My mother died nearly three years ago.
My father was a hard worker. He earned the money for our family, working overtime whenever he could, and sometimes working two jobs. He was not a big presence in our family because he was at work a lot of the time.
As a result, my mother ran the show in our family; she handled the family finances and raised and disciplined my sister and I. She was a tough, but fair disciplinarian and she loved her children, especially me, who she favored. Also, she was a very beautiful woman.
My mother was the parent I looked up to because she was the parent that was around. I did not know it at the time, but she was my role model.
I was a creative kid and my mother encouraged my creative side. I loved sports, especially baseball, but I was not very good at it (I could hit the ball a mile, but I threw like a girl). So early on, I knew where my strengths laid. I spent a lot of time writing and drawing and my mother supported and encouraged me. Eventually, I became a successful professional writer with a lot of thanks going to my mother.
I looked like my mother's side of the family and inherited many of her features like her long legs and her facial features. When I do my makeup just so, I look a lot like her; people would mistake us for mother and daughter, i.e., if she was alive and I dressed en femme in her presence.
I did not think that my mother knew about my crossdressing, because she never broached the subject despite the fact that I often got into her stuff and even ruined some items that I found out the hard way, were too small for me. I was very much in the closet then and I was just as happy that she did not know. But. she knew.
As newlyweds, my wife and I crossdressed for a Halloween party and when I mentioned our party plans to my mother over the phone, she asked if I had taken my box of "stuff" with me when I moved out.
I don't recall my response, but at that moment, I knew she knew. She never mentioned it again and neither did I.
Howwever, once in awhile right up to her death, she would say to me, "Is there anything you want to tell me?"
I always thought she was referring to my crossdressing when she asked and I always said, "No."
In retrospect, I wish I had confided in my mother about me becoming a woman. She was so loving and so supportive that I think she would have helped me. (She was a great seamstress by the way and I can only dream about the outfits she might have sewn for her male daughter.) But, I did not confide in her and I regret it now.
But, if there is a heaven, I am sure my mother smiles down at me when she sees her firstborn dressed en femme enjoying her time as a woman.
So, Happy Mother's Day, Mom.
Your Loving Daughter,
(The accompanying studio photograph is one I found somewhere on the Internet depicting a son and mother in the late 19th or early 20th Century. Click on it to enlarge the photo of the mother and her male daughter.)