Small Talk – Skirtingroundmylife

Almost 10 years after the event I’ve finally written a long overdue poem about one of my greatest ever Celtic Connections memories. It relates the story of how a conversation about politics with shall we say a fellow traveler on the independence journey whilst applying my lippy ended with the unexpected gift of a free ticket to a concert by one of my favourite bands. Now I had always been a big Love And Money fan but to get a front row within eye contact with the band was beyond my wildest dreams. Now I don’t know why but another band also managed to get a line in the poem and some members of that band have become valued friends of mine over the last decade. Sufficient is it to say that they’ll know who they are, but in the main this poem is dedicated to Love And Money and the friend who gave me that gift the lovely Heather Caldwell. I’ve given it the title Front Row Seats I hope you enjoy the read.

Front Row Seats.

On a January Sunday night
winter chills bite
early evening shoppers
there is a buzz around the concert hall
as politics are discussed in the ladies
whilst applying our lippy
small talk shows similar musical tastes
making memories we chat about the love and money concert
she says she’s going
I say I’ll have to give it a miss
sing a few bars of raining in Jocelyn Square
and go back to the open stage
I think no more about it
enjoying the rest of the acts
especially the last one
who I tip to win a Danny
it was the first time I saw them live
though I recognised a few familiar faces
as I walked towards the exit
my new friend rushes toward me
brandishing a ticket for the concert
I’m in a state of shock
I ask how much
she says it’s her treat
a front row seat
within touching distance of the stage
I am amazed to be so close
to the man who sings Glasgow
to fans who worship his words
as jewels of authenticity
which sparkle long after winter turns to spring.

You may not believe it but I have always known that I was socialised trans. I believe this was initially at least accidental but I think it eventually part of my closet reality. It was if you like a secret shared between mother and trans daughter. It may not have been full entry in to a girl’s world biology made that impossible but my upbringing was never what you would call that of a traditional West of Scotland boy. I think it may have been due to my disabilities and particularly my epilepsy that my mother was reluctant to let me do the great outdoors and the rough and tumble what she called their world. She did this as if to illustrate its otherness to the way I was to be part of. From my earliest memories my world was one of women and girls and not men and boys, this really worked well for me and I soon got to know the chat and in jokes no boy ever will ever be told. I was if you like semi socialised as a girl though ever the conservative I mean that in the social sense not the political one, she never extended this to gender appropriate Christmas or birthday presents. On those occasions it was always the latest table football games that were placed under the tree though eventually tights and make up would make their way in secret to my Christmas stocking once I reached 12 in my last year of primary school. In her own way I think my mother knew she had a daughter, but could never admit this to family, friends , and neighbours and least of all to herself. It was with this in mind I have written this poem which I have titled Accidental Girl I hope you enjoy the read.

Accidental Girl

I don’t think she would ever admit it
not even to her closest friends
but to me my mother feminised me
and whether she knew it or not
raised an accidental daughter
and moulded her in Presbyterian guilt

of course in my childhood years
such a notion would have been dismissed
I was eight in 69
that magical time of Woodstock , men on the moon and the stonewall riots
sailed past a quiet child

I had health concerns
my future labelled by experts
who as it turns out didn’t know
quite as much as they’d like to think
I tended towards pink rather than blue
and loved the shade she painted my nails
on the day Ann Jones won the Wimbledon ladies final

I wasn’t an only child
an older brother was allowed discover
the great outdoors
climbing trees and playing football
while I went to the shops
listened to small talk
and knew the difference
between every cut of meat in the butchers
before all the other kids
in the scheme

whether she knew it or not
my mother was shaping my future
in ways she could never have foreseen
when I was 12 or 13 I was allowed to buy Jackie
but woman’s own was to be my compulsory weekly reading

this she said was to remind me
of the drudgery of her daily existence
I was permitted to dress in private
and fitted in panty girdles
to give me a female shape
when pancakes as she called them
didn’t have the filling for a bra

she tried to convince herself
it would go away
my escape from the male gender cage just happened because I was bored
it annoyed her when she realised
that my female desires and dreams could no longer be ignored
she couldn’t content herself and say
it was just a rebellious phase
even though she was terrified of
the social plague
or as I called it neighbourhood gossip

she knew the truth of my real identity though sexuality was never discussed
she realised I had longings and lusts like a daughter not a son
though god knows she blushed at the thought of them
not that I would say too much to her. after all she raised me to be ladylike. and in that at least, her lassie
played by her rules

fast forward to the present day
you can see it was no phase or seven day wonder
thunder didn’t strike me down
nor did the sky fall in
on the accidental girl
who became more like her mother than she’d ever like to admit