Living History

What a week it has been!

I was talking to a 20 year old coworker at work Sunday.  I asked her if she ever heard us older folks discuss things like the fall of the Berlin Wall.  She said she had.  I said that we as a generation lived through history; in that case the end of the Cold War.  (I won't get into an argument as to the causes of said events, as I'm not in the mood.)

I told her to remember this week well, because in the years to come, she can say she lived through history.  And History it was.  Major history.

Most of this history was courtesy of the Supreme Court (SCOTUS).  You might remember them from such disasters as the Dredd Scott decision, appointing George W. Bush as president (thus costing the world over a million lives and the US billions in debt), or the Citizens United decision which legalized bribery.  Well this time, they ruled for the GOOD of the country for a change.

First was their ruling on the Affordable Care Act, declaring the Federal Tax credits legal, and thus making ending legal challenges.  (Text of decision HERE) Oh, the GOP will try again and again to repeal it, but why?  To attempt to deny the Black President his victory.  Too harsh?  I'll come back to that.  In any case, eight MILLION Americans keep their health care, including my Wife (pre-existing condition) and my roomie.  That was Major.

At the same time, and just as major was a ruling on the fair housing act (text HERE).  Here's a summary by NPR.

"Civil rights groups won a victory Thursday, as the Supreme Court ruled that claims of racial discrimination in housing cases shouldn't be limited by questions of intent.

The court affirmed a Court of Appeals decision in a case in which a nonprofit group, the Inclusive Communities Project, said that the Texas Department of Housing and Community Affairs had contributed to "segregated housing patterns by allocating too many tax credits to housing in predominantly black inner-city areas and too few in predominantly white suburban neighborhoods."

The 5-4 ruling endorses the notion of citing disparate impact in housing cases, meaning that statistics and other evidence can be used to show decisions and practices have discriminatory effects — without proving that they're the result of discriminatory intentions.""

In a nutshell, it will be easier to bring claims of bias.  Proving intention is nearly impossible, so racists have been able to have their way.  No longer.  This means that people that the white straight majority don't like (say for example, I don't know, Transpeople) will have a chance to win cases of discrimination.

As I said: Major.

And opposed by the GOP.  Not a surprise.

During this time, another controversy was boiling- the use of the Confederate Battle Flag on State Grounds (and in official state flags) in the south.  As anyone knows who has been breathing the past few weeks, a White Supremacist opened fire in a historically black church in Charleston, South Carolina.  On his Facebook page he had pictures of him with the Confederate Battle flag (which was NOT the official flag of the Confederacy, btw- it was a battle standard.)  Thinking Americans erupted, especially since the Confederate flag was not lowered on the grounds of the South Carolina state house even while the US flag and SC state flag were.  The controversy boiled over until the GOP governor of SC, under pressure, called for the removal of the Confederate Battle flag from state property.

This set off the racists Big Style.

The Original Confederate Flag "Stars and Bars."  Not what you expected, right?

What they didn't want to acknowledge was that the Confederate flag was raised above the statehouse in 1962, in defiance of desegregation.  So the flag which was merely a symbol of Treason against the USA, doubled as a symbol of racism (as it had been for many years, as the KKK and other hate groups adopted it soon after the war.)

Many have claimed that the flag is "heritage, not hate."  Ummm heritage of WHAT?  Treason.  Period.  Hate.  Period.  The Confederacy existed to show white supremacy and to keep its slaves.  That's what the war was about.  Loom up the articles of succession of any of the Southern states, and you'll see that.  Need an example?  Lets try this, from Mississippi:  (Emphasis mine)

"Our position is thoroughly identified with the institution of slavery-- the greatest material interest of the world. Its labor supplies the product which constitutes by far the largest and most important portions of commerce of the earth. These products are peculiar to the climate verging on the tropical regions, and by an imperious law of nature, none but the black race can bear exposure to the tropical sun. These products have become necessities of the world, and a blow at slavery is a blow at commerce and civilization. That blow has been long aimed at the institution, and was at the point of reaching its consummation. There was no choice left us but submission to the mandates of abolition, or a dissolution of the Union, whose principles had been subverted to work out our ruin."

All have similar statements.

I'm not saying the Confederate Battle flag should be banned, as the Nazi flag is banned in Germany.  No, if you want to fly that flag, or wear it on your shirt, or whatever- go right ahead.  It's a free country.  But realize that you're aligning yourself with a tradition of treason and hate.  And if that's how you roll, well, that's your problem.  But as for a State institutionalizing a flag of treason?  Nope.  And that's what this is about.

Oh, by the way, since those events, several historically black churches have been burnt down throughout the South.  Coincidence?  I think not.

I know MANY people in the South, and all the ones I know (except one) are Loyal Americans.  They love this country.  So why do they tolerate a symbol of treason?  I have no idea.  Actually, most don't.  Know who LOVES the Confederacy and all it stood for?  The radical wing of the GOP.  The ones who HATE Obama because he's black.  Funny that.

Then, two days later: the Big One.

Equal Rights.

Gay people can now marry legally in the entire USA.

Other nations applauded.  The White House and Niagara Falls were bathed in rainbow lights.  Thinking Americans everywhere celebrated.

https://twitter.com/WhiteHouse/status/614611810415681536

The GOP protested (and continue to protest).

I'm not going to go into the whole thing here, about why the GOP hates LGBT people.  I've covered it before.  But the fact is, this was a historic victory for LGBT people in the US.

I have friends whose unions will now be recognized everywhere in the country.  Well... everywhere except those run by the GOP. With Gay people achieving this major Equal rights victory, can trans rights be far behind?

Only if we work at it.

We can follow up these great victories by keeping the pressure on our elected officials.  The American public is learning more about us than ever before.  Don't let the Republican quislings stop you- make calls, get out there and MEET people.  Tell your story.  Racists don't see black people as human.  Those who hate us don't see US as human.  Show them that we are.  Let them get to know you.  Be a Positive force for Change.

Don't be surprised if the forces of hate cause a backlash against us as they have against the churches of the South.  They are desperate, and, thanks to the NRA, they are armed.  So while you're out and about- be safe.

We are living in a time of momentous change: of History.  WE are making history.

We CAN make Trans rights happen.  All of us.

We CAN.

It's up to us.  No one else.

Be well.

Two Weeks Gone

Hi all!  I'm back!

So where have I been?  Well, lots has been happening.  The big thing was the Move.

Linda and I moved out of our apartment in Norristown that we shared for a bit with Zoey.  We couldn't afford it any longer.  After a bit of a search, we located an apartment in Phoenixville, which is where Wife and daughter live.  In fact, I'm just over a mile away from them.  Wife agreed that this means I will see my Daughter more often.

The apartment itself is a little smaller.  It's a one bedroom instead of a two bedroom.  Linda and I bunk together, as we did this in the old apartment (separate beds) so it's not so hard.  But it's in a nicer area, and on the first floor.  The laundry room is directly next door.

Both Linda and I are very happy here.  I've already seen a lot more of my daughter, and Linda is MUCH closer to work.  And I'm not scared driving home at night anymore.

That said, yesterday a violent storm blew through the area.  The drain spout above our front window was clogged, so the water poured out into the window, which was badly sealed... and created a waterfall into the front room.  Linda was there and minimized the damage, but still...


In better news, Elizabeth asked me to be in her wedding.  I mention her with some regularity.  So two days after we moved, myself, the other two bridesmaids (Jamie and M), and Elizabeth went dress shopping- for us not the bride.  We went to David's Bridal, and poked around.  A salesperson was very helpful, and didn't seem to notice/care that I was trans.

I was quite nervous, as I'd never done this before!  Elizabeth notice I was a bit subdued and asked what was wrong.  I smiled and told her nothing was wrong.  Because there was really nothing wrong- just a case of nerves.

Anyway, I settled on a dress.  What you don't see is the black taffeta bolero that will hide my shoulders.

I'm going to post this.  There's more I can write about, and I will, but I'm just too tired right now.

Be well!

What Would YOU do?

I have mentioned several times in this blog and other places that I am a member of Phi Kappa Sigma (Skull House) fraternity.  Recently, I even discussed the book I wrote about my times there.  Ok, so what?

This year is the 125th anniversary of Skull at Penn State.  When I was an undergrad, I helped plan the 100th anniversary.  Soon after graduation, I attended that event alone, as my fiancee and I broke up just before the event.  I met many people and had (if I recall correctly) a good time.

So the 125th is coming this November.  One of the brothers I am still close to, Ty, recently messaged me asking I was going to attend.  I replied that I probably wouldn't, as I felt I wouldn't be welcome, being a woman now and all.  He said that due to my work documenting our years in the House in the scrapbook (for which I won "Officer of the Year", 1988, btw)(*pats self on back*) that we "all owe you big time."

I told him how I felt- that the idea of facing the brothers again scared the sh*t out of me.  Because it does.  Perhaps a little history is in order.

I joined Phi Kappa Sigma at Drexel University in Spring of 1985.  I stayed at Drexel until the end of spring semester 1986 when I transferred to Penn State.  I have never ever regretted that decision and I still don't.  It was one of the best decisions of my life.

So I transferred to PSU, where there was a chapter of Phi Kappa Sigma.  Where at Drexel we were a new chapter who didn't even have a house, the chapter at PSU was regarded as one of the best chapters of the fraternity.  They lived in a mansion close to campus.  The brothers were a lot of jocks and ex-jocks- rich kids- and the most popular people from their respective homes.  And here I was: a skinny kid with a major identity crisis.  To say I didn't fit in is the understatement of the century.

Skull House 1987

And they never let me forget it.

I made some great friends, sure.  But more enemies: people determined to drive me away.  They didn't understand a few things.  1) I swore an oath to be loyal and an asset to Phi Kappa Sigma.  I took that very seriously, and still do. 2)  I needed to prove to myself that I was a Man.  As you all know, that didn't work out.  3) I'm extremely stubborn, especially when I'm told I CAN'T do something.

My years at Penn State were some of the best of my life.  I wouldn't change a thing.. except maybe I should've transitioned then when I was so skinny.  But whatever.  That said, they were also some of the most traumatic of my life.  I still dream regularly of my days at the House, and few of those dreams are pleasant.

Me (In black shirt) coaching a chugging team, 1987

So it comes down to this:  Should I actually attend?  I reached out to another of my brothers who is an officer on the alumni board.  He is gay, and is very much accepted by the house.  He sent me a very positive message in reply, saying that he'd do everything possible to accommodate me.

I love Penn State.  I haven't been there in years- since I transitioned.  I really should go back.  But what benefit is there to going?  Will the active brothers benefit by having me there in the House for a short time?  Is this a door I want to kick in?

And can I afford it?

I am really torn about this.  What do you think?

My Last Visit: July 2013

A Post from A Coworker

What follows is a Facialbook post, written by David Feldman.  He is a former co-worker of mine from the book store.  I read this and I cried.  I had no idea he felt this way.

And his description of the pre-transition me is spot on.

I reproduce it here with his kind permission.

The reason I'm posting this is as a reminder to myself that ALL who transition are examples of the Community to the world at large.  They see the community through us.  I remember once being told, when I was pledging the fraternity, that we would always be an example- that people would form opinions of the fraternity based on OUR behavior.  And I also applied that to Penn State.  If you follow the logic.

So, here is the post, unedited.  Thanks so much David!

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I am getting so tired of the debate about Caitlyn Jenner being a hero. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, so let me share mine.

The definition of 'hero', according to the Merriam -Webster dictionary is as follows:

'a person who is admired for great or brave acts or fine qualities.'

Question: Is Caitlyn Jenner admired for a great or brave act or fine quality?

My answer: Yes

Therefore, Caitlyn Jenner is a hero... to me.

In addition, I personally know someone who has faced the same decisions that Bruce Jenner had faced. His name was Lance. I learned of his dilemma after returning from a 3 month sick leave. He made the same choice as Bruce did.

Lance was very unhappy. He was not an easy person to be around. As a matter of fact, there were times when I avoided him.

When I returned to work, before I was allowed onto the sales floor, I was asked to read a lengthy letter, written by Lance.

I will not go into details about the letter, only to say I was not overly surprised by who the author was.

I approached the person previously known as Lance and I said "I just read the letter you wrote, and I have to tell you, I have a whole new respect for you".

I didn't see a man wearing women's clothing. I saw a person who was happy to be themselves. She was a totally different person. I no longer avoided this person, but found myself seeking her out just to say hello.

Caitlyn Jenner is a hero, and so is Sophie Lynne.

I learned that what a person wears, or how they talk isn't important as long as that individual is happy with who they are.

For those people who are mocking the TG community, remember this...

They are the same as you and me. They work, they eat, they feel, they dream. The only difference is they are now happier with who they are. Can you say the same?

Daughter Reacts

I was going to post this on Facialbook, but decided to do it here instead.

I went to dinner with Wife and Daughter tonight.  (I spent the day at an air show with Linda Lewis, then the evening with them.)  I hadn't seen them in a week, nor spoken to Wife in a couple of days, due to our conflicting schedules.

"Fifi" the last flying B29 in the world

We had a wonderful dinner.  We talked about many things, including the fact that my daughter has now finished first grade.  She was so happy to be a "big" second grader!

So I asked Wife what her reaction was to the whole Caitlyn Jenner thing.  She shrugged.  Then she smiled slightly.

"[Daughter] and I saw it on the news.  They were talking about it and [Daughter] said "Just like daddy!"


I'm very proud of her.  She gets it!

"Call Me Caitlyn" The Jenner Cover

June 1, 2015 was a BIG day.

I woke late this morning, as I am off work.  Then I checked my messages...

The Internet had exploded!  Everywhere was the cover of Vanity Fair!

So she's been busy since the interview.  From what I can tell, she's had Facial feminization surgery, breast augmentation, and (according to reports) Gender confirmation surgery.  Bruce is Gone.  Long live Caitlyn.

I've been asked many questions today.  I'm sure I'll be asked many more tomorrow at work.  After all, for many people, I'm the only trans person they know.  So I welcome the questions.

So.  There she is.  How do I feel?

I feel a mix of emotions.  My first thought was "WOW!"  My second thought was jealousy.  Yes, jealousy.  She's had everything I want to do.  And she had it with no money issues or waiting.  But then I thought about it.

She will spend of the rest of her days in the spotlight.  She will never know a moment of quiet.

Peace?  Yes, she knows that.  I understand how she feels.  But she'll be followed and harassed forever.

I mean, even her Republican "allies" have turned on her.  See what Fox News has to say HERE.  She has to deal with that betrayal.

After I figured that out, know what I did?  I got on with my day.  There were things to do.  Linda and I are moving on June 13th, and there's a lot of packing to be done.  Today I contacted PECO and changed the Renter's Insurance.  The wait time for Comcast was too long so I gave up.

I am extremely happy for Ms. Jenner. She is living her life as genuinely as she can.  And now people are wondering if she'll be a "good representative of the trans community."  Know what I think?  I think she's going to live her life.  And if by doing that she can be a shining beacon, so be it.

I wonder who did her FFS...

Talking about my Book

Since I posted the first chapter of the book I wrote, I have had several people ask me for more details about it.  And as you know, I do requests sometimes...

Ok, so I wrote a book.  I call it Men of the Skull and it's a memoir of my college years, covering 1985-89.  During that time I attended two universities: Drexel University (1984-6) and then I transferred to Penn State University (1986-89) from which I graduated.  The Skull in the title refers to Phi Kappa Sigma fraternity, which I joined in 1985, and am still a member (a bit of a surprise, as I am now female...)

Phi Kappa Sigma "Skull House" Penn State  May 1987.

The book took seven years to research and write.  On standard paper (single sided, double spaced) it covers 761 pages in two parts.  The first part is my time at Drexel, covering pledging the fraternity and the reasons behind why I transferred.  That's the first third of the book.  The rest covers my time at Penn State, with an epilogue as well.  That's two thirds of the book (duh).  The two parts are written in slightly different styles.

Part 1 I wrote sequentially.  I wrote it to project a bit of a "claustrophobic" feel.  Part 2 was written in a scattershot way, jumping from place to place until I'd filled in all the blanks.  This gives it a more random spontaneous feel.  Sort of "making it up as I was going along," which is how I lived my life back then.

The picture on the left is from my PSU days

But I didn't make up anything in this book.  I've kept detailed journals since January 1984.  Those journals are the basis of the book.  I also have letters, etc to remind me.  Then there are parts I wrote down back when I was still at Penn State, wanting to preserve what happened, thinking it may make a good story some day.  I also did a LOT of research in newspapers, websites, conducting interviews, etc.  I wanted every detail to be correct; So if I say something happened on a given day, that's what and when it happened.  Except for names- I changed 90% of those.  I had permission to keep the two I kept.  Each chapter begins with a newspaper headline- almost always from the Philadelphia Inquirer of that cited day.

I finished the book on Wednesday, November 26, 2008.  I then printed out a full copy, photocopied ten more, and gave them to a few people to look over and make suggestions.  I received four of them back.  Reviews were mostly positive.  A couple of people never finished reading it, making some excuse or the other, but I guess they just didn't like it.  I currently have no complete printed copies of that book.  It is, however, on two different thumb drives and saved onto a CD.

I shopped around for agents and publishers and received a few bites, but in the end, it remains unpublished.

So.  Why slave away seven years just to not publish it?  Why not self publish?  I'll get to that second question.  To answer the first, I was in deep pain.  I was drinking very hard, and the only time in my life when it seemed I WASN'T in pain was at Penn State.  So I figured my answers lay there.  (Remember, this is while my Gender dysphoria was buried deep and festering inside me.)  So I wrote the book, hoping that somewhere, somehow, I would trigger whatever it was that was haunting me so I could deal with it.  And I also wanted to write a book.  On October 31, 2008, I went out dressed as a woman for Halloween.  And my dysphoria came flooding back.  I had found the source of all that Pain, anger, and insanity.

So in many ways, the book became superfluous.


I haven't self published because the book needs a good strong edit, and I'm too busy or too lazy to do it.  And I really wonder if all those agents and editors were right in thinking it wouldn't sell.  Maybe I'll self publish someday.  What do you think?

My writing style has changed a lot over the years.  The discipline of writing the book helped a lot, but more so the amount of writing I do for this blog.  So when I read the book, it's seeing me from long ago in many ways.

In any case, I've posted the first chapter a few times in various places.  What follows is the first chapter of Part 2:  the Penn State part.  I've never posted this anywhere before now.  Note: there are some naughty words and situations in the is piece, so if you don't like that sort of thing, don't read it.

So, those of you who asked now have the whole story.

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Chapter 2.1:  Hat Party

Friday, August 29, 1986     “Bolivia calls state of siege to halt strife.”

That night, State College burned.  The hot summer sun was gone, but the parties were on: parties beyond counting, fun without limit.  The whole campus- the whole town- the whole valley sizzled with possibility that tonight, maybe, it would all come together: that sparks would fly and that we would make explosions and flames of our own that would burn on forever.  Or at least until dawn.

            Her breasts stared at me through her lilac colored oxford.  Moderately sized (but bigger than any that I’d ever seen naked), big nipples-and the AC was up too high.  She wore a scarlet wide brimmed hat that looked like something from the 1940s.  Tight jeans. 

            “Oh let me be--- your sledge-hammer.  This will be my testimony.”

The music was loud, but not too loud.  Keg in the kitchen, beer in clear plastic cups.  And everyone wearing stupid hats.  The hostess was a girl who lived at the end of the hall- it was a Hat Party, and everyone was invited.  Price of admission?  Wear a hat: the goofier the better.  You wanna kick in a few bucks for the keg; that’s cool too.

Her face was broad- eastern European.  Freckles.  Biggish nose, permed curly brown hair and happy smallish eyes.  With nipples like hers, it was hard to keep eye contact.  The hat set off everything nicely.  She smiled and we talked about Drexel and Penn State and nothing in particular that mattered.  Eye contact, Lance.  I smiled and sipped my beer.  Her name was Sara.

My first Friday night at Penn State.  My first real apartment party.  And Sara was smiling at me.  She seemed interested in what I had to say.  I was scared shitless.  Don’t fuck up, Lance.  Eye contact.

Our hostess, Katie, lived at the end of our hall: third floor Beaver Hill Apartments.  My roommates and I met her the day we moved in.  We helped her carry stuff up from her dad’s truck.  She bought us pizza and beer and we sat among the boxes in her place.  She lived alone.

I wore my black and yellow painters cap- backwards.  Dark blue button down.  Tan shorts.  Sara was a senior, 21, from Pittsburgh.  She lived in Atherton Hall: the honors dorm bordering College Avenue a block away from the apartments.  She smiled modestly and looked toward her feet coquettishly as I offered to refill her beer.

Brought it back, and we slipped over to the corner next to the mirrored wall.  All the apartments in this building had a mirrored wall- made the rooms look bigger.  Ooh.  Ahh.

The windows were open, and Delta Upsilon right next door was partying as well.  The sound of the crowd there mixed with ours, the music, and Sara’s husky voice.

I so wanted to suck on those tits.  Feel them.  Nibble.

“He do the walk… he do the walk of life!”  Dire Straits sang from the speakers across the room.

“So, why Penn State?  A guy like you could’ve gone to lots of schools,” Sara asked.

I had a hard on that must’ve been sooooo obvious.

“Well, Penn State has the best looking women- like you!”  I smiled.  You fucking dork!  Jesus Christ! No wonder you can’t get laid to save your own life!

She smiled, laughed politely, and raised her cup.

“Well, here’s to Penn State!” she said.

We touched glasses and drank; my eyes never leaving hers.  Brown eyes.  She had brown eyes.  Chestnut.  A beer or two later, and she had to go.

“I have other parties I promised to attend” she said with a smile.

“It’s been nice talking to you!”  I said.  Ugh!  Dork!  Ask her for her phone number, you idiot!

“You too!”  She bent over and put her cup down on the table.  I had a great view down her shirt at those beautiful breasts in a white bra.  Wow!  Did she mean to do that?

“Um, can I have your number so we can, y’know, get together some time?”  DORK!

Sara smiled.  “Sure!”  She found a pen and a napkin.

Not a bad end for my first week of classes.  So far, Penn State was almost all I could ask for.  I moved in the Saturday before: Beaver Hill Apartments, room 324. 

The apartment was small, but furnished.  The carpet was tan and the walls white, except for one wall which was covered by paneled mirrors.  The living room had a brown sofa, loveseat and a square glass topped table as well as two end tables with brass lamps.  The kitchen had a very small table and had a linoleum floor.  There was a large opening to the living room making a little “breakfast nook” as the ad called it.  The bedroom had two closets and three beds.  I was the first one to move in, so I claimed the single bed.  The other two guys would get the bunk bed.  The windows in the bedroom and living room faced the back parking lot and neighboring Cedarbrook Apartments, so the view wasn’t exactly sensational.  Lots of apartments had balconies, but not this one.  Off to the left of the parking lot was a large fraternity house: Delta Upsilon.  (DU). 

Marc moved in a few hours later.  We left our door open to “invite” the neighbors, like we used to do in the dorm at Drexel.  Put a life sized stand up of Freddy Kruger in the door (got it from Julianne’s dad).  A couple of people gasped.  Then one girl screamed.  We scared the shit out of her.

She was really cute!  Tall, short blonde hair, nice breasts, perfect hips- just really cute.  We had a good laugh with her and invited her in for a beer.  She accepted- but after she unloaded the truck.  So we helped, and she bought the pizza and beer.

We met a lot of other girls on the floor as well that day and the days following.  It was gonna be a great year.

Published in the New York Times!

Today was a Triple happy day!

First, my roomie Linda finally got her prescription for estrogen.  She was on it for years, but was self medicating, which is VERY dangerous.  Today we went to the Mazzoni Center in Philly where she finally got cleared by a doctor to be on HRT.  And she is so much happier!

Second, I received word that my dear friend Ally Raymond (whom I have written about many times here) has been featured in the New York Times.  You see, they're doing a series on transpeople, where you write about who you are, and maybe they'll publish it.  And she was published hours after submitting her amazing piece!  Read it HERE.

Third... wellllll..


I was also published in the New York Times!!!!!  The "Paper of Record!"  I'm no Jennifer Finney Boylan, but I can now say I've been published in the Times.  I can't tell you how excited I am.  As a writer, it's a dream come true!  It's only a short little piece, but I'm happy with it!

Find it HERE.  

Oh, and of course I mentioned the blog.  I haven't seen an uptick in hits though.  yet.  *crosses fingers*

What to Ask, and What not to Ask

I am participating in Trans*forming the Dialogue, Simmons College’s Online MSW Program’s campaign to promote an educational conversation about the transgender community. By participating in this campaign, I will be offering my perspective on what TO ask and what NOT to ask trans*people. 

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As veteran readers of this blog know, I do answer reader questions and requests for topics from time to time.  I received an email from Simmons College, a private all women's college in Boston, MA.  They informed me that they are "the third US women’s college to accept students who identify as transgender." And they asked me to discuss the above point. They even provided a Nifty logo!

I think I've covered this ground before, but it's good to re-visit it. I can never do as well as Calpurnia Addams did on this, but here goes. After all, one of the purposes of this blog is Education. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Your mileage may vary. Read the prospectus before investing. Void where prohibited.


The first question is one I have heard a lot. "So does this mean you like guys or girls?"  

Well, I am starting with this because this covers a LOT of ground. It's pretty simple- would you ask this question of any other woman that you meet? Say, the person ahead of you in line at the grocery store? Unless you're colossally socially inept or five years old, you wouldn't.  All of these sort of questions come down to one thing- It's none of your fudging business. Only I don't say "fudge."

The really disappointing people who have asked this are the people who have known me for years, and know that I am married.

Folks, it's like this: Gender Identity and Gender preference are two different things: apples and oranges. Gender Preference is who you wish to go to bed/ have a relationship/ whatever with, and Gender Identity is who you ARE.

Pretty simple right? They are independent of each other. Always. Girls like boys; boys like girls. Some boys like boys; some girls like girls; vice versa, etc. Being trans has nothing to do with that. As if it's anyone's business. Ibid.

The second question I get a lot isn't as egregious, but it's common and invasive. "Are you going to get the surgery?"

I understand you wanting to know more about the TG condition. However, my medical history is no one's business but mine, my doctor, and my Wife. Do I ask you about your medical history? Tell me about your hysterectomy. How about that nose job?

Some TG people will answer this question. Depending upon the person, I will too. After all, it's all about education. But think about it- unless you're a medical professional, would you ask a stranger about their medical history or intentions? You wouldn't.

Then there's the rudest one. "What will it look like down there when it's all done?"

Yes, I've been asked this. That's like me asking a man about how many times he couldn't get it up or asking a random woman on the street about her menstrual cycle. Ask this one to a trans-person and all bets are off. That's slap worthy. That's defriending time. That's just plain rude. And again, none of your fudging business. I usually reply with something very pointed, like "why are you hung like a light switch?'

Yes folks, it's just common sense.

Photo by Cassandra Storm

Now for the second part, which is a bit nicer. Things to ask a trans-person.

What would you prefer to be called?

Him, her, whatever. Bruce Jenner said to call him "him" until otherwise informed. Fair enough. I am she/her. I am female.

"How can I help?"

Really, transition is brutal. I have said/ written/ used semaphore flags many times saying that if you don't HAVE to do it: DON'T. It's nice to have someone extend their hand and ask this. Often, the answer will be a polite "no" but it's always nice to ask. And it's ALWAYS appreciated.

"Tell me your story."

Not really a question, but a prompt. And a good one. But don't ask if you're not going to listen. By telling our stories, we become Real to people. We are no longer these strange societal outcasts. As Professor Jennifer Finney Boylan has written (and attributed to her mother) "You can't hate someone whose story you know." And the New York Times agrees- they're publishing trans-people's stories (I submitted mine but to date have not been published.) But a few friends of mine have been published. And all the stories are worth a read. All people have stories. All are worth hearing. That's part of being Human.


I could go on with these questions for a while, but those, to me are the Big ones. If you wish, submit your questions you Love/Hate in the comments here. And as always, if you have questions for me, you can either ask me here or at my email sophie1lynne@yahoo.com. Maybe your question will be a blog entry! (With you receiving full credit of course!)

Thank you to Simmons College for supporting the Trans community, and for this opportunity.

Be Well,

First Chapter... 30 Years Ago

I think I've mentioned more than once that I wrote a book.  To date, it hasn't been published.  I bring this up because yesterday, May 13, is the 30th anniversary of the event that leads off the book.  On May 13, 1985, Philadelphia police stormed a fortified house in west Philadelphia occupied by a radical group called MOVE.  More information can be found HERE.

The first chapter of my book (which I think I posted on my Myspace blogs) takes place that night.  And it all happened exactly as I wrote it down.  The dates, times, everything were written down in my journal.  And this night is etched in my brain.

So here it is: the first chapter of my book, telling a tale now thirty years old.   The headline next to the date is from the Philadelphia Inquirer newspaper.

.................................................................................................................

Chapter 1.1: Black out

Monday, May 13, 1985:  “Police prepare to evict MOVE”

That night, the whole city burned.  The explosions started years before, but the bomb dropped that afternoon.  The concussion bomb fell from a police helicopter onto the concrete bunker, built to hold off an army, resting on the roof of a house in a west Philly neighborhood.  The night sky glowed orange against the low clouds of black smoke.

All of this we knew by watching the news- the reporters were orgasmic at the spectacle.  Now three full residential blocks were engulfed in flames.  MOVE, a heavily-armed “back to nature” group, builders of the bunker, was finished.

That was all great, but for me, lying on the floor of my darkened dorm thirty blocks east, it was not much comfort.  My room was about a hundred yards down the street from the original MOVE house, bulldozed by the police after the first shootout that killed an officer back in 1978.  Our dorm was new, but the surrounding buildings were spattered with bullet holes.  The locals were very pro-MOVE, and very pissed off.

Our R.A., Tyra, told us to strip the mattresses from our beds and lean them against the windows, turn off the lights and lie on the floor.  We were in a blackout; hoping that the mob would sweep past the building if we played dead. 

Outside, the chants were loud and bloodthirsty. 

“Murderers!”

“Fuck the Police!”

Windows shattered.  Gunfire punctuated their rage.

And this is college, Lance.  This is higher education in 1985.

My roommate “Ripper” and I lay on our floor, staring at the plaster ceiling.  Ripper was short- five foot eight at best.  He had an extremely boyish face which would’ve been more at home on a thirteen year old.  However, he was powerfully built: sculpted like a bodybuilder or a pro football player.  No one doubted he could kick ass.  Well, he could kick all of our wimpy asses anyway.  Ripper also had a dry sense of humor aided by a voice with the character of a deep dial tone.

A radio was playing in Mark and Tom’s room across the hall.  “We are the World” ended for the zillionth time, and the DJ came on.

            “We have news that the Boss is hitched!  That’s right- Bruce Springsteen has married his girlfriend Julianne Phillips today in a secret ceremony that everyone thought would happen tomorrow!  Way to go, Boss!  This one’s for you!”

Springsteen’s song “I Want to Marry You” drifted through the darkness.

Little girl, I wanna marry you
Oh yeah, little girl, I wanna marry you
Yes I do
Little girl, I wanna marry you

“She’s so hot!” drooled Ripper.

“Oh yeah!  Did you see her in that 38 Special video?” I replied.

“Which one?”

“The one with the horses.  Damn!  What’s it called?  I’ll think of it.”

“Just goes to show that an average guy with tons of bucks and a band can still score a hot model.  Look at Billy Joel!” Ripper smirked.

“If I’d Been the One” I almost shouted.

“What?”

“If I’d been the One.  That’s the 38 Special video she’s in.”

“Oh yeah.  I’m bored.  Want to go to the study lounge?  There’s bound to be people there”

We crawled out our door then slowly felt our way down the darkened hallway wall to the study lounge at the end of the hall, where ten others were lying on the floor- some panicked, some re-assuring, all terrified.  We were on the 3^rd floor, far above the crowd, but what was to stop them from coming in the dorm and looting?  Like a bunch of engineering students could stop an armed mob.

Back down the hall the radio started playing another newish overplayed song by Katrina and the Waves.  It was bouncy, happy, perky, poppy, and I just wanted to kick the singer in the teeth as she cheered “I’m walking on sunshine!  Wuh-oh!  And don’t it feel good!”  I groaned and put my head down in my arms.

Abbie was the first one to get the joke.  She started giggling to herself, then bouncing around singing the song in her nasal Cherry Hill accent, her long black hair flailing with her arms.

We all then saw the absurdity of this song playing while we  were laying on the floor of a darkened study lounge hoping that the bloodthirsty mob outside didn’t kill us.  By the end of the song, we were all singing along and rolling about the brown carpeted floor like idiots.

The dorm where this took place, circa 1986