KarMel Scholarship 2004
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“Acquiescence” By
Description of
Submission: “Trans-gender antics for all.” – Samantha |
“Well
it was about time” I thought quietly to myself.
My hands and bones hurt from the growth, but it was a satisfying
pain. The hormones were finally working. I looked in the mirror and could see my
shoulders were broader, and I was achieving a very nice, rather handsome I must
say,
It was about 3 years now that I had been living with this dream, and it went over well because I was one of the lucky ones. Most of my life I’d had always had a rather boyish face and build. Of course, I was no help either, cutting my hair short and spending more time working out than I spent looking at boys. But it paid off now, made the image transition easier on others. The “others” were mainly my family and my friends who weren’t gay and knew me before “the decision”.
Of course, that’s how they refer to it. “The Decision”. Ohh, like I just up and somewhere along the line got so tired of wearing dresses and heels that I decided to turn gay, and then later, male. It seems that rich families are always the ones who view it in such a rationale kind of way. Little did they know; and I mean that in more than one way. Let me start with the little did they know that I had always been different. This wasn’t something that took place one day because Aunt Jessica hugged me too much as a child, or from something I saw on Television. I was always like this, I thought it was the way things were, girls went with girls, guys with guys, like a card matching game I used to play. It wasn’t until later that I realized that everyone I saw or met, when it came to love, was always talking about the opposite sex. That’s when I figured out something was up, like when a child can just feel a divorce is coming, I knew I wasn’t like the other kids on the playground. I didn’t have a name for it until my dad came home more than a little upset, said that one of his co-workers was “queer”. Of course, curious kid, I asked what that meant. He said it meant his friend was gay, and with a little awkwardness on his behalf, relayed the idea that he was (well)… a guy who (pause) liked other guys… (cough cough) like that. Like what? Like how mommy and daddy like each other he replied shortly, after a few more minutes of internal struggle.
Bingo. It was Sixth Grade, and I’ll never forget the fact I knew what it was, what I was. I had an answer, and that brought relief that I wasn’t the only one. Another thing it brought is fear. I can’t forget the fact that my Dad referred to him as a”queer”.
queer \’kwir\ adj
[origin uknown](1508) 1 a: WORTHLESS,
COUNTERFEIT < money > b : QUESTIONABLE, SUSPICIOUS
2 a :
differing
in some odd way from what is usual or
normal… b : one that is queer, ; esp : HOMOSEXUAL
-- usu. used disparagingly.
He used that word as a derogatory. He was angry at the idea of working with one. As a child I didn’t realize I would have to tell him eventually so I could lead an honest life with myself, so I swore, as a child would, NEVER to tell him. From that point on I was no longer daddy’s little girl. I pretended to still love him with complete adoration and trust until teenage rebellion took over, but that moment drew a line between us that is visible today, a scar, that I have been trying to erase ever since.
Another little did they know is that despite the fact I didn’t come out in high school (I didn’t dare, knowing how my father thought), I had a couple girlfriends. Very quiet, discreet things that no one, NO ONE knew about. For everyone to find out then that I liked the cheerleaders in more than just a “I wish I was them” kind of way was guaranteed death not at my school, but from my school. They had zero tolerance for such behavior at my school, being a private one, for girls, and they would certainly send a report to my parents about my “inappropriate “ behavior. Although I did have my share of darkened movie theatres and hanging around parks at night. But you gotta be careful about the latter, for it is sure to draw the attention of individuals of the law enforcement persuasion, and they’ll hand you over with full description in a hot minute.
Ahhh, high school. Something fun about those daring late night rendezvous with those girls who were so young and innocent, and something sad. It made it easier on them to be what they were with me because of my rather masculine appearance, made it easier to accept that what they were doing wasn’t that wrong, wasn’t disgusting. If they could see me now, not only do I think that they would think I was handsome (cocky, yes), but I think that it would give them hope. Hope to know that they are not alone on the bumpy (fuck bumpy, jagged, shadow-ridden) road that is being who you are, and that the fear doesn’t have to get you.
Another little did they
know is that college was my time.
For my move to
I was tentative at first, but I figured out quickly that there were those there to help me, and I am ever thankful for them. I had known that there were whole college CLUBS and ORGANIZATIONS to help people like me, seen the signs on campus, but I thought, for some reason, that they would have that “been there, done that” kind of mentality. That they had seen a million rich kids like me whose mummy and daddy just wouldn’t approve, who would pull the financial rug out from under them if they knew I was gay. Poor little rich kid.
I walked into the Gay/Straight Alliance meeting , and was greeted by an array of faces, black, white, yellow, gay, straight, beautiful…ummm, not so beautiful. They were all different but they all read one thing to me. Welcome. That’s when I felt, really felt for the first time that I belonged somewhere, was valued…and was wanted. I didn’t cry right there, but after the meeting I rushed home and cried alone in pure relief, letting out all the hate at my family for knowing they wouldn’t understand, all the anger at my peers, all the blame I had placed on myself knowing I couldn’t change who I was and that to try was impossible, blame for not even trying to live that lie. All that was left at the end of that night was…me.
After that I burst onto the scene with a feeling of having been through the purgatorial waters of hell only to have been washed clean. I was going to live it, I was determined to, and I was prepared to hurt to do it. I was tempered steel. I went into all the rainbow shops on Broadway without fear of being seen, without fear that mummy and daddy would find out. I found a girlfriend, my first real girlfriend in the real world, where everyone knew, I kissed her on the street, and I was happy.
I spent the next four years learning about myself, my values, my faith. I became strong in my own will and ability to overcome any obstacle. I learned to ignore the voices of doubt around me, and within myself. But there was one trial I spent those four years preparing for more than anything. The moment I would have to face them, tell them the truth about the real me as I started my life outside college.
Graduation.
Little did they know their baby was coming home with not just news that she had graduated with a 4.0 and that she had been hired by a prestigious law firm with a smart starting salary, but that she was also a lesbian, although there was something these four years had taught me that was a little did I know to myself.
I wasn’t gay.
Had never been gay.
Sure I liked women, but that was true of all men, wasn’t it?
Well, most. But regardless, this was too big a bomb to drop so instead of fat man it was little boy who blew up the dinner table as I sat in front of family next to my sister in her dress, and me in my handsome new suit. Mom got up and made busy and light as she picked up the dirty plates. Honey, how can you be gay? You were never gay before, this is nonsense. This is just college talking, all those new experiences you’ve had, I had my share of fooling around drunk with my friends too, and it doesn’t make me gay.
What if it did, mom?
She was silent, standing with a hand full of plates next to my father with a look on her face that I couldn’t read. I felt like she was looking at a young man whom she didn’t approve of and who I was determined to marry instead of me. An unworthy suitor, someone who was taking their daughter away from them.
I was right here, RIGHT HERE MOM!
Dad was silent, he simply got up, and left. I followed him to the living room and asked him not to judge, and that I wasn’t asking for his approval, wasn't asking that he understand. Just that he accept. He stood numb, unmoving. I told him I couldn’t change who I was, that I had always been this way. He stood silent...
Then he simply asked, “Why do you have do be gay?”
Because I am.
He asked what they did wrong, was it the fact I was in an all girls school?
I told him it had nothing to do with it. That was a great school, that they were great parents. At that he turned his back and went upstairs. Mom tells me she heard him crying that night in the shower when she was in bed reading. It was hard to tell myself that I wasn’t the cause of all the pain he was going through, that it was the part of him that didn’t see that facts I wanted to scream into the silences he left that night. Facts that I knew to be true, his homophobia, his inability to see past my private choices, to see his daughter, the tomboy he always loved. The fact I was dying inside at the idea of hurting him so badly, that since sixth grade I knew, and dreaded, that it would come to this. But I knew the instant he turned his back that that was for him to resolve, and I would give whatever help he needed from me to understand. I knew I had to live my life as I saw fit, regardless of him. The time of parental standards was over. I had someone more important to answer to.
Even now, standing in front of the mirror, he could never understand how this feels. To have been chained as if enslaved to a gender you were never meant for. The garb of my imprisonment a dress and a pair of heels. And to finally be free, absolutely free. Even my last girlfriend couldn’t understand. She was the first one I told, besides myself, that I was a man, and that I was saving up my money for the hormone treatments and the operation to have my breasts removed. I decided against having my uterus removed because when it comes to such operations, despite the fact they have the technology to make it look real, as a matter of ethics, it seems, you rarely get a good job. I don’t need a penis to prove I’m a man, anyway, which is more than most men can say.
When I finally got my breasts removed, she left. It seems that she loved me for the woman in me, and watching me change into the man she loved just wasn’t going to cut it. It resonated through me like a rock makes ripples in water. The longer I lived with that knowledge, that someone who had been through the same trials, someone who knew what it was like to be rejected on the basis of something as trivial as sexual preference would cut out like that, the deeper it seemed to go. Disbelief from someone you love like that, as an understanding partner, is crippling. It was the hardest time of my life to know that who I was wasn’t good enough for my love.
I told my parents in the wake of our break-up what I was doing. My father simply hung up the phone. I knew then that he had made his choice, and only time would make things change. Or death. Little did they know that right then, I needed them, but they turned their back, and I learned the hard truth that you can choose, if unhealthy, who is your family and who isn’t. It’s not that you don’t forgive them, it’s just if you let them, they’ll keep doing those hurtful things to you until all that’s left of you is your breath. So I chose, breathless, and let them go.
The reason it has taken me three years is the other consequence of my “decision”. A year ago, after having saved up the money and had the breast removal, I was fired for reasons that were bullshit, to say the least. I was out for a little while after the surgery recuperating, and when I came back I told a “trusted” co-worker why I was gone. Word gets around an office fast, and before I knew it I was standing in front of the heads of the company, the same ones who patted me on the back and praised me as one of their best workers. They looked at me, without breasts, in a man’s suit, with the name Rachael, with an intention in my heart to pursue a goal which they were uncomfortable with, and said I wasn’t performing my job up to the standards of the company.
It’s not as if they were
unaware of the fact I was gay. I always
wore suits, went by the nickname Ray, and when the Christmas parties rolled
around I would always take my girlfriend with me. I know they didn’t necessarily agree with the
lifestyle, but it seemed I had found a job that respected my life choices. Even if they weren’t picture perfect. I guess I just crossed that thin line between
disapproval and disgust with them. I
don’t blame them for their discomfort, it took me forever to come to terms with
the concept myself, but understanding is not excusal from acting upon one’s
ignorant misconceptions and prejudices, and they did all they could to pull the
ladder out from under me.
Needless to say the lawsuit has been expensive, and doing activist work, even if I am a top notch lawyer, doesn’t pay much. So my savings was frittered away on food and other such frivolties. It took awhile to save up enough for the shots, but I did it, and my hard work is finally starting to show promise.
It might appear to the outsider that I had a year of losses, but little do they know it was a year of great gains. I lost the job I loved and the woman I loved, my mother and father (sis gives me the inside information) and my breasts (which I don’t miss at all) all in one year. Hurtful as these events were, it’s only a trading tally for the things I gained. I refused to let myself be trod on by those who think my decisions are wrong and try to punish me along the basis of their morals instead of leaving me be out of respect for my choices. I learned what loss is, never having truly experienced it before, and knew, prepared for it or not, I had the resilience to stand up and take another hit on the chin for merely existing. And hope, I gained hope knowing that by bringing to justice those who would suppress others out of ignorance or fear that I can protect those who would be suppressed. That people out there like me know there are others willing to fight for them and back them up. That someone knows what it’s like to have love ripped from you, and who also knows that sacrifice for the sake of living honestly, though painful, is the truest test of one’s honor, and a smelter for the soul.
Looking in the mirror now I see that which is testament to my triumphs and tragedies, not just a body remolded from the form god mistakenly gave it. The surgery and the hormones were like revelation, unveiling the man within as if Michelangelo himself had sung me from stone. After long years of being sick, I am healed, after being bound, I am released. I look at my wife, the woman I love who respects the integrity and will that this body represents, who looks at me and sees past the body all together, to the incredible spirit and love I have for life and myself. And looking in the mirror, I know I am truth, and I now realize why I was never attracted to men. It wasn’t because I was gay, or straight, however you want to look at it. It was because little did everyone know, even myself, that I was all the man I ever needed.
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