This summer I participated in a wonderful workshop sponsored by an organization called "Write Around Portland." 

    Write Around Portland conducts volunteer-facilitated writing workshops for people affected by HIV/AIDS, people in prison, survivors of domestic violence, seniors in foster care, people in recovery from drug or alcohol addictions, or with physical or mental disabilities, teenagers living on the street, low income adults and people who might not otherwise have access to the power of writing because of income, isolation or other barriers. 

    Of the above, I come under the category of "low income adults."  I am about as "low income" as you can get! 

    These workshops are held at various places in and around Portland.  The one I attended was held in the apartment building where I live, which is for very low income seniors and people with disabilities.

    Throughout these workshops we are given "prompts" and then, within a designated period of time, write spontaneously whatever comes into our mind.  We are given a writing journal to work with during the workshops.

    We share our writing with the group. 

    Each person, from the various workshops, gets one of their articles published in an anthology.  And even though the book itself is copyrighted, each author owns their own article and can do whatever they want with it.

    Recently, all of the groups from the summer workshops came together to share one of their articles -- we were each given two minutes.  We can either read the article that was published in the anthology -- or something else we have written.  I am going to share with you both articles, the one that was published, as well as the piece I decided to read to the group.

    When I was nine years of age in 1947, living on my Grandma Hazel's farm in Sherwood, Oregon, I enjoyed listening to my favorite radio programs.  I dreamed of the day when I could move to the big city, and become a famous stage, singing and dancing star.  An effeminate boy, I visualized myself all decked out in shimmering white glamour attire, complete with ruffles and feathers.

    Before this happened, in 1950, I became a born-again Christian.  My friends perceived me as "religious."  This turnabout in my life did not diminish my desire to be a musical actress and dancer like Mitzi Gaynor or Ann Miller.

    Both sides of my personality started to be fulfilled when I was chosen to play the part of the angel in a high school play.  Decked out with angel-type wings and a white fluffy floor length dress, the role called for singing and dancing, appearing as an angelic being who appears in a dream-like trance-state to a boy who all the other kids laughed at and made fun of, calling him a "sissy" and a "fairy."  He was, indeed, a "loner," one who was never included in the school's social activities, and had no desire to ask a girl to go with him to a school dance.  And even if he did, obvious rejection would follow.

    I made my first appearance into this world on July 13, 1938 in Portland, Oregon.  I was destined to become a public figure; my baby picture appeared in The Oregonian when my parents entered me into a baby contest.

    My earliest memory goes back to 1942 -- I was four years old, riding my bicycle and playing with my electric train.

    My first home, in memory, was located on SE 67th between Powell & Foster.

    My bedroom was located in the back portion of the house, just off the kitchen.  I can still see my Dad, late at night, guzzling down milk from a glass quart-size bottle.  Pasteurized milk, with the cream on the top portion of a glass bottle, was delivered by a milkman to our door.

    One day I took off down SE Powell and walked from 67th to 82nd Avenue where there was a Piggly WIggly store.  I walked in and helped myself to the ice cream bars in the display case.  While feasting on this cornucopia of frozen goodies, the police came and found me with ice cream smeared all over my face. My Mom tells me that I got a "darn good spanking" for that little excursion.

    Throughout my growing up years, my role models were all hetereosexual. And yet, I was born biologically male and psychologically female, with my natural feminine mannerisms far outweighing the masculine.

    I dearly loved my childhood pets who gave me unconditional love.  Animals know nothing of prejudice;  whereas many humans are taught in their upbringing to stigmatize people who are different.

    I first experienced this at the age of 5 -- my first day of Kindegarten at Kellogg Grade School, when the other kids pointed and laughed at me.  That day remains vivid in my memory.  This was when I first realized that I was "different."

    Today I am 69 years old.  I am still "different."

    Yet I know that God has always given me the same unconditional love that I received from my childhood pets. 

    Copyright 2007- SISTER PAULA NIELSEN,

PO Box 2206, Portland, OR 97208