Label Me

There’s been a lot of buzz on various sites lately about labels. Who are this or that and such. So here we go — I will label myself.

I am Caucasian. I am an American of Scots/Irish/German/Polish descent. There may be a dash of Spanish in there as well but my family isn’t sure. In any case, Northern European roots. That means as an American of northern European descent, I am descended from immigrants. Now, my families are not “Mayflower’ immigrants. Nor are we mysterious survivors of the failed Roanoke colony. Nope. My dad’s side came over in the early 20th century and my mom is a born Scot.

So like many Americans, I’m a mutt.

Here are some more labels. I am heterosexual. I am middle aged. I have a child and a dog. I am married.

So I guess I should go buy a red sports car.

Want more? I am a registered independent. I was not born Republican, Democrat, or yesterday. I believe in equal rights for all. I believe that global warming is real and man-made. I think many Wall Street people should be in jail for what they did. Same with W and his cronies for starting an illegal war.

Okay, I guess that makes me a *gasp* Liberal.

Stop you say? Hell no! I’m just getting started! I went to high school and college in the ’80s, so that means I must be shallow and vapid. I like comic books, Star Wars and Star Trek so I’m a geek. I like role playing games so I’m a MAJOR geek.

Please stop, you’re begging? No! I was in a fraternity so I MUST be a male chauvinist pig who loves abusing people and needs to buy my friends. Yet I’m a part of the 99% movement so I’m lazy, shiftless and refuse to work. Oh, and I love the Grateful Dead, so I’m a disgusting, tree hugging hippy. See “Liberal” above. I am opinionated so I must be an asshole. I enjoy social drinking so I’m a drunkard. I have been in my share of fights so I’m a violent sociopath. I have been diagnosed with depression so I’m obviously totally mentally unstable.

YET. . .

For all those things, I have two jobs. I am employable. I still have rights under the law despite the GOP’s best efforts. Then there’s the label in question:

I wear skirts and dresses. I own heels and bras. I have five wigs. I have three pairs of breast forms and three types of hip pads. I appear in public dressed as a woman, and this brings me peace and happiness.

What am I?

Am I a crossdresser? Transvestite? Gender Queer? Transgender? Transsexual? Tranny? Nuts?

Any of that matter?

I refer to myself as transgender. Oh wait — I’m not on hormones. My boobs are removable. I’m a “Weekend Warrior.” I’m not a “True trans.” I am obviously beneath contempt. And oh my God look at that bag! Am I homeless or something? And that skirt! Totally from Goodwill. An absolute disgrace. And look at that chin and nose! Some douche bag guy pretending.

I have heard all that too. From my sisters. From people who are discriminated against. Who are fired from jobs for no cause. Who are beaten and denied housing for who they are. Yet they look down their nose at me because obviously living the lie that I do, lying to my wife and children, fearing the day it will all come crashing down around me isn’t enough suffering for them. I just don’t understand because I’m not full time/not on hormones/I just DON’T KNOW!

Know what? I don’t know what it’s like to be full time. I don’t know what it’s like to be denied housing. (I’ve been fired with no cause though, sorry.)

Know what else? I don’t care.

I am trans. I am not as far as others, true, but my journey is only beginning. My sisters are trans. All of them. We are in this battle together. Why are dividing ourselves?

Labels.

I’m adding one more label to this mix. BULLY. That’s right. “Bully: (N) blustering browbeating person; especially: one habitually cruel to others who are weaker.” (So says Merriam Webster).

“I am more trans than thou.” Why are you here, you’re obviously some guy who is just out for kinky kicks.”

Bullies looking down on someone for no other reason but for who they are. What they’re wearing.

I hate bullies. Always have. Bullies are people who try to build themselves up by picking on others. They have no real friends. I’d pity them if their cruelty weren’t so destructive.

So — look in the mirror. Do you see a bully? Or do you see a brother/sister who is willing to help others despite whatever stupid label others want to affix to them?

Leave the bullying to those against us. We will rise above them. We must be strong together or the bullying will continue, from within and without. We’ll continue to be marginalized. Discriminated against. Killed.

*gets off soapbox*

So let’s review. I am a white Scots/Irish/German/Polish, American mutt, middle aged, heterosexual, liberal, mega-geek, male chauvinist pig, lazy, shiftless, disgusting, tree-hugging hippy, asshole, drunk, violent sociopath, mentally unstable father with twenty seven eight-by-ten color glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was to be used as evidence against us and a Partridge in a Pear Tree who is ALSO Transgender.

Whew! Got all that? Right.

Buy a sister a drink?

Tags: closeted, featured, Identity, Transition

Category: Transgender Body & Soul, Transgender Opinion