Chapter 3:  Daddy – Please Change Me into a Boy? 

When I was small, our neighborhood was filled with fun, active little boys. Our petite, matchbox-sized home at 38 Cranburne Lane in Williamsville, NY, was an enchanting world of excitement during those early years. I was the only little girl on my block until we moved to another neighborhood at the still young age of seven. Wanting to fit in, I did my best to keep up with the neighborhood boys’ exciting rough and tumble little boy world. I ran as fast as I could, my small legs pumping furiously, trying to match their stride. I acted tough, brave, and unafraid. I ran, jumped, and climbed with all the boys, every scrape and bruise a silent badge of honor, proving I belonged. 

My slightly older neighbor David and his younger brother, Danny, were the ringleaders of our little gang. They taught me how to pick up a snake by grabbing the neck and the tip of the tail, at the same time, without fear. We captured frogs, tadpoles, turtles, crickets, and lightning bugs. Each creature felt like a precious, squirming secret we’d unearthed from our wild world. We made ponds, islands, and cages for them. We petted fuzzy striped, brown eastern tent caterpillars and let them climb all over our arms so their little legs would tickle us, a delightful, shiver-inducing sensation. 

We ran through lawn sprinklers and played tag and hide-and-go-seek around our houses. We drank from our garden hoses and sprayed each other with the hoses when we were hot. Everything we did was filled with fun, excitement, learning, and laughter. Every day offered a new adventure, a new freedom. 

One hot and sunny summer day, the boys were running around with no shirts. So, I took my shirt off too. David’s Mommy saw me running around in the yard. Her sharp gasp cut through the summer air; she was horrified. She commanded me to put my shirt back on immediately. But “why?” Her voice, suddenly excited and stern, declared that little girls were not like little boys! I needed to wear a shirt because I am a girl. Why was it different for me? This confused me and created great distress. A cold wave of injustice washed over me. What was I to do? I wanted to be just like them. 

Daddy Can Fix This! 

I instantly thought of Daddy! My all-powerful Daddy would have the solution. He could turn me into a boy! I ran to Daddy so that he could fix this problem. Daddy could do anything! “Daddy, I need to be a boy right away!” I pleaded, clutching at his leg, certain he held the magic. 

Surprisingly, no matter how sweetly I petitioned him, Daddy insisted that he did not have the power to change me into a boy. He said he did not want me to be a boy. He and Mommy had specifically prayed to Adonai for a little girl. He reassured me that I was exactly what they wanted and planned for. He said that Mommy had two male miscarriages before my birth and another male miscarriage again after me. The words about the miscarriages hovered in the air, a confusing weight. Did that mean I had somehow taken a boy’s place? A little girl was Adonai’s direct answer to their prayers. He said he always dreamed of having a little girl. 

I begged him to change his mind. Daddy was grieved by my repeated innocent request. I reasoned with him about how much better life would be as a boy. No more silly litle girl-rules, just endless adventures and belonging. He reassured me that one day I would appreciate being a girl. I needed to be patient. He must be mistaken. Perhaps, I just needed to ask him in a different way. Maybe if I explained it just right, he would understand. 

I was sure that Daddy could do anything if he really wanted to. I climbed up on his lap, looked into his eyes and earnestly explained why it was urgently important for him to change me into a boy. I assured him that I would be much happier if I could be a boy. It was vital for me to belong to that exclusive and seemingly special club that existed only in the highly dramatic and fast-paced little boy world. The boys had all the fun! But it was all to no avail. This continued even after we moved to the new neighborhood. The children in my new neighborhood, once again, were boys. 

In my new neighborhood, we played tag, went biking, jumped with pogo sticks and played frisbee across our lawns. We sat on top of rickety swing sets and bravely balanced on top, traversing our way dangerously from one end to the other, while the swing set jiggled threateningly beneath us. If the boys could do it, so could I. It was my daily endeavor to prove that I could do everything they could do. However, that did not change Daddy’s mind even one little bit. 

Maybe Daddy Does Not Understand? 

Each week, Daddy would have his friends over to the house to play pinochle and poker. They allowed me to sit with them until my bedtime. I treasured being part of his “big boys club”; it felt like a secret privilege. None of his friends complained that a little girl was sitting with them. They were patient and kind. Their conversation was always lively and entertaining. The evening would be filled with the expert shuffling of cards, the heavy scent of billows of cigarette smoke hanging in the air, overflowing ashtrays, piles of small coins and loud bursts of infectious laughter. They discussed fascinating topics and shared silly jokes. It was a world of grown-up intrigue and boisterous camaraderie. I was sure that if I spent enough time with Daddy in his big boy world, certainly he would realize that I needed to be a little boy. This world, so alive with intellect and laughter, interested me more than whatever happened inside the kitchen with the ladies at the time. 

Daddy continued to assure me that one day I would be thrilled to be a little girl. “Little girls are special gifts from Adonai!” He would hug and kiss me and repeatedly tell me he was proud of his precious little girl. He would sing “Daddy’s Little Girl” to me and assure me with a big smile that one day I would be so happy to be a girl. His voice, deep and comforting, would wrap around me like a warm blanket, even as a tiny part of me still wished for a different song. 

I adored cuddling with Daddy in his big, stuffed, chocolate brown tweed, La-Z-Boy chair. It was his favorite place to relax. Next to Daddy was my favorite place to be. I loved to be contentedly snuggled against his warm comfortable body in his great big chair. He would take his cigarettes and reading glasses out of the breast pockets of his soft, cozy brushed-flannel shirt and put them on the table beside him and hold out his inviting arms to welcome me to climb in and cuddle next to him. 

I would squeeze in and wiggle my way over to idyllic comfort as he nestled me under the crook of his left arm. I could smell his familiar cologne, combining the fresh outdoor smell of an autumn day with a comforting masculine musk, and feel the velvety softness of the flannel in his shirt. He squeezed my arm gently and we would rest together and watch TV. I could feel the warmth of his chest against my face, the steady rhythm of his heart a soft movement against my ear. I focused on matching the rising and lowering of his every breath. It was like riding a wave as I paced my inhalation and exhalation to match his. I enjoyed the warm, cozy, reassuring scent of Daddy. I felt safe and secure when I was enfolded and meshed tightly against him. In his arms, all was well with my energetic, bustling world as it slowed down to match the relaxed, rhythmic pattern of his breath, a perfect, peaceful harmony. 

One Sunday Afternoon 

As was Daddy’s weekly tradition, he enjoyed watching the “Sunday afternoon movie” on TV. He especially loved it when they showed war movies. One special Sunday afternoon, he was quite excited, his eyes sparkling, sharing a different type of film with me. That movie was called “Gigi”, and starred Leslie Caron. Daddy said that this was an incredibly special movie for me to see. He was sure that it would make me happy that I was born to be a little girl. 

I snuggled in beside him as Maurice Chevalier began to sing “Thank heaven for little girls”. Mr. Chevalier was French, charming, and had a winning smile on his face as the camera panned through the park and focused in on the little girl star – Gigi. She was running and playing ball in the park. A jolt of recognition shot through me – she was a tomboy, just like me! The movie invited me in, and I soon became just like Gigi in my imagination and began to “live” the movie. 

During the movie, Gigi transformed from a precocious little tomboy into a lovely, classy, and charismatic young lady. Gigi’s transformation into a gorgeous young woman happened before my eyes. As Gigi morphed exquisitely from a caterpillar into a charming butterfly, I transformed with her. We both grew, not just from ugly ducklings to graceful, attractive swans, but into new, dazzling versions of ourselves during this enchanted film. I found myself enamored with her magnificently detailed, perfectly designed dresses and fabulous hats, each one a shimmering work of art, her elegant style, and penchant for genuine jewels and “real, not dipped” pearls. It was not just clothing; it was a revelation of beauty and grace I’d never considered. 

By the end of the movie, a powerful new desire bloomed within me. I wanted to sing, dance and wear fancy, stylish, fitted dresses, amazing hats, and sparkling jewelry just like Gigi. Daddy was right! The realization washed over me with a thrilling sense of clarity. I developed a new fascination beginning with Mommy’s clothing, shoes, hats, and sparkling jewelry. It was wonderful to be a girl! A world of vibrant colors and elegant possibilities opened up. Hot pink replaced black as my new favorite color. Gigi had me singing and dancing all over the house! A beckoning fresh new world of charm and femininity opened before my eyes. The heavy weight of my old desire lifted, replaced by a joyful lightness. 

I no longer desired to be a little boy. I was thrilled to be Daddy’s adored little princess in lovely frilly dresses with big colorful bows from that day forward. Of course, Daddy was right! He had seen the princess in me all along. 

Looking back now, as an adult, I understand Daddy’s words in a new light, finding profound solace and truth in ancient wisdom about who I was always meant to be. These verses perfectly capture the wonder of being “awesomely made” just as I am.