Click through for the article.
it seems to me…: I Hugged a Man in His Underwear. And I am Proud.
great effing article.
youareanobject:obdormio:(by Jillian Camille Ocampo)
“You’re gonna have to tell me where to turn.”
You say this to Herman, who looks at you with the sideways smile he uses whenever he thinks you are being ridiculous. He speaks to you in a supportive voice he never uses with anyone else, though he doesn’t talk to most people, so maybe this is just the voice he uses with himself, that is to say, his voice. He says, “I know. I’m going to. Turn straight forward for now.”
You think about this. “I was just asking,” you say. When you are scared you ask stupid questions, and you are nervous enough right now to basically be considered scared. You are not superstitious, and you think magical thinking will probably be what leads to the downfall of Man, but jeez… Whenever you are alone with Herm, it’s like your heart is a mental patient banging its head against the walls of your chest, like it doesn’t know why this is happening to it, like it’s done everything in its power to tell you that it should not be here, but since you will not listen, it’s just going to have to leave on its own, without you. This feeling is not magic, but you can’t help but feel like it means something, but not something like, ‘I want this person to hold me,’ like you thought it did, on the first day you noticed Herman was suddenly some kind of man, that he grew up without you realizing, even though you were both doing it. Growing up. Probably ‘cause you never felt like it on the inside, so you figured it wasn’t happening to anybody else either. But suddenly he was there, nodding a hello as you entered his house, with his sister, Cheryl, your best friend of forever, who was home from semester break, and you nodded back at him, and your head got stuck in the up motion, never went down, and your heart started up with this Tasmanian Devil shit. This inability to stop running so fast. This Road Runner shit. So no, when you say that you feel there is ‘meaning’ here, you don’t mean it as in this means the obvious, you mean it as in ‘this is not going to end well.’ ‘This means something about the future.’ Which is not something that is possible. You tell yourself just because people can’t see the future doesn’t mean they can’t feel it. You tell yourself this feeling is not because this is Cheryl’s brother, and she does not know you are sleeping with him. You tell yourself a lotta shit.
“Turn right up here,” he says, staring at his cell phone. “As in a right turn, I mean.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” you say, and he snorts, and you flick on the turn signal and turn down a street lined with trees, leading to the part of town where the wealthy people live. The street is dark, as if they want it to be a secret, don’t want anyone knowing they’re here. The houses themselves are even far away from the street, lending credence to this theory, so much so that it kinda just looks like the street is lined with trees; little red posts, about waist high, are the only clue as to where the houses’ hidden driveways are—your headlights reflect off them every minute or so, these posts, for you drive slow, as there are barely any street lamps.
“What time is it?” you say, “Not…like, what time is right now, I mean.” Your car’s radio doesn’t work. He goes, “Eight-fifteen. The flyer said eight-forty-five, so.” “And it’s on this street?” “There’s one more turn.” “It’s…” You were going to say, ‘a dead end,’ but you know he knows that, and he said one more turn, so it’s one more turn. You are trying to hide the animosity you are feeling toward him, mostly because it’s not his fault. ‘What would happen,’ you think, ‘if I actually fell in love with someone and needed for them to completely love me back, instead of living safe in the knowledge that they never would?’ You try to imagine a pain where you aren’t just hurting yourself, but you don’t even know. Anything, we mean. You say, “We have to tell Cheryl, I think.”
He blinks at you, but you keep your eye on the road. You flick your eyes at the rear-view mirror, but there’s no one here but you two, no other cars. Herman says, “Is that what’s bothering you?”
You don’t like when people bring up noticing that something is bothering you; it’s like they’re bragging about knowing how full of shit you are, even though that’s the whole point of knowing someone. “I don’t…” you say. “I’m just saying.”
He looks at the road too. “No. You’re right, though. Wait, you’re saying you wanna be with me?”
You exhale. You can be a fool, and so you get mad when people want you to be honest, like you’re saving the truth for some special occasion, like maybe you can make a new truth before you actually have to admit what this one is. How lame is ‘I don’t want to tell you how I really feel, because I don’t want to scare you away,’ to say to someone? You’re better off waiting until you feel differently, right? You say, “I don’t…I dunno. Is that, like…is that what you want? Is that, like, a thing I can want?”
He laughs. “You can want whatever…whatever you want. That sounds dumb, but. You know what I mean. You can’t help what you want, can you?”
The road is like endless blackness in front of you. You passed the last lamppost a while ago, now it’s just your headlights, and pavement, and grass, and trees, and hidden driveways. ‘I want to feel like my life has actually started,’ you think, tell yourself you should actually say, but he says, “I think it’s a left up here,” so all you say is, “Okay,” and flick on the turn signal. Spin the wheel.
You pull into what you at first think is a cul-de-sac, but what you immediately understand to simply be the size of one, is really just nook in this corner of the earth reserved for this one giant house, surrounded, like everything else, by nature and how dark the night is. You stop the car, without thinking about it, at the entrance to this quiet pocket of this one dark street. The not-cul-de-sac is lined all around with cars, some of which you recognize as belonging to people from your side of the neighborhood. The place’s large driveway is filled with local vehicles as well. You lick your lips, and they are dry, even after you do this. You look at Herman. He looks puzzled, then looks back at you, always sure of himself, but smiling in a way that suggests he’s only putting it on.
The house is twice the size of your own, twice the size of Herm’s. The guy who lives here just moved in a week ago. The flyer says, ‘Never feel alone again.’ It says, ‘Learn how to feel something. How to make the kinds of friends you won’t secretly be happy to see go.’ It says, ‘Free iPod Touch.’ Half the town seems to be here. You wonder if any of them knows what they are getting into. You wonder if you do. You give a start as Herman put his hand over yours, the one holding the gear shift. His hands have callouses, but they’re the most inviting thing you have ever felt. You look at him. He kisses you on the face, not on the lips, but right next to your nose. “We’ll tell her tomorrow,” he says, and you nod. You don’t even know right from wrong anymore. You just want everything to go your way. You want a terrible decision to work out in your favor for once. You want to have the same experience on this planet that everyone else is having.
Anderson Cooper Rips Arkansas School Board Member Clint McCane
Some contact information for the Midland School District:
Superintendent:
Dean Stanley
Years at Midland: 2
Phone: (501)345-8844
E-mail: dstanley@midlandschools.orgSecretary:
Nancy Roberson
Years at Midland: 38
Phone: (501)345-2852
E-mail: nroberson@midlandschools.orgDistrict Treasurer:
Linda Allgood
Years at Midland: 12
Phone: (501)345-2852
E-mail: lallgood@midlandschools.orgHigh School Principal:
Donna Clark
Years at Midland: 9
Phone: (501)345-2610
E-mail: dclark@midlandschools.orgFederal Programs Coordinator:
Lela McChesney
Years at Midland: 1
Phone: (501)345-2610
E-mail: lmcchesney@midlandschools.orgHigh School Secretary:
Tonya Lamb
Years at Midland: 4
Phone: (501)345-2610
E-mail: tlamb@midlandschools.orgElementary School Principal:
Lela McChesney
Years at Midland: 1
Phone: (501)345-2413
E-mail: lmcchesney@midlandschools.orgElementary School Secretary:
Kerri Passmore
Years at Midland: 4
Phone: (501)345-2413
E-mail: kpassmore@midlandschools.org
do it
reporting for duty, y’all
LOL WHAT IS THIS? I’m Pansexual.
Dude I’m gay as fuck ok.
Sup. Pan pride, Ace pride, Queer pride. Also Genderqueer. Gay enough?
Lessee, I’m asexual and trans, primarily aromantic but with occasional ~androromantic tendencies.
Queer as Folk. I’d like to mention my super supportive loved ones J and Desi, who just gave me an amazingg winter break night <333333
Nah, we’re straight bro.
My name is Wayne Maines, I live in Old Town. I have a 13-year-old transgender daughter. In the beginning, I was not onboard with this reality. Like many of you I doubted transgender children could exist, I doubted my wife and I doubted our counselors and doctors. However I never doubted my love for my child. It was only through observing her pain and her suffering and examining my lack of knowledge about these issues did I begin to question my behavior and my conservative values. I learned that the medical standard of care requires parents seek assistance from a panel of experts. We did this and our team of doctors recommended my daughter to live fully as a girl. We cannot turn back now.
When my daughter lost her privileges at school and both children and adults targeted her, I knew I had to change and I have never looked back.
When we moved to Maine, it was clear my daughter was transitioning from male to female with us or without us. She used the girl’s bathroom with no fanfare; she was confident and very social. Her strong personality helped the entire school transition right along side of her. She was proud and secure with herself and when people asked at the young age of six she openly stated that she was a girl trapped in a boy’s body.
The transformation was amazing, but her happiness would not last. Unfortunately the fears of others would destroy everything that our team of doctors, teachers, school counselors, friends and classmates had work so hard to establish.
I know that it is difficult for some of you to understand the needs of transgender children. You only need to spend some time with these kids to see that they are struggling and suffering beyond your imagination only because they are singled out and misunderstood. They are just like your children and grandchildren; they have the same hopes and the same dreams.
In the fifth grade because of significant negative exposure we had to take drastic measures to protect her from harm, including splitting our family up to go in hiding and we are not the only family that has had to do so. When she was told she could no longer use the appropriate bathroom her confidence and self-esteem took a major hit. Prior to this my daughter often said, “Dad being transgender is no big deal, my friends and I have it under control.” I was very proud of her. It was only when adults became involved with their unfounded fears that her world would be turned upside down. “She came to me crying and asked, “Daddy what did I do wrong? Daddy please fix this?” That is what dads do — we fix things. I had to break her heart and say, “You have not done anything wrong sweetie, but Mommy and I do not know how to fix this, but we will try.”
Continuing to single these kids out is not necessary. Having the opportunity to use the bathrooms of their true gender is essential for these kids’ well being. This bill places transgender children in a position of doom and hopelessness. This bill tells my daughter that she does not have the same rights as her classmates and reinforces her opinion that she has no future. Help me give her the future she deserves. Do not pass this bill.
- Wayne Maines, in a testimony against Maine’s proposed bill which would allow the operator of a restroom or shower facility to decide who can use which gender’s restroom based upon “biological sex.”
Originally posted by Joanne Herman at Huffington Post (follow link to read her commentary on this amazing testimony)
