was unsuccessful in forcing my child to undress for her. That is sexual abuse, Mr. Morgan. But if you’d rather we just let the courts decide...”

Mr. Morgan eyed Mrs. Davis, his jaw hanging open. “Is this true, Mrs. Davis?”
“What would you expect him to do?” she demanded angrily. “He has taken a perfectly innocent situation and turned it into something ugly. I wouldn’t expect him to do anything else. Imagine, dressing his little boy in skirts and giving him a girl’s name.”
“But is it true? Did you try to get this child to undress?”
“I tried to find out the truth. It had nothing to do with...”
“Thank you, Mrs. Davis,” Dad said. “Now you have admitted to witnesses what I knew anyway. But now I’d like to tell you what’s really ugly. What is downright disgusting, is people like you who get themselves in a position of authority, and then pick on little kids. They can’t defend themselves, they’re taught to respect and look up to you, and obey you. And you take advantage of that. Now THAT’s UGLY!”

“Mr. Elliot,” Mr. Morgan said as his face paled. “I don’t think you want to turn this into a major incident, do you? Do you want it all over town that your son is... errr...”
“I suspect that it’s already all over town,” Dad replied. “I suspect that what’s all over town is a far cry from the truth. Perhaps a good court case will clear the air. The fact is, my son, or daughter, has done nothing wrong. She is merely trying her best to get through life the best way she knows how, the same as the rest of us. And we don’t need a vindictive person like your Mrs. Davis here adding to our problems. We are handling it as best we can. We have knowledgeable people, good people, helping our family through this, and we don’t need any self-appointed expert telling us how to live our lives. Now, which is it going to be? Do I call my attorney, or do we proceed with plans to have Christine return to school day after tomorrow?”

There was another silence in the room. I wasn’t hearing a lot of what was going on now because I was still dealing with the fact that my father had referred to me as his daughter. He had called me HER! Then he had called me CHRISTINE! I would gladly have gone through this ordeal without complaint if I’d had any idea that my dad would have stood up in front of strangers and accepted me as a girl. This was incredible!

“If I may say something?” Dr. Reynolds put in. When no one said anything he continued. “John, I’d like to suggest that Christine take the rest of the week off. I would like to see her in my office no later than tomorrow, and I think it would be a good idea to give the rest of the school time to get used to the idea. I suspect that some of those children might also need to see a counselor. I suggest we should all take a step backwards and have a bit of a cooling off period.”
“But, I’ll miss a week of school,” I said before I realized I was saying anything.
“I suspect your being in school for the next few days won’t profit you very much anyway,” Mom said. “Actually, honey, are you sure you want to go back to the same school?”
“I’m sure,” I said. I guess I was probably in shock, but I was having a great deal of trouble dealing with the possibility of going to a school without Josh, and probably riding a school bus to get there.
“Don’t you worry about missing school,” Mr. Morgan said. He was obviously annoyed now, and not at me. “I will call your teacher and have her drop by with a lesson plan, if that’s all right Mrs. Elliot?”
“That would be fine,” Mom said with a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan.”
“I’m going to do everything I can to make this right, Christine,” he said. “I can’t undo what’s been done, but I’ll make it as easy on you as I can.”

To be continued...