I don't think I have anything odd or, more importantly, unusual to say. But, after seeing this post, I thought you might be interested.
As far as I know, you were the first trans person I encountered. And yes, I use 'as far as I know' deliberately. It was at Disclave, and I remember my head whipping around to be sure of what I'd seen... Yes, that was a guy, in a woman's style bathing suit. [Boggle] .... Um, OK... But why would anyone bother to wear women's clothing if they didn't have to?
I'd never had any level of dysphoria; I never felt comfortable being 'a girl' or even 'a woman'. It was never distaste for my body, however, but aggravation and annoyance at the expected physical behavior when I was wearing girl-clothes vs boy-clothes. To say it was my mother's expectations/requirements/enforcements is, in many ways, too pat an answer. But in the early 1980s - and, perhaps more tellingly, my very early 20s - that's what it was, to me. Why would anyone wear a skirt (and accept the restriction on movement, on exuberance, the risk of the problems brought on by having the skirt not always arranged properly and people seeing under it, of 'what people would think' in an angry hissed undertone, never elaborated on... ) unless they had to? Yes, I was in the SCA at that point, but only barely, and that counted as 'had to', so I was making my own clothes for it and using lots and lots of fabric and skirts to the floor exactly so that I never had to worry about what the skirts did when I moved.
And I'm not clear where I learned this, whether from someone else or talking to you (minimally, as the only overlap was ever-running-about cons), but the construct in my head was 'ha! You *don't* have to be gay to like cross dressing!' Along with 'damn, I wish I could wear a leather miniskirt... He must have lots of practice to walk so surely in those heels...' Which was probably a significant thing for me at the time, as I expect my only (known) exposure to such was the antics of Monty Python and Benny Hill, and only in the previous two years, Rocky Horror.
Fast forward a decade or so, when you attended the first of *those* parties at my house, and my big-sister-that-wasn't was bringing back my then-baby from having taken her for the weekend. She showed up with her own two boys, too, so I mentioned, when I met them at the door, that one of my guests was a guy who wore dresses. She said 'OK' and I think said something to her kids; but the presentation couldn't have been better, as you were coming down the stairs, just turning the curve, as they walked into the hallway. Fast forward a decade or so after that, and my friend tells me an amusing tale: she was talking to her younger son, trying to make sure he, as a highschool aged boy, understood that there was more than binary gender, and that she was OK, really, with whatever ended up... And he stopped her, and said, it's OK ma. We learned everything we needed to know from (another, conservative Jewish friend of hers) and (me). When asked to explain, he said, well, amq has her friend, the guy in the dresses, and (other friend) ... Doesn't.
'OK, we get it,' I hear the peanut gallery, 'you're cool, your friend is cool, dglenn's cool. Your point?' It's not, 'you've made your mark, you can stop now.' It's, 'Yes, this is important, in one of the biggest ways that matters: creating the perceptions and thoughtways of those still plastic enough to see and not reflexively judge.' This is how change happens best.
Your mom is Your Mom, and as one victim of a mom to another, moms are - sometimes - like that. You seem to have accommodated yours with far more grace than I ever gave mine, for which I commend you. It can be, at best, a bittersweet consolation that, with the dementia, it's not likely to be that much longer. But that's no reason to damage yourself. Not for the years till the rest of her body fails, and not for however long your grief will lock you up inside. Your insight when younger - whatever its genesis - holds as true now, and certainly Moms should not be exempt. At least, not in my opinion. If you're not familiar with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, it's an interesting theory that I think has concepts you'd appreciate.
To end my long-tappiness, I give you a pair of clichéd and obvious slogans; they may seem redundant or not on topic. I think they are pertinent.
Think globally, act locally. Be the change you want in the world.
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khatru.livejournal.com at 05:08pm on 2013-04-26
I don't think I have anything odd or, more importantly, unusual to say. But, after seeing this post, I thought you might be interested.
As far as I know, you were the first trans person I encountered. And yes, I use 'as far as I know' deliberately. It was at Disclave, and I remember my head whipping around to be sure of what I'd seen... Yes, that was a guy, in a woman's style bathing suit. [Boggle] .... Um, OK... But why would anyone bother to wear women's clothing if they didn't have to?
I'd never had any level of dysphoria; I never felt comfortable being 'a girl' or even 'a woman'. It was never distaste for my body, however, but aggravation and annoyance at the expected physical behavior when I was wearing girl-clothes vs boy-clothes. To say it was my mother's expectations/requirements/enforcements is, in many ways, too pat an answer. But in the early 1980s - and, perhaps more tellingly, my very early 20s - that's what it was, to me. Why would anyone wear a skirt (and accept the restriction on movement, on exuberance, the risk of the problems brought on by having the skirt not always arranged properly and people seeing under it, of 'what people would think' in an angry hissed undertone, never elaborated on... ) unless they had to? Yes, I was in the SCA at that point, but only barely, and that counted as 'had to', so I was making my own clothes for it and using lots and lots of fabric and skirts to the floor exactly so that I never had to worry about what the skirts did when I moved.
And I'm not clear where I learned this, whether from someone else or talking to you (minimally, as the only overlap was ever-running-about cons), but the construct in my head was 'ha! You *don't* have to be gay to like cross dressing!' Along with 'damn, I wish I could wear a leather miniskirt... He must have lots of practice to walk so surely in those heels...' Which was probably a significant thing for me at the time, as I expect my only (known) exposure to such was the antics of Monty Python and Benny Hill, and only in the previous two years, Rocky Horror.
Fast forward a decade or so, when you attended the first of *those* parties at my house, and my big-sister-that-wasn't was bringing back my then-baby from having taken her for the weekend. She showed up with her own two boys, too, so I mentioned, when I met them at the door, that one of my guests was a guy who wore dresses. She said 'OK' and I think said something to her kids; but the presentation couldn't have been better, as you were coming down the stairs, just turning the curve, as they walked into the hallway.
Fast forward a decade or so after that, and my friend tells me an amusing tale: she was talking to her younger son, trying to make sure he, as a highschool aged boy, understood that there was more than binary gender, and that she was OK, really, with whatever ended up... And he stopped her, and said, it's OK ma. We learned everything we needed to know from (another, conservative Jewish friend of hers) and (me). When asked to explain, he said, well, amq has her friend, the guy in the dresses, and (other friend) ... Doesn't.
'OK, we get it,' I hear the peanut gallery, 'you're cool, your friend is cool, dglenn's cool. Your point?' It's not, 'you've made your mark, you can stop now.' It's, 'Yes, this is important, in one of the biggest ways that matters: creating the perceptions and thoughtways of those still plastic enough to see and not reflexively judge.' This is how change happens best.
Your mom is Your Mom, and as one victim of a mom to another, moms are - sometimes - like that. You seem to have accommodated yours with far more grace than I ever gave mine, for which I commend you. It can be, at best, a bittersweet consolation that, with the dementia, it's not likely to be that much longer. But that's no reason to damage yourself. Not for the years till the rest of her body fails, and not for however long your grief will lock you up inside. Your insight when younger - whatever its genesis - holds as true now, and certainly Moms should not be exempt. At least, not in my opinion. If you're not familiar with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, it's an interesting theory that I think has concepts you'd appreciate.
To end my long-tappiness, I give you a pair of clichéd and obvious slogans; they may seem redundant or not on topic. I think they are pertinent.
Think globally, act locally.
Be the change you want in the world.