A letter to myself on my 15th birthday

I am you, only 51 years older. Strange, isn’t it? And if you ever were to see this letter I guess much in my life will be totally different.Today you are dreaming, among other things, about having a moped now that you are of an age to drive one. Don’t worry you will, in a couple of months. I will enclose a picture of it at the end of this letter.

But we both know that’s not the biggest problem. You keep running away, to Stockholm, Malmö and other places. Pretty soon you will be heading down to Amsterdam. And you are not running away from something, not really, your parents and friends are pretty decent people. No one is abusing or hurting you. What you are doing is trying to run to something. You just don’t have any clear idea what it is.Seeing it all a bit clearer from way off in the future I’ll give you a few hints to why you are feeling outside, like you don’t really belong anywhere. It’s common for all teenagers to feel something like that. But you have more reasons than most do.

Why? Let’s think about some things. You look at girls. Of course you do, but not only because you desire them. If you could admit it to yourself  it’s also because you know, deep inside, that you were meant to be born a girl. Remember how exited you felt when Gunilla said you had girlie lips that were perfect for lipstick. And then… No wait that haven’t happened yet.

This could be a frightening revelation. And what you are most afraid of  is that means that you have to make love to guys if you are a woman. Don’t be stupid! In your head and your heart you are a girl and you are attracted to girls. What does that make you? Yes, that’s right, you are a lesbian woman!
Even back when you are now there are ways to correct the mistake of your anatomy. I know that you have heard of Christine Jörgensen. If you could do that now I know that you’d be a lot happier and that you can avoid much of the troubles that lies ahead of you. But I hope you don’t do anything about changing your gender until 1972. Why? Because on your birthday that year you get a wonderful present, Your youngest daughter will be born. That’s right! You will have two lovely daughters!

But after that go for it! Don’t wait till you/I are/am 66 to do the final transition.
Love from you future self
Caisa
Oh, here’s the pic of the moped I promised you will buy soon. I know you’ll have fun with it.

The Musical and Social Revolution of the EarlySixties

Two things was important in the sixties to make me into what I am today. Well, of course there were many more but these were the major influences: The new music from Britain and the opposition to the war in Vietnam. It radicalised me and gave me the courage to break with the traditional way I was supposed to look and behave.
I was 13, and because of too much skipping of school I was on “leave” for a year. I was working in a posh store in central Göteborg, Sweden. They sold curtains, carpets, furniture textiles and oriental rugs. I was a kind of helper in the oriental rug department. It was there, in the storeroom/lunch room in late 1962 that I first heard the Beatles and Love me do on the radio. From that moment everything changed.
It came at the best possible moment in time for me. Before I was a nerdy, shy boy with ugly glasses. In the fall of 1964 I was a full fledged mod. The hair long(ish) and, because my mother liked the fashion and is very good at sewing, dressed in clothes that were only seen in the papers. I still have the jacket that she made after having seen the Beatles single cover, and it still (almost)fits. We followed everything in the Swedish journal Bildjournalen. and when we could afford we took the tram to the centre of Göteborg and a shop that sold New Musical Express and Melody Maker.
I also started school again, eight grade and at another school. After being one of the nearly invisible and ignored in my old school I was soon one of the more popular in the class, together with my brother and one more guy. This was really brought home to me in the ninth grade when we had a “klassdans”. An after school event were we brought records to play and dance to. I had been in town at Götaplatsen, were the mods hung out. I was late to the dance and several of the prettiest girls were about to leave. But as I arrived they changed their minds and stayed. I wasn’t told until a few years later that it was because I arrived. Had I known it then I probably would have fainted. From an ugly duckling to a soaring swan in less than a year!
As so many mods we were threatened with beatings because of our hair and clothes. But it never came to anything but words. Then I read in NME that the mods in London had started wearing make up. The girls I knew were more than happy to help out. As I understand it now the English mods just used eye liner and mascara. But I went the whole way, lipstick, eye shadow and nail polish. Onto the tram and into town we went. US Army jackets, boots, flared pinstripe trousers and tons of make up. Teenage girls in the early sixties were not famous for subtle make ups. The reaction among our fellow mods were mixed. Some laughed but some, mostly girls, liked it and thought I was brave. Needless to say I revelled in the attention. We then ventured down “Avenyn” away from our usual hunting grounds.
That’s when things changed. The looks I got were hostile. And a bit up Östra Hamngatan we were surrounded by a gang of “raggare” (Best described as a sort of red necks.) One of them took a swing at me. It would probably have been a KO. But a friend yanked me out of the way and my antagonist hit one of his friends. We ran up towards Götaplatsen but before we got there two older guys (17 – 18?) who usually hung out with the mods pulled us into a shop entrance and tried to force me to rub off the make up. I don’t know were I got the courage but I refused. They didn’t beat me up but threatened to do it if they ever saw me with make up again. A few weeks later they did but I was in a big crowd so was safe.
In hindsight I can see that it wasn’t just a desire to be like the mods in London or to show my independence. The joy I felt when made up and having long hair (sometimes with a cute bow)should have made me realise that I really was a teenage girl. But I’ve always been good at repressing what I’m afraid of. If I had had the courage to face it I don’t know what I could have done then, back in the dark ages. If I could have fathomed the possibility of a sex change and still being attracted to girls I think I’d been on a wholly different course in life – a tall thin baby dyke.
But this was supposed to be about the music. I soon left Beatles behind for Stones, the Who, Kinks, Pretty thing and local bands like the talented but unknown Beachers.
When the tickets for the Stones first concert in Sweden were released the crowd were behind a simple rope barrier. Needless to say the rope didn’t hold us back. That resulted in a historic event in Swedish police history. As we were milling around out of a side street came a company of police on horses with drawn sabers, the last time that happened in Sweden. We were very naive in those days and couldn’t imagine that the police would hurt us so we just laughed and leered. Some girls who were riding in the same stable were the police horses were quartered went up to them an patted them.
The concert in Svenska Mässan was great the first ever big concert I went to. I’ve since seen the Stones several times, but that first time was marvelous!
So it wasn’t just the music that made it revolutionary. It was the attitude that went with it. We no longer wanted to grow up and be like our parents. We questioned everything and every authority. Most of my generation “grew up” and became a part of the establishment. But none of us were unaffected. Though very few became like me: A lesbian transwoman anarchist.

Oh, BTW, the jacket I wear on this pic, taken a few years ago, is the one mentioned above. The one my mother made way back when.
So gather around children and harken as I tell you about how it was in the olden days, back in the sixties. I live in a country way up North called Sweden and at that time in a town called Gothenburg. We had no mp3 players and no computers. The net was something the US military had just started playing with. What we had was record players, radio and TV to satisfy our craving for music. The TV had only one channel and if we were lucky they showed a program called Oppopoppa once a month. The records were quite expensive and we could only afford singles. The latest singles were only available in two stores in the city. Which leaves us with the radio. The state had a monopoly on broadcasting (which later on led me to be a part of the leftwing/anarchist pirate radio “Radio 88″ but that’s another story that I might come back to some day. And they were kind enough to play pop/rock for a whole hour every week day, and there were the top list “Tio i topp” for an hour on Saturdays.
And then there was Radio Luxemburg. We gathered in the evenings in spots that usually were good for reciving. Providing someone ha managed to sneak a transistor radio out of the house. The quality of the sound was rather poor, but they were playing the very latest from England.
So to hear the music we wanted to we had to listen to all sorts of music that was played on the radio. It could be anything, but mostly it was Swedish and English popular music from the twenties to the fifties. Some light jazz, operettas, and classical music was also heard now and then. And, yes, we hated this with a vengeance.
But as I talk music with young people today I realize that it had given me a grounding in musical history and different genres of music. A grounding that came without me even trying or even wanting to learn.
Today, with thousands of stations to chose from, on the air and on the net, you can opt to just listen to the kind of music you already like. Thus missing out on something you might like.
Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t want the bad old days back. The fantastic availability of music is a good thing (TM). But, and this might be illegal where you live, download a few torrents with music you don’t usually listen to. Or, better yet, get an account with a usenet server and look around the alt.binary.music and download anything that might interest you. You might be surprised! I found some rare queer blues recordings from the twenties and thirties.

What’s my “type”?

Today I’m going to be utterly shallow and talk about looks and my take on why we all have a “type” that we are especially attracted to.
I think the picture of that ideal some one is formed at an early age by the people that surround you, by the culture you live in and by your peers. And who better to serve as an example than my own humble (sic) self.
I grew up in a mixed lower middle class/working class environment in Stockholm and Göteborg in the fifties and sixties. For those that are geographically challenged  that’s the two biggest cities in Sweden. And in those way back when days, my children, we didn’t even have television. Well most didn’t until the late fifties here in Sweden.
My point is that kids of my generation and location had almost exclusively Caucasian women to relate to. So that’s part of the reason I adored Sophia Loren as a child. I hadn’t seen any of her movies but could secretly gaze at her photos for ever. And she’s still the most beatiful woman over 70 I know.
That narrowed down the number of available types considerably but the variations within the remaining group are many indeed. Tall, short, thin, fat, blonde, redhead, brunette, small tits, big boobs. The combinations are endless in number. So how come I ended up with my type out of all the available ones ? I don’t fucking now, do I?
I’ve had sex with women of all shapes, creeds and most ethnicities. And what they all had in common was the fact that they were women. So i guess when it comes down to real life what really matters to me is the person I’m making love with. Not if she confirms to some type or not.
(Flashing on my inner screen: The tall redhead Icelandic girl, one night in Borås. The short dark Mickan with her wonderful breasts. The blond celeb (who shall remain unnamed) I found naked in my bed one morning. [Stop the bragging you old crone] OK, OK, I’m done for now. )
[But you were going to tell us about your type,. Come on. Spill!]Do I really have to?
[YES!]OK. “My type” is Sophia Loren. Or in the current crop of celebs Malena Ernman. But as I said I love the person not the…AA
[Shut up, You've been blabbing enough for one day]If you say so.
[I do.]Bye then till next time.