The Way To A Woman's Heart

As a trans woman, I know all of the secrets of human life.  Well, I'm supposed to.  Or, at any rate, some people think I do and I don't do anything to disabuse them of that notion.  That's why my female friends and students (and even some female strangers!) talk to me about their guy problems, and males in my life talk to me about their girl problems.  Then again, if I really knew all the secrets, girls would talk to me about their girl problems and guys about their guy problems, right?


Well, whatever else may be true, I can say that I know a thing or to about how one gender can, should or does relate to the other.  So, if any of you guys read this, I'm going to tell you the secret way to a woman's heart.


It isn't what you think it is.  Sure, we love flowers and chocolates.  And we like candlelit dinners and such.   And we--most of us, anyway (I include myself.) like lingerie--but not when you guys give it to us.  You see, when one of  you guys gives one of  us lingerie, it's no more a gift for any of us than a kitchen appliance is  for your mother.  Then again, if a guy gave me lingerie, it might not be a gift for me but, given my physical condition, but it wouldn't be completely for his own pleasure, either.


All right...So what's the secret way to a woman's heart?  It's this: Say something nice to us.  Say it without any strings attached. In other words, don't tell us how nice we look because you need a favor of whatever kind.  And don't tell us that you love us when you're envisioning us in the missionary position.


Just say something nice to us, for its own sake.  Better yet, say it to some woman who's a stranger you'll probably never see again.  If she seems to be a bit older than you, wish her a Happy Mother's Day.


Two men who live in my neighborhood did that for me today.  Not surprisingly, at least to me, they're both Latino.  It seems that any time a man offers me his seat on the bus or subway, he's Latino.  So was the first man to wish me a happy Mother's Day.  That was five years ago:  the second Mother's Day in my life as Justine.  Then, it was exciting because it was (or seemed to be) an affirmation I so desperately wanted.  Now, when a man makes such a wish for me, I appreciate, if nothing else, his good manners and imagine that, perhaps, he has (or had) a warm and respectful relationship with his own mother.  At least, I would hope that, for anybody.

But I also feel like I've been given something I didn't earn.  After all, barring some major advance in medical technology, I will never be a mother.  People have told me I could adopt; a few have even suggested that I should because they think I could be a good mother.  I like kids, but I think those people are giving me more credit than I deserve.  Plus, if I were to adopt a very young child, I will be very old by the time that kid is ready to go to college or do whatever he or she wants to do after I raise him or her. 


Then again, other people have told me--and I still believe, at least somewhat--that it's probably better that I've never had kids.  I might not have been able to do some of the things I've done, including my transition and surgery, had I raised kids.  That may well be true, but I've met other trans people--including Joy, who had her surgery just after I had mine--who had kids and said they're glad they did.  From what she and her spouse say, the kids--who, if I remember correctly, are around 12 and 14--have taken well to her transition. And her spouse--Well, what can you say about spouse who, after her husband became her wife, gleefully intoned, "Well, I'm a card-carrying lesbian now!"


Now there's someone who deserves to have a Happy Mother's Day.  So does Marilynne.  And Millie.  And, of course,  my mom.  And a rather frail but alert black woman whom I saw in the candystore/newsstand on the corner should have a wonderful holiday, too.  She was with a girl who appeared to be about twelve or thirteen and her granddaughter.  For no particular reason, I wished her a happy mother's day.   That made her--and, interestingly, the girl--happy.


As I was leaving, a young white man walked into that store.  He wished her a Happy Mother's Day. I can still see her smiling now.  


Guys, take note.  Girls, too.

On Gender and Etiquette

You'd think I'd have certain day-to-day situations figured out by now.

Today I was leaving the administrative wing (which we call "The West Wing") of the campus's main building and entering a hallway that leads to the classroom area. I had just opened the door when I saw the college President and the Dean of Arts and Sciences walking toward it.

I did something that I would have done even when I was at my surliest and most belligerent self, during my youth: I held the door open for her. Although a part of my mind said that I was doing it out of politeness and basic respect, if not obsequiousness, I also was looking at the President of the College as the President and, well, as a woman.

Now I'm wondering whether she sensed that. I held the door, but she waited for me to pass through--and the Dean waited because he was walking behind her. I continued to hold the door and she walked through as we exchanged greetings. The Dean followed her, but grabbed the door just as she was passing over the transom. And he waited for me to pass through.

Sometimes I don't think I'll ever be graceful in social situations. I know that a woman is not expected to hold a door open for another woman, but a man of the Dean's age and status--and from the culture in which he was born and raised--is not only expected to do so; he expects to hold the door.

Yet I reflexively hold doors open for people, regardless of gender, or at least try not to drop them in their faces. I was like that even when I was rebelling--or telling myself that I was rebelling--against what, I didn't know. And, yes, I extended such courtesies even when I was a nasty or depressed drunk. I guess it has to do something with upbringing: My mother always expected me and my brothers to behave well in public, and in the company of elders. The funny thing is that even when I was trying to get as far away from home--or at least being a kid--as I could, I was grateful for that, particularly when I was living in France. They, and Europeans generally, still value good manners and such.

But even if I have good manners, I have no social grace whatsoever. I know how to do what I've been trained from childhood to do, but I can't finesse a situation like the one I encountered today. Some people seem to handle situations like that one with elan and dignity that I've never seemed to have: Even if they do the "wrong" thing, it seems all right. But they usually end up doing the "right", or at least a graceful, thing.

The President was actually very gracious, as she has been to me in other encounters I've had with her. I could say the same for the Dean or that he was, at worst, punctilious. And, by the standards of this culture (and most others I'm familiar with), they have treated me like a lady. I've never discussed my history with either of them, but I'm sure they must know about it, even though they've never known me as anyone but Justine.

Still, even after a few years of living as a woman, I still haven't quite mastered female-to-female etiquette. (Then again, I haven't mastered etiquette, period.) I encounter situations like the one I had today with the President: I act out of what I see as basic courtesy and respect, but the woman to whom I extend it is not expecting it. Or, even stranger is when another woman treats me with something like male chivalry. I'm thinking now of times when women have given me their seats on buses and trains, or held doors open for me. Sometimes those women looked like they could've used the seat, or any kind of courtesy, even more than I could!

All I've been able to do in those situations is to smile and wish them a good day or good holiday. That seems to make people happy for the moment, even if I feel like I've stumbled.

Now I'm wondering if a stereotype might be true: that women are more socially graceful. That makes me wonder whether that grace is borne in the two X chromosomes, or whether cis women get it with their uteri when they're born.

All right...Now I'm getting myself into some real trouble, aren't I? All I can do, I guess, is to treat people as well as I know how to. Hopefully, those situations will work out until I figure out how to work them out.