My trance awakening was at the age of 66

I was 10 years old when I first came out as transsexual. It was 1964, I told my parents that I was a girl. They didn't know how to act. At that time, the concept of “transgender” was not mainstream, and transsexuality (as it was known at the time) was considered a disorder and a sexual deviation. My father's reaction continued to shame me for who I was: a soft-spoken child who cried easily. So I never brought it up with them. I learned to walk like a child, talk like a child, and even think like a child. I wasn't very good when I was younger, but I've gotten better over the years.

In my 20s, I moved from Vancouver to Calgary, where I worked in IT. I met my first wife in 1977 and eventually had three sons. We divorced when they were very young, so I was a single parent for many years before I met my second wife. After my sons and stepdaughter moved away, my wife and I moved from small town to small town in southern Alberta. By 2017, I had retired and we were living in Strathmore, a small town about 40 minutes east of Calgary.

All these years I didn't dare to look up the word “transgender” on the internet. I was afraid someone would find it in my search history. I never believed it was possible to get out. But as life went on and I began to see the end of the road, I wondered if I could ever really be that person. I imagined myself on my deathbed, still in the closet, never having lived. It was heartbreaking.

In the spring of 2021, I was lonely and depressed. My world revolved around my wife: not long after we got married, she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, and I tried to help her get back to health. I am happy to support him; it gave me purpose and was a fun distraction. I spent my days playing guitar alone in the basement – so quiet that no one could hear me. I lived like a man: I had a beard, short hair, and I did weightlifting. I was so deep in the closet that I never wore makeup or even tried on women's clothing in private. Then one day I typed “transgender” into the Facebook search bar. I was surprised to see that there are so many Facebook groups for trans people online; some had over 100,000 members. People talked about hormone replacement therapy or HRT; gender confirmation surgery; and out to their families. I was shocked. I didn't know these things were possible.

As soon as I realized that many trans people had come out of the closet, I knew I couldn't stay there any longer. I married my wife at the age of 66. We've been married for about 18 years and he didn't know I was trans and I hid it well. This news was the beginning of a slow divorce. But for me, Telling him the truth took a heavy weight off my shoulders. It took a lot of effort to spend my whole life in acting. The day I appeared in front of him, it was as if the sun was shining for the first time.

Four days later I posted in one of the trans groups on Facebook. I wrote that I was happy to go out and put a picture of myself. The post received more than 500 likes. Suddenly, trans people from all over the world were telling me about their life experiences. It meant a lot to know that so many people were happy for me.

A few months later, I came out to my sons and stepdaughter. They didn't see it coming, but they were very supportive. My grandchildren were especially good. They used to call me “Grandpa” and one day I said to them, “I want you to call me Grandy now.” Just like that, they transitioned without a hitch. At that point, my wife also accepted that she could not reverse my transformation and decided to help me move forward. She advised me on how to paint my nails, adopt a skin care routine and style my clothes. I appreciated his help.

I started seeing a therapist who told me about Skipping Stone, a non-profit organization based in Calgary that supports trans people in Alberta and hosts Zoom peer support groups. I joined one for transfeminists over 50. These first encounters were shocking because I had never met a trans person before. There was a lot to process. Most of the members have been around for years and they have all the answers to my questions. We talked about how to access hormone replacement therapy, how to do hair and makeup, and how to present yourself in a feminine way. Suddenly I had trans friends.

About six months after I came out, my wife and I finalized our divorce. We sold our house in Strathmore and moved into separate apartments in Calgary. After we broke up, I felt much more free about my gender identity. I would wear blouses, skirts, jewelry and make-up and dance around the living room like I had never moved before, like a girl. It filled me with joy. I also changed my name and gender on my ID and met as many people as possible through Stepping Stone.

In September 2022, I attended a picnic with the Zoom group. We met in the parking lot and all dressed up for a day at the park. There were several people who were not part of our group. Surprisingly, none of them paid much attention to us. Back then, we were just like everyone else. It was a powerful lesson—it inspired us to get together more often, and I realized that we can be just that in public, and that we probably don't accept stares or negative comments. We started going out for lunch and talking about our transitions and our lives. We can be ourselves with each other.

A friend mentioned Rainbow Elders Calgary, a volunteer-run organization that supports local LGBTQ+ seniors. I started following the band on social media and eventually one of their upcoming events caught my eye: another picnic in the park. It was a beautiful spring day and the park was full of families enjoying the sun. I noticed a pride flag in the air and found my way to a small group of seniors. We started talking right away. Some threw baseballs while others played ring toss. I liked the idea that we were here, unique and not going anywhere. Queer people, especially trans people of my generation, have a lot of hiding in our lives. It was great to find a group in the community.

Since the picnic, my involvement with the Rainbow Elders has become the focus of my life. The group is incredibly inclusive. Lesbians, gays, trans people – almost a rainbow. Rainbow Elders has marched in LGBTQ+ protests, organized workshops for staff and residents, and advocated for older people in care homes. She also organizes monthly social events with activities such as swimming and dancing, and holds meetings where we take turns sharing our stories. I love being able to talk to people my age who have similar experiences.

I recently hosted a birdwatching event at Inglewood Bird Sanctuary in the heart of the city. I invited a friend of mine who brought with him several young trancers as well as a group of Rainbow Elders. It was a cold and blustery day, but we saw some great birds and had some great conversations. Halfway through the event, one of the guys said he hadn't been out of his apartment much and was glad he was outside getting some sunshine and fresh air. He says it's really important to talk to real people on Zoom, rather than texting or chatting. Then we went to a coffee shop for breakfast. A friend I invited said that the sandwich he ate there was the first good meal he had had in a long time. It was just a birdwatching event, but it helped people in ways I didn't expect.

Once you get out, you will start to change a lot. Everything can change: who your friends are, who you can partner with, how society sees you. Many Rainbow Elders come out later in life and understand what it's like to play the role of the opposite gender for decades and the difficulty of trying to shake it. There are so many people in our generation who have been traumatized by our parents and a bigoted society, especially after the war. Each Rainbow Elder has their own story, but we all share the same vulnerability.

One of the goals of the group is to support queer youth in the city. That's why we often visit LGBTQ+ organizations in local schools and colleges to talk to the people there, and more importantly, to listen. I recently met with a group of LGBTQ+ students at Mount Royal College. It was beautiful to see so many young people come out and be proud. Our history as old people is radically different from that of today's youth. We talk to young people about the loss of so many queer and trans people from the older generation to the AIDS epidemic. And they teach us about different gender paradigms, such as the term “non-binary,” which was not a common label in my generation. Children come out early — in elementary school, high school, university. Many of them have supportive parents, which is unprecedented for my generation. But in some ways it is difficult for young people to come out. By the time I got out at 66, I was financially independent with my children and grandchildren. Many young people do not have such financial and social support. In Alberta, trans youth are also fighting planned provincial policy changes that would limit their access to gender-affirming health care and require parental consent if students want to change their names or pronouns at school. I see queer and trans kids as followers, and I'm glad that we as Rainbow Elders are working to support them, listen to their concerns, and challenge the government's anti-trans policies.

I've been out for three years and at this point my transition is mostly complete. I am much happier than before I came out. I was a quiet person who rarely laughed and hardly had any friends. Now I look forward to what's next every day. I've become a social butterfly: I want to go and meet people every day, and I'm always looking for the next Rainbow Elders event to attend. I'm finally the person I've always been.