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    Life Goes on I Know Mine Will: A True Transgender Story!
    Life Goes on I Know Mine Will: A True Transgender Story!
    Life Goes on I Know Mine Will: A True Transgender Story!
    Ebook85 pages1 hour

    Life Goes on I Know Mine Will: A True Transgender Story!

    By Lina Pagniacci Capoli

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    About this ebook

    In this moving book, readers are introduced to the challenges that transgenders experience in their daily lives. It shares how they face emotional situations every day despite years of therapy and even after completing transition from male to female.

    This is a must-read work is for anyone who wants to get an in-depth knowledge of the trials that the transgender community face every day, and to find themselves even in a prejudiced society.

    Life Goes on I Know Mine Will is available in both print and e-book format on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other popular retailers. Grab your copy today!
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTrafford Publishing
    Release dateNov 1, 2013
    ISBN9781466997691
    Life Goes on I Know Mine Will: A True Transgender Story!
    Author

    Lina Pagniacci Capoli

    She knows how difficult it is to be yourself and the courage it takes to fight for what you want. She has completed a successful transition from male to female and is a survivor of several sexual assaults. She is faced with prejudice and discrimination every day.

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      Book preview

      Life Goes on I Know Mine Will - Lina Pagniacci Capoli

      © Copyright 2013 Lina Pagniacci Capoli.

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

      isbn:

      978-1-4669-9770-7 (sc)

      isbn:

      978-1-4669-9768-4 (hc)

      isbn:

      978-1-4669-9769-1 (e)

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2013910653

      Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

      Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

      and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

      Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

      Trafford rev. 10/25/2013

      24494.png    www.trafford.com

      North America & international

      toll-free: 1 888 232 4444 (USA & Canada)

      fax: 812 355 4082

      This book is dedicated to the only person who has ever really loved me for who I am. I know I always said every day after July 7, 2007, was a bonus, and if I died tomorrow, my life would be complete; but in reality, every day with you is a bonus, and you make my life complete. I love you, Cakers.

      I t was November 21, 1964, at 3:30 pm (MST). That was the day I was born. Some might say it was July 10, 2007, but we’ll get to that later. I know my mother loved me because she had me even after my father left us; I don’t know the exact story behind it, but I’m sure my grandmother had something to do with it.

      I remember having a happy childhood; my grandparents loved me very much. I was spoiled rotten. My grandfather took me everywhere with him; I even called him dad until I was about seven or eight years old. My grandmother made sure I was always clean and had ironed clothes on—I must have taken a bath two or three time a day.

      My grandfather worked very hard six days a week and also evenings so my grandmother could have everything she needed. My life was great; my grandparents and I would go out to dinner on Friday nights, and on Saturday evening, they would spend time with their friends. I would go with my mom or spend time with my aunt Bernice (Nanny) and uncle Arthur. My uncle Alfred and aunt Holly lived downstairs in my grandparents’ house; they had their own apartment. My grandfather took care of everything.

      One day my grandfather told my grandmother to stop babying me. How do you expect him to be a boy if you keep treating him like that? I had no idea what he was saying. My grandmother said, You don’t understand. He’s not like that, he’s not your regular kind of boy.

      My grandfather was devastated; I’m not sure if he really knew what she was trying to say exactly, but I know one thing, I will never forget these words: You’re a man, you have to act like one. It was like he was trying to convince me I was a male. I was so confused at the time; I had no clue what I was. My grandmother was the type of person who spoke her mind and wasn’t afraid to hurt your feelings while my grandfather was just the opposite; he was patient and always willing to do for his family. They both cursed like sailors and didn’t mind putting me in the middle of their arguments.

      I love my mother very much. When I was younger, we did everything together. I would stand at the front door and wait for her to come home from work and tell her, Hold me, Mamma, hold me. That was the highlight of my day.

      Then my grandfather would come home, and we would have dinner and be a happy family. I must have been around five years old when, one day, I was in my grandmother’s closet, putting on her high heels. It was like I knew then there was something different about me. I wasn’t just a grandma/mamma’s boy; I was a girly boy. That was what my grandfather noticed; I was still young and innocent, not knowing what challenges I would have to face throughout my life.

      I must have been six or seven when my mom married my stepdad. My grandparents wanted my mother to leave me with them so they could raise me, but she wanted me with her. She had always told me, it would always be me and her. The day I found out my grandfather wasn’t my father, I was devastated; I was confused and scared to leave my grandparents. I knew my grandmother had a feeling there was something different about me; I was safe with them.

      We finally moved out of my grandparents’ house in north Denver and moved to Thornton. Things were good; we would have Dunkin’ Donuts for breakfast then she would take me to the bus stop. We were still close even after she got married. I began to have more feelings of being a girl when I was living with my parents. One day I told my mom when we were getting that I didn’t want to be a boy; I wanted to be a girl. I told her I wanted to cut off my winkie and be a girl like her.

      She didn’t know what to do; the next thing I knew, I was living with my grandparents. By this time, my cousins Jeanine and Celeste were born. One day we were outside playing, and apparently, I made one of them cry. My grandmother was furious with me; she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me downstairs to my uncle and aunt’s apartment and made me put on one of my aunt’s dresses.

      I was kicking and screaming the whole time. I will never forget what she told me. If you’re going to play with the girls and make them cry, then you will dress like a girl. Then she made me go back outside with them. When it was time to take off the dress, I didn’t want to. I told her I liked wearing dresses; I wanted to be a girl. I’m sure she was shocked, but the way she looked at me it just confirmed what she already knew.

      Then one day, I was riding my Big Wheel and I skinned my knee. I was so upset and crying; my grandma ran outside to see what was wrong. She told me, It’s okay. I’ll take care of it. I told her, I don’t want to have a scar because it will show when I wear dresses. Shortly after that, I remember going to my doctor and talking to some man in a suit in an office. After that, I had to take special vitamins.

      I remember being so happy and nice. My mother told me once that I was a very respectful young man. In first grade, I would get in trouble for not making my letters correctly; the nuns would make me sit outside of the classroom by the lockers in the dark. I’m dyslectic, so I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong.

      One day I had to stay after school again for punishment because I didn’t make my letters correctly; we had to kneel on a row of pencils for a half hour. Sometimes my uncle Alfred would come home from

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