Claude and Grace

by Terry Volkirch

They say that clothes make the man. But what would happen
if male clothing became a strange sort of handicap for your son?
To what lengths would you go to improve the life of such a special child?

Thanks very much to those in my writers group who helped me with this story.

Claude and Grace
by Terry Volkirch

Gordon sat on the second floor sun deck, sipping single malt scotch and looking down on his backyard. He spared a glance at his wife, sitting near him, holding their son, and scowled.

"For God's sake, Michelle," he scolded. "Stop fussing with the boy."

"But ... I can't," she said quietly. "He'll get hurt. I just know it."

"Nonsense. I'll take him."

The tall, slender man of the house eased himself out of his wicker chair and slowly walked around a small glass table over to his wife. He bent down, reached out and waited.

Michelle reluctantly handed over her child.

Gordon stood up straight and held his son under the boy's armpits, looking him in the eye.

"That's my boy," the proud father crooned. "That's my little man."

After a short moment admiring the paternal family resemblance, he plopped his blonde, blue-eyed son down in the bassinet on the glass table and returned to his chair.

"See?" Gordon huffed. "Nothing to it."

He briefly went back to surveying his territory until something caught his eye over behind his wife. Twisting in his seat, he found himself looking over at his neighbor's palm trees and riding lawn mower with considerable envy, completely forgetting about his son.

The worried mother didn't forget. She bit her lower lip and watched her son like a hawk. She wanted to move the bassinet to the floor of the deck at the very least, but with her husband looking in her direction, she didn't dare disobey him and interfere. All she could do was sit and wait for trouble.

At eleven months, little Claude got into more than his share of trouble, and he had the stitches and scars to prove it. Some strange personality quirk compelled him to move and act with reckless abandon in everything he did, and he received one minor injury after another. It was a wonder he hadn't broken any bones or had something worse happen to him, but he always seemed to stop short of having any major problems. He might have been considered to be lucky if he didn't get scraped up and bruised so often. His mother knew how he could be, and she constantly feared for his safety. His father was oblivious.

Michelle squeaked when Claude started kicking. He alternated legs and quickly got the bassinet rocking.

"Gordon," she hissed, sitting up straight and looking hard at her husband.

"Hmmm?" he responded slowly, still somewhat lost in a grandiose daydream.

Claude suddenly stopped kicking and gurgled happily.

"Nothing," Michelle said. "Never mind."

She went back to her vigil, but soon gasped when the boy squirmed and tried to stand. Standing in his bassinet had become a bad habit that too often ended with lots of bandages and antiseptic. Then she held her breath when she noticed how close he was to the deck railing. It wasn't hard to imagine him falling to the cement patio below.

She moved her lips but couldn't form the words. Without air, she couldn't make a sound. Her eyes widened and she just barely managed to slowly raise her right arm to point a finger at her son.

Again, Gordon, barely noticed his wife or any danger. It wasn't until Claude stood up all the way and grabbed the edge of the sun shade on the bassinet that his father saw him and reacted.

"Look at that, Michelle!" the man shouted with pride. "He's standing! Our little Claude is standing!"

Gordon quickly stood up to celebrate, and in the process, he bumped the table and turned the world upside down for his son. The bassinet rolled over towards the deck railing, ejecting the giggling, gurgling baby headfirst to what looked to be certain doom.

Michelle found her voice and screamed, just as her husband's reflexes took over. He reached out a long arm and grabbed Claude by an ankle, saving his child except for a few bumps and scrapes along the wooden railing. Claude cried from a sharp impact to his head but at least the child would live to continue his accident prone existence.

Gordon casually handed his injured son back to his distraught wife and shook his head in irritation. He couldn't seem to understand the seriousness of the situation.

* * *

Michelle sat on her son's bed, holding an ice pack on his head to reduce the swelling when Gordon stopped in the doorway.

"Stop mothering him," he said. "He's going to be okay."

"He's got a huge knot on his head and it's bleeding a little," she said, trying to stifle a sob. "What do you expect me to do?" She eventually stood her ground when it came time to tend to her son's wounds. Her maternal instinct demanded that much of her.

The callous man muttered something about turning his son into a fairy and marched off to his study to read. If it wasn't for his extensive collection of military history journals, he didn't know what he'd do to keep his sanity.

Michelle ignored her husband and continued to comfort her baby as she checked for more injuries. Though she found a large sliver embedded in the palm of his right hand and saw that both of his elbows were scraped, she considered herself lucky. It could've been much worse.

* * *

By the time he was four, Claude's mother prepared for and protected her special little boy very well. Rubber and foam covered every sharp corner and edge in the house. She also padded all the furniture and stairs, installed over a dozen child gates, and even laid down heavy, plush carpeting at the bottom of the stairway to cushion a fall. Prevention was supposed to be the best medicine.

Claude still found a way to hurt himself in the house, tripping over his own feet or slamming his fingers in doors when no other opportunity presented itself, and he caused his mother no end of worry when he went out to play on the small patch of grass in the back yard. The clumsy little boy stumbled over every blade of grass and tripped over every little twig and leaf that had fallen from the neighboring poplar trees. Nothing seemed to prevent the endless string of injuries he suffered every day he got out of bed.

Gordon never seemed bothered by his son's accidents. He just kept muttering things like, "It'll make a man out of him. Stop fussing over the boy. You'll turn him into a fairy."

The man-of-the-family proudly stuck to his old-fashioned family values. He filled his role by going off to work and leaving his wife to her domestic duties. He didn't really see how unusually frequent the accidents occurred. He didn't see all the bandages and bruises under the clothes, never bathed his son to see all the damage.

Michelle knew, and she was a nervous wreck. She carried bandages, cotton swabs, gauze, medical tape and a small spray bottle of antiseptic in her purse. She played nurse to her child and had to restock her supplies several times a month. She might have lost her sanity if it wasn't for one little thing: Claude was such a sweet and happy child.

Whenever he had once of his minor accidents, little Claude would smile and say, "I gots another owie, Mommy."

Michelle couldn't help but smile back as she cleaned and dressed the wound, and she couldn't help but feel some relief while she did so. He couldn't hurt himself while she tended to him.

For a time, all was well, relatively speaking. Claude's minor injuries weren't life threatening by any means. But it got harder and harder to accept not having any pictures of him without a bandage, scab or bruise showing, and Michelle grew tired of worrying and plucking long gray strands from her head of beautiful light brown hair. There had to be a better life for her son.

* * *

Michelle hated leaving Claude with a babysitter, but she couldn't deny that Doris did a great job of watching her clumsy child. He'd only end up with a bruise or two staying with Doris, a much better outcome than if she took him shopping. She couldn't watch and protect him as well as she'd like while she shopped.

It didn't help when Gordon complained about the added cost of babysitting. Being the sole source of income for the family, he tended to be a bit protective of his money. He paced in front of the coffee table one night and voiced his displeasure.

"Dammit, Michelle, money doesn't grow on trees," he started, and then endlessly repeated the same message in different ways as he lectured his wife.

Michelle sat demurely on the couch, crossing her long legs and fussing with her skirt while she waited for her husband to run out of steam. Then she patiently explained how much faster and more efficient she could shop when she was alone. She claimed she'd spend much more if she brought Claude along.

It wasn't exactly a lie. She was sure that she'd spend more on medical supplies for her son's injuries if he came along, and she'd also browse more slowly and would be more likely to linger and buy more things. Still, she felt bad about manipulating her husband. She told him half truths because he couldn't handle the full truth. He continued to deny that their son had a serious problem.

The benefits of babysitting far outweighed the cost, especially since Doris had a 7-year-old daughter, Gina, who got along very well with Claude. Though traffic got progressively worse in the afternoon, she waited until Gina got home from school before having Doris babysit her son. He needed someone close to his own age to play with. He had no other playmates. There were no other young children living nearby and Michelle refused to put him in preschool. She knew he'd come home battered and bruised if she did.

"Gina!" her son would squeal whenever they pulled up to the babysitter's house, often followed closely by, "Cookies!" Doris loved to bake so there was never a shortage of goodies to be used as a reward for good behavior.

As she drove back to Doris' house to pick up her child after grocery shopping, she smiled when she pictured her son politely asking to stay longer. He'd leave peacefully but he always asked to stay. He loved playing with Gina so much, and for the longest time, she never understood why. She always thought young boys and girls didn't get along all that well.

* * *

"Come in! Come in!" the short babysitter called, rubbing her pudgy hands on her apron as Michelle approached the front door.

Seeing how welcoming Doris was and thinking about the mysteriously strong bond between the two children suddenly made Michelle realize something. Like Claude, she looked forward to the visits. She lost touch with her old friends and rarely saw her family. She spent too much time taking care of the house and watching over her son. She didn't have time for friends. The woman wasn't much older than she was. They could be close friends if she gave her a chance.

"Hi, Doris," Michelle said, following the woman into the warm kitchen, the aroma of freshly baked bread filling her nose. "Is Claude ready to go?"

The woman looked uncertain. "Actually, I thought he was but I'm not sure now. Why don't you stay here? I'll go check."

If Doris left, she'd return with Claude, and any hope for a pleasant conversation that day would evaporate. The babysitting would be over and Claude would be dressed to leave, making an extended visit awkward at best. A chance at building a much needed friendship would be lost.

"No!" Michelle shouted, a little too loudly, then quickly calmed herself. "It's okay if he's not ready. I was thinking ... it would be nice if we could have a little chat, if that's okay."

"Certainly," Doris said, looking up at Claude's mother with a nervous smile.

Michelle noticed the woman's odd behavior but shrugged it off and sat down at the kitchen table. Doris remained standing.

"I was wondering if you could help me understand something," she began.

"I'll try ... but I really should check on Claude. You know how he is."

"Please ... I'm really curious. Claude will be okay. He does really well with you. That's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about."

"Okay." Doris fidgeted with her apron.

"I was wondering why he gets so few injuries over here. What do you and Gina do with him, strap him down on the couch and have him watch cartoons?"

The woman laughed nervously. "No, nothing like that," she said. "I just leave him alone with Gina and they play together."

"What? You leave him alone with Gina?" Michelle's maternal instinct sounded an alarm and she got up out of her seat. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Where is he now? Where's my son?" she said, getting more and more frantic as she left the kitchen.

Doris slapped her forehead and groaned as she rushed after the worried mother. She knew the day would come when her strange babysitting secret would be uncovered, but she hoped it wouldn't happen for at least another couple of years. She liked the extra money she made, and she adored little Claude. The boy made a great playmate for her daughter.

She moved quickly down the hall and caught up with Michelle standing in the doorway of Gina's bedroom with a bewildered look on her face.

Michelle couldn't believe her eyes and couldn't make a sound. She gaped like a fish as she watched her son, dancing and spinning gracefully in the middle of the room, wearing a pink tutu.

The tutu seemed a little too big, obviously a hand-me-down from Gina, but it fit well enough that he didn't stumble in it. Quite the contrary. He moved with unusual grace, even for a normal 4-year-old.

Gina sat on her bed and also watched Claude, giving him ballet directions, which he followed with precision.

"Impossible," Michelle sputtered when she could finally speak.

Doris stood just behind her, speaking softly. "Amazing, isn't it? I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but I could scarcely believe it myself when I first saw it. Once I found out it wasn't a one-time fluke, I let Gina continue to dress him up and left them alone to play ever since."

"Why? How?" Michelle desperately tried to understand.

"Darned if I know. I wish I did, but I don't, so I just accept it."

"But ... it's not right," Michelle protested.

She'd been raised in a conservative home with conservative values, and what she saw contradicted so much of what her parents and teachers told her when she was a girl. Boys and girls were two opposite extremes that should never be mixed. It just wasn't right!

"Claude!" his mother shouted, getting his attention.

"Hi, Mommy!" he chirped. "Did you come to play with me and Gina?"

"No!" she shouted before taking a deep, calming breath. "I mean, no. It's time to go."

"Awww. Does I hafta?" he said with the cutest little pout on his face.

"Yes, you have to, right after Doris gets you dressed in your clothes. I'll be waiting outside in the car. Please don't be long."

Michelle turned and gave Doris a brief glare. Then she stormed outside to sit in her big, black SUV, slowly fogging up the windows as she stared up through the windshield at the gloomy October sky.

Doris came out about five minutes later, carrying Claude. She knew better than to let him run free. She carried him up to the car, opened the back door of the car and strapped the young boy into the car seat. Then she sadly shook her head as she walked back to the house. She could hear Michelle driving away but she didn't bother to wave good-bye. She knew the gesture wouldn't be returned.

* * *

Nearly two weeks later, not long before Halloween, Michelle went shopping for various household items and cleaning products, and she brought Claude with her since her babysitter had fallen from favor. She dressed him in heavy clothing and left his mittens on, and she strapped him down tightly in the child seat of the shopping cart to keep him as safe as she could.

As she paced back and forth through the store, she actually got about half of her shopping done before her son impaled his hand on a stick pin, left behind by some article of clothing from the store. She almost cursed.

After tending to the pin prick, she continued on a short ways and found herself looking down an aisle at children's costumes. Inexplicably, she wandered down the aisle, appraising each costume from a safety standpoint.

"No," she said to herself, looking at a bird costume. "He'd choke on the feathers."

"Forget that one," she said of a super hero outfit. "I'm sure he'd trip over the cape every five minutes."

"Definitely not!" She quickly passed by the clown costume.

When she got to the next offering, she stopped and stared. There on the rack, hung the cutest little pink tutu, calling to her.

She reached out and ran her fingers along the edge of the skirt. She couldn't help herself.

"So graceful," she murmured.

Ballerinas were the epitome of grace, the complete opposite of her son. He was a clumsy little boy, not a graceful girl. It seemed so wrong to consider buying such a thing for her son. She couldn't possibly get it, even if it could keep him safe. Could she?

* * *

Michelle left the store with an extra bag of clothes and an excited spring in her step as she pushed Claude in the shopping cart. She rushed to her car to unload everything, strapped her son in the child seat and drove away, slightly exceeding the speed limit -- something she rarely did. She even raced through a yellow light in her haste.

After years of playing it safe for her poor, clumsy son, she suddenly felt reckless. The whole shopping trip seemed almost dangerous, but somehow she knew it was the right thing to do. Something told her to try it ... for her son's sake, so she did. On some strange impulse, she also bought a package of girls underwear in addition to the frilly costume. She just hoped Gordon didn't find out.

* * *

When she got home, she couldn't wait to get her son in the costume. She forgot about everything else and rushed upstairs, holding the boy in one arm and a bag with the costume and panties in the other.

"Why we in my room, Mommy?" Claude asked after she sat him carefully in the middle of his double bed. "Are we gonna play a game?"

"Yes, sweetie," she told him, purposely avoiding his name as much as possible. She knew it wasn't spelled, "Clod," but that's what she thought of every time she heard it. "We're going to play dress up."

Claude clapped his hands and squealed. "Goodie! I love playing dress up."

Michelle smiled as she reached into the bag to open the costume box. She pulled out the pink tutu and held it up for inspection.

"What do you think? Isn't that cute?"

Claude's eyes opened wide. "Are you gonna wear that, Mommy?"

Michelle laughed. "No, silly boy. It's much too small for me. I got it for you!"

"For me?"

"Yes, you!"

Claude didn't say anything for awhile after that. He just smiled while his mother changed his clothes.

Michelle finished with Claude lying stretched out on his back wearing the complete outfit that thoughtfully included pink elastic socklets with ribbon ties to serve as ballet slippers. The socklets could be stretched over shoes to maintain the look during trick-or-treating.

He looked adorable, in a feminine sort of way, and there was something else, something she couldn't quite put into words. He suddenly seemed different, but she didn't realize what it was until he got up.

He got up slowly and very gracefully stood on his bed. He didn't even come close to falling over. He'd suddenly transformed into a ballerina, just as he did at Doris' house, and Michelle still found it so very hard to believe.

As he stood there, a smile slowly spread across his round little face, and the whole room lit up. "Thank you, Mommy!" he squealed.

He then surprised himself as well as his mother by holding his arms straight out and spinning a full revolution on the toes of one foot.

"Wow, Mommy! Did you see that? I made my room spin!"

"Such grace," she whispered, in awe of what she'd just witnessed.

"Who's Grace?" Claude asked.

That made Michelle think. She could no longer see a clumsy boy named Claude standing on the bed in a tutu. In his place, stood a girl who was grace personified.

"You are," she blurted out. "Your name is Grace."

"No, it's not, Mommy. My name is Claude!"

Michelle cringed. She kept meaning to discuss Claude's name with her husband. She imagined kids teasing the boy mercilessly, especially after seeing how clumsy he was. She couldn't let that happen.

"Actually, Claude is your great grandfather's name. You were named after him but he's been dead a long time. You don't want to have the same name as your dead great grandfather, do you?"

The boy's eyes went wide, and he slowly shook his head.

"When your father gets home, I think we should talk about using your middle name, William. That's your real name. What do you think of that?"

"I like it, Mommy." Then he repeated, "Will-yum," several times and laughed.

"Not so fast, sweetie. We'll call you William, but only when you're dressed as a William. Right now, you're dressed as someone else, so you have to use a different name."

"Do I have ta?" he whined.

"Yes, but I think it's for the best. You don't look like a William dressed like that."

"Okay, Mommy." He paused and frowned. "So who am I now? I forget."

"You're Grace," she told him, smiling.

"Okay. I'm Grace ... but you're still Mommy!" He laughed.

Michelle's instinct told her it would be safe to let her son loose in the house, and she confirmed her suspicion by starting with having him get down off his bed by himself. It took some effort not to help him, but she satisfied herself by staying close.

Grace didn't disappoint his mother. He slowly and carefully approached the edge of his low bed. Then he suddenly leaped out and did a short, quick scissor kick, landing softly on the padding that covered his floor. His mother added the padding to cushion his numerous falls.

"That was fun, Mommy! Can I do it again?"

Michelle had to quickly shake her head to focus after the shock of seeing another graceful display. "Hmmm? Oh. You can do it again later. Let's go downstairs and have lunch first. Okay?"

Grace nodded vigorously and continued living up to his name by prancing ahead of his mother, only stopping to be let through the numerous child gates that blocked his way, and making it downstairs without a single mishap. They moved to the kitchen where he hopped up into an excessively padded chair and sat leaning forward with his hands on the edge of the seat and his legs tightly crossed.

"Where did you learn how to sit like that?" Michelle asked him.

"On TV. I see lots of stuff on TV."

That confused her. She tried to limit how much television her son watched, thinking it was bad for him. But if he was actually learning something, she'd have to think about letting him watch a little more and even watch some shows with him. Adding comments and answering any questions he might have might make it a valuable learning experience.

"Have you ever seen ballet on TV?" she asked as she prepared to make sandwiches.

"Yeah! Uh ... I think so. I seen a nutcracker and swans and stuff. Gina's mom calls it ballet but I just calls it fun."

Michelle felt a stab of guilt when she thought about Gina and Doris.

She hadn't talked to her babysitter since she drove off in a huff, something more like her husband would do. Even if she'd felt justified at the time, it had been entirely rude and just plain wrong. She had been wrong. She could see it all so clearly in the face of her child who sat across from her, dressed as a ballerina and ever so graceful.

The guilty woman made a mental note to call Doris soon and apologize. She just hoped it wasn't too late. A babysitter would still be needed from time to time, and a good friend was priceless.

Making lunch didn't seem to take very long. Michelle did the work on autopilot so she could continue staring at Grace. His blonde hair wasn't very long for a girl but she could imagine it longer. In fact, she resolved to find some excuse to grow it out. Dressing him up wasn't going to be a one time thing. She knew that much.

She cut the sandwiches into quarters and served them on a thin plastic plate, but she cringed when Grace suddenly shouted.

"Yay! PBJ! Thanks, Mommy!"

Michelle feared a repeat of yesterday's enthusiastic lunch that ended with a bit tongue and a bump on the top of his head when he bent down to retrieve his napkin from under the table and stood up too quickly.

Grace surprised his mother once again. Instead of wolfing down his food, he daintily nibbled at it, and instead of gulping his milk, he carefully held the plastic cup with two hands and sipped it. When he finished his meal, he even dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. His mother barely recognized him.

"I love you, Mommy," he told her before sliding down off his chair and gliding out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Michelle called after him.

"I gots ta go potty!" he shouted back. "Okay?"

"Okay. Do you want any help?"

"Naw."

Michelle forced herself to stay in the kitchen and wait. It wasn't easy, but her instinct reassured her. Nothing bad had happened so far.

She thought about a lot of things for the next several minutes. Her mind raced with possibilities for Grace, though not all of them were good. Gordon would blow his stack if he saw his pride and joy dressed like a ballerina. She'd have to keep the tutu hidden, along with all of the other girls clothes she planned to buy. Either that or come up with a good explanation for having them in the house.

The transformation of her clumsy son into such a graceful child didn't make sense. The only difference was the clothes he wore. She dressed him in lots of different outfits for boys but he never lost his clumsiness that she could remember. It didn't matter what he wore, until she got the tutu. Now, she couldn't wait to try all manner of girls clothing, including some androgynous outfits. She had a very special son and she'd do whatever she could to keep him safe.

Grace could suddenly be heard humming from the direction of the living room. It snapped Michelle out of her reverie, and she got up to follow the sound.

She crossed into the dining area and peeked into the living room where she did indeed find her son, and she almost cried with joy at the sight.

Grace moved around the middle of the room, waltzing, leaping and spinning like he'd taken a couple years of ballet lessons. He still wasn't nearly as coordinated as older children, but he had a definite graceful presence. He navigated around the long, well-padded coffee table and potted ficus without bumping into or falling over anything.

When he finally noticed his mother, he stopped and blushed.

"Hi, Mommy," he said with a shy smile.

"That was beautiful, sweetie. Would you like to take ballet lessons?"

He slowly nodded.

"I'm not sure your father would approve but I might be able to manage something. If nothing else, I'll try to get some ballet videos. Then you could see more ballet on TV. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Grace nodded vigorously and smiled.

Her son would soon have a wardrobe of girls clothes and might be taking ballet lessons wearing a tutu. Was she out of her mind?

* * *

Chores didn't normally elicit feelings of happiness, but mother and son spent a pleasant afternoon dusting, vacuuming and doing laundry until it was time to start preparing dinner. That's when reality came crashing down.

Michelle looked at the time and noticed her husband would be home in about 20 minutes. She softly bit her lower lip and reluctantly led Grace upstairs to change his clothes.

"But I wanna help more!" Grace cried. "Please?"

It nearly broke Michelle's heart, but she had to change her son's clothes. There was no way Gordon could handle seeing his son wearing a tutu.

'Life isn't fair,' she thought as she carefully folded the tutu, slipped it into its box and slid the box under her son's bed. She also briefly wondered how he'd been able to undress well enough to use the toilet earlier, but that thought was pushed to the back of her mind. She didn't have time for idle curiosity. She had to get dinner ready.

She only managed to follow through on one idea. She kept the panties on him as an experiment, hoping that the feminine underwear would be enough to keep her son coordinated.

"Okay, sweetie," she told him as he stood on his bed, dressed all in boys outer wear. "You're William now."

"Yay! I'm Will-yum!" He laughed and promptly fell on his rear.

Michelle sighed. Her clumsy son was back.

"William?" she said.

"Yes, Mommy?"

"Let's keep our dressing up game a secret. Okay? Will you do that for me?"

"Okay."

"It's very important that you don't tell anyone, especially not Daddy."

William nodded solemnly.

"Good boy. Now hold my hand. It's time for me to go make dinner."

* * *

The Hart family always had a quiet dinner. Gordon kept to his usual routine, demanding silence and ignoring his family while he ate and then spending some quality time with his son immediately afterwards. He rattled his newspaper between bites, more out of habit than necessity, and occasionally muttered about something he read. It was the calm before the storm.

Having the two males of the family spend the early evening together was the worst part of the day for Michelle. That's when William got some of his worst injuries. Gordon still didn't appreciate just how uncoordinated his son could be and didn't care to be gentle.

"No use holding back," he'd huff as he rolled his son around on the floor. "It'll toughen him up."

William laughed a lot and loved the attention. It should've been a wonderful bonding experience between father and son, and it was, until William fell backwards and sharply hit the back of his hand on the coffee table leg, or stumbled forward and hit his forehead on his father's knee. The little boy couldn't laugh off all of his injuries.

Michelle always stood just out of sight in the dining area after dinner, having been banned from the male activities. She held her purse and spent her time going through her medical supplies, taking inventory to make sure she wouldn't run out of something. It helped distract her from what would otherwise be a very stressful hour.

The worried mother had just started thinking ahead to her vigil that night, wondering where she'd misplaced her purse when she'd remembered to have a discussion about using their son's middle name. She'd never forcefully argued with her husband before but she'd argue if she had to. For the first time in her marriage, she'd dared to assert herself, though she'd make sure to tread carefully.

"Gordon?" she said, getting the attention of both her husband and son.

"Yes, dear?" he rumbled, looking over the top of his newspaper.

William sat between his parents. He looked up at his mother when she broke the code of silence, and then turned to his father after hearing him. He didn't get to hear much conversation at the dinner table so he found it quite entertaining.

"Have you considered how names can affect a child's development?" Michelle asked.

Gordon looked a little puzzled. He folded up his paper and set it on the table.

"Of course I have," he blustered, not really understanding the question.

"I know you're very proud of your great grandfather, Claude, but don't you think it's too rare a name nowadays?"

Gordon thought a moment before shaking his head. "Nonsense," he said. "Claude's a fine name. Nothing wrong with it."

"There might be something wrong if it's too rare," she continued. "Bullying is a big problem in school and children key on anything odd to use as an excuse to bully. I'm worried about our son."

William continued looking back and forth at each parent as they spoke. He knew they were talking about him but he didn't understand half of what they said. Still, he kept listening and trying to understand, and he continued to be entertained nonetheless.

"What are you getting at, Michelle? Are you telling me you want to change Claude's name?"

"No, not at all. I just thought it might be better to call him by his middle name. William is a very distinguished name, and it's common enough to be safe."

"Hmmm. I'll have to think about that. Perhaps you're right, dear."

"You might try using that name tonight. I've been calling him that today and he seems to like it. Don't you, William?"

William looked at his mother and nodded vigorously. He understood her question.

"Going behind my back?" Gordon narrowed his eyes. He felt challenged. He didn't like when anyone challenged him.

"No, I just wanted to make sure he liked it before suggesting it to you."

"I'm not sure I like that."

"Gordon Anthony Hart!" Michelle had enough. She held up her fork and shook it at her husband, flinging bits of mashed potato all over the table. "I'm not doing this to spite you. This isn't about you. I'm doing it for our son!"

William's eyes were wide as saucers. He'd never seen his mother so upset, and he'd never felt so upset himself. He would've cried if his father wasn't present.

Gordon noticed his son's reaction. He had close to the same reaction himself. He'd never seen his wife so vocal and full of fire, and it scared him. It was a good example of a mother fiercely protecting her child, and it was a lesson he wouldn't soon forget.

After Michelle comforted and soothed her distraught child, she declared dinner to be officially over and went in search of her purse, leaving the two males to start their evening bonding session. Everything went back to the usual routine with one notable difference: Gordon addressed his son by the name of "William."

* * *

The memories of William becoming Grace left Michelle smiling the rest of the evening. She couldn't wait to dress him up again tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. She planned on getting a lot more girls clothing too. She'd start with one outfit, most likely a dress, to see how William handled it. It wouldn't be prudent to buy a large wardrobe if he only became graceful in a tutu.

She got her son back after Gordon spent his quality time with the boy, who was only very slightly battered that night. It would've surprised her if she hadn't peeked to see that Gordon had treated William much more gently than he normally did. Perhaps their little talk at dinner did more good than she realized. That only reinforced her smile.

She took little William up to his room, gave him his bath and got him ready for bed. Then, seeing that he was still alert, she carefully tucked him firmly into the middle of the bed and got ready for story time.

Too many of the hard bound children's books had sharp corners, and virtually all of the books could seemingly cause a paper cut at 50 paces, so they were all kept in a plastic box with rounded corners that sat on the floor of the closet.

Michelle carefully opened the box and read off book titles, waiting for one to be approved. As she sorted through them, she noted that most of them were about animals and motorized vehicles, and the plots seemed tailored for little boys. That didn't seem right. It certainly didn't match the change in lifestyle she envisioned for her son. She planned on shopping for children's books as well as clothes as soon as she could.

When she got to "The Little Engine that Could," William squealed with delight. That was his way of making a selection. So she took the book and snuggled down on the bed to read.

* * *

Halfway through the book, Michelle began to wonder about her son's choice. It seemed oddly synchronized with her mood.

"I think I can, I think I can, I think I can," she read aloud what the little locomotive said while trying to pull a long string of railroad cars up a hill.

She likened the locomotive's task with her own. Trying to feminize her son would be an uphill battle -- with her husband and most of the rest of the world. She didn't know what she'd do when William started school. She couldn't think about it. It simply caused too much anxiety, so she focused back on the story and her child's suddenly heavy eyelids.

Even though she didn't finish the book that night, she knew the story ended well, with the little engine making it up and over the hill. She hoped her own upcoming challenge ended the same way.

"I think I can," she murmured, kissing William on the forehead before quietly slipping out of his room.

* * *

The next morning, Michelle called Doris and the two women happily patched up their differences. Michelle didn't mention buying a tutu but she did go as far as saying that she understood why Doris dressed her son in girls clothing. She even swallowed a little pride and actually approved of it, saying it could continue.

Doris didn't sound surprised.

"I have one more revelation for you," she told Doris. "Gordon and I have decided to call our son by his middle name, William."

"Good," the woman blurted before catching herself. "I mean, okay. I'll be happy to call him William. Is that all?" she asked a little anxiously. She had a batch of chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven that were just about done and the smell kept distracting her.

"Well ... I was hoping you could babysit."

"Sure! When?"

"Now?"

Doris laughed. "Sure," she said. "Bring him over. I'd be happy to watch the little guy."

* * *

For the next couple mornings, Michelle dropped William off with Doris. Then she rushed off to shop.

Children's books were first on the list. Being on a somewhat limited budget to make sure Gordon didn't get suspicious, she had to make sure to get what she considered to be necessities first. She dropped by the local bookstore chain and picked up several books that featured ballerinas, princesses and cheerleaders. No son of hers would be unable to appreciate girlish fantasies and all things feminine.

An unplanned trip to the toy store netted a couple unexpected purchases. As she walked by the entrance, a rag doll caught her eye and she knew she just had to get it for William. The soft, cuddly doll looked safe enough for when he was clumsy, and it might help develop a nurturing instinct in him. She also picked up a jump rope as long as she was in the store. Jumping rope gave her hours of enjoyment when she was a little girl, and it helped improve her coordination and overall state of health. Perhaps it could do the same for her son.

Next on the list was an inexpensive wig. She still planned on letting William's beautiful blonde hair grow out, but until that happened, she wanted to see the full effect of her son as a girl, and she had a few more things she wanted to test.

Though she didn't hold much hope of finding boys clothes that didn't make him clumsy, she hadn't given up on keeping him somewhat masculine. Who knows? It might be possible. Adding various girlish features like long hair might allow him to wear masculine clothes without constantly tripping and falling. She couldn't call herself a good mother if she didn't try everything she could think of to give him a chance at being a boy.

After finding a passable wig at a party store, the warm-up ended and the serious shopping began, starting with some costumes in that same party store.

As soon as Michelle saw the pompoms and associated skirt and top, she knew she had to see William dressed up as a cheerleader. She knew deep down that he'd be graceful and good at it, just as he was as a ballerina. She grabbed the costume without hesitation, but to be fair, she also picked up several costumes in the boys section, including a cowboy, firefighter and policeman.

Though she was already over her self-imposed spending limit for the month, she insisted on getting two girls outfits. She'd start William off with a dress and then move on to a skirt and top to see how he fared. If he was even half as graceful wearing those as he was in the tutu, she knew his fate would be sealed.

* * *

After shopping in the morning, Michelle would grab her son from the babysitter and make a mad dash for his bedroom. Playing dress up had become an important new part of the day's routine for both mother and son. William didn't give it much thought. He just thought it was fun. For Michelle, it was becoming an obsession.

Michelle started with the cheerleading costume and wig, and as she guessed, William, as Grace, was a natural. He jumped and kicked and swung his little arms like he'd been born to cheer.

When he spied the jump rope, he picked it up and started jumping rope in place, having no problems at all. He didn't have to be shown how to do it and he didn't trip or hang himself with the rope.

"Grace! You're so ... so ... cute!" Michelle gushed.

Grace blushed. "Thank you, Mommy."

Dressed as a cheerleader, Grace had become an athletic yet feminine boy, and Michelle smiled at her son, savoring the moment and thinking it was at least a small step closer to boyhood. She left him in the outfit and they continued their day much as they had when Grace was dressed in the tutu, the main difference being the volume of noise her son made. Cheerleading really wound him up.

* * *

Mother and son enjoyed a peaceful lunch. But after the table was cleared and everything was cleaned up, Grace resumed his cheerleading.

"Gimme a B!" he suddenly shouted, doing a cheer that he thought he remembered seeing on television.

"B!" shouted Michelle, recognizing the proper response for a crowd at a sporting event.

"Gimme a P!"

"P!"

"Gimme a O!"

"O!"

"Gimme a R!"

"R!"

"Gimme a X!"

"X!"

"Whazzat spell?!"

"Bee Porx!"

"Whazzat spell?!"

"Bee Porx!"

"Whazzat spell?!"

"Bee Porx!"

"Yay!!" Grace shouted, finishing the cheer by jumping in the air and waving his pompoms wildly over his head in victory. He defeated his inner klutz and celebrated with unbridled enthusiasm.

Michelle lost it and laughed uncontrollably.

Though he couldn't spell, his mother had taught him the alphabet. He knew enough to use real letters, and after she stopped laughing, she glowed with pride.

* * *

The very next morning, Grace appeared earlier in the day. Michelle rushed her husband off to work after breakfast at the crack of dawn and then immediately went upstairs to see to William.

She sat in a folding chair that she'd brought into her son's room and waited for him to wake up, passing the time by imagining him as a real girl who was graceful no matter what she wore.

* * *

"Yay! More dress up games!" William shouted when Michelle pulled out the fireman costume.

The costume came with a little plastic ax but she kept that away from him for the time being to minimize the chance of him hurting himself. She felt sure he'd remain his clumsy self in the costume, and she was right.

Her son was a complete klutz. He lunged towards the edge of the bed and fell face first on the floor before she could grab him. She praised herself for covering the hardwood floor with padding and put him back on the bed.

He fared no better in the slightly baggy policeman costume, falling three times before his mother picked him up and laid him back on the bed.

After she got him dressed in the cowboy outfit, young William didn't try to get up. He stayed on his back, stared at himself for a full minute and then cried his eyes out. He'd had enough.

"Oh, my poor, darling little boy. I'm sorry. No more costumes today. Okay?"

William sniffed loudly once and slowly nodded his agreement.

"Let's try this instead," she said, holding up the little yellow party dress she'd bought for him. "This isn't a costume."

'Not exactly,' she added with a thought.

William's eyes went wide and he stopped crying immediately.

"Oh! Pretty!" he said.

Michelle agreed. She'd bought the most feminine dress she could find to start at one extreme. Hopefully, she could eventually get him dressed in something fairly androgynous, but for now, he'd be her graceful little girlie boy until just before Gordon got home from work.

She quickly dressed him up and added the wig, and of course she was right about the new look. It turned her son into a graceful, polite and very feminine little boy. All she could do was breathe a sigh of contentment.

* * *

Halloween had snuck up on the Hart family. It wasn't until Michelle had seen a calendar that she knew what day it was. She should've noticed with all of the costumes she'd looked at and bought, but to be fair, she'd been preoccupied with her son.

William went through several outfits that morning, but the result was always the same when it came to boys clothes. His mother tried all combinations along with the wig, jewelry and a few other feminine accessories and the added girlishness just made things worse. The jewelry and handbag snagged on small things, pulling them over and hitting him, or they caught on large things, yanking him off his feet or scratching his tender skin. The poor little kid could barely take three steps before having some sort of problem.

"What did my son do to deserve this?!" Michelle threw her arms up, pleading with the heavens. "Please! Leave him be!"

Out of desperation, she carried her son back to his room for an emergency change of clothes. She quickly had him try on the sky blue skirt and top combination that she'd bought yesterday, along with the wig of course. Then she waited, finally exhaling the breath she held after her son slowly and gracefully scooted off his bed to lead her out of his room.

William became Grace once again and no longer tangled with the jungle of potted plants and padded fireplace tools. He swayed his little hips, making his skirt dance, and successfully avoided any and all potential mishaps.

At one point, he stopped and twirled just inside the dining area, causing his skirt to flare out. That amused both him and his mother, and that's when she noticed the calendar behind him.

The Norman Rockwell calendar hung about halfway up the short wall that divided the kitchen from the living room. Michelle stood in the kitchen and noticed the painting titled, Ghostly Gourds, that showed a man carving jack-o'-lanterns. Then her eyes drifted down to confirm that it was in fact Halloween.

Last year's opportunity for trick-or-treating had been ignored. She hadn't dared to take her son outside for fear of a truly horrifying evening of accidents and injuries. Instead, she'd bought several different kinds of candy and played a guessing game. She'd point out various objects and when William correctly identified it, she'd reward him with a treat. It had been both a fun and educational evening for a 3-year-old, and best of all, it had been completely safe. She kept him securely strapped in his chair so she could answer the door and hand out candy to the trick-or-treaters without having to worry about him.

There were no plans to celebrate Halloween in the traditional manner for William's fourth year of life, other than to hand out candy, but that was before knowing about his amazing transformation into Grace.

Michelle sported a sly grin on her face as she planned how she'd sneak Grace out for some trick-or-treating. She felt confident she could handle Gordon.

* * *

Gordon came home a little later than usual, his presence announced by the noisy electric garage door opener. He slammed the heavy door of his gas-guzzling sedan along with every door of the house on the way to the kitchen, all the while muttering about his horrible commute.

Like his wife, he completely forgot about Halloween. He didn't think to leave earlier from work to get ahead of the rush to go to a costume party or to act as an escort for trick-or-treating. He'd never think of participating in the festivities so he couldn't be expected to think about such things.

Michelle explained the heavy traffic and plied her cranky husband with all the right, soothing words. She also made one of his favorite meals -- beef pot roast and mashed potatoes, swimming in gravy. The family of three ate their meal in their accustomed silence and Gordon forgot all about his bad mood.

After they finished off dessert, the man of the house felt normal again, and he tried to fall back into yet another familiar rut.

"Come on, William," he said. "It's time for a bit of fun."

"Uh uh uh," Michelle said, wagging her index finger at her husband. "Tonight is Halloween, time for all little ghosts and goblins to be appeased with treats."

"Oh," Gordon said, frowning just a little. "Right. Go ahead then," he said, turning to his son. "Have fun ... and be good." With that, he patted William lightly on the butt and winced a little when the little boy stumbled into the wall.

The boy's mother took over, setting him back into a chair.

"Take it easy, dear," she admonished her husband. "You know how clumsy he can be."

Gordon huffed but didn't say anything. Instead, he let his wife usher him into his study, where he could look forward to losing himself in a good book for the rest of the evening.

Choosing a book or magazine from the dozens on the bookshelf could be daunting, but on Halloween, he remembered one of his favorite journals of military history, titled, Chasing Ghosts: Unconventional Warfare in American History.

"Perfect," he muttered to himself as he settled into his leather recliner to read.

Michelle stood just outside, watching her husband. As soon as she saw him sit, she raced back to William and carried him upstairs. It was time for a little Halloween fun.

* * *

In the gloom of a cloudy October dusk, illuminated by a frosted glass porch light, a hastily scribbled note could be seen taped to the front door of the Hart home. It read: We're out trick-or-treating now. Please come back a little later for treats.

Just stepping off the small cement porch, a mother walked out towards the street with a cute little ballerina in tow. It wasn't apparent who was more excited, the mother or her child.

"We'll just go once around the block," Michelle told Grace. "Then we can come back and sort through all your goodies. Won't that be fun?"

"Yeah, Mommy! Thank you, Mommy!"

No one who didn't know the family could tell that Grace was anyone other than a little girl. He wore a blonde wig and complete pink ballerina costume, along with a short, heavy purple jacket to keep the chill off. He also wore pink shoes under the color coordinated ballet slipper socklets. His mother took no chances with his condition so he wore absolutely no male clothing.

As before, when wearing girls clothing, Grace had no trouble keeping his feet. He walked effortlessly alongside his mother and the two of them chatted continuously about all the other costumes and candy they were seeing. It was more like mother-daughter bonding than a simple evening of trick-or-treating, but Michelle wouldn't let herself think about that. She just wanted her son to have an accident free evening of fun for once in his life.

* * *

Coming back around the block, they came to the last house before they finished trick-or-treating for the night. It was their next-door neighbor, old Mrs. Johnson.

Michelle stood on the sidewalk directly under a street light, watching as Grace went up to the door and knocked. She didn't think to hide her face when the door opened.

The old woman looked down and smiled at the little ballerina, happily handing over several goodies after Grace called out, "Trick-or-treat!" But then she peered out at Michelle and her eyes widened with recognition. She looked back down at the apparent little girl before her and scowled.

Michelle blushed and shrugged her shoulders when the old woman looked back at her again, still scowling.

"Happy Halloween, Marge!" she called out as Grace came gliding back to her with her plastic pumpkin container full of sugary treats.

Marge Johnson didn't say a word. She just shook her head as she slowly closed the door.

Grace excitedly held up her little pumpkin to show off her treats and Michelle answered the gesture with a little nervous laughter.

"That's great, sweetie. Let's go sort through it now. Okay?"

Grace nodded and walked ahead of her mother across the front lawn to their house, humming as she left a trail of soggy footprints in the dewy grass. Her mother slowly followed, wondering if there'd be any trouble from Mrs. Johnson.

* * *

Nothing bad happened after the Halloween outing. Michelle waited and waited for her neighbor to say something, and only after two weeks of silence had passed did she finally breathe a sigh of relief.

She felt relieved and also a little bold. Grace needed more clothes if he was to dress comfortably every day of the week, and Michelle decided to take Grace out shopping.

It hadn't been very long since she bought the last few things but she'd taken the boys costumes back. She had a little money to spare to keep within her monthly budget.

She started with more underclothes. They were cheap, and necessary, to keep William properly attired as Grace. Next came two pairs of girls jeans and a few sweatshirts. Other than the fancy stitching and embroidery, they looked androgynous enough. They'd be a good test to see how masculine she could get her son before he reverted back into his original clumsy self.

Finding herself a little beyond her spending limit, she couldn't help herself as she passed a dance wear store. She drifted inside and soon left with a pair of tights and a boy's black leotard. She refused to give up on finding at least one male outfit that wouldn't turn her son into a klutz.

* * *

William found himself dressed in the leotard immediately after getting home. Michelle couldn't wait. She felt it was her last chance to keep her son dressed as a boy, though she did have him wear a pair of the new panties she bought that day. She knew better than to try male underwear. Even when he wore girls clothes over a pair of boys briefs, he walked funny and constantly picked at his butt and crotch, and he was still somewhat clumsy.

As before, she rushed him upstairs and laid him on the bed so she could change his clothes. Then she held her breath and waited.

William seemed unsure of himself. He didn't try standing on his bed as he liked to do. Instead, he slowly scooted on his rear until he got to the edge, Then he hung his little legs over the side and slid down.

He didn't fall or stumble. He didn't move. He just stood there, looking uncertain and uncomfortable. If there was one word that could describe him at the moment, it would be awkward.

"What's the matter, William?" his mother asked. "Don't you like your clothes?"

He slowly shook his head to show that he didn't.

"Why not?"

He shrugged and continued standing there, looking forlorn until Michelle took pity on him and hefted him back on the bed to try a pair of girls jeans and a sweatshirt. She left the panties on him of course, and added the wig.

Grace soon had a big smile on his face. He stood on his bed, fully dressed as a girl and skipped to the edge, giving his mother a mischievous look.

Michelle stood close just in case and watched in amazement as he finished getting down by falling on his rear and bouncing up and forward to stand on the padded floor next to his bed.

"Wow!" she blurted out to Grace's amusement. Then she caught herself and gently scolded him.

"Don't be doing that again, Grace. That's not very ladylike."

Grace laughed and ran ahead of his mother, racing downstairs through all the child gates that had been left open, anticipating Grace's return. He flew into the kitchen and waited impatiently in a chair for lunch to be served.

Michelle decided her son had slipped into tomboy mode and shook her head with wonder. Except for the clothes, he seemed quite boyish and he was very coordinated.

'So close,' she thought. 'Yet so far.'

With all that she'd seen, she could only conclude that somewhere deep inside him, her son would rather be a girl.

* * *

Another peaceful week passed by quickly. Grace spent most of the day helping his mother keep house on the weekdays and Gordon came home after work to lord over his family.

It wasn't until the beginning of the next week that the man of the house put off his reading to bring up a delicate subject.

"Sweetheart?" he asked his wife.

"Yes, dear?"

"I went over our finances last night and I noted a small increase in your spending. Is everything okay?"

That was his way of demanding an explanation. He spoke politely enough. It was his narrowed eyes and tight lips that gave away his true feelings. Michelle could read his emotions like a book.

"Everything is fine. I got a Halloween costume and several new outfits for our child," she said, careful to not use William's name so she wouldn't exactly be lying.

She suddenly thought about the leotard and mentally kicked herself for not taking it back yet. Gordon could be so tight with money. Of course he'd notice every penny that left their joint checking account.

"Are you sure that's all?" Gordon said, raising his eyebrows -- always a good sign.

"Actually, I'm taking something back that William doesn't like. That should show up back in our checking account later this week."

"Oh. Right. Good."

Gordon stepped into his study to read, fully satisfied that all was well in his little domain, but then he remembered something else.

"Dear?" he called out, moving back to the doorway to look down the hall.

"Yes?"

"I almost forgot .... I think the boy could use a haircut. Please see to it. Don't worry about the cost."

Michelle bristled. "I was thinking of letting him grow it out," she said quietly.

"What's that?"

"I said, it's in style," she lied, thinking it would be in style if their child was a girl. "I was thinking of having him grow it out longer."

"Nonsense. If you don't take him to a barber, I will."

Michelle cringed. She could accept taking William to a hair stylist, but a barber? Never!

"Didn't they have styles when you were in school?" she asked him.

"What? Of course," he huffed.

"So you dressed and cut your hair accordingly," she accused.

"Yes. Yes," he started, but the fiercely protective mother interrupted to drive home her point.

"Styles change, Gordon, and William is going to change too."

She left a lot unsaid. She had to hold back because her husband wasn't ready for the truth. He wouldn't understand that the low quality wig would give Grace away at some point, something that she couldn't let happen.

"But it makes him look like a girl," he protested.

"I'll tie it back in a low pony tail when it gets long enough and no one will say a thing. Don't worry."

"But ...."

"But nothing," she said a little more sharply than she intended.

Gordon raised his eyebrows. He didn't like having his wife contradict him, even if she was right. His male ego trembled with indignation as he tried to stare her down.

"I suppose you're right," he finally conceded, having noticed the determined look in her fiery green eyes. He realized that he wouldn't win the argument. "It'll save a little money too," he added to save face.

"That's right," Michelle agreed.

She turned away and smiled as she estimated how long William's hair would be at the start of kindergarten next year. But her smile evaporated when she thought about school. How could she protect her child once he started school? The students would be sitting at desks most of the time so the classroom should be safe enough. Right?

She didn't believe herself for a minute.

* * *

William wouldn't start school for 10 months, still plenty of time to form a backup plan in case things didn't work out. Michelle had a good plan, too. If William couldn't go to school for health reasons, then school would just have to come to him.

Since mothering her special child and tending to the house had become a full-time job, she could home school her son, just as she did with preschool. She'd already spent many hours a week, every week, teaching him. It would be easy for her to continue his education at home.

William could count to 20, recite the alphabet and write his name. He also seemed very fond of drawing and finger painting. The only thing that he lacked was playmates, something he'd never have if he stayed home all the time. Michelle frowned at that, though she did find a way to improve the situation.

As she often did the past several months, she had Doris babysit her son in the afternoon so he could spend time with Doris' daughter, Gina. Gina was a few years older, and a girl, but the two children seemed to get along very well, especially after they dressed William as a girl. When dressed for the occasion, he enjoyed playing with dolls and tea party sets just as much as Gina did.

It was a start, but she still wanted her child to have more friends, and as she picked her brain for ideas, she suddenly remembered something. She'd intended on having Grace take ballet lessons.

"Dare I?" she asked herself.

Sadly, she shook her head. Exposing her special little boy to the rest of the world frightened her too much, especially with his hair so short. She didn't think people could handle such a graceful, feminine looking child with short hair. Stereotypes ran deep in her family.

* * *

The next several weeks blew by in a feminine haze. William accumulated more and more girls clothes and his reliance on bandages slowed to a trickle as he dressed as a girl more and more of the time. His mother dared to dress him in girls night clothes when he slept and he even started making the trip over to his babysitter dressed as Grace.

The first time Grace arrived on Doris' doorstep, it caught the short woman by surprise. She almost didn't recognize the little guy.

Michelle had him dressed in jeans but the blonde wig, purple jacket and matching shoes made him look like nothing other than a little girl.

"We call him Grace when he wears his girls clothes," Michelle said. "Don't we, Grace."

"Yes, Mommy."

Doris smiled and bent down to wrap her arms around him. "Welcome, Grace," she spoke into his ear.

"That tickles!" he said, laughing and pushing away. Then his little face grew very serious.

"What is it?" Doris asked him, standing up with her hands on her hips. "What's wrong?"

"You smell like cookies. Can I have a cookie?"

The two women laughed.

"Why don't you take two, one for you and one for Gina. She's waiting for you in her room."

He stood there, not believing his luck.

"You know where they are," the woman added. "Run along now."

Grace shouted with delight and ran towards the kitchen to raid the cookie jar, leaving the two women outside on the front porch to talk.

"This is a pleasant surprise," Doris said.

Michelle shyly looked at the ground. "It's certainly been a surprise for me," she said quietly.

"Oh. Come now. Isn't it nice to see him running around without constantly hurting himself?"

"I guess so ... yes." A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Then she added, "I always wanted a daughter."

"Really?"

"Yes. And now I feel kind of guilty about it. Do you think I'm influencing him somehow?"

"I doubt it," Doris said, looking up at the gray sky. "Remember how all of this started. He didn't discover his inner grace until Gina dressed him up in her old tutu."

"Yes, but maybe I indirectly forced him into it. Maybe my desire for a daughter made him uncomfortable somehow. Maybe he sensed it."

"You've been reading too many parenting books," Doris declared. "Come on. Let's go inside and talk. It's too cold out here."

The two of them slowly drifted towards the kitchen, Doris' favorite room, where they sat and talked away the hours. Michelle never did make it to the store that day, but she got something better than a load of groceries. She got a friend.

* * *

Weeks gathered into months and the seasons slowly rolled by. William's shortage of playmates became less of an issue when he dressed as Grace. He met some of Gina's friends and also some of her neighbors who were closer to his age, and they all had great fun playing together ... as girls.

Michelle brought Grace's rag doll, jump rope and a few other toys over to Doris' house, mostly to hide them from Gordon, and she was pleased to see Grace share his things and treat them with loving care. She also kept several of Grace's outfits with Doris for an occasional sleepover.

The boy's hair grew long enough that he no longer needed the wig to satisfy his mother. She tied his hair back in a short, low pony tail when he was William and had it either in pigtails or held back with a hairband when he was Grace. Dressed as either gender, her son had beautiful long blonde hair.

Her child had a blast, and best of all, he was nearly free of cuts and bruises. The only injuries he got was when Gordon wrestled around with him after dinner.

Then he turned 5 and kindergarten loomed on the horizon.

Michelle had gotten too used to having very little stress in her life. It came as a rude shock when she received a letter reminding her about school registration.

"Does he have to go to school?" she whined to her husband.

Gordon raised one eyebrow and pinched his lips tightly together.

"Right. That was a stupid question. I meant, can't I continue to teach him at home?"

"Why?" he asked. "Wouldn't it be better if he was with other children?" She truly had him puzzled, something she'd become quite good at doing over the past several months.

"Well ... I'm an excellent teacher for one thing. William is well ahead of most other children his age."

"Nonsense. I looked into the school. It has an excellent reputation for academics."

"What about his ... accidents?" she persisted. "I don't think he'll be safe at school!"

"Ridiculous! He's never been healthier. I think all of our wrestling has paid off. Our son is growing into quite the little man."

Michelle would've laughed at the irony if she wasn't so upset. She'd shot herself in the foot by keeping her son in girls clothing. He'd had so few injuries that school seemed inevitable. All she could do was chew her lower lip and worry.

* * *

The first day of school greeted the Hart's with a dark sky and a chill breeze. Icy fingers of dread gripped the mother's heart. Nothing felt good about that day.

With his little hand firmly held by his mother, William stumbled his way out to the garage and into the big black SUV, where he was strapped in securely to his child seat. Up to that point, he'd suffered no injuries.

The garage door had lifted and the drive to the school had been mercifully short. It hadn't allowed enough time for too many little horror scenes to play out in Michelle's mind and she'd begun to think that she'd exaggerated the danger. Perhaps her son had been going through a phase that he'd soon outgrow. He'd soon see lots of other little boys in school and he'd follow right along in their footsteps. It had all been just a silly little phase.

She laughed nervously to herself to relieve the tension. It helped her loosen her white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.

She got out and released William, again holding his hand as escorted him into the school, and again with no injuries incurred. They wandered through the building and ended up in the administrative office to find out which classroom he'd be in.

"Yes? Can I help you?" rasped a scrawny, middle-aged woman wearing a black cardigan. She looked up from behind a bulky computer monitor on her desk. Her nameplate displayed the name, Mrs. Gant.

"Oh. Yes. Thanks, Mrs. Gant. I'm Michelle Hart and this is my son, William. He's here to start kindergarten."

"Right. William Hart. Just a moment, please."

The woman wore a pair of reading glasses on a black cord around her neck. She slid the glasses onto her face and pecked at her keyboard. After several seconds of peering at her computer with her nose wrinkled and her mouth open, she relayed the required information.

"He's outside, in the portables, number 3."

"Uh. Thank you." Michelle turned to go and suddenly paused.

"Where exactly is portable 3?" she asked.

"Down the hall to your right and out the door. The portables are all lined up alongside this building. It'll be the last one."

"Good. Thanks again."

Michelle tried to smile but something about the word "portable" made her nervous. It implied movement and movement could prove hazardous to her son.

'That's silly,' she thought. 'It won't be moving while he's in it. It's just a small, portable building like a mobile home.'

She kept a firm grip on her son's hand and together, they followed Mrs. Gant's directions, finding portable number 3 with no problems whatsoever. Mother and son came around to the back side of the small cubic building and Michelle abruptly stopped, trying not to hyperventilate.

The portable classroom had a staircase leading up to the door, with a metal hand railing and stairs that were each formed by a thin metal grill. The phrase, "Jaws of Death," popped into the worried mother's head and she had to fight the urge to turn and run. Instead, after taking a deep, relaxing breath, she bravely led her little boy up the stairs, which clanged with each step of her high heels.

"Hang on to the railing now, William," she nervously told her son. "These stairs aren't soft like ours at home."

"Yes, Mommy," he said, looking away and stumbling as he spoke. He had yet to grab the railing.

"Please, sweetie. Hold the railing ... for me?"

William very suddenly reached out and rapped his knuckles on the hard metal.

"Ow!" he yelped. "I gots another owie, Mommy!"

Michelle quickly pulled him up to the small landing, made of the same metal grill as the stairs, and stopped to tend to his bruised knuckles. There wasn't much she could do other than kiss his hand and rub on a little Arnica cream but William appreciated her efforts.

"Thanks, Mommy," he said and then gave her a big smile that almost broke her heart.

"Please, William. Please try to be careful."

He nodded solemnly just before turning and bumping into the closed door of the portable.

* * *

School had been a disaster. Michelle stayed just outside the portable, against the advice of the teacher, Mrs. Nelson, and waited to tend to her son's inevitable string of injuries, the last of which was a spectacular fall down the stairs after kindergarten ended that day. She'd tried to run up the stairs to meet and catch him but the other children blocked her efforts.

William's fall had been slowed and cushioned somewhat by his classmates, but he ended up in the Emergency Room, getting seven stitches and a small red balloon tied to a stick. As soon as she got outside, Michelle popped the balloon and threw it, stick and all, into the trash. It was just another hazardous object that would somehow cause harm to her child and it had to go.

* * *

At the end of the first week of school, Michelle had enough. William had made three trips to the hospital in five days and she was back to being a nervous wreck.

"He broke his arm today!" she cried to her husband as soon as he walked in the door. "How much is enough?"

Gordon's eyes widened in shock. He didn't speak. Words couldn't escape his tightly shut mouth. Instead, he turned red with anger and slammed the outside edge of his fist into the wall, slightly bruising his hand. His yelp of pain finally loosened his tongue.

"That school is a death trap!" he shouted. "I'll sue them for everything they've got!"

"Gordon! Please! None of the other children have had any problems. It's not the school. I keep telling you, it's our son. He's got some sort of coordination problem."

"Nonsense! My boy has been fine up to now. I'm going to give that principal a piece of my mind. I'm going to ...," he trailed off when he saw his wife crying.

"Oh, honey," he moved to hug her. "Please don't cry. Everything will be okay. You'll see."

"You ... don't understand," she said between sobs. "William hasn't ... been okay. I've ... I've just been extremely careful with him."

Gordon paused. He didn't understand the problem. He couldn't. His mind wouldn't accept that his son was less than perfect. But he loved his wife and son and he'd do anything he could to help. If Michelle insisted something was wrong with William, then he'd try almost anything.

"Maybe we could take him to a doctor," he offered.

Michelle stopped crying and moved back from her husband. "What do you mean? What kind of doctor?"

"I don't know. Are there doctors that treat coordination problems?"

"That's not the problem," she said glumly.

"Then what is?"

"I think it's psychological," she told him. "He might need a psychologist, or maybe a psychiatrist."

"A shrink?! Are you kidding?! He's only five years old! What good would that do?!"

Society had gone a long way to reduce the stigma of mental illness, but Gordon hadn't progressed nearly as far. He stubbornly clung to images of untreatable nut cases nicely wrapped in straitjackets and happily babbling away in padded rooms. It scared the crap out of him to think of the same thing happening to his son.

"I don't know, Gordon. That's up to the doctor to find out."

"No way. No child of mine is going to a shrink. No way. No how."

"There is another option," Michelle tried. "I could home school him."

"I don't know ...," he said, warming himself up for another tirade and getting interrupted.

"You don't know?! What else is there?! I'm not putting him back in school!"

"Okay! Okay! I'm sorry. Let's ... let's call the school next week and start home schooling him. I don't want him back in that school any more than you do."

Michelle looked into her husband's eyes and the sincerity that she saw there made her feel better. She rushed forward and hugged him to show her gratitude, and relief.

* * *

For the next seven years, all was well in the Hart household. Michelle home schooled her son and he spent the majority of his time as Grace, something that never bothered him. In fact, he rather liked dressing as a girl. He appreciated the bright colors and variety of styles, and he often found himself attracted to his reflection. He could easily spend hours in front of a mirror if his mother would let him.

He didn't break any more bones, though he remained severely uncoordinated whenever he wore his boys clothing. His clumsiness remained a mystery because Gordon stubbornly kept his son away from any therapists no matter how well recommended they came, and William could never explain it. The poor boy was just as perplexed as anyone else.

Grace had several close calls, almost being discovered by his father when dressed in his girls clothes. At one point, his father actually saw him dressed as a girl, but his outfit was androgynous enough that he got away with it.

Ballet lessons had entered the picture early during those seven years, and it made life interesting. Michelle had to pay her son's way by giving money to Doris to hide it from Gordon. She couldn't very well make out a weekly check to the Grand Chalet Dance Studio without an explanation to her husband, though she still had to explain the added cost. Gordon had continued to maintain an iron grip on the family purse strings.

"Babysitting is getting expensive these days," he complained to his wife at dinner one evening. William had just stumbled up to his room to finish some schoolwork, leaving his parents alone for a serious discussion.

"It's to pay for some extra activities, Gordon," she told him. "Doris takes him out for some fun."

"Why can't you take him out?"

"I do!"

"Okay!" he shouted back. "But why does it have to be so expensive?!"

"I don't know!" Her husband frustrated her so much sometimes. It took quite a lot of willpower to control herself when he got fussy about money.

She paused to relax a little and tried again. "Is it really that expensive? Doris doesn't seem to think I spend all that much on him."

"Doris. Doris. Doris. That's all I hear these days," he huffed. "Doris doesn't pay our bills!"

"I know," she said quietly. "I know children can be expensive, but they need to get out and have fun. William hasn't really gotten out all that much, until recently."

A vein visibly throbbed on the side of her husband's forehead so she knew the conversation wasn't quite over yet.

"I try hard to manage our budget," she continued. "You know I'm not frivolous with money. I compare prices. I shop for bargains. I don't ask for much but I expect William to have at least a little fun in his life. Otherwise, what's the point?"

Gordon couldn't argue. He unclenched his jaw and lost himself in his wife's beautiful green eyes. He didn't like himself when it came to finances. He didn't like what money did to him. Luckily, he had his wife to remind him what was truly important in life, or at least remind him what mattered more than anything else.

"You're right. I'm sorry. Now how about if I help you clear the table and clean up tonight?" he asked, hoping to make it up to her.

"How about helping me every night?" she retorted without thinking.

"Okay," he said.

Michelle looked at her husband's serious face and gaped.

"Are you serious?" she asked, not quite able to believe him.

He nodded. "Don't think I haven't noticed you falling asleep on the couch late in the evening. You work hard all day. You clean, fix dinner, tend to William and even teach him. And what do I do?"

"You make all the money," Michelle offered.

"Yes, but I don't work as long and hard as you do. There's no reason why I can't help out in the evenings."

"And weekends?" she asked hopefully.

"And weekends," he agreed. "It's about time I helped out more instead of running off to my study to read those musty old military journals."

Michelle stood in a daze. She never expected any help. Both spouses came from families that frowned on men doing traditional women's work. But with Gordon's change of heart, she began to wonder what else might be possible, and she found herself thinking she might even be able to tell him about William's alter ego.

Her husband smiled when he saw his wife freeze up. He figured something like that would happen, and he had just the trick to snap her out of it.

"Well, honey, if you'd rather not have my help, I'm sure I could find something else to do." He turned and started to leave the kitchen.

"No! Help is good. Stay. Please. Help." She wasn't at a loss for words but long sentences eluded her until she got over her surprise.

* * *

The still happily married couple spent the next 45 minutes or so, cleaning up the kitchen and talking about the events of the day before retiring to the living room. They drifted to the couch and snuggled together under a fleece blanket, rekindling their passion and love. Or at least they did until a muffled sound from upstairs interrupted them.

"Ow!"

"William?" asked Gordon.

"William," his wife answered.

She started to get up to check on her son but her amorous husband held her wrist and gently pulled her back to him.

"Let him nurse himself for once," he growled.

"Well ... it sounded like a bruise ... so he should be okay."

Gordon raised an eyebrow.

"What? He makes different sounds for different kinds of injuries. Didn't you notice?"

She didn't wait for an answer. Instead, she rattled off a list, matching injuries to the various sounds of pain their son made. Her husband reached out with a finger and touched it to his wife's lips.

"Hush," he said. "Less talking. More kissing."

They both settled back under the blanket and resumed where they left off.

* * *

Michelle couldn't bring herself to tell her husband about William's secret wardrobe that night, but she got the green light to spend a little more. It was a small but happy victory.

Doris' house became ballet headquarters, with Gina joining Grace for one evening of lessons each week, as well as the occasional dance recital. The careful mothers timed the recitals to coincide with sleepovers and Gordon was never the wiser. Michelle rationalized ballet by saying it was good for her ... child. It gave Grace an opportunity to socialize, get some exercise and build up self-esteem, all very important for a child.

Only two things cropped up that caused any real trouble by the time William reached 11 years of age. The first problem involved gender identity. Pronouns confused him to no end. The second problem concerned sports.

Gordon ever so slowly and grudgingly came to admit that his son truly did have a coordination problem. He wanted to share his love of sports with William but found it impossible. Every sport he tried to practice ended up with the boy, bruised and battered.

The concerned father had tried and failed to teach him almost every easily accessible sport in the country. As a last resort, Gordon seriously considered swimming lessons, but when he imagined his boy swimming up to the edge of the pool to change directions, he winced. He knew the result would be a bumped head, and like his wife, he worried about the potential for drowning. Pools weren't safe for someone like William.

"Honey?" Gordon called out after getting home from work one day. "You were right!"

He took his long coat off to hang it up and when he shut the hall closet door, Michelle stood there, smiling.

"Of course, dear," she said, teasing him a little. She didn't realize how serious he was. "I'm always right."

"Please. Let me finish. I meant to say that you were right about William being unusually clumsy. I ... I guess I had trouble accepting it. I'm ... I'm so sorry."

Her heart melted when she heard that, and when saw his long face. She knew how difficult it must have been to admit it and she rushed to hug him, crying out the tears of frustration for both of them.

"He's always been this way, hasn't he?" Gordon asked, talking softly in her ear.

"Yes," she said.

* * *

Acknowledging the harsh reality about his son dealt a severe blow to Gordon's pride. He dragged himself from room to room when he had to and he moped in his study whenever he wasn't helping his wife with housework. He kept his word to help his wife with housework, but his spirit was never really in it.

Michelle hated to see her loving husband so depressed, and it didn't take long before she worked up the nerve to tell him about Grace. She wanted to tell him for so long but it never felt necessary, until then.

"Gordon," she began. "I have something very important to tell you about William. It's something I probably should've told you a long time ago, but I didn't think you could handle it. I'm sorry."

Her husband raised his eyebrows. He didn't say anything but she got his attention, and she gave an abbreviated and lopsided account of how their son was strongly affected by the clothes he wore. She still couldn't bring herself to mention the girls clothes. She didn't think Gordon would believe it. In fact, she was sure he wouldn't believe it, unless he saw it.

Michelle had videos of all of Grace's ballet recitals, and she gently took her confused husband by the hand and led him to the couch to watch the most recent one.

"It's the only way to make you understand," she told him, standing off to one side of the television. "Just please watch this video, and pay close attention to the child it focuses on."

Gordon sat and looked at his wife for the longest time until he finally said, "Okay," and turned to watch the video.

For over 20 minutes, it was obvious that he didn't have a clue as to why he was watching the video, and it was just as obvious when he finally did understand. The throbbing vein reappeared on the side of his forehead as he clenched his jaw, and the stress continued to build until the video stopped suddenly and the television turned off, thanks to the merciful use of a couple remote control units.

Silent anger and hurt filled the room. Words like "perversion" and "betrayal" threatened to erupt, competing to see which would go first.

Michelle didn't wait. She walked over to stand in front of her husband.

"I know it's crazy," she said, looking down at him. "I know it doesn't make sense, but you just saw it with your own eyes. Our son can be the most graceful of children if he wears the right clothes."

"Right clothes?!" Gordon finally blurted out. "You call those the right clothes?! I can't believe you just said that!"

"You know what I meant!" she shouted back. She wouldn't back down. She couldn't. Her husband needed to face the facts about their child, just as she had to for so long. She carried the burden of the son's secret for far too long. It was time to share it.

She collected herself again, taking a deep breath as she watched her husband glare at her. His anger helped give her the resolve to continue. She'd been in his position before. She could relate to it.

"You listen to me, Gordon Anthony Hart. I did what I had to do to keep my son safe. I didn't like it, not at first anyway, but I dressed him up in different girls clothes and he stopped getting hurt. Isn't that more important?"

Gordon fumed. He didn't trust himself not to yell, so he kept his mouth shut, waiting for his wife to continue. He hoped it was all just a joke, even when he knew deep down that it wasn't.

Michelle took the hint and continued.

"I'd say our son's health is more important than what he wears, and since boys clothes turn him into a perpetual accident victim, I say they have to go, whenever possible anyway.

"Remember his first week of kindergarten? I had to dress him as a boy. Remember all the stitches he got? And the broken arm? Remember how angry you were then? Well, nothing has changed ... absolutely nothing."

Tears flowed down her cheeks when she finished. She poured her heart into her little speech, and it did have some effect. Her husband softened a little.

"What about different outfits?" he tried. "There must be some boys clothes that don't turn him into a klutz."

"Don't you think I thought of that?" she bawled. "I tried every outfit and costume I could think of. I also combined boys and girls things. Nothing worked. Nothing ... except girls clothes."

Michelle flopped down on the couch and sobbed heavily. All those early years of experimenting with her son's clothing flooded back into her mind, forcing her to relive it. Some memories were happy but for the moment, she could only focus on the unhappy ones. Her husband's reaction made sure of that.

"Okay," he said quietly, stroking her back. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I made you cry."

She sniffled and relaxed. His change in mood helped.

"So what do we do now?" he asked. "What's next? I have to be honest. I don't think I could handle seeing my son in a dress."

"It doesn't have to be a dress. He can wear jeans, as long as they're in a feminine style."

"Really? That's so ... odd."

Michelle laughed a little. "Isn't it?"

* * *

Once Gordon was let in on his son's secret, William was free to be Grace almost all the time at home, within certain limits. Seeing his son in frilly clothes still bothered him, and both parents drew the line at makeup, something that Grace found fascinating.

The boy liked to watch his mother put on her makeup at her dressing table. He found himself committing her actions to memory and often mimicked them, pretending to put on his own imaginary makeup.

"What about lip gloss?" Grace asked his mother one morning while she put on her makeup. "Can I try some lip gloss? Please?"

"You're a little young," Michelle scolded.

"But I'm almost 12!"

"Yes, and that's too young. Wait until you're a teenager, young lady."

Being called a young lady surprised Grace. Pronouns had always confused him, and it didn't help that his parents constantly mixed them up, but he'd never been called a young lady before. It took him a few minutes to collect himself and say something.

"Young lady? I'm not a lady."

"Oh, Grace. I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget. You've got a girl's name and you look like a girl. You act like a girl."

"But I'm not a girl," he said quietly. "I'm a boy. I just dress differently." He looked down at his feet, feeling confused and embarrassed.

"I know, honey. I said I'm sorry. Come here."

Michelle remained seated at her dressing table and held her arms outstretched, inviting her son for a hug.

He looked up and smiled, rushing over to his mother. He loved the way she smelled, even before she put on her perfume. The distinct smell of the lipstick and floral scent coming from her hair intermingled to make him sigh with pleasure.

"You smell good," he whispered in her ear.

"So do you," his mother said, pulling back and reaching out to flip his hair. "We use the same shampoo."

Michelle looked hard at her son and found it difficult to recognize him as a boy. With his delicate features and small size, he looked to be all girl. His hair and eye color matched his father's, but everything else reminded her of herself at his age and she smiled.

She felt a little guilty to be taking such great enjoyment at dressing her son up as a girl. She'd always wanted a daughter, and through Grace, she felt like she actually had one.

Her son was right though. He was a boy, and puberty loomed. Important decisions would have to be made if Grace was to stay. Michelle would have to have a serious talk with Gordon soon, but for now, she'd continue to enjoy having a daughter.

"Hey," she said suddenly. "You know what?"

Grace had a good guess and his eyes lit up, but he waited for his mother to confirm it.

"I don't think a little makeup practice would hurt. I'm kind of curious about how you'll look."

"Really? Thanks, Mom!" Grace shouted before giving his mother a big hug.

Mother and son traded places at the dressing table and Grace had to be reprimanded several times to stop bouncing with excitement before his makeover could begin.

* * *

Five more years flew by before puberty got serious with poor Grace. He'd been a late bloomer and thrived as a girl, but then he suddenly had a growth spurt and begun sprouting hair all over. He wasn't happy.

His voice had actually changed the previous year but he hadn't had to hide his small Adam's Apple or change the way he'd talked. His voice had remained fairly high-pitched. He'd been lucky. It had also been good that he'd kept his slender build, even if he had gotten a bit taller than the average girl. His mother topped 5 foot 7 so he hadn't worried about being only an inch taller than her. His only concern had been his body hair.

He continued his home schooling all that time and didn't have to worry about any teasing or bullying from classmates. Even so, both parents worried about their son being able to pass as a girl as he entered puberty so they insisted on having their son dress as a boy when leaving the house. That was a mistake.

The teen's growth spurt made him much clumsier than normal. He wasn't used to his new height. He even got a little clumsy when dressed as a girl, but when dressed as a boy, his injuries got severe enough that his parents had to change the rules.

The concerned mother and father gently helped Grace to the couch and sat on either side of him to have a serious talk. They didn't normally have to help their son but he'd sprained his ankle outside the day before.

"Thanks, Daddy," Grace said, kissing his father's cheek. "Thanks, Mom. So ... what's up?"

After several throat clearings and false starts, Michelle took over for her husband.

"Grace, honey. We can't bear to see you get hurt any more."

Grace's eyes widened and he started hyperventilating.

"Grace!" Michelle shouted, putting a hand behind her son's back. "Take it easy. Bend forward. Put your head between your knees and relax. That's it. Easy does it now."

The panicking boy did as he was told and soon breathed more easily.

"Please don't send me away!" Grace wailed with his head still between his bare knees.

He slowly sat up and smoothed his skirt, pleading to his mother with his eyes.

"We're not sending you away," Gordon huffed.

Grace whipped his head around to look at his father.

"Really! We're not!" Michelle quickly added while stroking her son's back.

Grace turned back to his mother. "Then what? What is it? I don't understand."

"We just want you to be a girl all the time," she said.

Grace gasped.

"It's true, sweetheart," Gordon said. "You ... you do make a good girl."

The amazed boy turned to his father and wrapped him in a fierce hug.

"Thank you, Daddy!"

He then repeated the hug with his mother before leaning back on the couch.

"Thank you both so much," the teen said, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I don't know what's wrong with me but I just can't be a boy. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," his mother said. "We're sorry for forcing you to be a boy all these years. If we hadn't been so stubborn and selfish, we could've saved you a lot of pain. I feel so ... ashamed."

Michelle cried and even Gordon shed a couple tears. They both felt terrible. They had a lot of making up to do to their new daughter for the past 16 years.

* * *

Grace had a much easier life once she became a full-time girl. She had plenty of good friends. Gina went off to college but the older girl left Grace with lots of younger friends. Most importantly though, she rarely got injured. All of her boys clothes were donated or thrown away and she became ever more graceful as she got older.

She didn't need all that much body work to pass as a girl. Her unwanted hair made itself scarce after several laser hair removal treatments. The new lasers worked very well on blonde hair. That only left one thing: Breasts. She solved that problem easily enough by getting a pair of very realistic breast forms, along with the glue and solvent she'd need to attach and remove them.

Female hormones could've removed the body hair and developed breasts but Grace didn't feel comfortable going that far, and she was lucky. She didn't have to. Her face and body remained quite feminine looking throughout and beyond puberty. She didn't need the hormones to keep her girlish figure. Her drivers license and all subsequent forms of ID marked her as being female. The world saw her as female, and that was good enough for her.

Since she didn't have to take P.E. class and worry about dressing in locker rooms, Grace finished her high school education in a public school, where she made even more friends, some of them even male. The experience would help her make the transition to college, something she looked forward to.

When the time for college did finally come, the proud parents helped their daughter pack up her small yellow hatchback and prepared to send her on her way. It wasn't easy.

"Grace!" Michelle shouted back into the house from the drive way. "Have you got all your solvent?"

Grace dashed out through the propped open front door with a horrified look. "Mother! Please!" she hissed.

Michelle blushed. "Sorry. I didn't think."

Gordon followed soon after, carrying a stack of small boxes and saving the two women any further embarrassment. "This is the last of it," he told them as he continued to the car.

He stuffed the boxes into the back and shut the hatch. "All done," he said, brushing his open hands together. "Nothing to it."

"Thanks, Daddy," Grace said, motioning with a finger to her much taller father.

He bent down to receive a peck on his cheek as a reward. Then they hugged.

Michelle came over and they made it a group event, sharing a hug and more than a few tears. Saying good-bye was never easy.

"Do well," Michelle told her daughter. "And don't forget to call me!"

Gordon nodded slightly to match his wife's sentiments and Grace just smiled back at the two of them.

"I love you," the young woman told her parents, rubbing a tear from her eye. Then she climbed into her car and was gone.

Gordon turned and slowly walked back to the house, leaving Michelle standing alone in the drive way. He could only take so much sentimental nonsense. That and he didn't want his wife to see him cry.

Michelle faced in the same direction long after her daughter drove out of sight.

"I love you too, dear sweet daughter," she said before finally going inside.

She thought about her daughter's name, Grace William Hart, and how it related well to her own. She'd kept her maiden name of Franklin as a middle name and noticed it could also be seen as a man's first name. Both mother and daughter had feminine first names, masculine middle names and of course the same last name, and Michelle smiled with pride.

Grace had insisted on keeping William as her middle name as a reminder of her original gender. She'd also kept it as a way to honor her father. Her mother had chosen her first name and her father had chosen her middle name. She'd always love and honor both her parents in spite of all the injuries that she'd suffered as a boy.

Those days of being a terribly clumsy boy were long over. The Hart family healed and would always be happy and whole forever more.

* * * The End * * *

 © 2009 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.