genderqueer femme boy in vintage english 60's ...

genderqueer femme boy in vintage english 60’s jacket w/ plum hotpants (Photo credit: Jasper Gregory)

I’m beating myself up for not writing more, and more often. But not really. I’ve been reading some really good blogs by moms of pink boys lately and even the best bloggers don’t blog every day or every week even. Its a combination of things and its why I don’t post pictures of my dinner on facebook. Its my mostly unfabulous transgender life. It just isn’t that interesting to be blogging about every day, or every week.

I mentioned pink boys. I got the term from an article in this week’s NYT sunday magazine. Awesome article about boys lucky enough to live their gender queer lives with the full support of their parents. Read it here if you’re interested. The article had a huge impact on me right away, so much so I frantically sent off the link to my mom. I thanked her for being so loving and supporting of her pink boy and eagerly awaited her feedback. I got it today.

In short, my mom said it was painful reading the article and the painful memories it druged up. I totally sent it to her in every respect of what I said, that raising a pink boy in an era free from play groups, support groups, mom blogs, e-mail lists and understanding professionals was a huge undertaking. And she did a great job. Read the article if you haven’t and I’ll tell you about how I was able to express my attitudes towards gender in many of the samwe ways a pink boy these days is able to. Sure I couldn’t wear a dress to school and my makeup play was limited to time spent at my cousins house, but these are the same parents who bought their pink boy a doll and indulged my non-gender conforming ways as best they could. Top that off with a brother, who at 10, knew his six year old brother was non-gender conforming and still said “I love you no matter what”. Not a day goes by that I don’t feel lucky to have grown up in the family I did.

As for the pink boy label, I fully embrace it. I was a pink boy, very much so and I still am. I can say I’m finally at a point in my life where I’m really comfortable with my transgender identity. Practically speaking, I think my space is more the gender queer end of things at the moment. The pragmatic issues of gender queer are such that I care some days more about projecting myself as female, other days not so much, and some days not at all. Interesting in that I didn’t reference a male presentation. Truth is, I don’t put any effort in to it. On the days I’m completely uninterested in my outward actions, I suppose the default comes through, but even I’m not sure if it’s male.

On a tangent, I owe a huge amount to my work partner. To understand the relationship, you spend 14 hours a day in close proximity to someone in often high stress situations the relationship trancends your usual co-worker relationship. From the crying it out after a bad pediatric call, through the “being a complete bitch” for two weeks while I was dealing with major depression issues, to just generally putting up with me – you get the point. I have to admit, in my nine years in EMS, I’ve never been this open about my gender queerness. He tolerates me, pokes fun of me in the way that says I accept you and generally puts up with my moods aId other assorted goofiness.

There’s a point to my tangent. My partner is convinced I’m gay. Maybe it’s my overwhelming love of one of my few male friends. Like a love so strong I would marry him today if he asked me. Maybe it’s my constantant feminity. I’ll conceed there were times I worked really carefully on being female and I was good at it. In my life past major depression, I just haven’t tried as hard. It was a “I don’t feel like dealing with it moment” that I’m still in the process of recovering from. And yet, maybe more then ever, he’s convinced of my femininity.

I had been amusing myself by keeping him guessing about my sexuality. Last shift, in between my professions of affection for Chris, I finally said “right forest, wrong tree.”, “I know what I am, I’ve known since I was 12 and I’m not gay.” and some general nonsense about how he wasn’t going to figure it out, I didn’t expect him to, but “all will be revealed in due time.”

Mostly he complains about my iPhone and how I’m constantly on it. I am, I blame Chris. He got an iPhone, I got one. We text, we play words with friends. It does take up alot of time sometimes. He fussed that I wasn’t talkative enough. I responded by playfully harassing him the rest of the day and just generally being goofy. Then he complained I was talking too much. That he had one nerve left and I was “working it”. Of course this is the partner that decided my drag name is Mona. I have my list of names, and Mona’s not on it. I try Tristan, he says its too masculine, Skylar sounds like a stripper and on and on. So I don’t feel bad about playfully tormenting him sometimes, he does it to me. We do it to eachother, it how you get through 14 hours a day.

Tomorrow, quietly, I’m going to thank him for just letting me be me. I’d buy him a card or something if he was the female partner I wish I had sometimes, usually poking fun of his dreams of a male partner and me telling him next time he needs to be more specific, but I don’t know that it would go over the way I want it to. So a simple “hey, thanks” will be all and he’ll nod or say it’s no big deal or someother minimalist response. I’ll know I have the best partner I’ve ever had. I say I can’t let him go, becuase he knows too much, but the truth is much of who I’ve become since April, I owe to him. That’s huge.

My partner is every stereotype of a redneck there is. The lesson in all of this is you never know who’s going to have the biggest impact on your life. Never stop looking, I guess.