I shouted at my mother, “Of course, little girls can have a penis! I have one!” She had just told me I couldn’t be a girl. I was three, and this was 1965.
Mama told me later I upset her so badly that she went to a counselor for advice. He said it was just a phase I’d get over, but it had to be a secret. In the 1960s, this was the best advice possible, although I still mourn that I didn’t get to grow my hair out, get my ears pierced, and be myself.
It was our secret, and when it was just the two of us Mama would let me play with dolls and play dress up. A couple of times Dad came home unexpectedly, saw me, and flew into a rage. He’d shout, punch a hole in the wall, and terrify both of us.