Once a girl, always a boy A family memoir of a transgender journey

Jo Ivester

Book - 2020

Once a Girl, Always a Boy is Jeremy's journey from childhood through coming out as transgender and eventually emerging as an advocate for the transgender community. This is not only Jeremy's story but also that of his family, told from multiple perspectives -- those of the siblings who struggled to understand the brother they once saw as a sister, and of the parents who ultimately joined him in the battle against discrimination.

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Subjects
Genres
Autobiographies
Published
Berkeley, California : She Writes Press 2020.
Language
English
Main Author
Jo Ivester (author)
Physical Description
ii, 328 pages : illustrations : 22 cm
ISBN
9781631528866
  • Photographs
  • Preface
  • 1. The Dress
  • 2. The Haircut
  • 3. The Tomboy
  • 4. Puberty
  • 5. The "Swoose"
  • 6. Are You Gay?
  • 7. The Old College Try
  • 8. "Is That Even Possible?"
  • 9. I'm Not Broken
  • 10. Introducing "Em"
  • 11. I'm Not Ready to Grow Up
  • 12. Once a Girl, Always a Boy
  • 13. Maid of Honor
  • 14. Flying High
  • 15. It's Almost Time
  • 16. What's in a Name?
  • 17. I'm Awesome at Denial
  • 18. Honorary Bro
  • 19. More Baby Steps
  • 20. Terrified
  • 21. Call Me Jeremy
  • 22. Mom's Story
  • 23. A New Start
  • 24. Jeremy's Day in Court
  • 25. A Book? Really?
  • 26. I Just Am
  • 27. Making a Difference
  • 28. My Growing Advocacy
  • 29. Changing Hearts and Minds
  • 30. An Update
  • Epilogue
  • Acknowledgments
  • Advice to Parents and Friends of Transgender Individuals
  • Glossary
  • Book Club Discussion Guide
  • About the Author
  • About Jeremy Ivester
Review by Booklist Review

Ivester, an advocate for the transgender community, tells the story of her son, Jeremy, who was named Emily at birth and grew up perceived as a tomboy, playing football and other male-dominated sports. Gradually feeling uncomfortable in his body and wishing to be a boy, he strove to appear as androgynous as possible. It wasn't until he was 24 that he elected to have top surgery, again to appear more masculine, though he insisted at the time that he was not transgender. Following the surgery, however, he increasingly desired to be male and so finally came out as transgender, beginning hormone therapy and changing his name to Jeremy. The story thereafter largely focuses on the family's increasing advocacy for transgender rights. Though told by Jeremy's mother, the book also includes Jeremy's own voice, based on a video journal he kept throughout his transition. Highly empathetic, the story captures Jeremy's experience vividly. The result is another fine contribution to the growing body of transgender literature.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Library Journal Review

This important and timely book chronicles one young man's transgender transition journey and his family's path to understanding and acceptance. The family memoir is told in journal entries from multiple perspectives, though primarily from the point of view of Ivester (The Outskirts of Hope) and her son Jeremy. Jeremy's entries were taken from a video journal he created to document his transition. In addition, there are passages focused on Jeremy's siblings and his father, Jon, that provide insight into the various emotions, questions, and shared experiences that led to their support of Jeremy's transition to his authentic self. Ivester's enlightening work is not only about the difficult emotions faced by transgender youth and their families but also includes information on medical, legal, and economic issues related to transitioning. The relaxed, open style of the narrative provides readers with an informative view of transgender people and the many struggles they face. It could also serve as a model for other families searching for acceptance and ways to support their loved one's transition journey. VERDICT An important purchase both for its heartwarming demonstration of a family's unconditional love and for effective advocacy for transgender individuals.--Theresa Muraski, Univ. of Wisconsin-Stevens Point Lib.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

A Texan decides to have gender-affirming surgery in this memoir. Jeremy Ivester was born as Emily in 1989. Growing up in Austin, he wanted to be one of the boys. He loved short haircuts, male clothes, and football, playing on teams where he held his own as the only one perceived to be a girl on the field. His idyllic tomboy existence was upended in middle school, where he was excluded by classmates as his gender nonconformity became more glaring in the midst of adolescent dating culture. He was further horrified when puberty gave him breasts and curves that felt decidedly unnatural. A decadelong process of self-discovery and self-adjustment ensued. Google searches helped Jeremy put the term "asexual" to his perennially misfiring dates and lack of interest in either sex. An MTV episode of True Life on gender-affirming surgery proved a revelation--maybe he could have the masculine body he dreamed of. After much exploration and equivocation--"I don't necessarily feel like I'm a male….None of the pronouns feel right"--top surgery and hormones allowed Jeremy's body to reflect his gender identity, and he experienced that quintessential rite of passage: chugging brews with male buddies, shirtless. ("I felt the sticky beer all over my chin and chest," he recalls exuberantly.) His saga, penned by his mother, Jo Ivester (The Outskirts of Hope, 2015), and based on interviews and Jeremy's video diary of his transition, incorporates reminiscences in both their voices and those of his father, siblings, and in-laws. It's not a traumatic coming-out story: Jeremy's family and co-workers were generally supportive. But there is quieter drama as they all navigate uncharted emotional territory, with Jo feeling unspoken anguish that Jeremy has decided to forgo marriage and children and young Jeremy enduring the aching loneliness that many gender-nonconforming kids feel: "My throat hurt and my chest tightened, and I felt isolated and deserted as I thought about how long it had been since I'd hung out with my teammates like when we were little kids." The result is a heartwarming story that anyone with a complicated life and identity can relate to. A multifaceted, rich, and moving exploration of the trans experience. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Chapter OneThe DressWinter 2013 - Boulder, COEmily (23 years old)The box had plagued me for weeks. I was overwhelmed by its very presence. Not by its size, which was actually quite ordinary. What terrified me was what was inside, boldly hinted at by the return address, by the pink store label that included the word bridesmaid. Leaning against the wall in a corner of my room, barely visible under the many jeans and T-shirts I'd tossed in its general direction, it accused me, though of what I'm not quite sure. Usually, I'm pretty good about keeping my place neat. I pride myself on it looking nicer than the typical student apartment. Instead of posters covering the walls, I have framed pictures my mother stitched for me and pen-and-ink drawings I made in my studio art class. Although only a few minutes from the University of Colorado campus where I'm a math major, my home with its large rooms and fresh coat of paint is a clear step up from most student housing. These last few weeks, however, I'd let the mess take over. Dishes were piled up in the kitchen sink. Dirty laundry was scattered about my bedroom. I couldn't focus, couldn't study for my calculus midterm, couldn't think of anything but that wretched box. I'd dreaded its arrival for months. When it came, I'd left it unopened, not wanting to deal with what it contained. I'd tried to push it out of my mind, tried to ignore how it made my stomach clench with anxiety. I didn't even want to think about the dress inside, let alone look at it. Why had I said "yes" when my big sister, Liz, asked me to be her maid of honor? I'd known right away that it felt wrong. I hadn't listened to the voice inside me crying out that I'd be miserable, that I would detest walking down the aisle in some frilly gown, on display for all to see. I'd ignored it because I was thrilled that Liz wanted me by her side. I'd ignored it because I couldn't say "no" to my sister, could I? The thought of disappointing Liz kept me awake at night, tugging at me as I tried to sleep. It was distressing, a rock in the pit of my stomach. Picturing myself wearing the bridesmaid dress, however, was even worse. I was distraught. So much so that my best friend and roommate, Colin, said, "Maybe you should just send it back." I'd met Colin through some mutual friends at the university, and we hit it off right from the start. He was really smart but also laid-back. He was as comfortable in the physics lab as he was writing computer programs, working two jobs while carrying a full course load. He had time because he and his girlfriend, Meg, who he'd been with since high school, were doing the long-distance thing while she was away at the University of Washington. Colin had accepted me despite my boyish appearance and my desire to be treated like one of the guys. I like to think I look a little like Colin, with his slight frame and eclectic taste in clothes. I recently bought a newsboy cap like his, and sometimes I wear my jeans rolled up like he does when he's riding his bike, even though I don't ride. Each time I considered backing out of being in Liz's wedding party, the way Colin suggested, I'd picture a confused look on her face and hear her saying, "Why, Emily? Why did you wait so long to tell me? Everything's planned." The longer I waited, the worse I felt. So on a February morning, six weeks before the wedding, I used a kitchen knife to cut the tape holding everything together and opened the box, determined to look at what lay inside. I stared at the crinkly tissue protecting the delicate contents and then froze for a moment, unable to go any further. Finally, inhaling deeply and gritting my teeth, I slowly reached in for the blue chiffon gown, pausing for a moment as I felt its smooth texture on my fingertips. I pulled it from its packaging and spread it on my bed. All I had to do was try it on. I could do that, I told myself, wincing at the thought. I should do that. But not yet. When I got home from school. All day long, with every word of every lecture, my mind drifted back to my bedroom, to the dress waiting for me. Why was this so hard? It was only a few years ago that I put on a lacy, formfitting dress to go dancing with Liz, my big brother, Ben, and Ben's girlfriend, Jenn, when we celebrated my high school graduation with a vacation on a cruise ship in Italy. I hadn't liked it and would've preferred to be in the same slacks and button-down shirt that Ben wore, but I managed. I was even okay with it when people told me I looked pretty. It was all right because I cared about pleasing my big brother and sister. I tried to convince myself that I could dress that way again, one more time. After arriving home from class, I walked slowly into my bedroom. My pulse racing, I stripped down and slipped the dress over my head. The fabric was cool to the touch. In other circumstances, I would have liked how it felt, the silky luxury of it. On somebody else, I would have thought it beautiful, no question. But not on me. I cringed at the thought of wearing it in front of everybody. Our whole family would be at Liz's wedding, as would her close friends whom I'd known for as long as I could remember, their parents, and their little brothers who'd played with me when we were kids, back when they didn't care that I was a girl. I cringed because that flowing dress was so totally and completely inappropriate for me, a prison uniform instead of a beautiful gown. It was the exact opposite of what I like, of who I am. I'm not feminine, and I don't want to look that way. My throat tightened as I felt my eyes tear up in frustration. I tried to control my breathing, sucking in air and pacing back and forth as if that could somehow make the dress go away. With each breath, it grew more difficult. Deciding to face my angst head-on, I stood in front of my mirror and looked at the person staring back. I shuddered at my reflection, at the tightly fitting bodice that pushed up and magnified my breasts, accentuating every curve. I hunched my shoulders forward, trying to make my shape less noticeable, but it didn't work. Were it not for the dress and my chest, I could have been mistaken for a fourteen-year-old boy, with my short pixie haircut, my unplucked eyebrows, my hairy legs, and my Harry Potter-style glasses. My reflection smiled back at the thought, but it was a sad smile. Leaving the safety of my room, I walked over to Colin, sitting in his usual spot at his desk in our living room, gaming with some friends as a break from his endless hours of homework. I raised my arms and spun around, allowing him to take it all in. He stared at me, his lips held tightly together and his brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what to say. Seeing the devastation on my face, he finally spoke. "You have to tell her. You're tearing yourself apart." He was right. I couldn't think of anything else. The very idea of the dress was a constant reminder of how much I hate my body. I have ever since puberty, when there was no avoiding the fact that I was turning into a woman. I'm not supposed to have curvy hips and breasts. I'm supposed to be flat. I know that. I just have no idea what to say to my big sister. I've looked up to her ever since I was a little kid. Five years older than me, she excels at everything she does. Her high school grades were good enough to get her into the University of Pennsylvania, where she played on the women's soccer team. Always surrounded by a small group of close friends, she seems confident and sure of herself, even more so since Dustin proposed. Liz and her fiancé had met on a coed soccer team a few years ago, when he was the men's soccer coach at a small university in Houston and she worked for Hewlett-Packard in human relations. She still works for HP, telecommuting from their new home in Oregon, but he's moved on to a much bigger program at Oregon State University in Corvallis. Liz had texted me several times in recent weeks, asking me what I thought of the dress, how it fit. I'd kept putting her off, replying that I hadn't had a chance to try it on yet. Eventually, though, I knew we had to talk. We scheduled a time when we could do so via Skype, when Liz was in California visiting a grad school friend who was in the wedding party. It was a perfect opportunity. I planned out what I was going to say, not wanting to present her with a problem without having a solution. Despite that, I was nervous. Twice I tried to connect on Skype but hung up before the call went through. On the third try, though, I stayed on the line until she picked up. She looked relaxed and happy, her long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a light gray top that showed off her well-defined shoulders and arms, the product of hours spent in a yoga studio. "Hey, Liz," I said. "How's it going?" I couldn't concentrate as she described all the pre-wedding activities. I focused real fast, though, when she said, "Does your dress fit? Do you need to get it altered?" I didn't answer. "You did say that it got there, right?" "Ummm, yeah," I managed to stammer out. "A few weeks ago." "Did you try it on yet?" "I did." Liz waited for me to say more. When I didn't, she prompted me. "How'd it look? Can you put it on now so I can see?" "It's pretty," I said, sounding unconvinced, my words more of a question than a statement. "There's a 'but' in there. What is it?" Swallowing hard, I decided to just say it. "I can't wear it, Liz." "What do you mean? Why not?" she asked slowly, her head tilted and her forehead wrinkled as she let my words sink in. "Tell me what's going on." "It's beautiful, Liz. Really. It's just--" "What?" Liz asked again, her impatience mixed with concern. "I dunno. I . . . I can't really explain," I stuttered. "Can you try?" she asked gently. How could I tell her that asking me to wear a gown was the same as if she'd expected Sammy or Ben to do so? I didn't understand myself why I felt that way, so how could I explain it to Liz? I desperately wanted her to understand, to figure out what I was trying to say without me having to actually say it. Maybe then I wouldn't have to say it to myself. Excerpted from Once a Girl, Always a Boy by Jo Ivestor All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.