For The One Born In Georgia

I can't believe more than a month of the semester has already passed. In three weeks, the Spring will "officially" begin; at the end of the week, the week-long "Spring Break" from college will start. I feel as if the students and other faculty members are already looking toward it. I know it's early this year: It's scheduled around Easter, and every three years or so, the holiday comes at the end of March or the beginning of April.

Today two of my colleagues said they felt like they working in a bunker. I did not prompt or otherwise lead them into saying that; they just did. And, I don't think they've been reading this blog.

I think that because we've had so much precipitation and so little sunshine, this winter has seemed endless.

Yesterday I called the Department of Vital Records to inquire about getting a new birth certificate. I got a runaround; I'm not sure it was because people didn't know what they were doing, didn't care or because I said that I wanted to the box next to "F" marked. The people I talked to were as polite as could be: After all, they were Southerners. Ok, now you now one of my dim, dark secrets: I was born in Georgia. However, I was there only for the first few months of my life: My father was stationed there with the military and, after he completed his tour of duty, he, Mom and I moved to Brooklyn, where they had lived before my father enlisted.

Since then, I've passed through Georgia en route to or from Florida. Sometimes I think more people pass through than stay there, especially in the part of the state where I was born. We stopped in Albany, the seat of Dougherty County, when I was in high school and we and my brothers were coming home from our first trip to Florida. Almost everything Dad photographed during his time there was gone: the base on which he was stationed, our house and most of the others. It looked like one of those towns young people got out of the first chance they got.

Anyway...I'm wondering now whether I'm the first trannie they've ever dealt with. If I am, it wouldn't surprise me; maybe it'll make me the talk of the town, at least for fifteen minutes. Not that I necessarily want that or, more precisely, care whether it happens: After all, I may never go back there. I've never had any particular desire to go there again; I was born there only because my parents happened to be there.

I'm just hoping that someone doesn't "make a mistake." More important, I hope Georgia isn't one of the states that doesn't change the gender on birth certificates. Even though it may not matter to anyone but me, I want to make that change because whatever data were entered on it were gathered from looking at and measuring my body. Whatever its shape and apparatus, I was just as much a female then as I ever have been. My mind and spirit could as well have been two X chrososomes; they've always been that way. And I have always been the person carrying them; the girl who's become a woman.

So...After I get my Georgia birth certificate with the box next to "F" marked, will I qualify as a Southern Belle? Well, maybe not the Belle part. Then again, is that what I really want? I mean, I've met some southerners whom I've just loved to pieces--Marilynne and her family come to mind--but somehow I don't see myself as one. I guess I never had a Scarlett O'Hara fantasy. Did I miss out on anything?

I just want to get a birth certificiate that records the one who actually came into this world, even if it doesn't matter to anyone else. The last person I talked to--a very sweet-voiced woman who, somehow, I pictured as a Black church lady--very patiently explained what I needed to do, although, as it turned out, her office was about to close for the day. I have to write a letter and send my old BC, copies of "official" ID, the court order for my name change and, of course, the letter from Marci that says I had the surgery. Those things, and a money order for $25 will get me a new birth certificate, she said.

I hope it's not any more complicated than that.

If And When Heroes Meet

I'm not the only one who thinks this semester and winter have been long. "We're only four weeks into the semester, but it feels like ages," another prof told me.

At least the sun shone today. Still, profs and students alike looked tired. I don't think I'm projecting, as I felt pretty energetic. I can't believe that Spring Recess will start in about three and a half weeks. Mom and Dad are still talking about coming up this way from Florida, if Mom's foot heals sufficiently. And Marilynne and her daughter have also talked about coming to town. It makes me wonder what it would be like if they all met. What would the parents of transgender kids talk about? Or would they?

Marilynne and her husband have called their daughter and me "heroes" for...well, being who we are and going through our transitions. I'll admit to feeling flattered--at the same time I feel a little bit humbled. In some ways, the transition and surgery were the easy parts of my life. Yes, they took a lot of work and commitment, and I had to give up some things and people, including a relationship with someone with whom I anticipated spending the rest of my life, as well as relationships I once had with certain members of my family. Still, they weren't nearly as difficult, at least emotionally and spiritually, as what I lived through before I left those things and started to build my current life. Or, at least, I could find some reward for myself and not merely approval, or the appearance thereof, from other people.

As far as I am concerned, the "heroes" are my mother, Marilynne and any other parent who supports her or his kid in any way when the kid does what he or she needs to do. So are other family members and friends who stand with someone who's living the life he or she needs to live. So Millie and Bruce would be included in my pantheon.

I wonder what it would like for all of these heroes to meet. Somehow I suspect that I would be more in awe than any of them would be. One thing I've learned is that people look up to you when you don't know they're doing it. And sometimes they look to you for strength and other resources you didn't know you had.

Six Months: The Paradoxes of Coming Home

Exactly six months ago today, I had my surgery.

I'm thinking now of that conversation I had with Marilynne's daughter just after Christmas. We agreed that on one hand, it seems that the time has passed very quickly, but on the other, it seems like a very long time has passed. Somehow that paradox seems to relate to another: That we lived the vast majority of our lives pre-op-- and even pre-transition-- and now so much of my previous life is fading, or has already faded, into the background.

And there is yet another paradox: Knowing that there are things I did because I lived as a guy named Nick, yet realizing that while I was doing them, I was Justine. As an example, I had relationships with women who were attracted to that guy. Yet I know now that even though I was repressing myself, I was--at least in some way--just as much a woman as I am now. And that is exactly the reason I felt the need to make my transition and have my surgery.

Some day relatively soon, Marilynne's daughter will have lived the majority of her life post-op. Given my age, that day is not likely to come for me. Still, there are times when it feels like this part of my life is the longer and greater part--that, in fact, I feel somehow as if I have always been post-op, or at least the woman who entered new stages in her life with her transition and operation.

Spending time with Dwayne after work accented the feelings I've described. For me, that makes sense, as he is the very first person to whom I "came out." He has never called me anything but Justine or used any pronouns but female ones in reference to me. In other words, he knows about my previous life but never saw it. So, even though that part of my life was much longer than my current life, he knows only a summary of it, if you will, and it is the point that came before the starting point of my current life. You can say that, I suspect, about anyone who meets and develops a relationship with you in the middle of your biological life.

When Dwayne and I embraced upon meeting, I felt in some way as if I'd "come home." I told him that, and he said he felt the same way. Oddly, that's what I felt the first time I met him, which is the reason I was able to "come out" to him.

Then, I knew I'd come home but had practically no idea of what that meant. Now, I am learning about my surroundings, if you will, but everything I learn--whether it's about my body, or about the ways I experience what's outside my body or within my mind and soul--feels inevitable and organic, if not predictable.

What I'm learning makes complete sense even if it's not what I expected. And that's the reason I'm learning it. That can make time go very quickly and make the past seem even further in the past.

As This Year Passes; What Has Passed Before This Year

Tonight, after going to Millie's for a cup of tea, I talked with Marilynne's daughter, who underwent her surgery during the time I was in Trinidad. I will never forget how helpful Marilynne was to me, even though she had to do so much for her daughter!

Anyway, Marilynne's daughter and I marveled that in about two weeks, six months will have passed since our surgeries. Because she is much younger than I am, it is a more significant portion of her life than it is of mine. Still, I am struck by what similar perceptions we have of the passage of that time.

"It's gone by so quickly," she said. "But in a way, it seems like such a long time."

"I feel the same way."

"Really? I wonder why that is."

"Well," I said, "I can tell you what I think, or at least what's true for me. Yes, the time has gone by quickly. But the time before that seems like a lifetime ago, so that's why it seems as if so much time has passed since our surgeries. At least, that's what I've experienced."

"Yes! That's how it's been. I feel the way you do: that last year was a lifetime ago. And I can't compare those times to now."

I was reminded of one of Staci Lana's posts in which she said that 2009 has been her favorite year so far. I could say the same thing, but that wouldn't be quite accurate. Yes, I finally got something I'd wanted for as long as I can remember, and, as a result, felt whole for the first time in my life. In that sense, yes, this year is definitely the best of my life, so far.

But in another sense, it's not quite accurate to say that: I simply can't compare this year to any other. I think I've achieved a few smaller personal milestones and derived satisfaction from any number of moments spent with friends and working with my passions. So, all of those things, combined with having my surgery, have made this a year that has brought me more happiness than any other I can remember. But, as a result, I cannot look at any other part of my life in quite the same way.

That's not to say that I didn't have good moments or even good years before this one. But to compare this year to any previous time would be like a poet judging the work he or she did in his youth in light of what he or she is writing now. Yes, the newer work may be superior. But it's as if a different poet, which is to say a different person, is writing the new works.

In one sense, Marilynne's daughter is lucky, for she--barring some unforeseeable tragedy-- has most of her life ahead of her. I, on the other hand, have lived the greater part of my life as the "before" photo--unless, of course, I'm going to live an exceptionally long life.

Whatever our lifespans, she and I are beginning with this year.

Our Mothers, Their Daughters

Today I talked with Marilynne. She may be the first friend I've made in my "new" life.

Her daughter underwent the surgery on the same day I had mine. But the daughter's was far more complicated than mine, as she was born with a condition that only a handful of people on the planet have. So, her recovery is also more complicated and lengthier than mine.

Of course I would love to see them again, and soon. However, they're going to Marilynne's parents' for Thanksgiving. It's probably just as well, for Mom and Dad have been talking about coming up this way from Florida. They'd hoped to move here--or, somewhere in this area--by the holidays, but it doesn't look like things are going to work that way. They've had no takers for their house, which isn't surprising. After all, Florida is one of the worst real estate markets in one of the worst economies this country has had in a long time.

Back to them. Sometimes I wonder what, if anything, they'd say to Marilynne and her husband, or vice versa, were they to meet. Mom always says I wasn't such a difficult kid to raise. I don't think she's merely being diplomatic, even though I don't think I could have been such an easy kid to care for.

I'm thinking now of a corollary to something Marilynne said: "As a mother, you always feel guilty." That was her response to my comment that she needed to be more generous with herself and to feel more confident that she's doing everything humanly possible to take care of her daughter and everyone else around her. At the end of the day, she simply has no time or energy to take care of herself. And if she had either, she'd find some other need someone else has and address that.

My mom is like that, too. It's not hard to imagine her saying what Marilynne said. And that's exactly the reason why it makes perfect sense, at least to me, that she would say I wasn't such a difficult kid to raise. Why would she, Marilynne or any other mother feel guilty? They would always know--or at least feel--that something else needed doing, but possibly couldn't be done. That means, of course, that no matter what they have to do, or are doing, they've done or are doing something else that's more difficult. And, chances are that something still more difficult will present itself. So, most things will only seem but so difficult in comparison.

Marilynne says that her daughter really isn't such a difficult kid. "She never wants anything," she says. But that's because "all she ever wanted was to be a girl." I always wanted the same thing, even more than anything else--even life itself. However, as I've mentioned before, I didn't express it because I'd never heard such a thing expressed when I was a kid. Plus, I don't think I was (or am) quite as intelligent as Marilynne's daughter.

But Mom would probably tell you I didn't want that much, either. That was true enough. And, she'll always point out that I never got into trouble (mainly because I never got caught! ;-) ) and that her friends always liked me. Yes, and I liked them, even more than my own peers.

And now I find myself making friends with women of, or over, a certain age--and I happen to be one of them myself!

One thing I know: Mom has been a saint and Dad has been much better than I ever anticipated. I'll bet that Marilynne's daughter will say, if she hasn't already said, the same thing about her mother and father. And her brother has been supportive. As far as I'm concerned, they're a family of heroes. At least, they're heroes of mine, anyway.

At least I expect to see Mom and Dad soon. Marilynne had talked about coming up this way with her daughter this fall, but I think that turned out to be a less realistic idea than any of us had anticipated. Her daughter, like me, is still healing and regaining her energy. Marilynne, I think, needs to do the same.

We're talking now about Spring Break, or possibly the days just after Christmas or New Year's.