"All the Girls in the Family"
My mom is a "Florida Snowbird." For those who don't know what that means, she spends the winter here in Florida, and summer back up north where I grew up. She'll be leaving again soon (yes, for those of you living upside-down, our summer is just beginning). My sister also lives up north, but happened to be attending a conference in Orlando this week. We arranged to meet for dinner last night. It's the first time we've ever gotten all the girls in the family together.
There was Mom, my sister, my wife, new family member
@SassyCassie, me... and Mom's hubby, of course. He may have felt a little awkward...
I wanted to make a nice impression. I wasn't sure what the appropriate dress code was, so I texted my sister about it. She wrote back she was wearing a sundress and sandals. That was it. I wrote back, "Me too!", and got out the sunflower dress I'd worn on Easter Sunday. I'd never worn anything quite like it in public before, and I was concerned about my shoulders, considering it's sleeveless.
Any time I started getting nervous on the 45 minute drive, I'd give myself a little pep talk, straighten up, and take ownership of my femininity. I recited my name to myself, and remembered the kind things I'd been told recently by all my dear friends.
We met at Mom's place ("You mess with me, you mess with the whole trailer park!"), where I was misgendered by Mom only once - quickly self-corrected - then arranged transportation to the restaurant in The Villages, a humongous retirement community I've written about before. (It's where I also participate on the Trivia team on Tuesdays.) I drove myself because Cassie and I have a habit of visiting Starshmucks after dinner, and nobody else was interested.
The town squares in the Villages have a lot of shops, many with dark backgrounds behind the windows, which make them excellent mirrors. And on the walk to the restaurant I marveled at the woman I saw in the flowery sundress with her hair moving in the breeze, striding confidently down the sidewalk and smiling at everyone. Her shoulders didn't look that bad, and she sure looked happy.
I took the whole crowd to a Japanese teppanyaki steakhouse. Everything went perfectly at dinner, with good conversation, a fun show, excellent food, and correct gendering all around. Many smiles ensued.
At one point the chef made a pile of onion rings to make a little flaming volcano. Before he lit it, he asked us to make a wish. Remember my story about the shooting star? I was at a loss, and it was a joyful realization.
We wanted to get pictures, but we stepped outside into a rainstorm. We did the best we could on the little bench under the awning outside, but regretfully we never had a chance to get everyone in the same picture. I was bummed out about that later, but there will be other opportunities.
My sister, me, Mom, and Cassie. Unfortunately, Sue took the pictures and never made it into any.
I was caught with a strange look on my face, and those shoulders could use some sun, but I like this one anyhow.
After hugs and kisses, the rest of the entourage went back to the trailer park. Cassie and I were pulled - against our will, I assure you - into a Peterbrooke Chocolatier store where we ladies were give the tour and were forced to shell out hard-earned cash for things that we fought but ultimately lost against.
We then marched with our ill-gotten gains to Starshmucks to drink caffeine and enjoy, despite our best efforts, what was in that heavenly-scented bag. Conversation and sharing pictures from old photo albums on phones, and then it was time to brave the rain again and head to our respective homes.
As we huddled under the single umbrella on the way to the parking lot, I shared with Cassie the story I've told here before and I'll make you sit through again: it was some time last year when Sue and I were sitting in a restaurant in this exact place. I was dressed in women's jeans and a women's white button-down top. Still presenting male, but trying to make myself feel better with the wardrobe. It was a warm evening, and a band was playing in the square. I watched a woman wearing a pretty sundress swaying to the music as she moved down the sidewalk, and I knew - I
knew, with absolutely no doubt, that I would never be her. I held it together until we got home, then had a terrible meltdown.
Yet here I was, less than a year later. And I was her. It was too rainy for music in the square, but I was the girl in the sundress. It was a moment to pause and wonder at.
When we got to my car, an old guy pulled up in his truck. He rolled down his window and asked if we ladies had been with the group of women who had helped him and his wife with some problem they'd had earlier. If so he wanted to thank us. We had to tell him no, but we did so joyfully. He waved and was on his way. As we were shortly after.
When I got home text messages flew around reporting successful arrivals after dealing with heavy rains and traffic. And I received a big heart emoji after texting this to my sister:
I wish it hadn't taken 50 years to understand how wonderful it is to have a sister... and to be one. Thank you. Starting the morning with the perfectly-gendered visit to the DMV where I'd gotten my new drivers license a few months ago, and ending with a wonderful dinner followed by some quiet time with my dear friend, made it a perfect day. Even the rain couldn't dampen my spirits.
Stephanie
