Subtitled: I See Trans People
So we were out walking Bernie two or three weeks ago now (that's how long I've been mulling this over, having progressed no further than I started, the subject's become so fraught - one doesn't want to get a word wrong) and while he was stealing peanuts from the squirrels I realized why I never weigh in on arguments about people who transcend gender, which is how I like to put it now I just thought of it.
I asked my blond companion, "Can a man have a baby?"
But he was trying to wrestle Bernie away from the squirrels' peanuts and didn't hear me.
For the record, Bernie's allowed two peanuts - only.
So I answered, "Well, I know a very good man, a solid New Democrat, not in the least transphobic or anti-trans, who would argue a definite 'No!'
Biology.
But I know a very good woman, a solid New Democrat and his dear lady friend, who would argue a definite 'Yes!'"
Sociology.
😀
I lived in an apartment building with a trans woman, although not physically transitioned. This was according to her, but since one couldn't believe a word she said, who knows. She lived in the apartment above me and was my eventual reason for moving. I never interacted with her, except to be as pleasant as possible because she was as crazy as a bag of hammers. But she hated me anyway, no matter how pleasant I pretended to be, and for whatever reason told anybody who'd listen (like they had a choice when she cornered them in the tiny laundry room she was constantly in) I'd stolen a pair of her underwear.
Thick and tight to create a smooth look and no doubt not cheap.
She would also pretend she had her period, go on and on to other residents about her cramps, moaning and groaning, daring anyone to contradict her.
No one ever did because, like I said, as crazy as a bag of hammers.
Also 6'2" / 200 lbs.
Alas, she had a master key, our landlord being an idiot who gave her one and a break on rent for showing vacant apartments and pretending to sweep the halls, and once entered my apartment when I was alone. It was likely an accident, but I still had to move. She'd made it clear she hated me, but loved my blond companion, so that was it. I no longer felt safe.
It happens. She was also inconsiderate and woke us up at all hours, fighting with her boyfriend, a teenager I heard yell once, "But I'm gay!" It was fifty shades of not good, but he was more or less a hoodlum who'd tried to stab another tenant at one of her after hours parties, and I just didn't want to get involved.
She'd water her balcony, festooned with flowers meant for the building's front garden, soaking us if we happened to be sitting on ours, enjoying the view of the parking lot, where many of her and her boyfriend's frequent screaming fights took place.
My regret, really, is her being my kids' first introduction to a trans person but, like I said, it happens.
She was a woman, yes. But no, she wasn't having periods.
I know, I know, "Lots of women can't have babies! Menopausal women don't menstruate! Caitlin Jenner's a woman!"
Exactly.
And Elliott Page is a man and Elliott Page can have babies.
It all comes down to us as individuals, really, and this is why I don't weigh in. Pedantic semantics. A word in a sociological context vs a word in a biological context vs no two snowflakes alike, as the principal of my kids' elementary school put it.
😀
I had a temp assignment at Correctional Services a few years ago. A couple came in to do a talk about being trans. They were two men who'd met and married when one of them was a woman. I tried to tell which one but I couldn't. They looked like a couple of middle-aged men. Eventually they clarified which of them had transitioned, why, how, and I could see it then. I wish everyone could have attended, especially R, my co-worker, who wanted no part of it.
He was afraid, the very definition of transphobic, also homophobic. I got to know him quite well. He was in the Sixties Scoop, several foster homes before being adopted into a strict Ukrainian Catholic family. Very well educated with a PhD in something to do with his Cree culture.
PhDs are all the same to me, boring.
We both had sons we were concerned about. Young men are having a hard time finding their sea legs these days. He had a daughter, too, but she was with his ex-wife, and he was annoyed with her character, which was too much like her mother's for his liking.
He had issues with women, at least two ex-wives, an old-fashioned sexist who believed the women in his life were the root of all evils, at least, the evils that had befallen him. He liked men, but he liked me, too, and we got on. I didn't take it personally, rare for me, but he didn't mean it personally, either. In fact, he liked me so much he couldn't bear to come in on my last day to say goodbye.
I'd brought him my homemade butterscotch chip oatmeal cookies he loved as a parting gift, too, left them on his computer with instructions to everybody who passed his desk to leave them be.
They are the best cookies ever. Incredibly addictive. And R wasn't exactly popular with our other co-workers, who were more... up-to-date.
😐
Also, for whatever reason, R had decided because we were the same age and had the same television references (to bore the student working for him with) our childhoods were same/same. Finally, one day when he was out for lunch I told her, "R's childhood was my worst nightmare. I went to overnight camp when I was seven and cried so much with homesickness the orphans from Sudbury started crying with homesickness too. He thinks we had similar childhoods because we both watched The Beverly Hillbillies. The other day he told me one of his sisters - a woman he said he wouldn't turn his back on - took him to meet their birth mother. She was living in a vacant room with a few other people, one of whom went out to gather cigarette butts and Lysol to celebrate the reunion. R told me he recoiled when his mother tried to hug him and left because he doesn't smoke or drink and can't abide people who do. He has several brothers and sisters the youngest of whom was rescued from a dumpster. Oh and his father was of Scottish ancestry, our other commonality, although mine was a lawyer who died of cancer when I was four and his, I'm not sure what he did to make money, but he was murdered in a bar fight."
She was a smart young woman, a precious only child, who reminded me of my oldest. She said, "R's opinions are so different from how he is, too. It's weird. He's been really helpful and understanding. And when we did the presentation he was so supportive, giving me all the credit. He's trying to get me a job here now."
I should say, too, I probably learned more Canadian history from R in six months than I did at four years of university.
Anyway, like I said, I wished he'd attended the presentation. It was probably the second most educational event during a temp assignment in the government I'd attended, the first being a talk from the daughter of a residential school survivor explaining the effect of that part of Canadian history on her present.
😬
Alas, it was voluntary. But wow. And when the partner spoke of his experience within the marriage, wow again. "We used to hold hands, kiss, hug in public. But we're two men now. I'm not gay, but I love him, and he's a man. I'm not comfortable showing affection in public now. It's the reaction of other people. It's a big deal to some of them, so it's a big deal for me, too."
It was a shame having to go back to work, entering data from inmate evaluations of educational programming in our federal institutions no one will ever look at, instead of spending the rest of the day listening and learning from a fascinating couple and how they were navigating their lives together - 31 years at the time and going strong.
Love is love. People are people. If my blond companion decided he was a woman or wanted to present as a woman, live as a woman, or I decided I was a man, we would continue on together as each of us wanted to be. I love my blond companion. My blond companion loves me.
Who knows? Maybe it would have been the change to keep our previous relationships with others together.
I see trans people everywhere now. Or rather, I see people as trans. I look at a woman and turn her into a man. I look at a man and turn him into a woman. Young people especially are androgynous looking to me. I barely have to try to switch their gender. Old people, too. It's wild once you start. Try it.
And when I see a trans person I don't see gender at all. I see an individual. It's very inspiring. Freeing.
Oh to be free!
When I was young I went through a phase wherein I wanted to be seen as a boy. I didn't want to be a boy, exactly, but I also did want to be a boy. Jo Pete was my chosen name. My older sister even helped me sneak off to Mrs. Scott's to get my braids chopped off, not knowing why, of course.
It was always there, still is.
Also the sexual attraction to men. It was always there and still is.
On a Wild Women camping trip I went on several years ago now we were sitting around the campfire singing show tunes no one could remember the lyrics to except me, when I thought to ask, "Is everybody here gay except me?" and K answered, "Oh, you're gay, you're a gay man. You're wearing Ralph Lauren pajamas on a camping trip ferchrissake."
Totally tracked, too. I was a walking stereotype. I thought back to Jo Pete and the cap I insisted my mother buy me. Very natty. How annoyed my older sister was when she realized how she'd facilitated Jo Pete in the natty cap by taking me to Mrs. Scott's to get my braids cut off. Even as I sit here writing this I'm eagerly awaiting the day I can show the world the long loose linen pink shirt I picked up at the thrift shop for a song, which I'll wear over a tee-shirt, ala Miami Vice, maybe hunt down comfortable loafers I can wear without socks for the summer.
😎
I'll leave off now, hoping I didn't get too many words wrong, but also kind of not caring too much if I did. I don't bother keeping track of whether I'm saying gender when I should say sex and vice versa. I won't argue about any of it either. It's stupid. A waste of time and energy. I should add I learned a lot reading "Unmasking Autism" by Devon Price, a trans person, who points out the strong correlation between neurodiverse people and trans people. I identify as neurodiverse myself now thanks to Devon (and my son for sending me the book) and realize I want to transcend gender as so many other people are doing.
Why?
Because I want to be me, not somebody else's idea of me.
Me.
😍
