20+ questions about my gender & sexual identity (pt. 1)

{Ed. note: As one mechanism for staggering through National Blog Posting Month (did anyone notice I stumbled on Thursday? good! didn’t think so! out sick that day!), I’m going to root around in my COPIOUS  unpublished draft file and try to finish the ones that have withstood the test of time. }

About a million years ago, I received a series of questions for a middle school project from Mickey, one of my special nieces. “Special nieces” being the daughters of my friends, one of whom is one of my oldest continuous friendships, dating back to September 1980, the other of whom is her former spouse and the donor chum and thus special uncle to our children (more on extended familial nomenclature here). The whole family, thanks to the bond we’ve forged with love, trust, and biology, is more than special.

But so! Way back when, I told her I would try to answer them all, and since she is internet-savvy (what person over the age of 12 isn’t these days?), and knows I write here (for better and for worse, I’m sure!), I asked what she thought about my answering via a post, so as to have the whole conversation get wider. She liked the idea, and said she would link to my reply in her Tumblr site. So! Hey, Mickey! Here! Months upon months–indeed, a whole school later, ya big ole high schooler–below are my replies to your questions:

  • Where did you grow up?

The suburbs of the East Bay of the San Francisco Bay Area.

  • How big was your family as a kid?

Four people: a mother, a father, and a sister. We didn’t see the extended part of it very often during my growing up years, so it felt pretty “nuclear,” for all intents and purposes. Even if I knew there were others of our clan somewhere a few hours or states away.

  • What gender do you identify as?


  • What is your PGP (Preferred Gender Pronoun)?

“She” is totally fine by me, but I am never disgruntled when people read me as a he, and only “correct” people  if our exchange goes on and on and I figure eventually they’ll get embarassed if they all of a sudden realize they initially got it “wrong.” On a recent trip to New York I counted well over a dozen references to me as “Sir,” and was quite tickled. I consider it a sign I’m dressing smartly.

  • Have you ever considered hormone treatments or sex-reassignment surgery?

No, for two reasons. One: when I was searching for a sense of who I was, gender-wise, no one I knew of had done any of these things, and the options only became part of my circle of friends/ awareness when I was in my late twenties/ early thirties.  Two: I’ve never felt like I was born into the wrong body; I’ve always felt like I was born into a culture that doesn’t allow enough space (yet) for the full range of femaleness or maleness, so that’s what I’ve put my efforts into changing. I am totally fine with being the kind of female I am, and the kind of person I am as a female, even bodily. Butch gals rock! Even if my breasts are not my favorite body part. Don’t tell them and we’ll all be okay.

  • When did you realize that you didn’t fit traditional gender roles?

Um, probably when I first realized there were any.  Quite certainly before I was five. See Fig. A below for  version of myself when I was about yours or your sister’s ages; at the bottom of this related post is a picture me when I was a pint-sized version of the above. ‘Nuff said?

Fig. A: Yers truly as a tween, early 1970s.

  • How old were you when you came out to your family?

My sister was the first family member I came out to, and I came out to her within about a year after I came out to myself, which was at 19. So, 20 yrs old. I came out to my dad another 3 or 4 years later, and my mom last, 5 years in. I picked them in order of perceived comprehension and receptivity, and was dead-on in that assessment.

  • How old were you when you came out to the public?

That process is always a kind of slow, iterative one (I think, or perhaps it was for me). My first partner, whom I was with for 5+ years, was way less comfortable than I was being identified in public (I recall many a finger slipped out of my hand).  We went to the Gay Pride Parade (as it was more or less called at the time) in 1985 or 1986, under the guise of ice cream salespeople for a city political group we were each working with at the time (Berkeley Citizens’ Action, the lefter-wing of the two city left-liberal groups). That might mark my first public appearance as a lesbian.

  • What do you think you learned from that experience?

There are TONS of us! And if you’re out in a safe place, it can make you very, very happy. (Obviously the work is now: make every place a safe place.)

  • How did your family take it?

When I came out to my sister, she chuckled and said she knew before me. While she is an older sister, and thus prone to the kind of know-it-all-ness that older siblings are accursed by, in this case she was right. (Sorry, Mickey! I know you’re an older sister. Hopefully you’ll recognize the grain of truth. Since, you know, you’re usually right!)

My dad, because he has something of a fluid sense of his own sexual identity, was sympathetic, though at first he had a fairly typical “This is surely a phase” response. Mostly because he consigned his own same-sex interests to a phase. He doled out ten years of fairly consistent, patronizing commentary about the “phaseness” of who I was before he began to realize it wasn’t a phase. Or if so, a life-long one.  To his credit, he was certainly amicable and kindly to whichever of my gal pals I brought home to meet him, as was my mother. Notable also is that somebody had to take those pictures up there of me.  It was probably my dad.

My mother understood me the least, and was initially worried I was lesbian because I had a negative experience with a boy. (Far from it! I had none; never was threatened by them; had nothing but amicable buddy relationships; my biggest beef was being underestimated when it came time to pick teams for co-ed sports in P.E.) I was still toward the early (first 5-10 years) part of a process of helping her understand when she died of breast cancer. To this day I attribute my strong desire to do coalition work with heterosexual women a kind of compensatory boobie prize. If I can’t help my mother understand me, least I can do is do the same gentle, patient work with absolutely every other heterosexual mother on Earth.

  • What was your relationship with your mother like?

The $64,000 question. O, o so complex. Even as a kid I felt solicitous and protective of her. Opened doors, etc. Loved her unconditionally, still do. She was a heavyweight woman, had no siblings, raised in apartment after apartment by a single mother (father left the scene, effectively, after her parents divorced when she was 7).  Her mother was most likely an (unaware, unrecovering) alcoholic (never divulged as such to us, but my sister pieced this together after our grandmother’s death from our grandfather’s second wife). She grew up if not poor, then definitely of limited means and tenuous security. Perpetually underestimated by others, or so it seemed to me (note the swashbuckling crusader identity in Exhibit A above: random? I think not).

She was very very loving and protective of my sister and me, and did all in her power to provide for us the healthy, supportive childhood I strongly suspect she lacked. Christmasses were a potlatch of plenty, I’m sure for this reason. We looked at the delight on her face as we opened present after present. To let her down in any way whatsoever was more or less inconceivable to me.

I think it’s for this reason that it was only after she died that I really completed the process of becoming my mannish lesbian self. Only in retrospect did I realize this, but I sincerely believe that because I sensed it would let her down for me to express the true me, as I felt I was gendered, I didn’t fully let myself go there.

In the year following her death, I got a tattoo, shaved the last of the hair on my head, and got the big ole heavy workboots I always wanted. In other words, I opened the door and invited in the female masculinity that I had left shivering outside on the porch for several decades. Nearly twenty years after her death, I would say now that I think she would have loved me anyway.  My mis-step was to confuse understanding with love. Yes, she would have not understood me, not right away. But she always did, would, and probably still does love me.

Fortunately I know your parents, Mickey, and can say with confidence that they love you no matter what or who you find yourself to be, whether they understand that person as quick as you do, or not.  Hopefully you know this now better than I did about my parents when I was your age.

Because my replies are so dang lengthy (who’s surprised?), and because this is NaBloPoMo and I need the help, Part 2 on Monday Tuesday (pre-empted by incoming video of the Oakland General Strike!).

7 thoughts on “20+ questions about my gender & sexual identity (pt. 1)”

  1. Love the questions and the responses! Thanks for sharing.

    I think you make a great point about understanding and love. My family doesn’t always understand me, but I know that they will always love me. Sometimes in my quest for understanding, I take for granted the love. Fortunately, for the most part, with my family the understanding does come, it just might take a while. My mom also thought I was going through a phase, and thought so for a few years, but she’s completely accepted it now, and is happy for me.

    I’m really enjoying these posts for NaBloPoMo, and looking forward to more! 🙂

    • One of the most helpful realizations I made (can’t recall now whether it was sparked by someone else, or something I read, or just plain ole reflection) is that most of us who come out have been contemplating it for a while, and slowly working through internal realizations for some time before we bring the fruits of those realizations public. Coming out is the moment when the iceberg tip becomes visible, but it has been preceded by oh so much internal work: months, usually years upon years. We tend to hope our family and friends around us are capable of seeing us for who we are and understand ourselves to be, but if they haven’t been looking carefully, or if they’re stuck with the biased lenses that come standard for most in U.S. culture (I can only speak of what I know; heaven knows it can be way worse elsewhere and is surely better some places, too), it can take them some time to catch up with where we are when we come out. You know?

      That’s a long way of putting it, but I’ve often thought it helps put the slow process of familial understanding into some perspective.

      Welcome, by the way, and thanks for the encouragement! I may not be able to keep up with the actual contenty stuff day in and day out, but I’m-a try!

      • Thanks for the welcome! I’ve actually been reading for a long time now. I think about two and half years, but have mostly been a lurker…I may have commented a few times over the years, as Jessica, I think. With the switch-over to wordpress I re-registered. I hope to comment a lot more often, because I love the blog and appreciate all of your posts. Also, as someone who has been blogging more myself recently, I know how nice it is to receive comments. Also, I remember that in a post from a long time ago, you mentioned that one of the reasons you blog is for the conversations that can happen through posts and comments. So, here I am, opening my mouth to contribute. 🙂

  2. The grad school friends come out of the woodwork… Laid-Off Dad’s blog reminded me of your blog, which I came across several years ago. Love this post! On the first day of grad school orientation we all went out for lunch. The waitress assumed that you were a guy, and your response was “Eh, gender, it’s fluid.” Your response, and your ease with it, was revelatory to me. I’ve never forgotten it. Hope all is well!
    Megan Rubiner Zinn

    • Megan Rubiner Zinn, as I live and breathe!

      Do you know that I remember that moment (Annie’s Parlour, Dinkytown, french fries, chocolate malt)?! And it was a big one for me, too (the moment, not the malt), since in California, fewer people called anyone “sir” or “ma’am,” and also back there I was still rolling toward my resting stop on the gender spectrum, and probably inspired it less. I recall the opportunity to make sense of it on the spot, to try to disarm the (surely embarassed, or likely so) other person and help give them a way to think about it both less rigidly and also less seriously. Since then I’ve revised my “go to” quip: “Six of one, half dozen of the other.” Which I find winning, both in its broad popular familiarity and its spot-on characterization. Either way, a smile goes along with it, and so far so good. At least when I’m in friendly territory.

      Wonderful to hear from you, Megan! My warm regards to F!

  3. Best line of this post: “…with absolutely every other heterosexual mother on Earth.”

    I totally see that you have that calling. It is one of the many charming things about you.

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