Posts Tagged ‘transgenders’

It Is What It Is or Is It?

“Any fool can know. The point is to understand.” – Albert Einstein

Writing about a sensitive subject is challenging. People are touchy, especially when they are in denial. We all tend to see what we want to see and choose to ignore things that make us uncomfortable.

I decided to disclose an event that a friend recently shared with me. As I often do to protect people’s anonymity, I use aliases instead of the names of the persons involved.

Minnie is a neighbor of mine. She and I have a mutual acquaintance, Addie, who also lives in the neighborhood. We have known Addie since her two sons and daughter were young children. A few years ago, her then twenty-something-year-old daughter, Leslie, left home and eventually returned as Lester. Addie would later confide in us what we had already realized, “My daughter is now my son.”

We don’t know if Leslie had GRS (gender reassignment surgery), but we accepted the transition when she returned home sporting a buzz haircut, wearing men’s clothing, and purporting to be a male.

One day, Minnie went out to run an errand. While she was gone, Lester knocked on her door. Getting no answer, Lester left a note that Minnie found stuck in the door jam upon her return. He asked Minnie to phone him concerning an old sofa that Minnie had made known that she was selling.

Minnie was no more familiar with Lester’s telephone voice than I was. She said when she dialed the number and asked to speak to Lester, she was expecting to hear a masculine voice; instead, an androgynous voice answered and said, “This is she.”

Minnie said she was momentarily confused by the response and asked again to speak to Lester. Again, the voice replied, “This is she.” At that point, Minnie said their conversation proceeded.

Minnie asked me what I thought about that episode. “Let me be clear,” I said to her. “When Lester answered the phone, did he say, ‘This is he’ or ‘This is she?” Minnie said, “He distinctly said, ‘This is she.’ There’s nothing wrong with my hearing.”

That led us into a head-scratching discussion. Was “This is she” a Freudian slip, a memory lapse, or something else? What? It seems strange that someone who takes pains to ensure that people like us who knew him when he was her and folks who have only known him since the transition would make such a flub. Yet, he used the inappropriate pronoun twice when referring to himself as she. If trans people are confused about who they are, is it any wonder that some heterosexuals are also confused by them?

Not to be judgmental, I don’t care if someone chooses to change their birth gender. That’s an issue between them and God. Maybe one day in the hereafter, they’ll have to face the consequences of their decision – or perhaps they won’t. But I like to think that if I assume a different persona, I’d remember who I believe I am.

To try and understand transgender people and others like Lester, I recently read a book entitled Trans Life Survivors by Walt Heyer. I am satisfied that it has answered many of my questions.

Before anyone sarcastically asks, “What does he know?” let me give Heyer his props. He is not just someone speculating about transgender people. He is a man who transitioned to a woman. After living for several years as a female, he decided his sexuality was not the root of his unhappiness and detransitioned back to male. He has written numerous books on the subject and his personal experiences. He also has a website.

An article on cnn.com states that The Philadelphia Center for Transgender Surgery posts cost estimates for different procedures, including estimates of $140,450 to transition from male to female and $124,400 to transition from female to male. The message that Heyer conveys in his book is that cross-sex hormones and surgery will not cure underlying mental conditions. He further details how trans lobbyists and “surgical predators” (money-hungry doctors) take advantage of vulnerable people. Some transpeople become so confused and unhappy after transitioning that they consider or commit suicide. Unfortunately, among the suicides are two well-known personalities, 44-year-old transgender comedian Daphne Dorman, featured in a Netflix special, and transgender activist Kyle Scanlon, who killed himself at age 41.

I suspect some of my relatives, friends, and acquaintances won’t dare read Heyer’s book for whatever reason. Some of us have trans relatives and don’t want to risk offending them. (Since when did educating oneself become offensive?) Educating ourselves about anything does not mean that we are being judgmental. On the other hand, it doesn’t mean that we are compliant with groupthink either.

Some data I gleaned from Heyer’s book and already suspected:  No amount of surgery or hormone treatments changes the fact that we are created male and female, and adopting an opposite-sex identity is a futile pursuit. DNA and genetic information are indeligible markers dictating that it is categorically impossible to achieve a sex change biologically, scientifically, or surgically.

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Bedtime Story

Counting SheepOne of my regular blog readers, Vye, recently left a note in my “What do you want me to write about?” box. She even signed her name (Gutsy, aren’t you, Vye? Just kidding.)
Vye said that although she enjoys reading my “two cents worth” blogs, I write too many serious posts (Was she alluding to the last one that I wrote about transgenders?). “Lighten-up,” she said. “I know from reading you in the past, that you have a great sense of humor. I’d like to see you write more entertaining, personal posts, and less newsy material. There are already too many blogs being written about contemporary trends and doom and gloom issues.”

Well, excuse me! I was tempted to tell her, “Girlfriend, I am serious by nature. If you want humor watch Donald Trump — on any platform.”
But I didn’t go there. To appease her – since she is one of my many loyal blog followers — Is it up to three now or four? — I decided to lighten the mood, this time, by writing something less opinionated and more personal. Like this.

Several months ago, I bought a new bedroom suite to replace an aging, 20-year-old mahogany set. The timeworn and crammed dresser drawers would not slide in and out smoothly and the armoire, with a slightly unhinged door, had become a nuisance. I held on to that furniture for as long as I did because I dreaded the thought of transferring all of my stuff from one storage place to another. But it was worth the change.
My current, beautiful bedroom suite has a cherry finish and plenty of storage space. The chest and mirrored dresser has lots of drawers with shiny knobs. But my favorite piece is the queen-sized platform bed. Ahh, the bed. It is my dream bed with a bookcase headboard and ten spacious drawers around the frame. I love a platform bed. The one that I have now is the second one that I’ve owned. Box springs begone!
The best thing about a platform bed is that it eliminates the irritating squeaky noises and groans commonly made by an old mattress and box spring set. If you’ve ever had that kind of bed or have one now, then you know what I am talking about. You climb into bed; it squeaks. You roll over during the night, squeak! If there is more action than rolling over it is squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak. And there is additional squeaky, creaky noise when you are getting out of bed. Take it from someone who habitually tosses and turns in her sleep most nights, my platform bed with its memory foam pillow top mattress is as quiet as a monk in monastic silence.
Unlike when I was a child who delighted in jumping up and down on my mattress and box spring twin bed, my neighbor’s four-year-old grandson could jump on my current bed and not create a single bounce. Although he’d better not try it. There is only one downside to my platform bed. It is unlike the first one I owned which was low, down near the floor. I could sit on the side of that old bed, stretch out my legs on the floor and lay back on the mattress without bending my knees. My current bed gives new meaning to the term “climb into bed.” It is high. Waaay high. I am a five foot six woman. I consider myself in excellent health and flexible, but I almost need a springboard or step ladder to climb on that high a** bed. And Lord help me if I roll over while sleeping and fall on the floor. Regardless of the carpeting beneath it, from the top of my bed to the floor is a 32-inch drop. If I don’t break every bone in my body, I’d probably be hospitalized and in traction for months.
There, Vye. I have let you and the rest of the Internet community peek inside my bedroom. It won’t get much more personal than that. Can I now get back to expressing my two cents about the rest of the world?
[To buy my book, Legacy, at Amazon.com. Click on the “Buy My Book” tab above.]

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