by Roger W Davis

Created on: August 27, 2008

In the mid 60s the community tom-boy began to dress strangely and act differently than I was used to. We have laughed together about how it was just as difficult for her to put on new eyes matching her subtle disguise as it was for me to revalue an old buddy into this mysterious illusion. As her practicing pumps grew her into almost permanent high heels, and her bath tub shrunken jeans were replaced with pristine blouses, skirts and dresses, skirting a respectably teasing four inches above the knee cap, she was forced into a new habit of posing in exhibition, and walkinglike the song saysas Poetry In Motion." It did not take long for me to forget this was once the guy who slid into second base with the best of us. An equal who stood ground in defense of an argument, the way all youngsters learn that opinions should be hidden like the anatomical part they make us.

In those days sex was an ever mindful distant consideration that girl's protected, while guys set up opportunities to advance the interest but respect her red-light'. With time her hormones could trust their control of the green-light' a little longer.

As high school graduation approached and passed, my mind's concern for the draft', a most despicable assault a nation can commit against its faithful soldiers by equating them with the Slick Willys, Dan Quails, and Boy Georges and the pink-pantied men who had no other charades to flower-child' into. I did not register for the draft, openly opposed it and expected that I would get an opportunity to do my civic duty against the disgusting rule from male whores in a court of law. But I also made regular visits to the recruiting stations, since my family has been represented in every war since 1776, and both sides of the Civil war (...different relatives on opposing sides).

Some eighteen move after graduation I enlisted, ruffling some feathers at the induction station for neither having nor willing to register for a draft number. But the uncertainty of my future was not the only reason I did not propose to the girl who kept waiting.

By 1966 when I enlisted the male sissies of California were already being seeded by the sensational Yellow Journalists across the nation. As young girls began to join in with the junky atmosphere that looked like a party, and saw that they were just as much a man as the wimps who would stand for nothing, bras began to burn and housewives became the new feminists example of women too lazy to single-parent-household a growing nation

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>