Sunday, September 25, 2011

Just Don't Call Me Late for Dinner

There was very little positive about my childhood.  My parents raised me with the expectation that I would be stupid and worthless; they always believed me to be just that.  It was the only way I could grow up that would fit into their conspiracy-laden minds.  I do not deny that we grew up poor.  I do not deny that we lacked some of the perks that accompanied wealth – like social status, and respect.  What I could never make peace with (as my parents had) was the idea that I had no chance for success because of who I was; that I would never make it in any endeavor because I lived on “the wrong side of the tracks.”  I also refused to believe that I was stupid.  I suppose that is where my trouble respecting authority began – I refused to accept the conventional wisdom that I was an ignorant loser.

There was very little positive about my childhood.  But I know that I learned a lot from my upbringing – granted it was a laundry lost of “NOT to do’s,” but learning is learning.  One thing that actually did stick with me though was my gene donors’ stated abhorrence for labels.  Throughout elementary school and well into my middle-school years, I was regularly and consistently recommended by various teachers to be placed in the gifted program.  My parents steadfastly refused to allow this – didn’t want it messing up my street cred.  Their reason was always the same.  They would inform the school that they did not believe it was in any child’s best interests to “label” her.  They believed such labels were a hindrance to constructive development.

This was their stated objection.  In truth, they were convinced that the school was wrong – that I was in no way intelligent or creative enough to be considered even average, much less gifted.  Oh yes, while they would never have said it to the school, they were always certain to let me know why I didn’t belong in a gifted program.  Still their stated reasoning resonated with me (I guess knowing that they did not believe what they were saying made it automatically credible to me).

I attended a birthday party last night.  It was essentially an LGBT event – well LGB and one T (me) – there were even some straight people.  All in all it was a wonderful time, and I am ever thankful to our hosts for having us.  There was one rather unfortunate event late in the evening that left a bitter taste in my mouth (a mild one).  One of our fellow partiers felt the need to ascertain everyone’s “status,” which came off like a very bizarre version of Duck, Duck, Goose.  We were all sitting around a table, and he counted each of us off as he pointed around the table – “gay, gay, gay, gay, straight, straight, gay, gay, straight…” and so on.  When several at the table attempted to correct him (he had determined my wife and I to be straight), he at first didn’t understand.  But when one very clever young woman pointed out that we were gay, because I identified as female; it finally sunk in.  But then he felt the need to get more specific with his labels, so repeated the game – this time specifying lesbians, bi, etc.

This was all in good fun, and no one was passing judgment; but still isn’t it odd that in a party of society’s outcasts, we feel the need to further segregate ourselves?  There are so many people, and so many otherwise disparate groups in the world who are united in one passion – their hatred for and condemnation of the LGBT community – that it seems like we should be finding ways to break down walls, not put up sub-dividers.  I am even coming to question the “LGBT” label.  I am proud of all my sisters and brothers, regardless of which letter they comprise.

Rather than focus our energy on understanding our differences, I think we should be focused on taking over this joint.  Straight Christians have been running this country for far too long, and look where it’s gotten us.  I think it’s about time we start deciding who can and cannot marry, and who gets to have their head blown off for defending our right to borrow money from China.  Seriously, I get that we should be allowed in the military if we want to be… but think about it Mary!  Let the backwoods bully who takes pleasure in beating up fags go get his ass shot off.  I’ll stay here and make cookies.

In the interest of my lack of interest, I am posting this one without proofreading or editing.  I apologize for the choppiness and any misspellingz my Mac didn’t fix for me.

Peace girlfriends!

Sunday, September 11, 2011

The River Takes Me

Transition is hard.  No one, especially those who swim this river, will argue that fact.  Making the journey requires a strength that could only come from the deepest of needs.  Along the way we face hardship, judgment, discrimination, violence; the challenges are many.  Sometimes I wonder if I am truly strong enough to make it.  And then there are days like some I have had this week… days when I realize that my strength is on the other side beckoning me forward.  My strength is not pushing me to move, but pulling me toward my eventual arrival.

I feel this most strongly during the painful journey back to the weekday.  I have a family – these days I think of them more as “the gene pool,” more on that another time – who does not acknowledge me for who I am (when they acknowledge me at all).  Work life has been difficult.  People who used to look up to me (to my face anyway) now ridicule me and try to marginalize me.  I get ugly stares from old women in bars and at the grocery store.  I get surreptitious glances from people who are slightly less rude than the typical old woman.  I face a lot through the course of a “normal” week, but I am okay with that.  I will not pretend that I like these parts of transition, but they are not my greatest hardship.

I should explain that, due to some "complexities" in my work life, I am still working as a male.  This means that there are long periods of my life when I cannot be myself.  The hardest part of my transition right now is making that change back.  Every time I have to do it – to go back to playing the male role – I become more aware of the reality that there is nothing for me in that world, and that I am, in fact, not even welcome there.  The tide has truly turned for me; the flow toward womanhood is a lazy float along a meandering stream.  My upstream swim is back to boy.  Transition is hard.  Pretending to be a boy is hell.

I have a family – a real one, other than the gene pool – who I love and adore, and who love and support me.  I have wonderful friends whose company my wife and I deeply enjoy and who care for us and think of us.  We had a wonderful evening with a large group of them last night, in fact.  I can love openly, I can cry… I can laugh.  Yes, there are times when people look at me funny, there are times when I feel the awkwardness that others try to thrust upon me; but despite the difficulties, I am in the world and living as my true self.  There is no greater sense of freedom than that.

When I have to step back into the male role, it is like pushing the pause button on all that is good in my life.  I will never turn back.  I know where my journey leads – I am going home.  So, play that funky music, home girl!

Let's Dance!

Oh, I just have to show you my new hairstyle.  Rockin' a new do!
My wife and I enjoying a night out with friends at a local restaurant

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Catching Up While Lying Down

I threw my back out yesterday afternoon.  It hurts.  I can barely move.  Thank my lucky stars for laptops and wi-fi!  Being effectively out of commission today, I thought this would be a good time to try to catch up on my writing.  I am sorry... but I hope that you have missed me (smiles).  I have not been spending as much time on this blog for a number of reasons.  

Life has taken on a sense of everyday over the last couple months, generating little of significance to share with you all.  I have also been a little more absorbed in “family life” and my cooking/baking endeavors.  On a less positive note, I have long suspected and recently confirmed that I am still “being watched” by people who do not have my best interests at heart.  As I know they will read this as well, I will withhold any further comment on the matter other than to say to them - I know you are watching, and I hope you know how wrong it is that you are doing this to me.  Okay, sorry... I am back.  The sense of persecution, unfortunately, has had a negative impact on my creativity - constantly worrying about whether something is “safe” to share.  I will correct this problem soon, though, I promise!

On a more positive note, I have taken on a new project, which has diverted my attention away from this blog.  I hope the impact will not be great (my intention is to increase the amount of writing I do, not to just spread my writing out).  I have always dreamed of writing professionally, and it is my hope that this new endeavor will help me move closer to that goal.  I have just published my first article, so if you would like to check it out, I will include a link.  Fair warning, no trans-related issues are discussed (though I do have a little something to say about “real men” [shameless teaser, yes]).  Check it out, and let me know what you think.  I hope you enjoy.

Best wishes and take care, my pretties.