When you come out at forty-three, you get to have a lot of firsts at an age when most people think they're done with them. Some were hard and some were wonderful and some were just funny. I started writing them down on an index card in my purse. Here they are, copied off that card.

Tuesday, October 17, 1995

The first time I said the word out loud, to my counselor. I had practiced in the car. It still came out in a whisper.

January 1996

The first friend I told. Marion from the alto section, over pie at a pancake house. She put her fork down and said, "Well, honey, are you all right?" I will love her forever for asking that first.

Sunday, April 14, 1996

The day I told my husband. I won't write about that one. It belongs to both of us.

August 1996

The first night in my own apartment. I had a card table, two lawn chairs and a coffee maker. I ate cereal for supper and listened to the whole Carpenters album I'd been embarrassed to own for twenty years, as loud as I wanted.

September 1996

My first coming-out group. I sat in my car in the parking lot for twenty minutes. There were nine women in the room, the youngest was 41 and the oldest was 68, and one of them was Joyce, though I didn't know yet that she'd matter.

June 1997

My first pride parade downtown. I watched from the sidewalk, half behind a lamppost, holding a Diet Coke in front of me like a shield. By the end of the parade I was waving at the marching band.

Spring 1998

The first time I held Joyce's hand in the grocery store. Produce section, by the cantaloupes. Nobody noticed. I thought the whole store would stop. Nobody noticed at all. It was the most wonderful thing.

Sunday, June 28, 1998

The first Sunday I sang with a choir again, at my new church. Third church I tried. The director asked if I could read music and I said "Oh, can I," and she put me with the sopranos.

Thursday, November 26, 1998

The first Thanksgiving all together. Scott carved. Joyce made her stuffing with the chestnuts. Jennifer said grace and thanked God for "everybody at this table, all of them," and looked right at me.

February 1999

The first letter from someone who found this page. A woman, 61, married forty years, who said she had never told a single soul until she typed it to me. We write every week now. She has told her sister.

Sunday, May 9, 1999

The first Mother's Day card from Scott since I came out. He wrote, in his terrible handwriting, that he was sorry it took him so long. I keep it in my Bible.

Still waiting

The first Sunday my mother says Joyce's name on the phone. I'll let you know.

What's on your card? I'd love to hear. [email protected]

Last updated September 14, 1999
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