Monday, 23 November 2009
Yesterday my niece J--- and her partner K--- came down by train from the northern outskirts of London for Sunday lunch with me. I picked them up at Haywards Heath and took them to a Sussex country pub, the Half Moon at Warninglid. We had a yummy meal there.
J--- is very pro-Lucy, for which I am profoundly appreciative. She has long called me Lucy, and we can talk about any aspect of my transition. And also aspects of my past life, when our relationship was a little different, more conventional, more distant, perhaps a bit awkward in fact, even though I very much liked her company. For some unfathomable reason, we now seem a lot closer, and have much more to say to each other. It all seems far more 'real' somehow.
We were discussing male family titles. I used to dislike any male label. I knew that Mum and Dad took pride in referring to me as their 'son', and not wanting to hurt them I did nothing to throw cold water over that. But I tried to avoid all other male labels. So when a parent, I had no worries about not being called 'Dad' by my step-daughter A---. I was very happy and comfortable for her to call me 'J---' from the outset.
And I really didn't want to called 'Uncle', even though both my niece and nephew naturally called me that. There was nothing wrong with it, except that I didn't feel it fitted my self-image at all well, even though at the time I couldn't have explained why. In contrast, I didn't mind being called 'Aunt Lucy' at all. So it made me sound like some spinsterish old lady? Who cares. We agreed that henceforth I'd be 'Aunt Lucy' in front of strangers, and otherwise just 'Lucy'.
As you can see from the photo, Aunt Lucy enjoyed her lunch. Then she did some embroidery before retiring to the drawing room for tea.