Redemption Through Marriage?

Today I saw my cousin again.  He returned from Florida on Friday, where he visited my parents and one of his cousins.  And, my mother gave him a set of pots and pans, as well as a shawl and a bracelet, to bring to me. 


After we had lunch at the Bel Aire Diner (highly recommended!), he asked whether I'd want to take a ride to my  great-aunt's house.  There are two things he really likes to do:  talk and drive.  So, of course, he was completely in his element, and I saw something--not so much a "side" or "dimension" of him as much as his sometimes-contradictory values.


He asked me whether I could marry.  I said that now I could marry a man.  OK, it's not the first time anyone has asked me that.  Then he asked another question I've heard before:  "Do you think you will?"

After I said I probably won't be married, he expressed concern.  "I haven't ruled it out," I explained.  "But I really would have to meet the right person."


"But don't you worry that you'll grow old alone."


"People get married and have kids and still end up alone.  I've seen it."


"Yeah, but if you were to have a few kids, chances are that one of them, at least, will take care of you."


"Well, that's not the best bet to make.  It doesn't seem like a good reason to get married or have kids."


"It's not.  But you should think about marriage."


Now, I should mention that this cousin has religious beliefs that I don't share.  He doesn't quote the Bible directly; he does it second hand, as in, "a man isn't supposed to lie with a man."  Normally, I try to keep myself out of Bible (or religious) discussions:  Unless you totally agree with the other person /people, those discussions  don't turn out amicably.  But I did challenge him on one point:  He said the Bible also said a man shouldn't "change into" a woman.


I'll admit, I'm not a regular Bible reader.  But I don't recall any verse that said that.  


Anyway, I found it very interesting that even though he doesn't approve (because of his religion) of my "sex change," he's giving me the most traditional, even conservative, arguments for getting married to a man. He said that if I were to meet the right man, he would "take care of" me.  It's almost as if he were trying to "redeem" me through the sorts of marriage sanctioned by his church.

Cameos

In the past two days, I've experienced two very interesting "cameos," if you will, with two very different people.  Although they have practically nothing in common, the time I spent with was satisfying for much the same reasons.


The other day, I sold a rug I've had rolled up and propped in the corner of my foyer.  I sold it for the same reason I sold another rug I had:  I've kept them stored away because my allergist recommended that I not have any carpets or drapes, as I am allergic to dust mites.  


Well, I tell myself, at least I'm not allergic to my cats or chocolate!


The young woman who bought the rug has been living in Flushing for a few months.  She's from the Mississippi Gulf Coast, but she has lived in Istanbul, California and a couple of other places.   At age seventeen, she left home and now she's twenty-five.  Now she speaks five languages and has done every kind of work from landscaping to tutoring.  And she spent time with Americorps, which is like a domestic version of the Peace Corps.


I tried, for a moment, to imagine her in college--not just the one in which I teach, or any in which I've taught, but any college at all.  I couldn't.  Well, maybe I could have imagined her in college during the late '60's or early '70's, but not just any college.  Even so, the thought of her on a campus taxed my imagination.


Maybe she'll go one day.  If she does, I'm sure she'll know why and what she's doing there.  I never brought up the idea:  It just didn't enter into the conversation, except for once--when she brought it up.  However, a part of me hopes that she doesn't go.


These days, when I talk to almost anyone I encounter from the academic world, I find myself disappointed, if not frustrated or sad.   Maybe I'm getting old and cranky and less tolerant of claptrap.  I'm realizing, I think, how few truly educated people I met among those who have been anointed by some institution or another, or by their peers or themselves, as intellectuals and authorities on something or another.  


You will never see so many insecure and pretentious people as you will among university faculty, or those students who aspire to be one of them.  English departments are the worst of all; next might be sociology or education departments.  In those departments, you find exactly the sorts of people who've spent their entire lives in school so they wouldn't have to actually learn anything--not about the world, or other people--or, most of all, about themselves.


The young woman--Larissa--said, "I simply couldn't imagine going to college at that age.  It never made any sense to me:  A kid who's  been in school all his life is told, 'OK, pick what you want to do for the rest of your life and study it.' What eighteen-year-old knows enough to make that choice?  And who wants his parents or anyone else to decide for him?"


Thank you, Larissa.  I want to say something like that to the parents (or whoever's in charge of) at least half of the freshmen I've ever taught, and a good number of upperclassmen.  I'm against the draft and the military, but sometimes I think they might actually do some new high school graduates more good than going to school, at least for the time being.  Or they might be better off by simply to going and working somewhere, whether in a store or as an apprentice to a carpenter or beautician or whatever.   Maybe the young person will find him or herself in the work.  Then again, he or she might become bored or frustrated. But I think that young person will learn lessons about work and him or her self.  College would then become a much more relevant and interesting experience for those who choose it.


And, really, that's the only way I can see escaping from the worst thing schooling does to young people:  It keeps them in a state of suspended adolescence in which they learn little more than how to obtain more schooling.  If that isn't the antithesis of learning from experience and learning how to think, I don't know what is.  That is because to remain in school, at any level, you have to do what you're told when you're told in the way you're told.  And you get approval--which, as often as not, translates into higher grades--by showing some kind of enthusiasm as you choke off your thought centers.


On the other hand, I don't think there is any way to learn anything save through experience.  You learn by doing; there is no other way.  Larissa has done quite a bit, which is why she understands so much--and, most of all, has confidence in herself.  That's the first thing some teachers and professors would try to destroy.  Have you ever noticed that so many educators talk so condescendingly, not only to their students, but to almost anyone who isn't an educator of some sort.  Education administrators are the worst offenders.  If you're a parent and tried to explain to an assistant principal that you simply can't take time off from work to meet with him or her, you know what I mean.


Larissa has escaped everything I've described.   My cousin has escaped from other things, I think.  He apologizes to me for his "lack" of "education" even though I insist that he has no reason to defer to me.  

We went out to dinner last night.   Back in August, I saw him for the first time since I was ten years old.  He'd heard about my transition and surgery, and the people who weren't talking to me because of them, and offered to be a friend.  He hasn't tried to "study" me or, thankfully, tried to fit me into some gender-studies category.   


I am happy that we've reunited after the decades we've been apart.  And he's been very kind to me.  But last night, I started to believe that he wanted my friendship as much as he wanted to give me his.  I don't mind that at all.  As we talked, he described some rejections he has experienced from people who were related, or simply close, to him.  While he lost those relationships for entirely different reasons than I've lost mine, I do understand, at least somewhat, how he feels about them.  So, while he may not need me (which is also fine), I realized that, perhaps, he felt that I have something to offer him besides our familial (if peripherally so) relationship.


And, as with Larissa, it's nice to have a conversation with him because I can sense real efforts at, rather than mere gestures of, thought and feeling.  It's really nice not to listen to received opinions conveyed through rehearsed lines--or simply to feel smugness practically  oozing out of someone who's never met the kinds of people he or she is talking about.  


Oh well.  Two nice encounters in two days.  I am fortunate indeed.

Going (Bike) Shopping With My Cousin

Today I spent much of the day helping my long-lost cousin buy a bike.

OK, I know that was hyperbolic-- but only slightly. I did indeed go bike-shopping with him. And, until a few months ago, he was long-lost, sort of. Well, actually, I knew he was alive and more or less where he was. Still, I managed not to see him for forty years--until late August, just before the semester started.

It wasn't by design that I didn't see him for all of those years--unless, of course, you believe that some power higher than yourself willed it so. I am not saying that there was no Grand Design behind our separation; I simply don't know that there was such a plan.

In any event, finding a bike that he liked turned out to be surprisingly easy. I know more than most other people know about bikes; still, it's been a while since I've guided anyone, through his initiation or re-initiation into the world of bicycling. And I didn't want to do what I would have done back in the day, when I was working in bike shops.

Back in my boy-racer days, I would have found it vaguely distasteful to help someone who knew almost nothing about bikes. Worse still would have been helping such a potential customer purchase a basic, entry-level machine: something I never, ever would ride myself. I also would have tried to get such a customer to spend more money than he or she had earmarked for his or her new steed.

But, of course, Gene is my cousin--or, more precisely my mother's cousin. Some of my relations aren't happy with some things I've done, but I have never tried to hurt or cheat them. Plus, I want him to be happy with his bike, which has meant listening to what he wanted rather than what I think he should have.

And what did I hear from him? Comfort, comfort and comfort, in that order. After that, he talked about taking short rides on weekends and building up to longer daily rides as the days grow longer and warmer. Finally, he wanted a bike that would ride well in a number of different conditions.

And what did he end up with? A Bianchi Cortina, with a bunch of accessories. His choice of bike (He test-rode it and two others.) didn't surprise me; in fact, it was the first bike in the shop that I noticed when he talked about his wishes and preferences. What surprised me, however, was how much he spent on accessories for the bike. I thought they were all good choices for him, given how he intends to ride. I guess I was surprised because I didn't prod him into buying anything: he knew he wanted a rack for the rear, a trunk bag for the top and fenders, and he realized that it couldn't hurt to have lights in case he starts a ride late in the afternoon and continues into the evening.

I probably wouldn't have bought the bike he bought, but only because it's not a bike that suits my style of riding and, well, because I really don't need and can't afford another bike right now. However, the Cortina is, I believe, a very good example of the sort of bike it is: a basic hybrid, which is really what will suit Gene.

He bought the bike at Spokesman Cycles, which is sort-of-near where I used to live. I had planned to take him on the grand tour of bike shops, but I think he didn't want to drive into Manhattan, where we would have gone to Bicycle Habitat. Plus, I figured that Spokesman had, for the small shop that it is, a decent selection of the kinds of bikes that might interest Louis, and its location is convenient for him. And the owner is a friendly acquaintance.

Afterward, we went to Los Portales, a Mexican restaurant in Astoria, where we had a soups that cost almost as much as our entrees. We were happy with both. After that, we had some pastry and coffee in a cafe across the street, where we stayed until closing. We talked about a lot of things, as you might imagine. After all, this is the third time we've seen each other after that forty-year absence.

Now, I know that this experience of helping Louis choose a bike was entirely different than any other experience I've had in guiding anyone else through the process. For one thing, I was doing so as a "civilian," albeit one armed with the knowledge of a former bike-shop employee and relationships with the proprietor of the shop. Also, I was helping a relation of mine who, I believe, may be turning into a friend. (He's been honest with, and sweet to, me.)

But I think the most important difference is that I listened to him more than I had in previous encounters with people buying bikes. Some of that may have had to do with the fact that he's a relation. However, I think it also had to do with the fact that I've developed a more encompassing, democratic view of cycling and cyclists. Once, years ago, I told someone she should "lose weight and get in shape" before she started to ride a bike; now I am happy to see people mount their saddles, even if those seats are not the ones I would ride and the people mounting them aren't shaped the way I and my old riding buddies were when we were in our best shape.

I can't help to wonder, though, whether my attitude also had something to do with my change in gender manifestation. I've heard and read various notions that women are better listeners and more practical thinkers than men are. Perhaps some of us become so, though, I believe, by necessity rather than because of our innate differences from men.

Maybe it just has to do with the fact that even though I'm not the athlete I once was, I'm much happier with myself. People, including students, have told me that they respond to that in me: I'm starting to notice that they do, and perhaps Louis is, too. That makes for more pleasant and productive interactions. Most important, I think that happy people feel, ironically enough, less need to change other people. At least, I know that I don't have to turn Louis into a wannabe racer to enjoy his company.