Fooling Myself

by Al Olsen

I was one of those girls who preferred jeans over dresses; remote controlled cars over Barbies. 

Yet, the things that I hated and thought were boring were a part of my life. Every Sunday I 

would put on one of the dresses that my Mother had bought for me, try to convince myself that 

I liked the way I looked. My parents liked the floral and frilly things on me, so it must be okay, 

right? I actually bought into the frilly outfits for a while, but my favourites were still jeans. I 

mean, you weren't allowed to play catch with Dad in a dress. As for Barbies, I never got the 

concept of them. 


Dad was the parent that would let me be myself. He would allow me to help paint and fix 

the fence, wash the latest family vehicle, sand and varnish the porch furniture. To this day, I 

love the smell of sawdust. My Mother, on the other hand, did not get me at all. She did try to 

let me be, but every once a while she had to remind me of my gender. When she did, I felt 

like hiding. There are two experiences that really stand out: finding training bras under the 

Christmas tree and having to hold them up so ALL of my relatives could see, then having my 

first menstrual cycle, and instead of being comforted, being told Oh congratulations I was a

woman now. Thanks, Mom. Ironically, it was Dad who explained the situation and calmed me 

down.


As I got older, I turned my thoughts to finding a mate, like most church going female teenagers 

do. With the gender specific stereotypes from the church and media, I course followed suit. 

Skirts and caked on makeup. I started trying to attract the right type of men, although I still 

favoured pants. They were just more useful, I didn't have to worry about acting "lady like". 

My mind was filled with dreams and ambitions. Then naturally, I fell in love and got married. 

Dreams and ambitions were cast aside so we could start a family. Our first born was a girl and 

I thought to myself "oh no she's going to grow up gender confused!" due to the fact that I didn't 

exactly dress normally according to society, except on Sundays. I started wearing the one 

colour I usually avoided like the plague: pink. Although I didn't forced it on her, our relatives 

bought enough pink and frilly stuff. 


After our son was born, I gradually began to be less active at church, which meant the 

pressure to be gender stereotypical was lower. Ironically, having less pressure that way also 

meant I didn't have to follow inane modesty rules. Feeling that total freedom to wear whatever 

the hell I wanted brought the "oh my god, that skirt is damn short" phase out of me. For a while 

it was fun and exciting. I had a fling with my inner girl. In the end though, I found comfort in 

Gothic clothes and of course jeans. Less obviously girl. I wear both gender clothing now. I am 

finding that it is okay to do so. My journey to be myself is just beginning.