Chapter II

In the midst of one of the great and glorious games in the big barns, when I was in my element, dressed in one of the boy’s suits, it became necessary for me to retire to the house for pressing reasons. After questioning as to the seriousness of the matter, and finding that it was only “bo-bo,” the name we all used for the lesser call of nature, the boys settled it then and there that it would not be necessary for me to go to the house as I had on a pair of trousers. They showed me the little hole in front that was put there conveniently for that very purpose. We were all quite relieved that the games would not be interrupted.

They told me to go to the corner, as they had been taught to do, and turn my back and that seemed to be all the instruction necessary. I could not seem to fathom the mystery of the said opening as a solution to my increasing desire to relieve myself. The two seemingly important things were in evidence. The little hole in the trousers and the secluded corner—but, what next?

They explained that I must just pull out something before I could accomplish the act. But there was nothing to pull! I protested. The clan then assembled in serious conference. First one and then the other tried to find what they supposed grew on all children alike, but to no avail!

Alas! Nature asserted itself, and I _had_ to go to the house then, dripping with tears and otherwise crushed and broken, in my fall from the pedestal of equality with the boys. I went straight to my mother and, through tears of disgrace and rebellion, tried to tell her that I was not made right and telling her freely all that had happened.

The result? I was promptly spanked during the course of changing my clothes. I was given the ever-to-be-detested sewing and made to stay in the house, without one word of explanation as to why. I believe my terror of the truth and my loss of confidence in my mother began at that moment. I was not allowed to wear trousers for a long time. I presume it was felt that the spanking had given me the clue that another would follow if there should be a repetition of the episode. Possibly the greatly increased basket of mending had something to do with my mother’s finally yielding to my entreaties for the boy’s clothes. Until then I had always been conscious of the contempt of the boys and my pride was suffering.

When at last I appeared “clothed in my right mind,” as I felt, my self-respect restored, and hoping my standing with the boys would be back to normal, I was fairly happy. Yet I sincerely believe we were even then wondering about things.

Was that method used by my mother wise? According to her lights it must have been. Tradition ruled.

How much better it would have been for our parents to have frankly discussed the sex questions as they were raised, and to have explained the reasons for the difference in anatomy between boys and girls. How much could have been saved for the generations which followed. But they were so bound to tradition they simply could not bring themselves to such a course.

To my mind, that was the time all of the wonderful truths of creation should have been explained to us in a beautiful way. When the child is capable of wondering is the time to explain without reserve.

What was the result of the method used by my mother? There followed frequent discussions between us children regarding our discovery of the difference in our make-up. If I had been punished for telling about it, it must be something worthy of investigation. It was definitely decided that it would never do to go to my mother with any further tales of such discussions or investigations. It was decided that it was only a case of lack of development in my parts; that the little lip which had been pulled and hauled at the time I was trying not to interrupt the game by going to the house, would grow and become like that of the boys.

My disgust that I had not in the beginning been created a real boy, instead of having to wait for certain parts to develop, began at that time.

Mystery now connected itself with this difference, whereas formerly trousers and petticoats were the only marks of difference in sex. When I wore trousers, I had been a real boy, or so it seemed to all of us.

I could not have been over three or four years old at that time, while my brother and one cousin were two years older. I often hear people say that a child is too young at that age to understand any of the truths of life. I still maintain that the moment that a child begins to wonder is the time for reasonable explanations. A child is a rational human being the moment he is conscious of the difference between yes and no.

I know I would have understood why I was spanked on that momentous occasion if it had been explained to me, else why have that episode and the mental reactions it engendered remained in my mind all these years?

Secret sessions were now being held at intervals, first with my older cousin and with my brother. Their curiosity was much greater than mine. It was enough for me to have to bear the disgrace of being the alien. But from that time on I was forced to submit to these sessions under the threat of not being allowed to join in the sports I so dearly loved. I simply had to acknowledge the superiority of the male because he was so much more perfectly and conveniently made.

The two older boys must have gained some knowledge of the sort they would get from the “hired men” or older boys at school, as they kept up the demands upon me. Not often, but occasionally. At first it seemed to be a matter wholly of curiosity. They seemed to be watching for developments as to my becoming like unto them. In a way, this also interested me as I remember my dismay each time when “no progress” was reported. We were bound to secrecy for obvious reasons. The lesson in deceit was well learned by this time. Most parents believe that when any question bearing on the matters of sex or pertaining to “private parts” (what a disastrous appellation!) arises, one good spanking will put an end to all trouble; whereas it is just the beginning of a life of deceit and the birth of a barrier to confidences between parents and children.

I am not trying to prove an alibi by saying that I was not keen on these sessions of adventure. I really do believe it was the terror of giving up the sports with the boys which were my very joy. It was done in much the same spirit as was the work in the house I had to do: a means to an end.

I had work to do regularly. It was never made interesting for me, as I have made it for lots of children during my adult life, but it was demanded of me as it was my duty! Duty! I believe every child hates that word. We better understand the futility of that argument in after years, but in our youth we are unable to reply: “We did not ask to come into the world. We are the price or perhaps the reward. You probably did not want us. You talk of our duty to our parents. What is your duty to us?”

However I never liked to sew or knit or wash dishes or sweep, but I did it every day and never sulked. I had a sister, older than I, who also hated to do the dishes. She always cried her task through and my mother placed a board up over the sink and every time my sister cried mother would make a chalk mark on the board. When there were many marks, sister would cry harder than ever, so I believe the experiment was given up.

I was always merry. While I have boasted that I was never whipped in school, I realize it was due to the fact that I often got the teacher laughing before the fatal blow fell, and in that way I escaped the usual whipping. In those days it was never “Did you get a whipping today?” but “How many times?”

I worked rapidly, as the incentive was nearly always right outside of the window, in the shape of three boys waiting for me to come out to play.

As time went on a great discovery was made by the older boys, that their little organs had life and vitality. How important they felt! They had to show me how wonderful this was. Privately, of course, as neither boy wanted the other to know of his sessions with me. We had now given up all hopes that there would be any development in my anatomy, and we had to submit to the fact that I was and always would be different and on a lower level than they. This was a heartbreaker for me.

I do not want to give the impression that our minds were always on the subject, as might seem by this account. We had wonderful games, mostly of our own inventing. We hunted Indian relics with enthusiasm, digging for days in order to find every piece of an Indian pot which had, without doubt, been buried in some grave. We took long tramps in the woods, hunting imaginary wild animals. We played ball in the summer and coasted and skated in the winter. We built up strong and vigorous bodies without the aid of vitamins or calories. In short, we were normal children—the same as many children are today. Thanks be, there are some parents who have opened their eyes! It is my hope that this tale will pry open a few more.

It was not long before the idea seemed to dawn upon us that there must be some reason why a boy and a girl were differently made. I never knew where the boys got their information. I never cared. When I expressed any surprise that they knew so much, I was only given the answer that “boys knew those things,” and did not wish to enlarge upon the fact that caused me so much pain.

Some vague explanation seemed to come from watching the animals about the farm. We had been piously told not to look when a rooster was on top of a hen, as it was “naughty.” What greater incentive could a child have than to be told that? Of course we stared our eyes out to find out what was “naughty” about that silly act.

It did not seem to hurt the hen or the rooster. We gathered just as many eggs. The hens all went about their scratching just as before. No one was punished, so the inference was that the parents did not know what they were talking about, and I believe we were about right. Experiments followed in “playing hen and rooster,” always on the sly and never understanding why, while I felt the ever increasing degradation of having to play the part of the inferior and submissive “hen”!

I hated these games, which thanks be, were not frequent, but endured them for fear I would be denied the joys of the other and more appealing games.

In this analysis of my earliest recollections my object has been to determine whether my early propensities were of a sexual character. If this book is to be of any value in solving any problem, it would be my desire to speak just as freely of any satisfaction I derived from these experiments as I do of the disgust. I do not mean physical satisfaction, of course, but they were really not interesting to me, even as a matter of curiosity.