My first memories include my older brother Tony and my father, also named Tony. The three of us lived in an apartment on Hazel Street on the west side of Binghamton, New York. My father and mother had split in April 1969, when I was four months old. At the time, my father was a cobbler’s apprentice at Ye Old Cobbler Shoppe, under the mentorship of his best friend Danny.

When Danny passed away in the early 70s, my father decided to open his own shoe repair and leather crafting business, The Leather Shoe Shop. By this time, I was two and Tony was four. We went to work with him every single day.

As a young girl, I followed every move my brother Tony made. I fist fought other boys alongside him, wore his hand me downs, and spit on the sidewalk. We walked around the apartment shirtless and slept in the same bed. Some of my father’s customers thought Tony and I were twin boys.

Until I was four, I never had a clue that Tony and I were different. But one day, on an incredibly hot August afternoon at the Ross Park Zoo, I came to new awareness. When I tried to take my shirt off, my father said, “Honey, you can’t do that.” I repeatedly asked “Why?” He repeatedly said, “You just can’t.” So, I pulled my shirt up and over my belly, stopping just below my chest.

Once Tony and I started school, I became friends with girls, but I always felt more comfortable among boys. Although not always true, it seemed that boys cared less than girls about gossip and fitting into the status quo. And, until fourth grade, when my father switched Tony and me from the public school system into Catholic schools, I had rarely worn dresses. It was a whole new experience.

Wearing girl clothes hardly wrung the tomboy out of me. I hung upside down from tree branches, much to the horror of my father’s new wife Vickie. She’d pull me off the limb and tell me to act “like a lady.” What did that mean? Now I know it meant, keeping my big mouth shut, wearing a slip beneath my skirt, and keeping myself clean. Vickie insisted Tony and I take regular baths, brush our teeth nightly, and wear pajamas to bed. I wore a nightgown and he wore long johns.

As I came of age, I observed Vickie go from being a doting stepmother to a woman who snapped into a fury over spilled milk, or forgetting to call her “Mom.” She smacked Tony and me around, and threatened us with worse if we told our father. When he was home, she smoothed our hair and laughed at our jokes. In private however, she was a monster.

Vickie’s erratic behavior may have taught me to distrust women. By the time I was in high school, I had fewer than five close girlfriends, and a slew of guy friends. I sat with football players during lunch and chewed tobacco with them at hockey games. Once, when I had one line in the school play, I stepped out onto the stage met by a roar from one corner of the auditorium: “Cindy!” It came from my flippant coterie of young men.

One of the pitfalls of being a tomboy is unsolicited jealousy and rage from girly girls. I’m an incurable flirt, and I have had many problems with the girlfriends and wives of my male friends. Secure women, with solid relationships, tend to let me be who I am. But to those who can’t handle it, I am forced into that ladylike role again–the one set forth by my stepmother.

And here I am today. Still that tomboy at heart but dressed as a girl. My hair is long and curly. I wear a little bit of makeup. And thanks to the three children I had, I have… ahem…curves. My flirtatious nature still intact, I am both loved and hated by different women. Some misconstrue my gregarious nature, and others believe it’s who I am.

Since I was a kid, my best friends have almost always been introverts. I want to be more like them–able to think before I speak, more thoughtful than talkative, able to find comfort in solitude. Conversely, I seem to draw them out of their shell. I make them laugh, encourage them to tell their stories, and find out what life means to them.

For many decades, I’ve tried to be more quiet. To listen more intently. To allow others to speak their truths. And while I have gotten better at that, the tomboy in me is still alive and well and living in Idaho. I can dress up, but I prefer a T-shirt, jeans, and Converse. I love a crowd, drinking beer, and quoting movies. Some of my best friends are guys, and yet, I do love the company of women. (Vickie’s been out of my life since 1998.)

We are all walking, talking contradictions. The thing is, you have to be comfortable with who you are. And most of the time, I am.