I knew I was different from an early age. Around 6 or 7, I wanted a Barbie instead of a G.I. Joe. It didn’t really matter either way which one I got. I wanted to play with the clothes; the doll was simply an accessory.

“Can I play …” was my most frequent line during my early school years. Can you guess the question’s typical ending?

A. “… with you?”
B. “… with that when you’re done?”
C. “… over there?”
D. All but A.

If you guessed D, you are correct.

Needless to say, I didn’t have many friends – though not for lack of effort. I was always trying to make friends, but I wasn’t very successful until I met the Girls.

You’re likely wondering why I capitalized Girls. The answer is simple: they’re important to me. They were, after all, the first friends I ever had. Would ever have.

You see, it started with guys. When I was young, I was tormented by a group of boys who liked nothing better than to pick on me. It wasn’t all that bad; they weren’t smart enough to come up with any decent insults, just silly ones that really didn’t have an effect. So I went on with my life, caring little for what they said. The Girls noticed this unusually quickly.

I was always playing by myself. I had a small section of playground I had carved out, complete with a gravel driveway and a small bush “house” for whatever I brought to school – sometimes a doll, but often I would just bring a drawing because I knew the boys would take my stuff. I’d just draw something that I thought looked good and I would play with that for the day. Again, the Girls noticed this quickly.

Soon I noticed they were copying some of my day-to-day activities, such as ignoring the boys and bringing things they didn’t care about to school to make sure the boys wouldn’t do any real damage.

Eventually, I used my signature line.

“Can I play …”

Surprisingly, they said yes. At first, they kept their distance a bit. Eventually, they warmed up to me, and I to them.

The boys took notice of this. They tried harder to get a reaction out of us with insults and name-calling. At first, we just continued on like nothing was happening. Then the boys changed their tactics.

Up to this point they had only made fun of the toys I brought to school. Now they started noticing everything I did. My clothes, not girlish per se, were definitely not masculine like the other boys’. My speech was more soft dialogue than loud chanting and yelling. And unlike all the other boys, who were always staring at the girls they liked, I was always staring at the boy I liked. They made sure to put extra pressure on that last one.

They started calling me names in class, in front of everyone. It didn’t matter to me; I didn’t have any real friends in my class. The Girls were in the room next door. They were the ones who consoled me afterwards, but they knew I would be fine.

I always was.