A Step Forward on the Transgender Journey...

Its that time of year again. The one I have grown to hate and dread. As a FtM Trans man, I have grown to loathe summer. I live in the south. Summers here are hot, and humid. And since I have not taken any steps - yet - towards physically transitioning, this means that clothing in the summer becomes a huge issue. I am fortunate as a FtM that my body shape and genetics did give me a fairly masculine shape; in the winter time when the weather is cold, warm concealing layers and coats pretty much shift me to easily "passing" as male. I spend winters, largely and comfortably addressed as "sir", which is very affirming and comforting.

Spring is here.

Its still cool enough, this year at least, to keep a few layers on, but the ratio of "ma'am" to "sir" is already on the rise as the layers of clothing thin down and the days warm up. By high summer, I become miserable, twitchy, furious, hating my body and desperate for cooler temperatures to come back so I can conceal the visual cues that mark me as "female"

Lets be honest here. I wear my hair cut in a man's style. I dress completely in men's clothing - with one deeply painful exception - and my basic shape, voice and so forth are just ambiguous enough that it does not take much to be the gender I am, irregardless of the "sex" I was assigned at birth. So...whats the tip off? What is the give away, when all it takes is cold weather and heavy clothing to pass and be a man. What are people looking at that blows everything else I do out of the water?

You got it. 

The breasts. 

Which means that's the visual cue that completely rules how people speak to me, behave towards me, the pronouns and forms of address they use to me and about me - it all hinges on the breasts. It is unbelievably infuriating. And people don't even know they are doing it. Really. Its wired into the culture, its part of the gender construction - flat chest, or breasts - the fastest visual cue out there to divide every person they meet into one or the other of the "boxes" marked "male" or "female" - from there, our carefully socially constructed  concepts of "gender" kick in like brainwashed programming. Doesn't matter what I wear, what I say, how I behave, how masculine the rest of me looks, if people can see the shape or outline of my breasts (and that's even hard to type here) everything else, every other visual cue is ignored or even becomes a point to hassle me on, because in no other way do I conform to the "gender box".

I cannot begin to describe how much I hate this. How much it makes me hate my own body. How much I dread the hint of warming weather, even when I do enjoy the beauty of spring and the returning vibrancy of life to the slumbering world. Because I know whats coming. I know that who and what I am will suddenly become non-existent, ignored, perhaps even harassed  because of these two visual cues I'm stuck with at this point in my life.

This year...I could not take it any more. That noise you heard a month or so ago, was the soft subtle sound of me going snap. I can't do this anymore. Can't face it anymore. So I looked at my beloved Dreamweaver and said, "I have to do it this time."

"It" being - since I am a long, long way from affording any type of physical transitioning - acquiring a binder. Or a compression shirt. Or something. Anything. Duct tape. Something! But I could not go on any further without taking steps to deal with this as best I could. So, after some research exploring companies out there that actually make products that address this issue (who knew!?) I went to Underworks, a company that makes a number of products for shaping and dealing with bodily appearance for men and women for a variety of needs. The have products specifically for FtM guys that bind and flatten breasts to conceal them. So I ordered three  of "The Concealer FTM Chest Binder Disguised Inner Panels for Extreme Compression" shirts...in black.

Pictured in white,
available in black, which I got. 

Having done "drag" before, I was looking forward to how this was going to work, since passing in drag years ago required the cobbling together and then total destruction of a sports bra, duct tape (I wasn't kidding.) and a roll of ace bandage. It also required abandoning breathing. You kinda sorta had to Zen-breathe, and hope oxygen was being acquired by  osmosis. Or something. Despite being excited about finally taking the plunge and doing something about the situation this time as summer weather bore down on me, I was a little concerned about that whole "breathing" thing, y'know...because its kind of important!

I need not have worried. At all. When  the shirts arrived, I of course immediately tried one on...and was happily, enthusiastically thrilled with the comfort and effect. Comfortable fit. Totally able to breath. And most important, the shirt completely concealed and flattened the betraying curves. The difference was immediate in so many ways. I felt good about myself. I felt comfortable.  I felt like I was on the outside what I am on the inside - I was congruent. Everything matched! I could put on a simple t-shirt over this (it could be worn as is, but its a bit shiny in terms of fabric, and out of place in this area in terms of what people wear. The idea is to NOT draw attention!) and the difference was immediate and total - a flat masculine chest. And when I wore it out to run errands the next day, the feminine form of address, "ma'am" had completely disappeared from people's vocabulary. I was either addressed as "sir" or  with no gender related address or pronoun used at all The relief was enough to make me almost cry. The entire way I carried myself changed.

And I suddenly don't dread summer. (its probably still going to be a bit warm in the under shirt, but not anything like multi-layering in August would have been!) I'm free of that sinking feeling, and free to move and be who and what I am. I cannot begin to express how wonderful this is - or how grateful that I am that I finally got off the fence and did this...and that my beloved Dreamweaver was loving and supportive and seems to think I look good in it!

I'm one of those people who is NOT going to be chronicling every single step or change of the process in transitioning on a blog, or social media for all the world to see, because, for me, some things are deeply personal. But I felt that this was important enough to share here, as a mile marker, to show the possible. An out of town friend who heard I had taken this step wanted to see pictures, so I took some quick shots with my cell phone camera the full length mirror here. They're not the greatest shots in the world, but they'll do for now. I will at some point get Dreamweaver involved in taking some better ones, but I am going to share a few here.

And here I am!

Mostly I wrote this post and shared this struggle and the pictures to communicate that you should care for yourself and honor yourself. And if you feel you need to do something -anything! - outside the box to make that happen, then DO it, for yourself, whatever the situation or issue you might be wrestling with! 

Doing healthy things that support your sense of self and identity can change the world. 

New Years Day, 2012 - Transitions and Changes....

This New Year's Day,2012, will begin the third year that I've been "Out" on this blog as transgender - FTM - Female to Male. There have been some changes since I made that post in July of 2009, some of them that are pretty significant. I went back and re-read that post, "Pardon Me, Your Umbrella is Leaking", and the changes are leaping out at me. I am the kind of person who has come to understand that changes are always with us, that change should be expected, that (in the words of Kiya Heartwood of the music group Wishing Chair) "...the only gospel that I know is things are gonna change." 

Otherwise, after re-reading what I wrote back then, now would be the perfect occasion for eating crow. 

Mostly, I stand by what I wrote in that blog post. Its still very relevant, and very important. Nor do I feel the need to go back and edit it. The thoughts I had back then were where I stood at the time, at the beginning of figuring out somethings that were of absolute, ultimate importance in my life. I don't need to change the past to acknowledge the present. But I do need, I think, to revisit it in order to see the nature of those changes and what they mean in terms of where I am now. 

The change in perspective comes, of course, at the end of the blog, where I make a very definitive statement that "...since I am already sure that transitioning is not the answer for me...". That has changed and is changing daily. I'm pretty sure I will be physically transitioning to male at this point. I have a lot of thoughts and questions still, that I intend to spend some serious time on, before I take such drastic step. But I am of an entirely different mind here on this, than when I wrote that blog post several years back. And I want to stop and think out loud here about it for a bit.  

I think one of the factors that influenced the "I am not going to transition" stance I took was fear, pure and simple - fear of a number of things. The first part of that fear was that I was at the very beginning of acknowledging something that had been in existence for me my entire life - something that I had never had words for. "Tomboy" covered it fairly well when I was a child, mostly...until that became socially unacceptable when I moved into my teens. At that point I was expected to stop being such a "boy" and grow up and be a young lady. Not to put too fine a point on that, it was hell. I wrote in that first blog post that I felt that for the first part of my life that my culture and society denied "what I am by making me try to present as a feminine heterosexual woman (and I did try, people, for 36 years of my life I tried!)". There is close to half a lifetime of serious, real pain behind those words. Of a daily effort that deep inside, I loathed every minute, and trying to do so made me loathe myself. So, at age 36, when I came "Out" as a lesbian - a butch one - that seemed to settle me into a comfortable identity, a place where I could be me. It fit, supposedly. Only, it didn't. Not totally. There was still this sense of missing a step, that jarring sense of "not quite". I still did not have the language, the words, the necessary information to make sense of just why things still didn't work in my life. Oh, I was happy enough, much happier than I ever was attempting to fit the "binary heteronormative" mode of being a woman. And yet...I still wasn't there, wasn't at home within myself. I knew there was still something more that was not right, even if it remained a vague unease, a discomfort that would not pass and grew more profound as time went on. So, when I made that final realization, with the sound of a key turning in a lock, that I was transgender, it was a pretty terrifying place to be. I had to take every assumption I'd ever had (again) and re-think everything I ever thought I knew (AGAIN!) and start all over. How many times have I had to do this? Far too many - and it never ever gets any easier. Stating then that I was just never going to transition was a safer place to stand, when starting out to contemplate the complete change of everything I ever thought I knew - and then tearing it all down. 

The second part of that fear was for my relationship with my partner - my wife, Dreamweaver. And for her, as well. This is not a journey I am on alone. She is very much hostage to any decision I would ever make about this and she has had her own journey thus far. She too, started out in a fearful place. She has had a lifetime of dealing with men who have been abusers and who have damaged her and scarred her - she had found a very safe haven in being with a woman, in her lesbian identity, in feeling safe and secure in our love. And oh, gee, whoops, um...I'm a guy? Oh no, no, no. Talk about my world going upside down? This totally blew her's apart! And the track record of relationships surviving one partner transitioning is very poor - most of the time they break up. The idea of this fundamental shift tearing Dreamweaver and myself apart was perhaps the most terrifying fear I've ever had. And she felt it too, perhaps worse than I did. We didn't have one identity crisis - we had two. Mine - and hers. 

Its a very understandable, gut wrenching fear - for both of us. But I should have trusted us. I should have trusted her. She has walked every step of this journey, mine and hers, right next to me. And she has made it very clear that she's with me to the end of my days, irregardless of who or what I am. She has managed to work her way from moments of being horrified over the changes this forced upon her, to utterly supporting my need to transition, and that is a distance of near infinity to walk for her. And she has done so with immense amazing courage. Not, of course, that its all resolved and just fine now...I suspect that we have many more twists and turns on this road of transformation together, and a lot of them will be very, very hard. But I trust her. I trust us. Whatever the future, I know that I can trust that there will be an "us" that will last til death do us part - and beyond, if God or the Gods are kind. 

And of course, there is the fear of societal judgement, by friends and family - all too often these kinds of life altering decisions result in the loss of friends and family. One of the things that others have said to me, is of course, the classic "If they can't accept you as you are and love you no matter what, then they weren't your friend, anyway." There is a bitter measure of truth in this. But there is also something missing in that statement too. We are all interconnected in our web of relationships and big changes cause growing pains on both sides. I have written here many times of my strained relationship with my father, 84 years of age, who simply cannot ever accept me being gay or transgendered. It doesn't mean he doesn't love me, or that he should be callously dismissed as not being a worthy parent or friend. It does mean that I have to think about where he comes from, his back ground, his era growing up, his paradigms and how the world that was then, formed and shaped him. That I have to realize that he is what he is, and that any ability to shift and change that radically in his thinking is truly beyond him, because of who and what he is. And my coming Out to him as either gay or transgender, would tear his world apart. My being gay identified is something that he and I can just barely manage in the most all out case of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" you've ever seen. He ain't gonna ask, and I ain't gonna tell. And we go on loving each other. Love is not the problem. Or, perhaps the problem is that in his aging and his growing fears and cantankerousness as a man in the end of his life, his love is deep and profound...and conditional. He never has been capable of "unconditional love". Only the profoundly good boundaries and caution we have always maintained of our differences have carried us this far.

But as a transitioned FtM???? Dad would be face to face with changes in me that no amount of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" could ever cover. Testosterone produces profound changes - my face structure will shift subtly, my voice will drop permanently to a male register, I will more then likely grow a beard, I will put on muscle, "top surgery" will configure my chest and upper body structure to masculine...in short, he would be irrevocably faced with the fact that his "daughter" is actually his son. And the fifty years of relationship that I have built with him give me no hope that he has the ability, the mental flexibility to make that shift. He's just not wired for it. Terrifying? You bet! Terrifying enough, that in initially realizing that I am a transgendered man, that my first reaction would be "There's just no way I could ever transition."

The final point of hesitation, that made me go, "Transitioning is not my path" is the fear of some of those above mentioned changes. Testosterone changes more than the outside physical appearance. It changes everything - mood shifts, how one processes emotion, how one thinks. I'm still wrestling that one. Would I still be "me" when it is over? What would that metaphysical place of "I" be, afterwards. Would I still be who and what I am now - and make no mistake, as much as I hate this body I'm in, there are parts of me I value profoundly, and fear and wonder how they would change, on this journey. That, I am still wrestling with, make no mistake. I'll have to get back to you on that one!

So...what has shifted or changed, that in a matter of a few years, I have moved from "never going to transition" to "yes, I will eventually transition". I don't know if its a case of I've "changed", I think its more of a case of that pressure that I have always carried within me of not being right, of not being who and what I am suppose to be having now found its definition, its voice, its narrative, its self awareness and understanding. And its like once that door is opened, there is no going back.

I mention in that first post back then that I avoid mirrors like the plague, especially full mirrors that force me to look and see the female body that I wear. Its more than that - FAR more then that, I just couldn't even begin to find the words for the complexity of it, for the full experience of it. If I don't think about it, my body persists in "feeling" male. Its like I walk within a ghostly form of a man, that the aspects of being female jar and grate on daily. I have good days and bad days. My menstrual cycle and recurring period are consistently among the bad days - really bad days. I loathe and hate my body with a passion during those weeks, furious with the constant obnoxious reminder that my body persists in being female - what an odd way to put it, I suppose. Maybe time will give me better words as I work this out.

 I despise my breasts, and dress to conceal and minimize them as much as possible. Binding them is the next step for a more complete presentation of being male and is something that so far I have grimly resisted - and Dreamweaver agrees with me on this. Because it feels like once I take that step and start binding, the uncontrollable avalanche will start - and once started, it will not be turned aside, and I'm not there yet. Showering is a nightmare. I'm a very clean person - I hate being dirty. But I also despise the utter forced, inescapable intimacy of being confronted with my naked female body when I shower. It totally blows any ability to see or feel anything but the agonizing dichotomy of being a man, and still having to touch and clean and totally, bitterly, unwillingly acknowledge that the form and shape I wear are wrong!

I have days where I am mostly OK. The bathroom mirror shows only my face. I can avoid looking down at myself as I dress or undress, and the moment passes...and then I'll have days, sometimes for no obvious reason, where it doesn't matter what I wear, or what I do, I want to violently claw my own body off me - its not mine! And in those minutes I utterly hate it. I understand what sometimes drives some transgenders to cutting as a release valve for these feelings of utter alienation from their bodies...I've never done it, but oh, I can see the temptation of it, the need for it, the release of it! My voice doesn't sound right to me when I speak. And my utter fury of being constantly, instantly interpreted as a "woman" by everyone I meet and therefore instantly in their minds processed into a certain role, a certain "thing" that they may treat in certain ways is a daily agony. It doesn't matter that I'm dressing in every way possible I can to signal Male, man, masculine...hellooooo? Don't you people get it?!? I am not allowed the right to define my own self, to be what I am unless I totally transform everything, utterly and permanently into something they can perceive on a shallow surface level based on their brainless cultural programming.

Oh, yes. Its become very painfully obvious, day by day, struggle by struggle, that I will eventually be transitioning. Why not now? Why not just go ahead and go for it? Oh, there are several good reason...one, and probably the make or break one, is very simple. Money. Transitioning is not cheap. And we are in that lovely euphemistic place of being  the "working poor", stone broke and working paycheck to small art job, to student loan and hanging on grimly between, fighting for gas money and food and bills. It wouldn't matter how READY I am; I cannot afford it at this time. Not yet. Someday that will change, perhaps soon even, as we are working on changing that through painfully saved and invested funds.

Another point in this time frame is that we are planning on moving out of state, at some point, when I finish school. The logical point in time to seriously pursue transitioning is after that move, and it is not impossible that this may fall after my dad passes - not something, mind you, that I want to have happen, or even want to think about. But time is passing and he is showing signs of aging and slowing and I am afraid he and I are
moving into the end of his life and our time together. Which is an agonizing and horrible thought...and its is also a very guiltily liberating thought. But even beyond that, getting out of this area, steeped in conservative fundamentalism and narrow bigotry and homophobia is a very smart move in considering transitioning. Fear of physical danger is actually not high on my list - but I'd be a fool to not see its there either. Moving is also a ways off, both because of finishing school and because of money, again.

And the final point is, that despite this growing internal volcano of pressure, I still have a lot of questions that I want answers too, both mine and Dreamweaver's questions. And I intend, before I put the match to the gunpowder on this, to seek out a therapist with experience in working with transgender issues for both of us, and there will be some serious work done on issues of self, and relationship and what and how and why. And I am not just talking about snagging a therapist to sign the papers blindly to get me past the gatekeepers to get testosterone and surgery - I'm talking about doing real inner work and processing, so that when I take those steps, I will be doing so informed, centered and profoundly ready, secure that Dreamweaver and I will weather what is to come.

So, where my journey has taken me so far? First of all, acknowledge that wherever I am right now, change is inevitable. That what is true today, may undergo a strange and deep sea change in the journey of life and to not let what I firmly believe to be unchangeable throw me when it turns out that the opposite is true. Secondly, I know now that it is very likely that transitioning is going to be a step that I will take. That I am getting on top of my fears...and that, bad or good days not withstanding, I have the strength to do this a step at a time, and do it right. And I know that Dreamweaver is right there with me. And that together, she and I can weather anything.

I will close this with a precious moment that occurred a few months ago...I was getting dressed and grumping my way into my sports bra, that always painful moment of having to acknowledge that yes, these breasts are here, and I have to deal with them. And Dreamweaver, who the year before was horrified over "losing" her lesbian identity if I became a male, thus making her in the eyes of society a straight woman, looked at me all of a sudden and said, "Well, if they're not yours, you shouldn't have to wear them!" See why I love this woman?

She put her finger on it, right there. This body is not mine. And I don't have to spend the rest of my life caught between what I am not, and what I am, and society's judgement of it. This is where I am today. And I most certainly have more exploration and growth ahead, and more words to write as I seek to express what is going on inside of me.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, as the poem says...I left the divergence back there quite awhile ago...

...and the road I'm on is good.

The Color of Fear.

Last night was the first night of one of my two classes this semester - Cultural Competency. The regular teacher was unable to be there, so my adviser took the class on. Usually, when that happens, we get handed the syllabus, pointed to the homework, and booted out the door early. I had mixed emotions - we'd all be less then human if we didn't want to get to go home early to our spouses and our lives. And yet, for me, this class is one I've been looking forward to since I joined the program, so when the teacher announced that we were going to watch a movie and discuss it, I was happy. She then went on to say that it was uncomfortable to watch and to brace ourselves. All right...

What she put on the screen for us was "The Color of Fear", a documentary on racism by Lee Mun Wah and it was absolutely stunning. Filmed in 1994, it documents a group of 8 men plus Lee himself as moderator discussing and confronting racism. There were two Latinos, two African Americans, two Asians, two white European ancestry, and Lee himself, who is Chinese. It was stunning. Filmed 17 years ago, it was frighteningly relevant today, making me wonder have we made any progress at all? Here is the trailer of the documentary...

It is an undeniably tense movie. Its not easy to watch. It seems to enrage white individuals who are furious with the charge of racism and privilege. I wanted to stand up and cheer as I watched it. It was powerful and  painful and honest, and its impossible to watch it and stay neutral.
After we watched it, we discussed it in small groups. One of the women in my group was African American, and she bluntly affirmed the basic truths of the movie...one of her earliest memories was of not being allowed to play with another little girl who was of course, white, and when she went to her mom and asked why, her mom had to explain to her, they don't want you to play with her, because you're black. And thats just one of a life time of experiences. She is an intelligent strong woman in her field, she's in graduate school, and every day she says she goes home to her home and her husband and family and feels like "Whew! I can be black, now." The question was put to her by other members of the group, was she possibly just letting that experience from childhood color her perceptions, and she said no, because that wasn't the only time that something like that had happened...it was a life time of experience after experience, an over all cultural overlay...I spoke up and said, its the very air you breathe, everyday. She nodded immediately and said, thats it.
Now...here's the tragedy.
Segregated, not allowed to play with white children as a child, only feeling free to be herself at home. A life time of experience...how old do you think she is?
40?
50?
Even older?
An older woman returning to grad school who remembers the decades of the 50's and the 60's and the racial violence, surely.
No...
She's 25 years old, born in 1986...half my age!
Racism hasn't gone away, or finally become a thing of the past. Martin Luther King Jr.'s dream has not been fulfilled, though no one can deny that steps, some of them huge, have been taken.  Instead of ending with the civil rights movement, racism merely took on a more covert character. Instead, its just changed, become more subtle, more pervasive. In someways, more dangerous. The theory of multicultural pluralism seems to wish to honor diversity, but instead, draws lines and divides and above all refuses to acknowledge the past or the fact that what happened in the past still continues in the present, just quietly, subtly.
No white person in America, however clearly they see, however honest they may be, however self aware they have become and fought against racism, totally escapes the deep down taint of white privilege - and yes, I include myself in that statement.
No person of color, regardless of ethnicity, in America, however successful they may be in their careers, their lives, their friendships across the ethnic spectrum, ever totally is free of the deep down fear and scarring of being denied their humanity simply because they are not white. And many, many whites who are totally well meaning, who would deny being racist - who truly believe racism is wrong, don't get it, will deny it, will resist it, will become enraged if confronted with the fact that these things are true.

David, one of the white men in the video, resisted with all his might and heart - in pain, fighting to not admit what he saw and heard before him. David said (and go look at this link, please)  that the block against the black man or people of color is put there by themselves, not by white men. His journey of selfhood and self revelation is painful, and agonizing to watch. His powerful admission to a past that shaped his perceptions is stunning and beautiful to behold. He gets there, in the hardest way, kicking and screaming, to declare himself an ally against racism, that he has been guilty of it, even when he truly thought he was not.
Towards the end he brought up the penalties his white daughters faced entering college due to quotas for people of color - I braced myself for the explosion from the room around him. But each of these men, nodded and agreed with him, supported him, did not deny the validity of his experience, It was amazing, and in doing so, they supported him as fully they expected to be supported.

I sat and watched it,  of course, through my own lens - every person in that room translated it through their own lens, we cannot NOT do so.  And my thoughts were, that I could take every word in this film, and with only minimal changes, fit them perfectly to my experience as a gay/trans identified individual. The heterosexual gender binary is every bit as pervasive as white privilege here in my culture. I am denied my basic existence, my basic humanity, my basic rights. Except in a few places far from where I live in America, I may not marry. There are laws in effect where I live denying me partners benefits. I may not hold hands with my wife in public because of fear. My presence in bathrooms is questioned simply because I do not "look" right - I do not fit the concept of "woman" in the women's restroom, my presence in the men's room is illegal and punishable by arrest. A GLBT individual was murdered for being gay a mile from where my wife worked. Even people who are not in their own minds "homophobic" stumble over the word "wife" with us, struggle with the concept of transgenderism. My teachers constantly talk about the one man we have in our class in the program (its a women's college - women only in the undergraduate program, men are allowed in the graduate programs, but they tend to be few and far between) and ignore the fact that they have a Female to Male transgendered man in their classes - me.  Its in the very air I breathe every day, just as racism is  present every day in the air my classmate breathes.
What can we do? How do we combat this?

I will let Lee Mun Wah speak for all of us in this...

In the end, its personal. When you get to know an individual, listen to them, accept the validity of their personal experience, their lives and perceptions, then stereotypes, misconceptions, myths and power over abuses must fade away in the light of each persons validity and power as a person - real, and whole.

More to come, as I am sure this class will generate much food for thought as the semester goes on. 

Concept art for Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, by Gustav Tenggren

THIS is a very important picture. 

Really. 

Somewhere in the distant dim, earliest years of my childhood in 1967, my parents took me to see Disney's Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. I grew up on the vinyl record of the music, and the story intrinsically embedded in my mind. Disney of course has long had a process of "Disney-fying" fairy tales, of dumbing down the ancient power of the myths and stories of legend and time...but it was still my first taste of magic and myth. 

I am sure my parents, who thought they had a little girl on their hands - and who was already showing signs of being an inherent "tomboy" and if only any of us had known! - surely thought even then still, that I would be enchanted by the Princess, would want a dress like that, and a fairy tale castle, and to be swept of my feet by a prince into happily ever after. 

Snow White was followed by Sleeping Beauty which I saw at age 9, with its even more compelling music based on Tchaikovsky, and a princess and a prince and a dragon. Of course, by 1967 and Snow White, I was already bound in the leg brace and wheel chair which I wore for 5 years, until I was ten. I have often wondered how much that ordeal masked the transgenderism? How much the differences created by not being able to walk and run and play kept any of us from realizing that there were deeper even more fundamental differences in play underneath the over lay of those years? 

Time rolled on, as it always does. More movies came and went. I grew up. Childhood memories get stored in the back attic of the mind, some of them forever lost, some tucked into trunks and wardrobes to be stumbled over in moments of recall and introspection, at just the right moment....only four years ago did I finally put together all these tangled pieces to realize and understand that I am a transgender. And that created a great deal of heavy thought - still does, but thats another path - when I realized it. How, I wondered, did I make it to my late forties without realizing this about myself!? How long, how deep, how far back did this go? Having always been a "tomboy", I can see back into my childhood, but had it really been there all along. Really? 

And then, browsing through one of my large books on Disney concept art, I came upon THIS picture, by Disney artist, Gustaf Tenggren, one of the animators of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. And the dusty, musty trunk of memory creaked open and a treasure fell out. I remembered clearly, back then, while in the leg brace, setting up the once and only doll I ever played with. It was a "life size" doll, created to be the same height as the little girls it was designed for. It had blonde hair, and blue eyes - eyes that closed when the doll was laid flat and opened, when the doll was raised to a sitting position. With the leg brace on, I was actually a little taller than the doll.

And I remembered...remembered placing the doll on the white sofa in the music room (so named for the giant record player cabinet and my mothers piano), putting on the Snow White record, and with the music playing behind me acting out being - NOT the Princess - but the PRINCE, and bending to wake the Princess doll with a kiss, to take her off into the sunset. I would have been about 7 or 8 years old. And from a myth and tale of the past rose the answer I needed...yes. This truly is real. I have always been the Prince. Then man who longs to marry the Princess, to slay the dragon, and ride the great horse. 

Being Transgender is not a horrible flaw, not a fault or something that is "wrong" with me. It means that in admitting that I am, in being so, in living congruently with that inner man, I am living out the truth of myself - of who and what I am and have always been. In the great myths and legends out of time, the Prince faces challenges, danger, transformation...the Joseph Campbell's Hero's Journey. The Prince does more than just ride up and kiss the slumbering form of the Princess, the Prince pays a price for his journey - he is singed around the edges with the dragon fire, his sword is notched and battered, his body bears scars of thorns and pain. The Prince does not remain a painted one dimensional cell of art work, given movement only by illusion. The Prince becomes a flesh and blood man, individuated and mature in the fires of faery and myth. Perhaps the dragon that transgenders face - any of us, MTFs or FTM's, for after all, Disney didn't get the Princess' journey right either! - is the roaring rage and fire of a culture that will not accept us, damns us, rejects us, denies us. 

In Sleeping Beauty, the Prince is given gifts by the Fairy Godmothers to face the dragon with - one of which is a sword, labeled somewhat predictably the Sword of Truth. But there is power in that, trite though it may seem - because for a transgender the Truth about ourselves becomes our greatest gift, our strongest defense, our weapon against the Dragon. So.... From my distant childhood comes the truth that gave me back myself, gave me my journey, gave me MY truth. And if it is a little romantic perhaps to see oneself in a fairy tale myth, so be it. I may be tattered and battered and still smoking around the edges from the dragon fires...but I remember that little boy of long ago...and that is MY truth! 

Update on a Hero...

Quite awhile back, I wrote a blog post about my friend Gabe called Transgender Courage...meet one of my heroes... . Its past time for an update. Gabe's daughter, Claudia is now a year old and precocious and cute beyond words! He has also met a wonderful man and is in a relationship that is blossoming and beautiful! And he has started testosterone at last! He is becoming the beautiful young man is truly is and was meant to be - and it has taken some courage still to do this - finances have been tight, insurance companies difficult (his doctor has found a nice work around though, and as of this date, he finally has coverage for the moment.), shots have been painful, and the patch has been not as successful as hoped for. He is wrestling with the complex battle of changing gender markers on documents such as birth certificate, etc. and has hit some brick walls there on that in the state he lives it.  Yet still he perseveres and lives and loves. He plans to return to school, and has goals for the future.
Gabe also, with all this, remains my brother, and my friend, ever willing to listen and support me when I struggle or have questions, which, with everything else going on in his life is truly amazing! Recently, he shared some pictures of himself chronicling his transition from before to present day, and with his permission I'd like to share a couple of them, as they profoundly and unbelievably show the incredible journey he has undertaken to become truly himself...

At age 15, quite some time ago. He was in a battle at the time with his mom who did not want him to cut his hair short, so was unhappily struggling with it being longer...

Gabe as he is today, a strong, confident young man.

And it is a journey he has chosen to share with us, in all its ups and downs and the glories of living. Which I for one am entirely grateful for! Gabe, you remain as always, a brother, a friend and one of my heroes! 

Gabriel and Claudia

Transgender, Authenticity and Burning the Mask...

A wonderful blog post from my beloved Dreamweaver has provided much food for thought. I want to share some rambling thoughts of my own. Authenticity is a profound issue for us. We desire to live authentically. And we live in a world and culture that demands that we be anything BUT authentic. Dreamweaver approached this from the view point of menopause, which has had a huge influence on her life - both our lives. Many women's cycles affect them deeply in an almost Jekyll/Hyde fashion; Wordweaving was definitely one of them. And for the first few years we were together, I rode the roller coaster with her. The cessation of this dark merry-go-round with the arrival of menopause has felt almost as though her mind cleared for the first time in years, but then you have to look at the fact that she was having double periods her whole life. She was never out of the swing of the cycle, ever, until menopause hit. I am also almost three years older, and I may, just may, be starting perimenopause...maybe. We can hope.  %$#@ cycle is rolling as usual, no real changes.I have to admit that as cycles go, my situation is profoundly mild...virtually no cramps, no PMS, no wild seesaw of emotions - just a slight moodiness or emotional sensitivity.  I really in some ways have no real reason to be grumpy compared to what Cyn went through.

 In point of fact, being FtM transgender means I loathe my cycle, because it is a monthly unavoidable collision with my female body. Few women that I know, despite attempts to tie the cycles and periods to wisdom and womens mysteries, etc actually like their periods.It might be pointed out that a huge dislike of the cycle of womens periods comes not from the periods themselves, but rather from the culture we live in that makes us deny our bodies needs and instincts and cycles. A very cogent point indeed.  My dislike of my cycle however,  is off the scale because of being transgender. It just adds an unimaginable element to it that is very hard to explain, unless you have been there. But looking at the cycles and changes of the body touches on only one part of our over all authenticity struggles. Despite the tidal pull of biology, it is not the sum total of what affects us.

Our culture affects us.

Our individual families of origin affect us. 

Our individual life experiences affect us. 

Our culture - let me reframe that - my culture, for this may be profoundly different somewhere else. The culture that I live in is, even after a century of the progression and history of womens rights and suffrage, profoundly patriarchal. It is profoundly consumer and time clock driven. The medical model still subliminally operates on the male being the standard for health care and acceptability. Women may only advance so far before hitting a "glass ceiling" in most professions. A woman is taught to deny everything possible about her self  entirely. Far too many women work the "silent second shift" I call it - you know, the one where she has put in her 8 or more hours of paid work (at generally less pay than a male counterpoint) and she goes home and then must cook the meal, do the laundry, cleaning, straighten up, get kids bathed and put to bed...and she is doing this as a single parent, or her husband is sitting with his feet is up because he is tired from his job that day. And then she must get up and do it all over again. And understand - there are profound exceptions to this - there are many men who get in there and split the chores right along with their wives. There are lesbian relationships where work is not decided equally, and one partner follows the patriarchal model and sits on her ass. There are families where the reverse is true and the man is doing the extra shift and not the woman. There are always endless individualistic variations. But over all, there is a general truth to what I have just set forth. I have seen it. I have lived it. Sit in a gathering of women, and  you will hear it, more often then not. And if a woman's periodic cycle is heavy and difficult for her, guess what...well, all that is just in her head. She's a bitch anyway. And no, she can't take a day or two to specifically rest and care for her body's shift in needs and feelings each month - what, does she think the world is going to stop for her ? Its all hormonal anyway, and thats just an excuse for women to get away with being lazy or with bad behavior. This kind of attitude is real among men and women. Trust.

 In modern America, there is no particular celebration or ceremony granted the beginning of a young woman's cycle or menarche.  She may have been told about it in advance as part of the whole "birds and bees" conversation about sex and changes in the body by her mother or other female relatives. She may know about it from older sisters and seeing their experiences. With the advent of the internet, she may research it on her own. Some sex education or biology classes in school may cover it where allowed. And it is not entirely impossible for it to come upon her with no warning at all. Her public rite of passage is the purchase of supplies to deal with it. And that is pretty much it. Other cultures - Japan, India, Australia, Nepal to name a few - have celebrations of special foods, gift giving, gatherings of female relatives who share experiences and wisdom.

Ulithi Menstrual House, Micronesia

 In Micronesia, the Ulithi tribe actually still maintains the ritual of a Menstrual House  where women go every month when their periods cycle to spend the time resting, being with other women, bathing and segregated from the rest of the world. Now, this does carry the idea of being segregated because of being unclean, or dangerous to men or mens magic and that does not sound good.. HOWEVER.... Imagine....if you are a woman, if when your period started, that instead of going to work or to school, you went to a house where you could sack out in a warm bath, sleep off and on through out the day, be with other women talking and resting, and stay there until the period was over. No alarm clocks. No dragging through the day crampy, tired, bloated and uncomfortable while working, running errands, doing laundry, chasing kids, pets laundry, classes, homework, no dressing out for gymn class (oh my god, there's a thought!) And you got to do this every month! And while you were gone, your spouse suddenly had the daily experience you have month in and and out - punch a time clock, chase the kids, fix the meals, clean up after the meals the kids the petslaundrygetkidstothebaseballgamesoccarpracticehavethebathroomdoorbangedonbecauseofemergency....when you got back, you might find the husband has a renewed appreciation for what you do. The culture might be structured for childcare for single mothers when their periods hit. Women might not be isolated in their homes and family units because she would have time with other women in her community. Business would be structured so that women dropped in and out at need, men's workloads might be lightened that week, or maybe they'd be granted a reciprocal weeks leave to be available to take over at home...impossible, right? Not really. It would take the alteration of the entire culture to put back into the space for womens cycles and bodies and I submit to you that whatever it became, patriarchal is not what it would be any more!

 And we wonder why women don't like their periods. Hel-lo! The menstration isn't the problem! The 24/7 stop for nothing, gogogo profit is god masculine modeled driven pace of America is the problem - and its none too healthy for men either. But thats a post for another time. So there's the cultural issue. Ignoring a woman's cycle is inauthentic. It becomes invisible. A curse. A burden. And one that falls on top of other cultural taboos and strictures women face - women must be skinny, have curves, wear make up, dress certain ways, behave certain ways, look certain ways...and heaven help her if she is heavy, too tall, masculine in appearance or dress,plain, under or over endowed, not interested in culturally approved things like make up, carrying a purse, or men, or doesn't want to have kids, or wants to be single, or heaven forbid, is transgender - male in a female body.

 A FTM either tears out his own heart and self respect and identity to conform, or suffers the consequences, some of them severe - being mistaken for a man in the woman's restroom , facing possible arrest for being a woman in the mens bathroom, constant discomfort colliding with the gender binary, being fired for being trans, even being in physical danger (though MTFs by far are in more danger and face much worse disapproval and hatred than FTMs and that too is driven by misogyny and culture,) My culture is a space where authenticity is punished violently.(I have to admit, I wonder what does a transgender of either stripe, FTM or MTF experience in the Ulithi culture in the menstrual houses? There's a thought...) To conform to the female gender box as a transgender is to wear a mask - one that might as well have razor blades on the inside slicing your skin and body at every turn....

The family is the vehicle in which our culture is conveyed to us. But each family is unique as well. So, perhaps you are one of the fortunate few whose family empowers authenticity - whatever you are is respected, whatever you want to be is honored, respect and self - expression is practiced and honored. How many of us had that? Not many I suspect. Whatever a child's authentic self is, it sometimes seems like childhood is a process of suppression, not nurturance or encouragement. I am not, for the record saying that children should have no guidance regarding ethical behavior. What I am saying approaches cultural mores. How many vivacious, bright girls that wanted to be some career that might be male dominated, climbed trees, brought home frogs, had scabby knees and came home triumphantly banged up from dumping the class bully on his ass, by puberty were moody, silent, told climbing trees was not lady like, put away your dreams of this or that, a young lady does not behave thus and such. Young men go through this too - do not cry, its not manly, forget the violin, you by god are going to be a man and play football, and for GODS sake do not have any interest in womens clothing or dress! Don't shake your head and say this doesn't still happen. It does. In the 1980's, 63 years after women won the right to vote in America, began to hold property, work in male dominated jobs, and only 22 years ago from where I stand now....after being told all my childhood that I could be anything I wanted to be, I announced to my parents that I wanted to major in studio art. This was brutally and summarily shot down in a series of violent verbal arguments on the reasoning that if I must major in art, it had to be an Art Education major - if I had to work it must be as an art teacher until I got married. I kid you not. Not only did I not want to be a teacher, I have no ability to teach, especially not art! It made my parents words I had been told - you can be anything you want to be - into a lie, and broke my heart and trust in them. And how many GLBT kids are terrified of coming out, verbally or physically punished for their "deviance", thrown out on the street for not conforming to being heterosexual. And at the bottom of the ladder are the trans kids - most of them emotionally and physically battered, abused, denied, cut off. Wear the mask, or you are not part of this family, we will not love you. How rare is the parent who truly accepts their son or daughters individuality with unconditional support and love?

Jazz

Here's one example of what it should look like...Jazz, a transgendered little girl who announced as early as age two that he was a little girl. The parents after researching and struggling and wrestling with all the issues, waded in and supported Jazz in coming out as and living full time as their daughter...and will carry through with hormonal treatments at puberty if Jazz continues to insist that is what she wants to do and will support her choosing transitional surgery if she so desires after she turns 18. Jazz does not wear a mask...Jazz is what she is with the unconditional love and support of her family.

Not all kids know as young as Jazz. I knew I was different and that I didn't fit, somehow. Tomboy was the closest label I had, and I was too sheltered and over protected to have any sort of language or knowledge to figure anything out. Sometimes the masks are forced on us so early we don't even know they are there on a conscious level - all we know is we do not fit, we are unhappy. I used to  breathe a sigh of relief to get back into a pair of jeans and scrape off the makeup, loathing the heels, the dresses, the beauty parlor, the shower parties....chafing and pulling at something, never knowing the mask had been welded on to me.  And that in the future, for me to tear it off will take setting myself metaphorically on  fire. And I had the rarest of all rare childhoods - a happy one in a loving and functional home. Not perfect, but wonderful. Add dysfunction into the mix, which is present in 95% of homes today - add in divorce, add in drugs, add in abuse, add in indifference and neglect, add in mental illness...in a country where the family model remains the husband/housewife 2.5 children happy 1950's home that may have been a myth even then. And authenticity becomes all but impossible. Rebellion is the adolescents struggle for authenticity - and when kids are given no blue print for authenticity, no map for the journey to be healthy and whole and authentic - true to themselves and able to fit into community and honor others - then rebellion becomes dysfunctional and damaging.

Our individual experiences affect us - out side the home, we are the sum of myriads of tiny moments that become powerful motivators for why we do what we do - why we may willingly don a mask we realize doesn't fit us, even when we might not know why. I remember being cornered a number of times about not being like other girls, or vicious teasing and harassment associated with being a girl that tore me into pieces...one of the final moments, that drove me nearly to despair as a teenager, was being cornered at my church in the formal dressing parlor of the womens room (where the brides changed on their wedding day into their bridal gowns or going away clothes, ironically enough) by a group of girls my age in the youth group and being forcibly told that I must wear make up, that I didn't dress appropriately, I did not act like a girl and no boy would date me or man marry me if I didn't straighten up and conform and start acting like a lady and a woman. It was like being dropped in scalding acid. I crawled out of there emotionally devastated, knowing I was miserable when I did the things they insisted I do, but not knowing what to do or how to refute them, or what I really was. Knowing I was not accepted, and not honored. I especially did not feel particularly loved that night either. I had no knowledge of how to resist them, no self confidence to say "NO! Thats not who I am and you guys are a bunch of jerks!"I was taught by my religion that a woman accepted what she was told to do.

 I have a thousand tiny stories, subliminal re-enforcers, glimpses of consequences, that all said you are a woman - you  must behave a certain way, dress a certain way, act a certain way, marry the opposite gender, be a victim, be subservient, accept being less than what you are, be the antithesis of what you are - accept the mask that you must wear, and the chains and the bondage that go with it. To be successful, happily married, to be a woman - because thats what you obviously are - you must set aside every need you have, others come first, the husband comes first, the children come first, the opinions of others come first...authenticity is rebellion, is damned, is unacceptable and is punishable by teasing, rejection, loneliness, ostrasization, hatred, isolation, danger and for some, by death.

And this goes beyond transgender, or feminism - this extends any prejudice. To racism. To social class. To the handicapped. To any and all who bear the ultimate mark of Cain in this society - the stigma of being different. And all of us find ourselves wearing masks, struggling with inauthenticity, forswearing our truths, foreclosing our identities. Some never take them off, never understand, never see what has been done, never understand what has happened.

And some of us pay prices that are far too high for nonconformity. For authenticity.
When we break, ripping off the masks and throwing them into the fire we run the risk of the flames ourselves.
For being greater than the sum of our parts.
For being authentic. 

Gender Identity Project...

Some very good things in this...a lot of good information!

Here we go again...

It seems Walmart is a significant trouble spot for me as a transgender…last week, I was running errands, and one of them took me into Walmart. So, I trot up to the door, throw a donation at the Salvation Army bell ringer, and dive for the bathroom first thing, before acquiring a cart.

And I carefully checked before I went in the bathroom to be sure that I had the one that matches the “F” on my driver’s license. This is after all, the store that I used the Men’s room by completely accident and got away with it entirely…So I always check. Yep, right one at least for the societal perceptions. I went in, and of course, all stalls full. So I am waiting my turn, lingering hopefully near the back handicap stall, because it’s easier on the arthritis. The first stall door to open, however, was the one right in front of me. A woman in her fifties, I would say, came out, and we bumped into each other. She looked at me, got this *look* on her face, and said “…oh my…OH MY GOODNESS!...OH! OH!” and ran out of the bathroom, yelling loud enough to clearly carry back through the walls. “THERE’S A MAN IN THE WOMENS REST ROOM!!!”, repeatedly. Meanwhile I am standing there, speaking to her back on its way out the door, saying, “No, ma’am…ma’am, wait, I…MA’AM! HOLD UP!”

Too late. She was loose on the unsuspecting Walmart. I stood there for a moment, empty stall forgotten in front of me, and said out loud, “Oh boy…” Because the next thing that was very likely to happen was a Walmart security guard (probably male) would stick his head in and demand to know what was going on and possibly check my driver’s license. Just then a *snort* was heard from the behind the last stall door, and a woman emerged – a very regal, lovely black lady – who looked me up and down and said, “She’s a twit…*I* can tell you’re a woman!” and went out the door. Which then also, left me standing there, thinking, “Well, actually, I’m NOT, exactly…” *sigh*

At this point, hydraulic pressure was interfering with brain function, so I went on and used the bathroom, washed up, and cautiously stuck my head around the door to go out. Sure enough, next to the women’s room a big Walmart Security guard (male, 1, generic) was waiting for me - all nice and official, with the keys to the bat cave and everything. I groaned and walked out the door, and stepped over to him. “Sir, I can explain…” I began, thinking just HOW am I going to explain and what do you say to explain this. At which point, he looks me up and down, raises his eyebrows, clears his throat and says “The other woman that came out said you were a girl, so I waited just in case.” He eyed me some more, with a rather puzzled, disdainful look, and continued “its fine…go on.” Whereupon, I nodded and headed on to do my shopping. And I kinda thought to myself, ok…whatever I am, Cyndi loves me and so do all my friends. And that’s what matters.

To be fair, in the midst of the unseasonably cold weather we have been having in the south, I was wearing several layers of shirts, a black leather men’s jacket, and a hat…my favorite hat, which is a men’s brown fedora, with a spray of feathers on it. (It’s a really good quality wool fedora, which I managed to acquire for an insanely low price at a rummage sale – there is also a wonderful story behind it which I must post about it sometime.) I undoubtedly looked like a guy very easily, with the layers covering up any betraying curve of figure, and then the masculine jacket, hat, and short hair…so I can see why the first woman made the mistake, although I can’t account even now for her reaction. (If I encountered a guy in the women’s room, I would simply say “Um, sir, do you know which restroom you are in?”) My voice however is light and feminine, and the second woman very clearly heard me speak…so she knew I was physiologically female, even with all the clothing screaming otherwise. It was not a deliberate attempt at “passing” for a man on my part. It was a deliberate attempt at staying warm in subzero temperatures! And I was wearing clothing that l liked and felt comfortable in. I am used to being called “Sir, I mean, Ma’am, I’m sorry!” several times a week, but this reaction was off the scale.

And it left me feeling very confused. I mean…going into gender specific restrooms always twinges a little – it’s like a subtle, low grade reminder that I don’t fit with societal expectations and boundaries. But I REALLY got mistaken for a man that time – and the only thing I had on my mind initially was “Need to pee” so it caught me off guard. And somewhere out there is a poor flustered woman who thinks she collided with a man in the woman’s bathroom. By now she probably thinks I came on to her, since I did politely smile at her when she came out of the stall, initially. It’s distressing. It is rather enjoyable to be called “sir” by mistake – it feels affirming of being a transgender guy. But this put me in the position of having to very loudly assert that I was indeed a female – for all the good it did me – and that felt very uncomfortable. I felt like I was denying my true inner self. Then we have the other woman, who listened to my voice from the other stall, caught the main clue that does give me away, was not in the least fazed by the mixed signals of my clothing…and firmly pronounced me a woman. Which, female body notwithstanding, I am not. And while I am grateful, profoundly, that she set the security guard straight before he walked in and accosted me, that also very much left me feeling very strange…because in my head, I am a guy. *sigh*

Walmart is just getting too weird. But somehow I don’t think it would be any better at Target…

Book Review

Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation

Kate Bornstein and S. Bear Bergman

Sixteen years ago, Kate Bornstein published a land mark book in the transgender community, titled Gender Outlaws: On Men, Women, and the Rest of Us. It became a landmark work, exploring gender roles, attitudes and the fact that there are far more than just two genders. Now, in the year 2010, Kate and her co-author Bear Bergman have brought forth this generation’s version, Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation.

Kate Bornstein, born into a male body in 1948, transitioned to a woman in 1986, and settled into the lesbian community as an author, playwright and gender theorist. However, while she definitely did not feel that she was a male, she also questioned whether or not she was female, stating that her transition to such was because it was the only other option to being male available to her. She launched into explorations of the gender binary and questioned the rigid idea that that only two polarities of gender – male or female – exist. Her books include Gender Outlaw: On Men, Women, and the Rest of Us, Roadkill: An Infobahn Erotic Adventure (Novel, co-authored with Caitlin Sullivan), My Gender Workbook: How to Become a Real Man, a Real Woman, the Real You, or Something Else Entirely and Hello Cruel World: 101 Alternatives to Suicide for Teens, Freaks and Other Outlaws.

Bear Bergman’s story comes from the opposite side of the gender fence. Ze was born in 1974, and is an activist, writer, theater performance artist and poet. Bear’s work and life questions all facets of gender and gender expression. Hir’s books include Butch is a Noun, The Nearest Exit May be Behind You, and now, with Bornstein, Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation.

Gender Outlaws: the Next Generation is an anthology containing an Introduction, an Intermission and an Epilogue by Kate and Bear; and many essays, poems, and comics all profoundly exploring, deconstructing, rebuilding and revaluing the concept of “gender”. Also included is one recipe for vegan curry.

I love the multitude of voices in this book, the varieties of viewpoints and artistic expressions! The book is divided into five parts; Do I Look Like an Outlaw to You?, Being Reconfigured is Not the Same as Being Reimagined…Which is Why I am as Cute as I Happen to Be, It Might Not Be a Picnic, But There’s a Great Buffet, and the final, powerful, And Still We Rise.

Part one; Do I Look Like an Outlaw to You? opens with the essay “We’re All Somebody’s Freak” by Gwendolyn Ann Smith, founder of the Transgender Day of Remembrance. Going straight for the heart of the matter, and setting the pace for the rest of the anthology, Smith questions the prejudices and barriers that exist within the transgender community towards each other.

In Part Two entitled “Being Reconfigured is Not the Same as Being Reimagined”, “Taking Up Space” by Kyle Lukoff, addresses the powerful issues of eating disorders and transgenderism. “The Wrong Body” by Scott Turner Schofield deals with the question of the bodies we are born into.

Part Three, “…which is Why I am as Cute as I Happen to Be” has one of the most humorous pieces in the book, “The Secret Life of My Wiener” by Corry Schmanke Parrish, as well as the return of a black belt martial artist to the mats and gyms once denied her in “Living Well and Coming Free”, by Ryka Aoki.

In Part Four, “It Might Not Be a Picnic, But There’s a Great Buffet”, “The Manly Art of Pregnancy” by j wallace explores being a man and pregnant, a scenario that is having more and more impact in today’s society. “Transgressing Gender at Passover with Jesus!” by Peterson Toscano restories one of the Bible’s great stories in transgender terms, and “Today’s New Name May Be Tomorrow’s Old” by Sassafras Lowry confronts the taboo subject of transitioning and then de-transitioning in the trans subculture.

Finally, Part Five, And Still We Rise takes on the tragedy of abuse and murder that haunts transgenders today, giving powerful voice to the violence we face. “Princess” a comic by Christine Smith addresses humorously but with great force, bullying issues faced in the schools. “Marsha P Johnson::ten suns the transformer” is an elegy for Marsha P Johnson, a famous Drag Queen whose death was possibly murder, but ruled a suicide. “Shot, Stabbed, Choked, Strangled, Broken: a ritual for November 20^th” by Roz Kaveney is a haunting poem for the victims remembered on the Transgender Day of Remembrance. These are only parts of this stunning anthology – 47 authors, poets and artists all told speak out on the fluidity, the power and the changes in gender in the world today.

The book is bracketed by conversations between Bear Bergman and Kate Bornstein, a rollicking walk down memory lane of their association and the changes in the transgender community, (I am still boggled by mental images of Sarah Palin and Kate Bornstein on a desert island!) and a look to the future of Gender to come. It is not just a book about transgender, but about gender itself, how it is shaped in society and how it shapes individuals and how those individuals continue to stand societal conventions on end.

There are some shocking and unsettling moments in the book – “In Our Skin” by A. P. Andre and Luis Guterierrez Mock is the transcript of an erotic performance piece (complete with photographs) of love making on stage that bends gender in dramatic ways. This piece will be startling and perhaps difficult for individuals who pick this book up to read with no previous contact with transgender and gender bending cultures. “Jihad” by Azadeh Arsanjani and “Pilgrimage” by Zev Al-Walid are powerful, much needed essays of transgenderism within the Muslim faith that may also be unexpected and disconcerting in today’s political climate. All told, this book in its entirety is a powerful cohesive exploration of gender that speaks forth- rightly and with depth, poignancy and humor to a world that faces bewildering changes in the map of gender roles and expressions in the world today.

It would be my hope that “Gender Outlaws: the Next Generation” may reach a wide audience; not just those within the transgender community, but instead, travel even further to the world at large, becoming this generation’s contributions to the changes in gender in our world. I cannot recommend it highly enough! Finally, the books dedication to Bear Bergman’s son, Stanley Safran Bergman says it all – “…to the next generation”.

Transgender Heroes...part 2

In my previous post, I spoke of my friend, Gabriel and his daughter Claudia...it got me to thinking.

I have a number of transgender friends, and allies, and they deserve mention - celebration! - as well.

After some investigation and discussion with several of them, I have decided to respect anonymity, and not mention names or anybody else in a revealing way, nor use pictures. Gabriel was unique and in unique circumstances in giving his permission to use his name and image - others are not nearly so fortunate, as they have relatives, living circumstances and situations in their lives where breaking their anonymity could cost them relationships, jobs, who knows - perhaps their lives.

So with caution for them and deep respect on my part, here are my thoughts on my heroes.

I have friends who have gone before me on this journey...

who have begun their transition and paid for it not just with their life savings monetarily but with the the loss of family and loss of jobs.

They have faced police harassment of the ugliest kind in situations where they were totally innocent and merely doing their jobs.

They have sat by the bedsides of relatives and cared for them and been by their side when they passed away, but received no resolution, no re-connectedness with them.

They suffer trying to maintain an outer facade while around relatives who love them dearly, struggling to stay closeted because they know that their relatives' love is not unconditional, that it would turn to misunderstanding, division, rejection if the "truth" came out.

They have written intimately and openly on our email list of the challenges and changes they face, of the pains and agony and triumphs and joys of their lives as transgenders, giving the details of their lives to aid others in understanding and hope. And others on the list - all part of the GBLT community and allies who all support each other and make this list home!

...and our email moderator, who created and maintains that email list, our gathering place around a fireside of hope and love and support, and who daily, gently creates space where all who come will be respected and heard.

...my priests at my church and many of my fellow church members who have accepted me as I am - gay identified, and transgendered - without question and with total unconditional love and support!

One friend in particular..."Lucas" who has become one of my dearest friends, wrestles with being bi gendered...s/he experiences life in a duality...sometimes feeling masculine, as a man, sometimes feeling feminine and a woman. That is no easy road...the courage s/he shows on a day to day basis leaves me constantly in awe. Lucas undertakes a great deal of activism as a part of a GLBT organization committed to change and hope, and participates in the "National Day of Silence". I see the strain Lucas faces when dealing and remaining closeted with insensitive relatives who will NOT accept him/her as s/he is, but I also see a greater strain and inner balancing act and sometimes exhaustion as s/he wrestles daily with being on the inside of this situation, constantly colliding with a culture that demands that s/he be one or the other and damns him/her for being different. Lucas, your unfailing sense of humor, courage, and strength have been an inspiration for me, and given me strength when struggling to find my own peculiar place and balance in this world. I couldn't do it with out you there ahead of me holding the light!

And what about allies....Gabriel's parents who champion their son...

Lucas' parents who did an amazing turn around to become passionate GLBT supporters, loving their child as she/he is...

My friend MisBehavin' who is one of the most outspoken "straight" allies I have ever known, going head to toe with prejudice and injustice no matter the situation or the cost...

My beloved Star Child who has been my friend forever and accepted me as I am no matter where I am in my journey, always.

My honest Skeptic, who listens so carefully, and defends me and loves me as I am...

Lee who is utterly and totally with out a bone of prejudice in her body, who cannot even comprehend why someone would hate or reject another for being who and what they are....

....my two priestesses who gallantly love me, period, despite anything I throw at them!

You ALL - each and every one of you - astound me daily with your love, and your courage and your example.

...and perhaps my best ally of all...my wife and dearest friend, Dreamweaver. You didn't sign up for this journey. You thought you were getting a nice lesbian relationship, all the crazy questions of identity settled in your life, safe harbor at last. And instead you got me....transgender, FTM and all the complexity and questioning and the 24/7 presence of "the elephant on the coffee table" ...and you face daily that if my scenario and needs ever change and I transition, it puts you back into a relationship with a man, back into a "straight" identity as the world perceives it. You face the fact that the changes that could bring might be more than just skin deep, and the question of will I still be the same person that you married. It has rocked your world from end to end....

and you have risen gloriously to the challenge, meeting it head on. You have committed your self to walking with me by my side whatever the future may hold. You have expanded your world and your views on gender both personally and professionally, to the utter limit, and have taken the knowledge and wisdom you have found and used it to help others in the therapy room. You daily amaze me with your courage, your love and your honesty. I do not know where my life would be without you, this day, I only know it would be a far poorer one,without the riches you have brought my heart and soul in our life together!

All of you out there....you are my heroes. The daily courage it takes for you all to do what you do are my banner, my trumpet call, my example that I need to always continue to strive to be true my myself and to my friends.

And I love you all!