Dreams may not be real, but sometimes they can help get us through heartache. And sometimes they can even come true.
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My sympathy for women and gays began with my birth. My mother, Rose, was disappointed that she birthed a male child—as documented by my birth certificate. My first photograph showed me as a three-year-old child in the driveway dressed in a skirt..

Rose used terms of endearment that had a feminine flavor. Etymologically, the “ie” suffix for boy’s names gave the feeling that the boy was childish, less male, or even nongender. My first picture in the local newspaper identifies me as Dickie Kagan, a helpless child on a tricycle who was kidnapped.

I am now only piecing together the meaning and significance of her most common term of endearment—Dicksala. I am not sure of its origin, but I have long daydreamed about its influence. The suffix “sala” is based on the Hebrew and Yiddish way to emphasize the femineity of a name. “Sala” is also a derivative of the name “Sarah.”  From my study of the Holocaust, I learned that “Sarah” was the name Nazis used for all Jewish females. This discovery increased my sense of identifying with my feminine side.

I have spent time daydreaming about my birth name vs. my nickname. It has led me down a path that I have been bequeathed a second nature.  I have turned this feeling into searching for my dual identity.

Dancing at my high school reunion

In high school, I learned to dance with a male friend. In my parent’s living room, we listened to music while holding each other—sharing the male and female roles. The New Yorker dance supplied the excitement and pleasures of twirling, balancing, and embracing. Consequently, I became an excellent dancing partner at parties who understood both the male and female roles. Unfortunately, perhaps, I never adapted to the modern individualism of dancing as a form of gymnastics.

Rejection of the binary male-female division fosters identity with women, gays, lesbians, and trans people. My students, both male and female, have often celebrated me as a father figure. Often there was a family-like relationship. Several times I roomed with a former student in her apartment in Taiwan. During those times, I cleaned the house and helped with food preparations. Years later, my daughter stayed with her. My former student told my daughter that I was a great roommate.

In my research, I have had empathy for abused women, especially for prostitutes.  For instance, I discovered that Thai prostitutes fled from their oppressive families in rural areas to the city where they formed a bond with other prostitutes in the brothels. Here, they lived with other women, learning skills like sewing or knitting between their pecuniary employments. They often became literate which led to confidence and freedom to engage in other occupations.

While teaching about the Japanese comfort women during WW2 who were kidnapped into prostitution for the military, I organized specific activities to promote understanding and consciousness of their plight. After the war, Comfort Women published poetry and stories about their dehumanization. These memoirs expressed exceptional aesthetic sense and strategies for self-preservation. We read them aloud. I felt that this pedagogy was an excellent substitute for a historical narrative, as well as a means to promote empathy and sensitivity.  I tried to teach my students to learn from these heroic achievements to survive with honor and health. The moral: out of the darkness, there can be light.

In Taiwan at an LGBT parade – the sign reads “No matter what you are called, heaven still loves you very much”

In my sparse subbing as a Japanese language instructor, I was required to teach a story about two foreigners—male and female—who learned to live and speak in Japan. The narrative was full of dialogue, as would be expected in a language class. The problem is that the pronunciation of the same word, or composition of the sentence changes according to the male or female speaker. For instance, after WW2, American soldiers and government officials learned Japanese from their female language teachers. Behind their backs, the Japanese would laugh because they sounded like women. So, I invited a female Japanese speaker to teach the students how women would read female dialogues.  I read the male and she read the female dialogues with differing tones and added expressions.

Below is an autobiography I wrote in a woman’s voice–as best I could.  It has received critical comments: ” you did not write this, a women is the author, you got help from a woman, your plagiarized.

Gina's graduate student stipend was not really enough to live on. Certainly not well.
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As with cooking, I did not learn to do laundry from my mother. She had household help for much of her life. I learned to iron (a task she NEVER learned) in the costume shop at camp in 1967. That was useful. We had a service that washed the sheets, but we had to make our beds and we had inspection every day. We did “hospital corners” for a neat look, so a quarter could bounce off the bed (if this sounds like the military, camp was very regulated in those days). I still make the beds that way, and though in Newton my cleaning lady does the sheets and towels, I do them in our Vineyard house, including after company leaves (that is true in Newton as well; I only have cleaning help every other week and don’t like a messy house).

a “hospital corner” on the sofa bed for a recent holiday visitor

I first did my own laundry when I went to college in 1970 – as my mother-in-law would say, “a college load”, mostly mixed, but at least I knew to separate the darks from the light. There were machines in the basement of our dorms, but we needed quarters to use them. That was true of every building I lived in until we owned a condo or house, so I’ve never used a laundromat and had the convenience of being inside my own building, though with more units than machines, there was often a wait or someone would remove your clothing if you didn’t get down there fast enough and you’d find your wet stuff in a heap somewhere.

These days, with all the athletic fabrics, where the colors don’t run and then dry very quickly, I have trouble getting a dark load together, and trouble convincing my husband that dark sweatshirts and jeans still need to be washed separately. But I really don’t want my undergarments to get tinted blue. It is an ongoing struggle; (no, he does not do laundry unless he is by himself on the Vineyard for a few weeks. Then he really does a college load).

It can take a while to move laundry from the washer to the dryer, as some fabrics don’t go in the dryer and need to hang dry. Those I need to ferret out as I move things into the dryer. Dan wears a lot of Icebreaker athletic gear, which is made of merino wool and cannot go through the dryer. We try to have a system where he leaves it hanging on the side of the hamper separately, but does not always remember and I don’t always notice when I start the load, so it sometimes goes through the dryer and shrinks a bit…oh well! Can’t get it right 100% of the time. But I give it the old college try!