The Latest News on Me

I just got this email from a delightful friend who lives in the Midwest of the USA.

"I haven't heard from you in a long time.
How is everything over there?
"Hugs Hugs
"Gabbo"

My reply should update everyone.

"How lovely that you want to hear from me!  I know I want to hear from you.

 "I don’t even remember when we last exchanged emails.  Do you?  I could launch into a narrative, but it would be nice if I knew where to start.  I am pretty sure you didn’t know I had to have spine surgery, but I am healing now and expect to be finer than I was before it in about a month.  ANGEL EYES, my novel about the Mexican War has been out for five months.. I have not done the marketing I should, so I need to do that this fall if I expect to sell any books.

 

"I was working on a sequel to WHERE MY LOVE LIES DREAMING but had to stop since my doctor only wants me to sit at the computer for a half hour at a time and then get up and change position.. I am using my new Amazon Echo to time me.  So I will very happily get back to that in about a month as well.

 

"I had a real low point about two weeks ago where I went to my husband to tell him I was feeling suicidal, but I know that was my smart way of getting myself back on track to the usually cheerful person I am. I think you and I are similar in that way.  I am just overwhelmed with all the challenges in my life due to disabilities but most of the time I don’t even think about them or find ways around them.  I am either stupid, crazy or really really smart.

"So how is your stupid, crazy or really really smart  life treating you?  What is new?  Did I not mention anything you might have wanted to know about?

 

"Kit"

Much to Think About

An email from Lori L. Lake:

Kit - Luca and I have talked a lot about gender and sexuality lately. (And we’re watching TRANSPARENT – have you seen that?) I read this email of yours below to her, and we’ve been puzzling and pondering. Neither of us likes the kind of female culture you describe: giggly, manipulative, selfish, passive-aggressive, whiny, male-approval-driven, skinny bitch mean girls. Neither one of us likes the macho, knuckle-dragging, thoughtless, beer-swilling, mean-spirited, selfish, entitled aficionados of the rape culture either.

But in our world, those sorts of people don’t really exist – I mean, they’re just not welcomed in. I have an amazing group of lesbian friends – my butch “brothers,” I would call a lot of them. We like sports and cars and building things and learning stuff generally considered part of the male realm – and we like cooking and crafts and writing and talking about feelings – and we like laughing and seeing movies and discussing politics and gender and queer rights – and we talk about sexuality and sex and all kinds of personal stuff. I also have lesbian “sisters” who range from high-femme to generally femme, and we do things together or talk about a lot of the same stuff except what’s considered more in the male realm (football or soccer or car repair) and I try mightily not to get trapped into talking about “Say Yes to the Dress” and makeup and which stilettos are more comfy. <major eye rolling here>

In other words, the lesbian culture that I embrace and that my friends are part of is definitely a female culture, but it’s like nothing that heterosexual, male-oriented, suburban soccer moms would find comfortable. Everyone exists on a spectrum for every aspect of their personality, practices, dress code, etc. It’s not how people look or even what they know or do – it’s who they ARE that matters. What are their values? How do they treat other people? What level of intelligence do they operate with? Are they kind???

With the way men are raised (and often by women who inculcate them with the WORST attitudes and behaviors!), I wouldn’t want to be a man in this day and age. And yet, I feel a real affinity toward many men who have been in my life: coaches, teachers, neighbors, powerlifting peers, family members, etc. I was “one of the guys” when I was a powerlifter. After living through the sexism of the 60s, 70s, and into the 80s, by the time I was in my late 30s/early 40s, men and boys had changed a lot. The anti-woman, sexist, anti-girls-in-sports men had either softened their hardline stances or gone away, and the younger men and even my contemporaries had a different attitude. From age 39-42, I was coached by a 27-year-old sweetheart of a guy, Troy, who helped me break all the Minnesota women’s powerlifting masters records. During the same time, I coached and trained with a 22-yr-old kid, Nick, who completely accepted my knowledge and expertise and bragged about my good coaching. Wow---what a change from my teens and 20s! Pretty much every guy at the gym was supportive to me in my quest to be strong and break records, and some of them spotted for me or I for them, and we all talked a lot about lifting, sharing ideas and techniques. It was a great experience. I’m still crushed that I herniated a disk and could no longer lift. I miss those guys to this day.

But I could find more of them in other realms. For every asshole (like the one who relentlessly sexually harassed my ex and me at a Twins baseball game), there are several other men willing to act like human beings and be respectful to women. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that!

Same goes for women. There are a lot of them whose behavior I just don’t like, and I avoid them. But I have a lot of straight women in my life – and so does Luca, who also has a lot of straight men in her life.

And as far as Luca and I go, we both have all kinds of male and female energy, and we just put it to good use. Luca LOOKS femmier than me, but I can honestly say, she has a LOT of male energy. I may look more butch, but I’m actually more tender-hearted and easily wounded. We’re both a giant amalgam of disparate aspects and variety and it’s all good.

Now that you are transitioning as you are, you might need some new people to add to your Community – people who will accept and understand and cherish you. And encourage you to grow and change and explore. The Universe has a way of sending people like that into your world if you’re open to it (Hello, Lori! <g>). Keep your eyes open for more.

;-)  Lori

I Go to School: Autobiogrphy of Kit Moss

Valinda Elementary Scchool, La Puente, CA

The next part of this story is my elementary school.  You can see it above.  It sort of looks familiar and sort of doesn't but given it's probably at least 60 years old, that's no mystery.

My first teacher was Mrs. Barcalow, a kindergarten teacher.  I don't remember a lot from that class.  There was a fat girl who used to punch people.  The principal once brought us all real orange juice Popsicles.  I remember there was one of those Brio train sets.

My first grade teacher was Miss Dorius.  She divided us up into three reading groups, Chocolate, Strawberry and Vanilla.  I was pissed when I was not in Chocolate.  I had a crush on a boy, my first time, and once kissed him on the arm.  He had beautiful eyes.  The less said about the teacher's reaction the better.  I remember the Dick and Jane reader with that little asshole Sally.  I did not like them.  I once took my toy Calico Cat and Gingham Dog my mother made me for show and tell.  I brought the dog another time and insisted it was a horse.  I used to daydream my mother was the teacher.

My second grade teacher was Miss Rose Cotton.  She had breasts out to here, and the fathers of the kids loved her.  I just didn't see it.  She also taught the summer school with one other teacher.  We did things with paper plates and sand, but I don't remember what.

I do remember Paul Grenier.  We played Roy Rogers endlessly.  I remember when recess was over we would ride our "horses"  back to class to the strains of "Happy Trails to You".  Joel, the boy who was the bad guy, always rode away when I approached him.  I wish I could tell you Paul once kissed me, but for reasons I cannot divulge, he didn't.   I guess you can say I pretended he did when I asked him on the school bus what he thought I should be when I grew up, and he said "A ghost!"  Paul had had polio, wore a brace on one leg, and I heard he died not long after we moved away.

That summer we moved to Juneau, Alaska.   My father got a job with the Department of Personnel at the State of Alaska.  I remember drawing a picture of what I thought my new home would look like, complete with igloo.

Not my original drawing.

I Am Born: An Autobiography of Kit Moss

U.S. Naval Ammunition Depot, 1952

I decided one technique for accepting oneself as male is to rewrite one's life as a boy and man.  I plan to start this on this blog with the birth of Christopher Hawthorne Moss on January 3, 1952, in Hawthorne, Nevada.

 Kit's parents, Merle and Louis, had one daughter already, Denise, who always was a bit perplexed by her little brother. He was cute but cried a great deal, given that he had colic.  His mother put whisky in his bottle of milk to help him sleep.  Heaven only knows what affect that had on him.

His family moved away from Hawthorne when he was only five months old.  His dad had gotten involved with one of the officer's wives at the Navy facility where the man worked.  They moved back to Los Angeles, California, where his mother had grown up and his father had moved in the late 1940s after his years in World War II.

There are stories I can tell you about Kit before his family moved to La Puente, CA, and I will.  But for now, let's just look at some of the photos I can find of this sharp little boy.