What Gender Is

Artivism Project

A Black Woman--Like Me? Like You?

You may have noticed that, until today, I hadn’t commented on the woman of Czech, Irish, Swedish and Native American ancestry who claimed she’s African-American and became the president of an NAACP chapter.  Frankly, I haven’t been thinking much about it, partly because I think the whole idea of classifying people by race is silly.  We’re All African; Get Over It!

But this morning I heard someone echo the canard conservative talk-radio personalities have been parroting:  If she wanted to portray herself as Black, it must mean that there’s no such thing as “white privilege”.  (If anything, those talk-radio guys show us that there’s no such thing as “white superiority”.)  People like them believe that laws to protect people of color, women, LGBT people and others are “special privileges”; never mind that white men have enjoyed such privileges since the day this country was founded.

It reminded me some things a few people told me when I was starting my transition.  “Oh, you’ll have it made,” said one.  “Men are going to hold doors open for you.”  Oh, sure, I transitioned for that.  And it more than makes up for the times I’ve been slandered (in particular by Dominick, but also by others) , accused of things I didn’t do, rejected and passed over for jobs. 

And then there was Elizabeth—who, I have since realized, resents anyone who is happier than she is—who accused me of transitioning so that I could “go to the top of the Affirmative Action food chain” and get a job that should go to her or some other “real” (Yes, she used that term!) woman. 

Uh-huh.  I took hormones and abuse, and underwent surgery, just so I could teach gender studies or gender theory or some such thing.  I can just imagine what someone like Elizabeth—who, I also realize, wants to be a Second Wave Feminist with a man who will support her—would, if she were black, say about Ms.

What I’m saying is that I made my transition so I can live my life—which, I suspect, is the reason why Caitlyn Jenner made hers.  In fact, I’d say that’s the reason, or at least an important reason, why most trans people go through their process of becoming who and what they are.  Really, there aren’t many—perhaps any—other reasons.

I suppose Rachel Dolezal  is claiming blackness for the same reason.  However, contrary to what some believe, that is about the only comparison that can be made between her and transgenders.  I’m not saying that a person couldn’t have been born in the “wrong” race; it’s simply something I don’t understand because I’ve never experienced it (though I’ve often felt I should have been French, which is a cultural—for me, anyway—rather than a racial identity).  On the other hand, I understand how it feels to have been born in the “wrong” body—which is still how most people define transgenderism.  More important, I understand what it’s like to be brought up, educated and acculturated in the “wrong gender”.  Most important of all, I have experienced growing up with the mind and spirit of a gender different from the one in which I was living and presenting to the world every day for the first 44 years of my life.

Hmm…Maybe I do understand a little more of Ms. Dolezal's dilemma than I thought.  But just a little.  Whatever the case, I find no reason to worry about whether she claims she’s black, white, Martian, Tralfamadorian or whatever.  All I can say is that it’s very, very unlikely she’s claiming blackness just so she can teach Black Studies or be the President of an NAACP chapter.  After all, as a white woman, there are all sorts of other things she could do—even though she wouldn’t have the same access and other privileges white cisgender men enjoy. 

What Caitlyn Has Clarified

Caitlyn Jenner's "coming out" has been good for us (trans people) as well as the general public in all sorts of ways. 

Not the least of those ways is that many people are realizing, for the first time, that gender identity is completely separate from sexual orientation.

Infographic by Heather Walter, inspired by information from Sam Killermann's blog.

Love Is Love Is Love

Sometimes I have to explain, even to  people who are or consider themselves to be accepting of LGBT people, that gender identity and sexual orientation are two different things.  In fact, just a few days ago, someone asked, "Why did you become a woman if you're attracted to them?"

The fact of the matter is, I can be attracted to any gender, really.  I have been attracted to males and females, sometimes both at the same time. And I have been attracted to people who don't fit traditional notions of gender expression, such as "butch" lesbians and even very masculine straight women.

Anyway, I haven't been looking for anybody, but if someone captures my heart, I don't really care what gender that person might be, though I have a feeling she will be a very different sort of woman--or, perhaps, a trans man.

Whoever he or she is, as long as the relationship we have is love, I'll be happy, I think.

From Rebloggy

No Government Should Get To Decide This

What Does The Supreme Court Ruling On Proposition 8 Really Mean?

Last night, I volunteered with the Anti-Violence Project.  Two fellow volunteers and I were doing an outreach in the Village. At the end of it, we found ourselves by the Stonewall Inn.  Exactly 44 years earlier, on the night of 28 July 1969, drag queens, street hustlers and other patrons of the bar resisted an NYPD raid on the premises.  

A crowd commemorated that event.  They also celebrated the Supreme Court ruling that, in essence, rendered Proposition 8 null and void.  Some proclaimed  that there was indeed "marriage equality".

I didn't want to be a party-pooper.  So I didn't tell anyone what I was thinking:  "Not so fast!"  Yes, same-sex marriages can resume in California. But it still means that only fourteen states allow such unions.  Admittedly, those states include two of the three most populous, and all of New England. Still, we cannot talk about "equality" at this point for a number of reasons.

Same-sex couples who are married in New York, California or any other state that allows such unions still have to think about what they would do if they were to move to a state that doesn't even have civil unions.  If one member of the couple has a job with benefits, he or she probably would not be able to name his or her partner as a beneficiary.  Also, what if one of them gets sick? Would the other be able to visit him or her in a hospital?  

Actually, the couple wouldn't have to move to face the hospital visitation dilemma:  All they'd have to do is take a vacation or other trip to one of those states.  Or, what if they have a kid and that kid manages to get lost or otherwise separated?  Would authorities in such a state rule that the couple weren't really the kid's parents and not return that kid to them?

Things are even more complicated for us transfolk.  Idaho, Tennessee and Ohio only recognize the gender to which people are assigned at birth:  They will not even amend a birth certificate (let alone issue a new one) to ratify a gender "change."  Not surprisingly, those states don't allow same-sex marriages (or even civil unions).  So, what if I were to marry a man and one of us were to get a job in, say, Columbus or Memphis?  For all intents and purposes, we'd be nothing more than roommates. So, for example, if I were to get a job in a university, my husband could not be a beneficiary on my health insurance policy.  Or, if he were to buy or rent housing, my name could not be on the deed or lease.

And what if we had a kid?

In brief, the Supreme Court decision, while an important step, doesn't even come close to bringing about equality.  I believe it will be achieved one day, but I'm not sure of how.  Will the Federal government grant same-sex couples all of the same benefits and privileges enjoyed by heterosexual married couples?  Will it recognize gender identity in the same way as, say, New York now does?  If so, could the Supreme Court rule that all states have to adopt the same standards?  If the Court were to do that, I can imagine some states putting up quite a fight.

Argentina Won't Cry For Him

One year ago, Argentina took the unprecedented step of, essentially, making it legal for anyone over the age of 18 to choose his or her gender. To date, no other country has even come close to allowing such freedom in gender identity and expression.

Two years earlier, the country became the eighth to legalize same-sex marriage. That law, perhaps, caused even more surprise than the one allowing people to choose their gender identity.  Argentina, like its neighbor Chile and other countries in the region,  was emerging from a cell of brutal authoritarian government (in Argentina's case, a military dictatorship) and Catholic Church authorities that colluded with the country's political and military leaders.  

Arguably the worst of such rulers--or, at any rate, the worst Argentina ever had--died on 17 May.  Jorge Rafael Videla participated in the coup d'etat on 24 March 1976 and served as the de facto president of the nation for five years.  During that time, about 30,000 people--including gays--were "desperaciados," or disappeared. Notice that "disappeared" was used as a verb:  Those people, in essence, were made to vanish from the face of the Earth; the fate of many is still not known.

Jacobo Timerman, who edited a newspaper critical of the government, was among them.  He was arrested, held without a trial date and, after months in prison, was abruptly put on a plane to Tel Aviv.  His excellent Prisoner Without A Name, Cell Without A Number recounts those experiences as well as others who were arbitrarily arrested, tortured and sometimes murdered.

As wonderful as Argentina's new laws are, and as happy as I am for Argentinians, I think they--and we--should not forget Videla, if only to remember what life was like only a generation ago for gays, transgenders, Jews, dissidents and others in Pope Francis' home country.

I'm Married To A Woman, But Only One Of Us Is A Lesbian...

Don't worry:  I'm still single.  Jennifer Finney Boylan (who else?) uttered the title of this post.

She did a great job of explaining the difference between gender identity and sexual orientation to Joy Behar.  Boylan told her to imagine she'd just become a man. "Do you want to sleep with women?"  Behar--not surprisingly--said "no."  

"But you're still you."So now you're a gay man!"  I've always enjoyed watching Joy Behar, and figured that she was, if not trans-friendly, at least educable on the subject.  Her interview with Jennifer Boylan confirmed that for me.

The most important thing Boylan said, of course, is that even if you "change" your gender, "you're still you." And, as she pointed out, "gender is  not who you want to go to bed with; it's who you go to bed as."

You can see the interview here:

Who, Exactly, Is Committing Fraud?

I should look up the definitions of "fraud" and "deception" and, perhaps, do a post on them.  I could discuss the common, linguistic, legal and other definitions of those words.  More awareness of them is certainly necessary.

I say that because it seems, at times, that being transgendered means being rewarded for committing fraud and concealing our identities.

Before we "come out", we live the lie of the "M" or "F" on our birth certificates and other documents assigned to us.  Many of us know that our very survival, let alone anything like acceptance from peers, families, other authority figures and communities, depends upon presenting ourselves as someone we know, within ourselves, to be untrue.  I know that presenting myself as a masculine and fairly athletic guy saved me from a pretty fair amount of harassment and abuse--and, later, discrimination.  That's not to say I didn't experience those things:  I simply didn't endure as much of them as I might have otherwise.

When we finally do "come out" and live as the people we actually are, much of our ability to survive, let alone be accepted, depends on the degree to which we conform to other people's ideas about the gender in which we're living.  In the past, many trans people--especially male-to-females--took those notions to the extreme, sometimes with the encouragement of their therapists and others who were guiding them through their transitions.  It's no accident that, for example, Christine Jorgensen's beauty  was often compared to Marilyn Monroe's:   While they naturally had some similarities in their features, I can't help but to think that Ms. Jorgensen tried to emulate her.  But, at the same time, she didn't seek Monroe's celebrity status, and settled--to the degree she could--into the quiet life of a suburban housewife, which conformed to another trope about womanhood and femininity common in her time.

On the other hand, when someone who had been unaware of our transgender history learns of it, we are accused of fraud and deception for presenting ourselves as the people we actually are.  

That is what happened to Domaine Javier.  In August of 2011, California Baptist University expelled her after she revealed, on MTV's "True Life", that she is biologically male.  When she applied to the university, she indicated her gender as "female", as she should have, on her form.  She has identified as our gender since she was a toddler, she said.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the private religious university doesn't see her her way.  Their documents say she was expelled for "fraud, or concealing identity".       

Now Javier is suing the university, and the California Superior Court is seeking $500,000 in damages for breach of contract and violation of the state's anti-discrimination laws.  Paul Southwick, the attorney representing Javier, maligned her name by making the accusation.  

While some laws don't apply to private institutions, Southwick argues that because Cal Baptist is open to people of all faiths and most of the degrees it rewards are in secular fields (like nursing, which Javier was studying), it's really a business establishment offering services to the general public and is therefore not the same as a seminary or private Bible college.

Whatever the legal interpretation of their institution, I hope that the administration of  learns what fraud and deception, and who its perpetrators, actually are.

Going Through It Again

Today I was talking someone who’s related to me but not part of my “nuclear” family.  (I won’t get into the implications of that term!)  He’s a couple of years younger than half my age.  We talked about one thing and another; he mentioned some high-school friends he’d recently seen.  Then, he told me something I was not expecting from him, or anybody:  “I’d really like to go through puberty again.”

As someone who experienced puberty “again”, I didn’t know whether to laugh, argue with him or react in some other way.  Before I started my transition, I simply could not imagine myself going through puberty—or, more precisely, what it meant for me—again.  For a long time, I wished that I didn’t have to experience it at all.

The difference between the way I used to feel about my puberty, and his wish that he could experience his again, could be summed up as follows:  He told me that in his puberty, he experienced his first attraction to a girl.  “I knew I was straight.  Nothing has ever made me happier,” he claimed.  On the other hand, my puberty meant—to my horror—that I was becoming a man. 

For a long time, I was angry about that.  Not only did I have to become a man—at least by the definitions that were accepted at that time—I had to deal with sexual feelings that I couldn’t reconcile with being a man or a woman, at least as I understood those terms at that time in my life.  Because I didn’t have what academics call a “frame of reference” and a vocabulary to describe my feelings in a way that would have made sense to anyone I knew at the time, having those feelings was even more bewildering and terrifying than seeing my pubic hair grow around a sexual organ I didn’t want.

I wouldn’t want to go through any of that again.  However, I am thankful that I did.  When I went through my second puberty, in my 40’s (when I started taking hormones), much of what I felt made more sense to me—and was even cause for joy—as a result of the changes that came during my early teen years.

One of the things I realized was that in puberty, the emotional and mental changes are even more important than the physical ones.  So, while I was happy to see my breasts grow and the lines in my face soften, I was even more thrilled to not only experience the giddiness and crying jags, and new depths of feeling about everything from songs I heard on the radio to a Shakespeare play, and to feel my senses open in ways I never imagined on walks and bike rides.  Best of all, I had ways of understanding those things, and the fact that I wasn’t developing new sexual feelings as much as I was able to more thoroughly experienced the ones I’d had since my first puberty.

Still, even though I am glad to have experienced my “second” puberty, I cannot understand why my relative, or anyone else, would want to re-experience his or her pre-teen puberty.  Then again, my first puberty brought me into a part of my life I’d never wanted to experience, while my relative got what he’d hoped for when he experienced what will most likely be his only puberty. At least I got what I’d hoped to have from my second.

Lessons After Three And A Half Years

I've heard many other people say that they're not sorry to see 2012 go.  On the whole, I agree with them.  I've discussed some of the difficulties (which may well be minor in the Grand Scheme of Things) I've encountered, mostly in my personal life, as well as some health issues.  My doctor says that the latter are simply part of aging and, to some degree, the stresses related to some of the issues I've faced.  Others have said that the initial euphoria I felt in the wake of finally having my surgery is finally wearing off.  That, I suppose, was inevitable, and if it just started to wear off this year, it had a pretty good run.

Whatever the case, the question for me this New Year's Eve is "What's Next?"  Perhaps that's always the question.  However, it seems particularly pertinent now.  My old therapist and my gynecologist say that I have come to a point--three and a half years after surgery--when post-op transsexuals start to realize what kind of man or woman they are becoming, and how it is like, or different from, what they envisioned when they began their transitions.

I know that I weigh more than I expected to, and I am not (and may never again be) as athletic as I was when I was younger and full of testosterone.  I never expected to be beautiful--at least in the ways that, say, Angelina Jolie, Hallie Berry and even Laura Linney are--but I actually like what I see in my face and eyes, even if I've aged a bit more than I thought I would. But most important of all, I realize now that being a woman is, for me, different than it ever could be for the ones I've mentioned, or for my mother or any other woman who's been part of my life.  

What I have in common with them is that we all have become women.  The difference is that they were born female and I wasn't.  Thus, there is no way I could become a woman who in any way resembles them.  But, ironically, it's also the reason why I can learn so much from them--especially from my mother and my friend Mildred.  Among the lessons I've absorbed from them (mainly through their presence) is that everything I thought about femininity--especially those things I tried to emulate--have little, if anything, to do with being a woman.  That is not to say, of course, that the women in my life, or the ones who are cultural icons, are  not feminine in their own ways.  Rather, they have become women, embodying femaleness, in ways they had to learn mostly on their own.  And that is what, I believe, I am beginning to learn.

Popular culture can only teach a girl or young woman some men's idea of femaleness, which is really almost a parody of femininity.  And the education system only teaches the roles women have played and the places they have occupied.  (That, by the way, is why even very intelligent women of my mother's generation didn't realize they were capable of getting more education than they did and pursuing all sorts of careers and other options than the ones they followed, or fell into.)  If children born as females (or assigned that gender at birth) couldn't learn how to be women from their environments, how in the world could a female born in a male body learn what living beyond the boundaries of her flesh could, and would,  mean?

So it's no wonder that trans people like me find ourselves becoming different kinds of women from what we envisioned when we started our transitions.  The real lesson I've been learning, though, is that my conception of myself of a woman is changing because nobody and nothing could have taught me what it means to be a woman, never mind the kind of woman that I am.

I'm Three; This Blog Is Four. What's Next?

Today I am three years old.  And this blog is four.


The second sentence probably makes sense to you.  Maybe the first one doesn't.  What I mean, of course, is that I had my surgery three years ago today.

If you've been reading this blog, you've probably noticed that my posts are less frequent.  I guess there's less to talk about, at least in terms of my own gender identity and reassignment, as time goes on.  Ironically, I find that the few occasions on which I talk about those things are with certain people at work, and in other academic settings. Most people who encounter me will never see me again and, as far as they know, I'm a middle-aged woman.  Which, of course, is what I am.  On the other hand, people who have spent lots of time in school--especially if their field of study is related to gender, gender studies or feminism--have to fit me into some sub-sub-sub-category or other.  


It seems that, in academic circles, more people than I'd expected are reading this blog.  At least, that's what I've been told.  So, every once in a while, I'll bump into some professor or researcher who's not connected with any institution in which I've worked, and whom I've never before met, and he or she will say that he or she has heard about me.


But once I'm outside of an academic setting, my past hardly seems to matter at all.  I suppose that if I apply for something and a background check is done, or even if I'm merely asked whether I've ever gone by another name, I'll have to explain where and what I've been.  I suppose--or I hope, anyway--that it won't be seen as negatively as having been convicted of a felony.  Not that I would know anything about that!


I have been volunteering with a women's organization, about which I'll say more in a future post.  I told its founder and officers about my past.  Even though I hadn't expected it to be an issue for them,  I figured it would be better for them to hear it from me than someone else.  Also, I figured that if they didn't want a trans woman in their midst (which, by the way, some women's groups don't), it would be better to find out before I got involved.  But, as the founder of the organization said, somewhat wryly, "We're not the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival."


It was exactly the sort of thing I'd wanted when I started my transition.  I not only knew it was possible; it was what I expected.  So, even though I knew that there were people who were like the organizers of MWMF, there were also people like the founder of the organization.  And there are many other women who've never heard of the Festival, or simply don't care about it.  I know, because I've come to know some of them, and they have friends, sisters, mothers, aunts, grandmothers and other women in their lives who share their feelings.  And most of them don't, or wouldn't, care about my past--or would only care about it to the extent that we like to know where and what the people in our lives have come from.  


As one of them said, it's not easy being a woman, so she has all the more respect for someone who has embraced her femaleness, and chosen to live it. In the end, that's all there really is to what I've done during these past few years, from going into therapy, taking hormones, changing my name, living in my new identity, getting my surgery, starting this blog and doing any number of other things.  


It may lead me to start another blog.  If I do, it will probably be at least somewhat related to this blog.  (How could it not be?  Even my other blog, Midlife Cycling, is--at least to some extent.)  And it might lead me to other projects and work which I can't yet conceive.  All I know is that whatever I do, I have no choice but to live as the woman I am.  And I wouldn't make any other choice, even if I could.

Another Pronoun Problem?

It seems I just can't get away from that issue of pronouns.


Actually, it's been a while since anyone's addressed me with male pronouns in face-to-face situations.  Sometimes I'm still referred to as "sir" or "mister" when I talk on the telephone, particularly in stressful situations or when I have to be assertive.  Otherwise, though, I never hear them, and whenever I walk into a store or other public place, people say, "Can I help you ma'am?"  On occasion, they'll call me "miss."  That gets them good-sized tips. ;-)


Anyway, someone else in my life has a "pronoun problem."  Perhaps I'll be accused of "transferring" mine!


It seems that everyone with whom I've talked about Marley has referred to him at least once as "she" or "her."  Even Stephanie, who rescued him, and Millie, who has seen him, have referred to him that way.  


I guess people associate cats with femininity and often assume a cat is female until they find out otherwise.  In Marley's case, he's still a kitten (though rather large for his estimated seven months) and is very, very cuddly.  And, even when he runs or has his little tussles with Max, his body language, if you will, seems almost feminine at times.


His "identity crisis" may also have to do with his looks--he's what many people would call "pretty" or "beautiful".  I see him that way, too, but I think of him as being rather boyish.  


Still, I find people confusing his gender to be ironic, and just plain funny.  Maybe one day he'll come up to me and say, "There's something I have to tell you.  I'm not Marley; I'm Marlene..."  Even if he does, I'll still love him.

Which Box Do You Check?

Today I did something I don't normally do:  I answered a survey.  It was part of another blog, and, I believe, was being used to get a sense of who was reading the blog.  It asked about age, education level and a few other things that seemed like basic market research information.


But the most interesting question is the one that, at one time in my life, would have been the most mundane:  Sex.  No, not the "yes," "no", "four times a week" or "not before 5 pm" variety.  I'm talking about the "M" or "F" variety--or what politically correct types (How could I ever be one of those?) call "gender."


What made it interesting was that in addition to "M" and "F", there was a third category:  "transgender".  Well, at one time in my life, I would have jumped for joy upon seeing that. Today, however, I found myself wishing that it was further broken down into "male to female" and "female to male."  I also found myself wishing there were other categories.  After all, I think there are lots of other forms of gender identity and expression, not to mention sexuality, that haven't yet been identified and named, at least not officially.  


Another dilemma I encountered is that I really don't identify myself as transgender anymore.  As far as the law, official records and most people are concerned, I am a woman.  And that's how I see myself, although I cannot forget my heritage, if you will.


So, while I was tempted to check off "transgender" just to create a presence for trans people, I checked off "F."  But I am glad there was a "transgender" category for those who so identified, even though, as I said, I wish the category had been further broken down.

Now That Osama's Gone, Can We Get Our Papers?

Call me a conspiracy theorist.  Or a cynic.  Or whatever you want to call someone who doesn't believe a Navy SEAL killed Osama bin Laden almost a week ago.


Frankly, I think he died years ago.  What does this have to do with a transgender blog?, you ask.


Well...If that Navy SEAL did indeed shoot Osama, and if his body was tossed into the ocean (Was the President's Press Secretary watching Goodfellas?), shouldn't this country be in the process of bringing its troops home from the region?  After all, the ostensible reason for having all of those soldiers and airmen and Marines in Afghanistan was to capture bin Laden.  That, of course, begs the question of why that Navy SEAL killed him.  Folks who are more knowledgeable than I'll ever be about such issues say that he would have been the most valuable intelligence asset on the planet, if not in the history of the United States, or even civilization itself.  


Now I'll ask another rude question:  Now that bin Laden is gone, will all of those "security" measures be discontinued?  Will this mean the end of the PATRIOT Act?  The Homeland Security Administration?  Will I not get patted down the next time I wear a skirt in an airport?  (That happened to me on my way home from Florida.)  

Finally...Does the murder, er, extrajudicial execution of Osama mean that the process of obtaining or changing documents will be less onerous?  To be fair, some states have actually made, or are making, the process easier.  But about two years into my transition, I learned that  Federal offices were treating anyone who changed his or her name as if he or she were doing it to wreak havoc.  A clerk at the passport office told me as much.    He said that the government feared that anyone who changed his or her name--or gender--could have done so to wreak havoc.  However, when I asked, he admitted that neither he nor anyone else he knew in the State Department could recall any terrorist changing his name and gender.  


Meantime, you still have to submit proof that you've undergone GRS/SRS in order to change your Federal government IDs and records.

Avoiding the "G" Word

On my second job, I find myself avoiding the "g" word.  If you've been reading this blog, you know which one I mean:  gender.  


It's not that anyone there would be offended.  At least, I don't anyone would.  I've simply made it a point--at least to myself--not to talk about my identity, or the life I lived as male.  I simply didn't want to be known only for that or, worse, to have people encourage me to talk about it and have the same people use it, and the fact that I talked about it, against me.  Finally, I got tired of people trying to push me into doing another degree--in gender studies, a field most of them don't actually respect.


But it's getting harder not to talk about those things when I'm teaching.  When reading Othello, as my class at that college is doing now, the discussion always seems to get to the "g" word.  And I'm not the one who brings it up.


I guess students, particularly the younger ones, are accustomed to thinking about it.  They've probably had teachers and other professors who've taught them various subject from a women's, gay or gender studies point of view.  Plus, they all know they have gay friends, relatives and co-workers.  Some of them might even know trans people.   Certainly they know we exist, and some of them have even have see us without the blinders of the stereotypes that shaped the views of people from my generation, and earlier ones.


But I find now that I can say so much more about gender, and how gender roles and expectations shape the way we live and the things we read.  One student asked, "Professor, do you think this is a man's world?"  I could only tell her that she needs to answer that question for herself.  Then there is another student who continues to bring up the idea that Iago was not really trying to wrest Desdemona from Othello; instead, he really wanted Othello.  I don't disagree with that idea, but I try not to talk about it because there are just too many things I could say and that student, and others, would--rightly--want to know why I think what I think.  


Now, I don't think of myself as a transgender first and foremost. But I can't deny that it's shaped, wholly or in part, my views about many things.  There are times when I'm tempted to mention it, simply because it would make explaining some things easier.  But then I wouldn't be explaining those things anymore; I'd be talking about my past and my identity and answering all of those questions we get when people realize who we are.  


Sooner or later, I will tell my students.  Or I will stop teaching anything that might lead to a discussion about gender. That would include, oh, about 95 percent of the plays, poems and stories I've ever taught.  And it would probably include about 90 percent of literature.


Of course, if I follow that second course of action--censoring what I teach--I would eventually stop teaching, in fact or in effect.  


At times like this, I wish that I'd been a math whiz or a technical person.  A surprising number of male-to-female transgenders are engineers.  Why couldn't I have been one of them? I mean, how does gender come up when designing a circuit or writing code?

Ending With Daylight Savings: R.I.P Roni

Daylight Savings Time ended today.  It really made the day go by quicker than I expected.  Too quickly, in fact. The coming days will go by even more quickly, at least in the way that something goes by quickly when it's going by you.  That will be the case for the next few weeks, as the days grow shorter.


Some people grow very depressed at this time of year.  A few years ago, I learned of something called Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Unfortunately for me--and someone else--I didn't learn about it from reading.  

Right around the end of Daylight Savings Time six years ago, Roni overdosed on pills.  Millie told me that she suffered from SAD (what an appropriate acronym!).  I also knew, from talking to Roni herself, that she was not a happy person.  She had no living relatives, or at least none with whom she was still in contact.  And, it seemed to me, her life was full of all sorts of other regrets.


I found out about one of her deepest regrets when I started living full-time as Justine.  At first, she denigrated and taunted me for it and spread rumors about me.  For months after that, I wouldn't acknowledge her on the street.  But, one day, she approached me and apologized.  "I acted as I did because I envy you," she said.


"What do you mean?"


She explained that she felt that she was a man in mind and spirit, but had to live in the body of a woman--in other words, the inverse of me. Making a transition, she said, was out of the question for her because of various medical problems, some of which were induced by her drug and alcohol abuse.  She was sober and had not abused prescription, or used non-prescription, drugs for several years when she met me, but she was still on anti-depressants and painkillers mandated by her doctors.  


Even if she hadn't had such a history, she said  "there's no point to starting a transition now" at her age--about fifteen years older than I was.  In fact, she killed herself just after turning sixty.


Although I can't say that her despair over her gender identity was the sole or main reason for her despondency--or the thing that pushed her over the edge-- I can't help but to think that it was a factor.  And it would loom larger in the chiaroscuro of the lengthening nights of this time of year.