Growing up is made of dreams and wishes. When you are young, envy of others, jealousy and just plain longing all feature highly in your journey to grown-up freedom. As a little girl I coveted baby dolls, toy prams, Barbie dolls, bath sets, party dresses and anything else my Mum wouldn't let me have. My wish list included a proper girl's bicycle and growing my hair long enough to have a ponytail. My Mum had a pixie cut and mine had to be the same. It lead to tears and frustrations, particularly my hair. Every time I had my locks cut it lead to tantrums: years went by before I was allowed to grow it out. As for bicycles, I had to content myself with a boy's version. I chose a red and orange one in defiance, riding it to school regularly. My choice was accompanied by derision from my friends. Being ridiculed hurt me but was also validating: At least I had the satisfaction of failing to comply with expectations. Later, when I had my hair styled like Joan Jett's I was beaten up and my teeth broken. I told my parents I had fallen off my bike. Hair and bicycles is an interesting jumping off point then, pardon the pun.
Growing up, trans children often have a clear idea of how they want to be perceived and what their definition of gender means for them. My wish list was influenced by the other girls I played with or sat alongside in class. There was a strong urge NOT to stand out and just be like everyone else. The trouble arises when 'like everyone else' refers to the gender you weren't assigned to; female. My friend Janet had a ponytail, I needed one too. It was a box I desperately wanted to tick.
Notwithstanding, I had a clear idea of what I wanted in a bicycle and my hair. My hair was much darker then. Riding a bike with a long mane of brown hair streaming behind me seemed like a nice idea. My Mum said it would get tangled; better to keep it short and practical. Later when my hair did grow, I found that my mother was right. My hair grew long enough for a stumpy ponytail or bunches but getting a brush through it was a nightmare. Naturally frizzy, wavy and full of volume, my hair was impossible to comb and I used to borrow her bristle hairbrush to tame it. It wasn't until my body experienced oestrogen that my hair became straighter and glossier. As a teen my rather shallow dreams of a swishy ponytail went unrealised.
Children can be shallow, mean and very exclusionary. Having the wrong sort of bicycle meant you weren't allowed to play with either the girls OR the boys! My dream bicycle was to have a girl's frame, nice bright paint, red or yellow, and certainly a basket on the handlebars. I didn't want a metal basket, it had to be a proper one. I wanted white tyres too, handlebar grips and a white saddle. With a practical Engineer father choosing my bike, none of this was ever going to happen. The bright red and orange paint meant raised parental eyebrows and scepticism yet in the end it was allowed. My Raleigh Palm Beach bike was the nearest I got to my dreams, the tyres were white too as well as the saddle and other bits. My Dad balked at the idea of a girl's frame though, 'not strong enough' was his reply, (even though it came in a girl's version) Just what sort of use did he imagine a child like me would put it to? Are girl's gentle with their bikes and boys rough? In the end, my bicycle, a hybrid of boy's frame and girly paint, did not exactly pass with my playmates or Dad, a bit like me really.
Fast forward to my wedding. I wanted beautiful dark curls framing my face. My stylist advised me to grow it longer as curling shortens the length. I did. My hair looked truly beautiful for my Hen Night and again on my special day. I was made up. Afterwards I continued to grow it out and to my surprise it straightened and became glossier. For a while I wore it up in a bun. I'm a professional barista and long hair is a no no. You can't have hair in your face when making coffees. Sadly I also have early mornings and a bun can be fiddly to do. A little while ago I tried a ponytail again. It seems so shallow and frivolous but I found that I loved the swishiness and the freedom of it after having it tightly pinned up. Does this really look okay' I asked my husband. He obligingly photographed me from behind on his phone and, wow, it looked lovely, boxed ticked!
Last week I saw the bicycle of my dreams in a shop window. Yellow, girly, and with the obligatory basket on the front, it was love at first sight. It was also at a price I could just about afford. There followed more than a week of soul searching. Money is scarce and tight, could I justify ticking this particular box from childhood? I do need exercise. I live in a traffic congested city where a bike is an asset. Manchester is flat and easy to cycle in. These were all well argued technical reasons. I tend to buy with my heart however. What girl ever needs an excuse to indulge and treat herself? Last Sunday I bought my new bicycle and had the time of my life riding it up the canal towpath. It was sunny and it was bliss. Straight out of the shop, nicely set up, it rides like a dream but that wasn't the main thing. Best of all it is a girl's bike, basket, yellow paint and all. No little girl on Christmas Day could ever be as joyfully happy. At long last I have what I wanted, not at Christmas when I would have to go riding in the snow, but at the beginning of summer, with days in the park, family picnics and days out all to enjoy. I'm ecstatic.
HUGGS, Jane xx