One time my therapist asked me what would have to happen 

before I transitioned. I told her that I would have to 

disclose at work and to tell my parents. Little did I know 

they would both happen in the same week. I don't want to 

ever have another week like that.

I must say that of all the blessings God has given me 

during this transition, I doubt if any of them are as 

wonderful as the one described in this story. But be 

warned. You'll probably need to have a box of tissues 

handy.

Cindy sat in the car and stared at the American Eagle on 

the Express Mail envelope. "Extremely Urgent" read the 

logo. Cindy knew it was best this way. Next day delivery. 

No waiting and wondering when the letter would arrive. 

Nevertheless, she wished it could wait. This was one letter 

she didn't want to mail. Yet, it was perhaps the most 

important letter she would ever mail.

Cindy was feeling good returning from her psychologist's 

appointment when she saw the message light flashing on the 

answering machine. She had been telling the counselor how 

well things had gone in her meeting with the officials of 

the college where she taught. Next year, Carl Martin 

disappears and Cindy Martin appears in the district. The 

president of the school was arranging a possible transfer 

to another school in the district for a year to smooth the 

transition.

His words still rang in her ears, "You have a job with us 

no matter what your gender is. We want to make your 

transition as smooth as possible."

Now, she wondered what the flashing light meant. In thirty 

seconds she found out. "Chuck, your Dad was checking 

something out in your car and found some credit card 

receipts. Who's Cindy Martin? Are you using a pen name for 

your writing or something? Please call. We're worried."

Cindy was just two and a half months away from the end of 

spring semester and the beginning of the real-life test 

when she would begin living full-time as a female. She 

planned to tell her folks then.

"Well, that moves up the time schedule," she whispered as 

she removed an earring and began to dial the familiar 

number.

"Hi, Mama. Yeah, I got your message... Well, look it's a 

bit complicated to go into over the phone right now but 

there is nothing to worry about..." Cindy stammered.

"Well, your Dad was worried. He worries a lot. So, I wanted 

to call," she said then added laughing, "You haven't gotten 

married and not told us."

"No, I haven't." And I'm not likely to anytime soon, Cindy 

added silently.

"And you aren't leaving for Sweden to get an operation?" It 

was getting harder and harder to avoid lying. Cindy hated 

lying to anyone especially people she loved. 

"Not right away," she said truthfully, but with silent 

tears welling up inside.

"And you aren't going around with a blonde wig and high 

heels?"

"No, no blonde wig." I got rid of the blonde wig months 

ago, Cindy thought. It would almost be funny if it weren't 

so hard.

"Look," said Cindy, "I'll explain everything when I get up 

there for spring break. It's nothing to worry about."

"Well, dear, we weren't prying. We were just concerned. I 

know you're nearly forty but you're still our little boy."

After hanging up, the tears became less silent and more 

abundant. 

As Cindy sat looking at the envelope, she remembered making 

the tape inside. She worked for several years in radio, but 

this was the most difficult tape she had to make. Her 

mother had limited eyesight so any letters to the family 

had to be taped. Cindy broke down six times trying to make 

the tape. After the last take, she threw herself down on 

the bed and cried for a half-hour.

The letter was an idea proposed by Cindy's counselor. It 

ensured that she could finish what she had to say, and it 

could remove the effects of someone being shocked and 

saying something they would regret later. It seemed like 

the cowards way out to Cindy, but then she never claimed to 

be brave.

Suddenly, Cindy pushed open the car door walked quickly to 

the mailbox and deposited the envelope. As the door to the 

box closed she felt an instant of panic, then a feeling of 

sad relief. Whatever happened now, happened. It was out of 

her hands now. By this time tomorrow, things would be 

radically different. Maybe better, Maybe worse, but 

definitely different. She didn't look forward to tomorrow.

Back in the car, the tears overflowed again. The balance of 

the day passed in a sort of fog. She did something to the 

car. She bought something at the grocery store. She graded 

some kind of papers. But the details of what she did 

blurred into the kind of fog she was familiar with living 

on the Coast. That thick billowing fog rolling in off the 

ocean drenched the skin and obscured everything cloaking 

every landmark in gray nothingness, hiding the road signs, 

devouring the road just a few feet in front of you. You 

could only go slowly, trust your instincts and have faith 

that you would make it through.

Faith. That's what this was all about wasn't it. Faith in 

God that he could complete what he started in Cindy's life 

concerning this transition. Faith in her parents that they 

were mature enough, intelligent enough, loving enough to 

make an attempt to understand. Faith in herself that she 

could deal with any response there might be.

That last one was the most difficult. The horror stories of 

parents completely refusing to talk to their children, 

disowning them, refusing to acknowledge their existence 

came flooding in on her. It was possible that this might be 

the case. She couldn't really believe it. Their 

relationship had been so close, so special. Was it possible 

that...

She couldn't even continue the thought. No, that was very 

unlikely, but still there was the other side of the coin. 

This could hurt them deeply. And it could embarrass them 

among their friends. How would their church react? Cindy 

had a wonderful acceptance at her church, but would others 

be as accepting? Did she have the right to lay this on 

them? Perhaps she should not have told them. Perhaps she 

should have just crossdressed for her visits with them as a 

male. But how long could she have kept that up? A few 

months, perhaps. Besides what about when they came to town 

for their next visit. No, honesty would have to come 

eventually. She had just hoped eventually was a few months 

in the future.

Cindy lay on the couch much of the night, lights low, face 

buried in hands crying and praying then crying some more 

and praying some more. Even the extra estrogen tablet she 

had taken couldn't reduce this anxiety. When she couldn't 

lie still any longer, she got up and paced through the 

apartment. Sat down. Tried to watch some TV, but nothing 

was appealing. 11:00. She should call the folks. Tell them 

a special letter was arriving. It would be a difficult call 

to make. To sound as if nothing was wrong, with tears in 

her eyes would tax every drop of vocal control 20 years of 

training could muster.

"Hi, Mom. How's everything going up there?

A few moments of casual conversation continued, Cindy 

breathing deeply in a futile effort to relax. Finally, 

taking a deep silent breath, Cindy said in what she hoped 

was a casual tone, "Oh, by the way, I sent you a tape 

today. It's nothing to worry about. You should get it in 

tomorrow's mail."

"Oh, all right. Is there anything I should know?"

"No, nothing's wrong. The tape will explain everything."

"Well, I'd better let you get to bed. We love you."

"I love you, too."

Cindy replaced the receiver like it was made of flawed 

crystal. She listened to the synthesized ticking of the 

electric schoolhouse clock on the wall as it measured out 

the remaining hours of her old relationships. In less than 

12 hours the last pure domain of Carl' existence would 

cease to exist. This at once excited her and scared her. It 

was exciting because she was moving forward. It was 

frightening because she didn't want to leave her parents 

behind as she moved forward.

Her rhythmic breathing which had regulated her vocal tones 

began to falter and quicken. She collapsed sobbing dry sobs 

into a blue ruffled pillow she bought at a Women's 

Ministries Christmas Boutique. Exhausted she looked back at 

the clock. It was nearly midnight. She had early classes 

tomorrow. She would have to try to sleep.

Cindy slept surprisingly well. Nervous exhaustion overruled 

tumultuous anxiety and plunged her into a deep dreamless 

sleep that only ended with the steady bleating of the alarm 

clock at 7:00 the next morning. She lay listening to the 

clock for about 30 seconds, feeling that getting out of bed 

was an almost impossible task. She thought about her 

accumulated sick leave, but that wasn't the Martin family 

way. They plowed right ahead and did what needed to be 

done. 

So, pressing hard against the mattress, Cindy got out of 

bed, deposited her earring studs into her jewelry box, and 

got dressed once more as Carl. Just two months and twenty-

five days more of male life, Cindy thought, then I will be 

able to be me all day every day.

Her first class breezed by, Cindy teaching on automatic 

pilot not really aware of the class or of anything else. 

Back in the office, she began to call her home number to 

check the messages on her machine. If she knew anything 

about the folks, she knew there would be a call as soon as 

the tape arrived. But as she picked up the receiver, her 

office mate came in complaining about a broken copier. 

Cindy almost laughed thinking about how important a broken 

copier would have been to her last week and how unimportant 

it was to her at this moment. She replaced the receiver. 

Chatted with her colleague for a few moments hoping she 

would leave. But she didn't. 

Finally, Cindy left her office to go pick up her mail in 

the mailbox across the campus. As she trudged along the 

path she tried to imagine the scene when the tape arrived. 

Were there tears? Was there anger? What was said? How did 

her mother react? How did her father react? What would they 

say on the tape? Outside the administration building was a 

phone. Cindy reluctantly picked it up, slowly dialed the 

number and listened to the ringing. One ring, two rings (if 

it rang another time no message would be on the machine). 

No further rings.

"We're awfully sorry we missed your call," began Cindy's 

purposely androgynous message. Cindy pressed the secret 

code, stopped the voice and heard the synthesized music box 

rendition of "No Place Like Home" telling her the tape was 

rewinding. Perhaps it was just someone trying to sell her 

insurance.

"Honey, we got your tape," it was Cindy's mother's voice. 

"We listened to it," she continued her voice cracking with 

emotion. "It doesn't matter to us whether you're Carl or 

Cindy. We love you regardless. Don't you know that? We love 

our daughter as much as we loved our son. Listen I'll call 

again tonight. We love you very much."

Once again Cindy's eyes filled with tears as she slowly 

replaced the receiver on the hook, but she kept the sobbing 

back and for once felt thankful for that male stoicism 

society implants in men. 

Driving home from school that afternoon, Cindy noticed that 

the orchards were in bloom. It turned out to be a pretty 

wonderful day after all. 

  I don't want to 

ever have another week like that.

I must say that of all the blessings God has given me 

during this transition, I doubt if any of them are as 

wonderful as the one described in this story. But be 

warned. You'll probably need to have a box of tissues 

handy.

Cindy sat in the car and stared at the American Eagle on 

the Express Mail envelope. "Extremely Urgent" read the 

logo. Cindy knew it was best this way. Next day delivery. 

No waiting and wondering when the letter would arrive. 

Nevertheless, she wished it could wait. This was one letter 

she didn't want to mail. Yet, it was perhaps the most 

important letter she would ever mail.

Cindy was feeling good returning from her psychologist's 

appointment when she saw the message light flashing on the 

answering machine. She had been telling the counselor how 

well things had gone in her meeting with the officials of 

the college where she taught. Next year, Carl Martin 

disappears and Cindy Martin appears in the district. The 

president of the school was arranging a possible transfer 

to another school in the district for a year to smooth the 

transition.

His words still rang in her ears, "You have a job with us 

no matter what your gender is. We want to make your 

transition as smooth as possible."

Now, she wondered what the flashing light meant. In thirty 

seconds she found out. "Chuck, your Dad was checking 

something out in your car and found some credit card 

receipts. Who's Cindy Martin? Are you using a pen name for 

your writing or something? Please call. We're worried."

Cindy was just two and a half months away from the end of 

spring semester and the beginning of the real-life test 

when she would begin living full-time as a female. She 

planned to tell her folks then.

"Well, that moves up the time schedule," she whispered as 

she removed an earring and began to dial the familiar 

number.

"Hi, Mama. Yeah, I got your message... Well, look it's a 

bit complicated to go into over the phone right now but 

there is nothing to worry about..." Cindy stammered.

"Well, your Dad was worried. He worries a lot. So, I wanted 

to call," she said then added laughing, "You haven't gotten 

married and not told us."

"No, I haven't." And I'm not likely to anytime soon, Cindy 

added silently.

"And you aren't leaving for Sweden to get an operation?" It 

was getting harder and harder to avoid lying. Cindy hated 

lying to anyone especially people she loved. 

"Not right away," she said truthfully, but with silent 

tears welling up inside.

"And you aren't going around with a blonde wig and high 

heels?"

"No, no blonde wig." I got rid of the blonde wig months 

ago, Cindy thought. It would almost be funny if it weren't 

so hard.

"Look," said Cindy, "I'll explain everything when I get up 

there for spring break. It's nothing to worry about."

"Well, dear, we weren't prying. We were just concerned. I 

know you're nearly forty but you're still our little boy."

After hanging up, the tears became less silent and more 

abundant. 

As Cindy sat looking at the envelope, she remembered making 

the tape inside. She worked for several years in radio, but 

this was the most difficult tape she had to make. Her 

mother had limited eyesight so any letters to the family 

had to be taped. Cindy broke down six times trying to make 

the tape. After the last take, she threw herself down on 

the bed and cried for a half-hour.

The letter was an idea proposed by Cindy's counselor. It 

ensured that she could finish what she had to say, and it 

could remove the effects of someone being shocked and 

saying something they would regret later. It seemed like 

the cowards way out to Cindy, but then she never claimed to 

be brave.

Suddenly, Cindy pushed open the car door walked quickly to 

the mailbox and deposited the envelope. As the door to the 

box closed she felt an instant of panic, then a feeling of 

sad relief. Whatever happened now, happened. It was out of 

her hands now. By this time tomorrow, things would be 

radically different. Maybe better, Maybe worse, but 

definitely different. She didn't look forward to tomorrow.

Back in the car, the tears overflowed again. The balance of 

the day passed in a sort of fog. She did something to the 

car. She bought something at the grocery store. She graded 

some kind of papers. But the details of what she did 

blurred into the kind of fog she was familiar with living 

on the Coast. That thick billowing fog rolling in off the 

ocean drenched the skin and obscured everything cloaking 

every landmark in gray nothingness, hiding the road signs, 

devouring the road just a few feet in front of you. You 

could only go slowly, trust your instincts and have faith 

that you would make it through.

Faith. That's what this was all about wasn't it. Faith in 

God that he could complete what he started in Cindy's life 

concerning this transition. Faith in her parents that they 

were mature enough, intelligent enough, loving enough to 

make an attempt to understand. Faith in herself that she 

could deal with any response there might be.

That last one was the most difficult. The horror stories of 

parents completely refusing to talk to their children, 

disowning them, refusing to acknowledge their existence 

came flooding in on her. It was possible that this might be 

the case. She couldn't really believe it. Their 

relationship had been so close, so special. Was it possible 

that...

She couldn't even continue the thought. No, that was very 

unlikely, but still there was the other side of the coin. 

This could hurt them deeply. And it could embarrass them 

among their friends. How would their church react? Cindy 

had a wonderful acceptance at her church, but would others 

be as accepting? Did she have the right to lay this on 

them? Perhaps she should not have told them. Perhaps she 

should have just crossdressed for her visits with them as a 

male. But how long could she have kept that up? A few 

months, perhaps. Besides what about when they came to town 

for their next visit. No, honesty would have to come 

eventually. She had just hoped eventually was a few months 

in the future.

Cindy lay on the couch much of the night, lights low, face 

buried in hands crying and praying then crying some more 

and praying some more. Even the extra estrogen tablet she 

had taken couldn't reduce this anxiety. When she couldn't 

lie still any longer, she got up and paced through the 

apartment. Sat down. Tried to watch some TV, but nothing 

was appealing. 11:00. She should call the folks. Tell them 

a special letter was arriving. It would be a difficult call 

to make. To sound as if nothing was wrong, with tears in 

her eyes would tax every drop of vocal control 20 years of 

training could muster.

"Hi, Mom. How's everything going up there?

A few moments of casual conversation continued, Cindy 

breathing deeply in a futile effort to relax. Finally, 

taking a deep silent breath, Cindy said in what she hoped 

was a casual tone, "Oh, by the way, I sent you a tape 

today. It's nothing to worry about. You should get it in 

tomorrow's mail."

"Oh, all right. Is there anything I should know?"

"No, nothing's wrong. The tape will explain everything."

"Well, I'd better let you get to bed. We love you."

"I love you, too."

Cindy replaced the receiver like it was made of flawed 

crystal. She listened to the synthesized ticking of the 

electric schoolhouse clock on the wall as it measured out 

the remaining hours of her old relationships. In less than 

12 hours the last pure domain of Carl' existence would 

cease to exist. This at once excited her and scared her. It 

was exciting because she was moving forward. It was 

frightening because she didn't want to leave her parents 

behind as she moved forward.

Her rhythmic breathing which had regulated her vocal tones 

began to falter and quicken. She collapsed sobbing dry sobs 

into a blue ruffled pillow she bought at a Women's 

Ministries Christmas Boutique. Exhausted she looked back at 

the clock. It was nearly midnight. She had early classes 

tomorrow. She would have to try to sleep.

Cindy slept surprisingly well. Nervous exhaustion overruled 

tumultuous anxiety and plunged her into a deep dreamless 

sleep that only ended with the steady bleating of the alarm 

clock at 7:00 the next morning. She lay listening to the 

clock for about 30 seconds, feeling that getting out of bed 

was an almost impossible task. She thought about her 

accumulated sick leave, but that wasn't the Martin family 

way. They plowed right ahead and did what needed to be 

done. 

So, pressing hard against the mattress, Cindy got out of 

bed, deposited her earring studs into her jewelry box, and 

got dressed once more as Carl. Just two months and twenty-

five days more of male life, Cindy thought, then I will be 

able to be me all day every day.

Her first class breezed by, Cindy teaching on automatic 

pilot not really aware of the class or of anything else. 

Back in the office, she began to call her home number to 

check the messages on her machine. If she knew anything 

about the folks, she knew there would be a call as soon as 

the tape arrived. But as she picked up the receiver, her 

office mate came in complaining about a broken copier. 

Cindy almost laughed thinking about how important a broken 

copier would have been to her last week and how unimportant 

it was to her at this moment. She replaced the receiver. 

Chatted with her colleague for a few moments hoping she 

would leave. But she didn't. 

Finally, Cindy left her office to go pick up her mail in 

the mailbox across the campus. As she trudged along the 

path she tried to imagine the scene when the tape arrived. 

Were there tears? Was there anger? What was said? How did 

her mother react? How did her father react? What would they 

say on the tape? Outside the administration building was a 

phone. Cindy reluctantly picked it up, slowly dialed the 

number and listened to the ringing. One ring, two rings (if 

it rang another time no message would be on the machine). 

No further rings.

"We're awfully sorry we missed your call," began Cindy's 

purposely androgynous message. Cindy pressed the secret 

code, stopped the voice and heard the synthesized music box 

rendition of "No Place Like Home" telling her the tape was 

rewinding. Perhaps it was just someone trying to sell her 

insurance.

"Honey, we got your tape," it was Cindy's mother's voice. 

"We listened to it," she continued her voice cracking with 

emotion. "It doesn't matter to us whether you're Carl or 

Cindy. We love you regardless. Don't you know that? We love 

our daughter as much as we loved our son. Listen I'll call 

again tonight. We love you very much."

Once again Cindy's eyes filled with tears as she slowly 

replaced the receiver on the hook, but she kept the sobbing 

back and for once felt thankful for that male stoicism 

society implants in men. 

Driving home from school that afternoon, Cindy noticed that 

the orchards were in bloom. It turned out to be a pretty 

wonderful day after all.