Dressing outside of traditional sex roles should be tolerated

That's just who he is. It never occurred to me as being weird until one day he came to visit me at the Abington College. I was in relatively normal dress, but he was donning a skirt.

He received some strange looks, but that was to be expected. Then one guy came up and asked him if he was doing anything Friday night. I realized he was getting hit on by more guys than I was. But three years ago, the tables turned a bit.

He had to leave his (my) skirts at home after he sold his soul to the Navy. But I strode off to University Park with luggage full of suits and ties.

I went to parties and found out later I was being eyed -- by women. Being from a small rural town, all of this was new to me. In Plumsteadville, my nose ring and slightly off-kilter attire attracted eyes, but never adoring ones. Throughout high school, my changing hair colors, costume-like outfits and fetish for men's clothing scared people. Anything different seemed to be too much to handle for the small-town folks.

So I left high school hoping the more artistic, open-minded crowds would flock to State College. In retrospect, it just seems I moved to a larger small town.

Most businesses weren't interested in hiring a nose-pierced girl, but rent and books still had to be paid for. I forced myself to tame down and remove my nose ring (temporarily). I suppose I had let myself get a little too normal.

But something must have changed while the Navy had had its way with him. When we got dressed up for dinner, I draped myself in a green velvet dress and he suited up in jacket and tie. As we sat in the restaurant, I felt like a girl. And I think maybe he felt like a boy. Was the zest gone? Had we finally become boring and normal like our parents? These questions hounded me.

The dress-up games came to an end and he left. The velvet and broom skirts looked sad as they hung in my closet, knowing full well they wouldn't be worn, barring one of my rare surges of estrogen.

A few weeks later, I attended an opera with one of my girlfriends. I prepped, meaning I showered, and stood in confusion in front of my closet. Would it be a velvet dress or jacket and vest? The hormone showdown proved testosterone had the faster draw.

Being more of a woman than I, my friend met me wearing a black knee-length skirt and matching stockings, with jewelry to boot. I was amazed at such an embodiment of femininity and was proud to have her take my green-jacketed arm as we walked to the auditorium.

"We must look like the most perfect lesbian couple," she laughed, shaking her chocolate locks. Then it hit me. I forgot my ticket.

As I ran back to my office, I was glad not to be running in heels. Then realization No. 2 struck. My friend was right. We didn't look like two friends going to a show. We looked like a couple because I wasn't wearing normal women's attire. It didn't matter that I had a boyfriend who dressed in skirts.

It never bothered me how people perceived my sexuality, but for the first time, I think I comprehended why my parents had been up in arms about me wearing a man's suit to my grandmother's funeral.

People don't want to have to deal with more issues than what is absolutely necessary. But I still can't accept this crazy notion that people should feel they have to dress how Dick and Jane did in children's books.

If only Dick and Jane had been able to give in to their secret desires. Maybe we would have all grown up with a different outlook.

"Hey, Jane, it's Dick. Can I borrow that cute angora sweater? Oh maybe that little red skirt too."

Well, maybe someday.