Why We Need Transgender Pronouns

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.

Even They--And We--Get The Pronouns Wrong Sometimes

Today, I stepped into a store on my way from lunch with Bruce to an appointment with my opthamologist.  (Dr. Noah Klein, one of the best in the business)  I can't even remember the name of the store, or why I stopped in it.  All I remember is something I saw on the TV behind the counter.

Someone was interviewing Cher, apparently for one of the TV news magazines.  She was talking about her son Chaz, ne her daughter Chastity.  It was hard not to admire her, as she admitted that it wasn't easy for her to take when Chastity said she was going to become Chaz. Coming from someone who, as she said, knew that something was "different" about her child long before she came out, and who's been an advocate of gay rights, that's quite an admission.  But what I found just as revealing was when she called Chaz "she," caught herself and said, "I'm still having trouble with the pronouns."

Next time I talk to my mother, I'm going to ask whether she saw that.  I remember how, early in my transition, she was almost aplogetic:  "I'm really trying!"  To which I replied, "I know." 

I've told her that if I've been lucky about nothing else in my life, I've been "lucky in the mom department."  Of course such declarations cannot fully convey the way I feel about the love she has always shown.  But that interview with Cher reminded me, whether or not I needed it, of how good a mother I have.  And, I suspect, Chaz Bono has a good mother, too.

Even the best of them--and us--slip up on pronouns.  There are certainly worse things.

Pronouns Are A Symptom

I mentioned that last week I met with the chair of an English department at a college other than the one in which I’ve been working.  Well, that has led to my teaching a course there.  I started it the other day, after my regular job.

I had also met with her and others in the department and college on Tuesday.  She said she was impressed with my work and knew she wanted me for a class.  “Just do whatever you’ve been doing,” she said.

Now, getting that class isn’t, in and of itself, a major accomplishment—at least professionally—at this point in my life.  But I am happy about it because, for one thing, it adds to my income.  Even more to the point, though, is that the atmosphere of the place seems so different from that of the college in which I have been working.

I’ve been around long enough to realize that there is a “honeymoon” at the beginning of every (well, at least, almost every) job.  So I am not going to gush about “new beginnings” or the like.  However, at this college, the people I met—faculty members, office assistants and students alike—seem happier and healthier than in my regular college. 

And the department chair seems like a truly educated woman.  I’m not talking only about her degrees or the schools from which she earned them.  One thing I’ve noticed about people who really are educated—that is to say, able to think for themselves—is that they’re not condescending.  That, I believe, is because they are secure, which is entirely the opposite of arrogant.  They can learn something new and not feel threatened by it, even if it negates what they’d learned before. 

That makes them more emotionally mature than those who are merely schooled.   So, they don’t feel as if you’re questioning their competence or integrity when you’re simply asking for information about some issue at hand.

Seeing that, alone, was reason enough to go to this new college.  If nothing else, it helped me to understand why I’ve been unhappy at my regular job.  I’ve never been in any place where people get so defensive when you ask them a question.

Perhaps even more to the point, no one asked me to explain myself.  As far as I know, they don’t know about my past.  Some might have their suspicions, and if anyone asks, I won’t deny what I was.  But I’m hoping that I now have an opportunity to be in a workplace where it won’t garner more attention than my work or how I treat people now.

As I mentioned earlier, I met the chair once, years ago.  I don’t know whether she recalls that encounter.  It was brief, so I would understand if she doesn’t recall.  I rather hope she doesn’t, not because I think she wouldn’t have hired me if she recalled it, but rather because I simply would rather focus on the present, at least in the workplace.

When I met her all those years ago, she’d offered me a class.  The following day, another college—which was a much shorter commute from where I was then living—offered me work, which I took instead.  She said she understood and would have done the same thing.  Perhaps she doesn’t remember that.

If she doesn’t remember that, she also may not remember the person I was in those days.  Or maybe she does, and decided that he’s not relevant now, at least for her.  If that’s the case, I look forward to working under such conditions.

It has to be better than being in a place where someone who’s seen me every day for the past five years insists on calling me “he” because, well, she can.  She also can get away with making up things about me, as she did last year, and get me hauled into the college’s Star Chamber—I mean, Office of Compliance—to explain myself, knowing full well that even when she’s telling the most outrageous lies about me, her words are seen as more credible than mine. 

I have a feeling that the chair at College #2 would not be impressed with the one who can’t get her pronouns right—but not necessarily because she can’t get her pronouns right.  

Unfortunately, the one who won't get her pronouns right is now the department chair.  At least I know they're not all like her, because I'm working for another-- in the present.

What Would (Fill-in-the-blank) Do?

Yesterday I talked to someone with whom I hadn't spoken since I started living full-time as Justine. It was about what I expected: He kept an emotional distance--at least as much as he could--but not necessarily reserve. We didn't get into an argument, mainly because I didn't give him anything he could argue with me. And he said he would not mind maintaining a relationship based on phone calls and e-mails, though he has no wish to see me.

I didn't try to get him to understand how I feel or why I made the changes I've made. Actually, I think he knows more than he'd like to--and not only because I "came out" to him. He even said,"You did what you needed to do." But, he said, he cannot and does not want to see me as anyone other than the guy named Nick he knew for a long time.

I told him I could understand his feelings, at least a little, and that is the reason why I am not, and have not been, angry with him. And, I told him, I understand and respect his wish not to see me. I promised not to ask him to change his mind--or to ask him any other favor of any sort.

As you may have guessed by now, he is related to me. Why else would I have even bothered to call him in the first place? Two people who once called themselves friends have decided that they no longer wanted my friendship--in fact, one even denies that we ever had a friendship. I am not sure that I would be interested in resuming a relationship if either were to call. But for someone related to me, that is a different (and more complicated) matter.

So why did I call, you ask? Well, I really was wondering how he was doing. But, more important, I felt somehow that I needed to do it for myself. Have you ever forgiven, or otherwise reached out to, someone who utterly despises you (This is not to say that the person I've mentioned despises me.) or who has simply hurt you in some way, even though you know that your effort will make absolutely no difference to that person or the situation? If you have, you know that you're doing it for your own spiritual survival or, if you're lucky, growth.

That's not to say that your act necessarily makes you a better person or improves the situation in which you find yourself with that other person. It may not even be a learning experience--or, to use that odious phrase that was so en vogue a few years ago, a "teachable moment." (How can a moment be taught anything?) Rather, it's something that's simply necessary: In what sense, I couldn't tell you. It just is.

Of course, I didn't tell him that and he will know only if he reads this. The only other thing I could say is that I did it because yesterday was the first time I felt emotionally ready to do so. I really feel that I have become, oddly enough, stronger as I've become more vulnerable. Really, I've had to. I knew I could be hurt--in a non-physical way, of course--by my conversation with him. But I also knew I needed to take that chance in order to "move on," as they say.

Plus, there's nothing like hashing out the decision to transition and have surgery, much less actually doing those things, to show you what else you need--and want--in life and to make you feel less guilty or apologetic about going for them. I knew that there would be people who didn't approve of what I've done, and I anticipated that some would want nothing to do with me ever again. But I could not let them deny me my chance at living my own life and being my own person--and, to paraphrase Goethe, dying my own death.

The one I called yesterday referred to me by my former name and male pronouns. He seemed to make a point of doing so. On the other hand, when he said he couldn't take seeing me "act feminine"and I said it wasn't an act, he said, "Yes, I know."

Some might say that I should have asserted myself more. Perhaps. But getting into a battle over names and pronouns would have accomplished nothing--or, at least, would not have changed his mind. So, I thought, all I could really do was to call him and actually be myself, whether or not he wants to acknowledge it.

It's the best I knew how to do. But I'm still second-guessing myself.