And here’s another post that seems to have fallen into the outer darkness. This one from about six weeks back. Though the sentiments are pretty current.
Sometimes, people can surprise you greatly.
Thus it was at last weekend’s party, thrown, if that is quite the right word, in honour of the step-daughter’s 18th. Yes: she is now old enough to vote, get drunk and have sex (in Kazakhstan). She is officially a grown-up: that moment approaches in every yuoung person’s life when they return from school to find the locks changed, and their parents moved to another county – leaving no forwarding address behind.
I jest. We wouldn’t change the locks. That would, of course, be quite unnecessary expense when one is renting the place out to another family entirely.
Still, it was a relatively sober and sobering affair. The theme was cakes and pie: the piece d’honneur, a large heart-shaped pork pie bearing 18 candles.
Various 17-18-19 year-olds milled around, intermingling with the occasional definite grown-up: rogue parents who had decided to take seriously the invite to muck in and were now joining with their offspring in an “adult” event.
All very peculiar. They’re just on the cusp. Definitely not children any more. Mostly adult, but with the occasional bit of gaucherie thrown in to re-assure that they haven’t quite grown up yet. But so nearly, nearly there.
A light year on from a year ago, when the puppyishness was still there. A little way yet to go for some – but not all. The most definite sign of growing up, it struck me, was how far the partaking of alcohol had moderated.
Twas ever thus. I remember drinking halves of bitter on my increasingly regular visits to pubs from my 13th year to my 18th and then, as I reached the legal age at which alcohol consumption was permitted, I graduated back, with a sigh of relief, to the soft drinks.
Over the evening, I chatted at length to guests. I found them, mostly, fun, interesting, intelligent, lively. I’d be more than happy to invite them back again when I celebrate my own big event in a month or two.
A couple of embarrassing conversations, taking me right back to trans 101. Why? And more to the point, how? On the whole, though, those conversations are getting further away and rarer. Which is a relief.
And a lovely, intense, delightful conversation with one young woman about my personal welfare and future dating. We started on make-up, which was nice, but rapidly progressed beyond the 101 stage. At some point, we definitely crossed the line into advanced, as we got talking about “the op” and post-op and how I was feeling about that.
Specifically, whether I planned to get any use out of my new anatomy – and how.
I wasn’t too bothered by that. It certainly wasn’t the rudest line of questioning i’ve faced over the last few months. And besides: it plays into a debate i have been having with myself and others as to whether i will or even whether i can.
Because i will be the closest one gets (short of some very un-pc surgery) to a born again virgin – and as such, subject to all the fears and insecurities that i felt the first time around.
Dunno. On the whole, i found the exchange slightly amusing, slightly sweet. Because, helpfully, she did then offer (i wonder if she remembers this at a distance of several weeks and without the benefit of booze) to take me out and help me to “find a nice man”.
Actually, that was very sweet. And much appreciated.
From where i’m sat right now, feeling the hormones ebb on an almost daily basis, worrying about spots and skin tone and boobs and… and…and…
I can’t exactly see myself EVER being out on the market again. At least not THAT one. But who knows. Ask me again in six months. A year, maybe.
Meanwhile, i am impressed. Daughter and step-daughter, both, are getting very grown up. So are their friends.
And on the whole, they seem to be growing into the sort of people whose company i quite enjoy.