Number 37

The Election (postmortem)

I'm a lot happier today than I was two years ago.

I am hopeful that we will look back many years form now, the election of 2016 will be seen as the nadir of American politics. At some point, we need to regain civility with each other and realize that the ability to compromise is a strength, not a weakness. I'm reminded of the old aphorism "If the people lead, our leaders will follow". Who knows if the Bully-in-Chief will ever learn this lesson (I doubt it); but until he does, I suggest we deal with him as a parent deals with a petulant child - ignore his temper tantrums and his attempts to divide us until he begins to behave himself.

In the meantime, down in the depths of Presidential Hell, Warren Harding, Andrew Johnson, and Richard Nixon are all knitting samplers with the inscription "Welcome, Donald".

Number 36

Enemy of the State

Things I have been in my life:

• 1. a seal. (at my end of the year kindergarten celebration)
• 2. a beer can collector. (it was the mid 70's, and every kid in the neighborhood was doing it)
• 3. a regular church goer. (I won a prize for being the first 3rd grader to recite the Lord's Prayer from memory)(not to mention, as an adult, being in numerous church choirs; a member of a few committees; chairperson of a few others; Sunday school coordinator; member of the church's governing board; as well as a youth group director)
• 4. a kid who delivered newspapers. (Sundays sucked)
• 5. a kid who worked in a grocery store.
• 6. an elementary school teacher. (I have spent time teaching every grade K - 6)
• 7. a life guard. (every summer of my undergraduate years)
• 8. a neuropsychological assistant. (I was a small cog in an epilepsy surgery program that worked to eliminate the seizures our patients were experiencing)
• 9. a husband. (for 22 years, until my wife passed)(we worked hard to build and sustain a home)
• 10. a father. (hi Emma, hi Grace)(my children are well-behaved, hardworking, and engaged in the world - they work hard to make the world a better place)
• 11. an engaged United States citizen. (I always strive to be an informed voter)
• 12. a home owner. (Rebecca and I bought our homes the old-fashioned way - a large mortgage payment every month)
• 13. a yard worker. (seriously girls, would it have hurt you to help out a little bit?)
• 14. a dog owner. (every Saturday, pick up the yard, pick up the dog doo, hope that it's hard)
• 15 a fan of my teams. (go Bucks, go Cubs)
• 16. a mission trip coordinator/participant. (the most memorable time was rebuilding homes in south Florida after hurricane Andrew)
• 17. a person who is polite and well-behaved. (as a kid, I had a friend's mom ask me to teach her son manners)
• 18. a person who keeps my walkways clear of snow and ice.
• 19. a member of my college's swim team. (not to mention being a team member of various soccer, softball, and volleyball teams throughout my life) 
• 20. a musician (notice I refrained from using the word "talented")

In other words, my life has been a lot like everyone else's. I am so ordinary that if you cut me open white bread comes out! I try to get along with others. I don't like to make other people uncomfortable, and I am rarely confrontational. I've never been arrested, and I've only been cited by the police three times in my life (twice for speeding, once for going through the intersection after the light went red). I take turns, look out for others, and when I remember, I'll occasionally buy coffee for the person behind me in line.

However, earlier this year I did something so heinous and dangerous, that I risked the downfall of my country. I declared that I was a trans woman. 

• 21. an enemy of the state 

Number 35

Fuck Trump

Fuck Trump.

Number 34

They're Not All About Transitioning

(Original post by Adam-Troy Castro)

An anguished question from a Trump supporter: "Why do liberals think Trump supporters are stupid?" 

The serious answer: Here’s what we really think about Trump supporters - the rich, the poor, the malignant and the innocently well-meaning, the ones who think and the ones who don't... 

That when you saw a man who had owned a fraudulent University, intent on scamming poor people, you thought "Fine." 

That when you saw a man who had made it his business practice to stiff his creditors, you said, "Okay." 

That when you heard him proudly brag about his own history of sexual abuse, you said, "No problem." 

That when he made up stories about seeing muslim-Americans in the thousands cheering the destruction of the World Trade Center, you said, "Not an issue." 

That when you saw him brag that he could shoot a man on Fifth Avenue and you wouldn't care, you chirped, "He sure knows me." 

That when you heard him illustrate his own character by telling that cute story about the elderly guest bleeding on the floor at his country club, the story about how he turned his back and how it was all an imposition on him, you said, "That's cool!" 

That when you saw him mock the disabled, you thought it was the funniest thing you ever saw. 

That when you heard him brag that he doesn't read books, you said, "Well, who has time?" 

That when the Central Park Five were compensated as innocent men convicted of a crime they didn't commit, and he angrily said that they should still be in prison, you said, "That makes sense." 

That when you heard him tell his supporters to beat up protesters and that he would hire attorneys, you thought, "Yes!" 

That when you heard him tell one rally to confiscate a man's coat before throwing him out into the freezing cold, you said, "What a great guy!" 

That you have watched the parade of neo-Nazis and white supremacists with whom he curries favor, while refusing to condemn outright Nazis, and you have said, "Thumbs up!" 

That you hear him unable to talk to foreign dignitaries without insulting their countries and demanding that they praise his electoral win, you said, "That's the way I want my President to be." 

That you have watched him remove expertise from all layers of government in favor of people who make money off of eliminating protections in the industries they're supposed to be regulating and you have said, "What a genius!" 

That you have heard him continue to profit from his businesses, in part by leveraging his position as President, to the point of overcharging the Secret Service for space in the properties he owns, and you have said, "That's smart!" 

That you have heard him say that it was difficult to help Puerto Rico because it was the middle of water and you have said, "That makes sense." 

That you have seen him start fights with every country from Canada to New Zealand while praising Russia and quote, "falling in love" with the dictator of North Korea, and you have said, "That's statesmanship!" 

That Trump separated children from their families and put them in cages, managed to lose track of 1500 kids. has opened a tent city incarceration camp in the desert in Texas - he explains that they’re just “animals” - and you say, “well, ok then.”

That you have witnessed all the thousand and one other manifestations of corruption and low moral character and outright animalistic rudeness and contempt for you, the working American voter, and you still show up grinning and wearing your MAGA hats and threatening to beat up anybody who says otherwise.

What you don't get, Trump supporters in 2018, is that succumbing to frustration and thinking of you as stupid may be wrong and unhelpful, but it's also...hear me...charitable. 

Because if you're NOT stupid, we must turn to other explanations, and most of them are *less* flattering.

Number 33

Raise Your Glass

On Friday my name change was approved by the court. More significantly, after a few dicey moments, .the judge also approved the order that will allow me to change the gender marker on all my official documents from male to female. I am beyond excited to embrace life's new adventures as a woman named Nora.

But before I forge ahead, I need to stop and look back at the rich and full life that brought me to this moment. I need to honor my life as Hugh.

If I hadn't been Hugh, I wouldn't have a picture of my brother and I in matching plaid pants. There is no way we'll ever be able to explain 70's fashions to the anthropologists of the future.

If I hadn't been Hugh, I would never have gotten stitches on my penis. Seriously. After my bath one night, I was doing a Superman flying through the air imitation. Run, jump, and soar through the air, landing on the bed at the end. That night, friction was a cruel mistress. I ended up with five stitches across the base of said penis. Apparently, the doctors and nurses at the ER thought it was really cute.

If I hadn't been Hugh, I would have never been able to write my name in the snow.

If I hadn't been Hugh, Jack, Mark, Kevin, and Charlie would never have been my best friends growing up.

If I hadn't been Hugh, I wouldn't have had to take piano lessons. No, wait, I would have been stuck taking them either way.

If I hadn't been Hugh, I wouldn't have lived on the men's floor of Dascomb Hall my first year at Oberlin. It is impossible to calculate how less rich my life would have been had I never met those wonderful people. These friendships remain the most important ones in my life.

If I hadn't been Hugh, I wouldn't have had relationships with Julie and Carrie. Through them I learned the incredible euphoria of a soul connection with another person. I also learned how to manage and live through the incredible pain when those connections end.

If I hadn't been Hugh, I wouldn't have been Bart's younger brother. Sure he'd have been my brother either way, but it wouldn't have been the same. Maybe I wouldn't have been beaten up so much, and there would probably have been a little less mental torture, but no one else had my back as many times or as completely as he has all my life. I hope he knows that Nora needs him just as much.

If I hadn't been Hugh, I wouldn't have been singing bass in the church choir the night Rebecca showed up for the first time. I wouldn't have fallen in love so completely that it hurts. I wouldn't have found my life time partner.

If I hadn't been Hugh, there would be no Emma or Grace. Quite simply, I cannot imagine life without them.

If I hadn't been Hugh, I wouldn't have discovered the resiliency of the human heart. Cindy enabled me to discover that I could fall completely in love a second time.

To paraphrase what Clarence the angel says to George Bailey near the end of "It's a Wonderful Life", "You see, Hugh, you really did have a wonderful life". Indeed.

Number 32

Urination

I am traveling to Ohio next week, and I'm worried about peeing.

If you're alive, you pee. It's that simple. Some people stand, some sit. It's an undeniable biological function. For many millennia, people everywhere have thought about and developed ways to deal with this fact. In our culture, we have a unique pieces of furniture known as a toilets and urinals which allow for us to urinate in a sanitary way. Such furniture pieces are found in rooms called bathrooms.

I used to stand to urinate, but now I sit. This, in and of itself, is of no consequence to any one but me. It's the 'where'? that causes all sorts of consternation. As a trans woman, I feel that the appropriate place for me to do "my business" in public is the women's room. I stopped using the men's room in June, when the discomfort I felt became prohibitive. It also coincides with the moment that I began to live full-time as a woman.

It's hard to describe the unease I began to feel when using the men's room. To the outside world, I looked like a cis male, and the men's room is where cis men pee. I looked like I belonged, and really, it's not like you hang out in there: You're in, you pee, wash and dry hands, you're out. But as my gender identity began to crystalize I developed a vague, but persistent unease that I didn't belong in there. Perhaps that's not a coincidence. Hmmm.

I am lucky to live in a state (Minnesota), that allows a person to use the public restroom that aligns with their gender identity. And I'm really good at not looking at anyone's face when I walk in to do my thing. Everyone has a stall to themselves.  So problem solved, right?

Nope. Not even close.

While I am at peace with the fact that I am a (trans) woman, I am still very leery about using the women's room in public. I've made myself uncomfortable many times while in public because a particular women's room is super busy. (I sat on an uncomfortable bladder all throughout Hamilton last Saturday, because the thought of the marathon long women's room line was too frightening). Part of that's on me. I'm nervous about a confrontation, and I don't want to cause a scene. But, I'm also sensitive to the fact that my presence in the women's room might cause (cis) women unease, and that's the last thing I want to do.

I believe that society is, for the most important, embracing the reality of trans people, but that change is slow. I know that Minnesota state statute supports my presence in the women's room, but I am sensitive as to how my physical appearance could be unsettling within the confines of the women's restroom. At this point, no one looks at me and thinks I'm a cis woman. I still look like a dude that is trying to look like a woman. (I wish it weren't true, and it's painful to admit, but it's a fact). And though there are many women who would take my presence in stride (if they noticed me at all), I'm sure there are some who would feel ill at ease.

So mostly, I scope out single seaters, or lightly traveled bathrooms. There've been a few times when mother nature was so persistent that I used a crowded restroom. I have yet to have anyone say "get out of here!", "you don't belong!", or "I'm getting the police!". Perhaps I should embrace the notion that nothing has happened, because, in my mind, I make it a bigger deal than it really is. I'll work on that.

Anyway, I'm driving to Ohio next week. I'm fairly certain that at some point I'll need to pee. I quite fearful of what could happen when I reach central Illinois, Indiana, and central Ohio. Those places are not known for embracing cutting edge social change. I'll not be dressed as for an appearance on "Ru Paul's Drag Race", but neither will I betray myself by putting on a "boy" costume for the trip. I did that in June, and it totally sucked. Maybe I'll wear a diaper. Seriously.

And that's where I'll stop. I usually have a concluding point to make, but not this time. I'm genuinely fearful. I hope I am able to write about my surprise at being accepted by folks, (or just ignored), upon my return. We'll see.

Number 31

Breasts & PTSD

If I'm honest, I ultimately want big boobs. Not huge, mind you, just big. A large (pun probably intended), reason is that I'm a big shouldered dame and anything less than a C cup looks wrong proportionally. The other reason is that the bra manufacturers make bras in a lot of colors and styles in 42C, but not in 42B. Seriously: white, beige, and black are it.

Whatever size I ultimately end at is in the future. The first thing that has to happen is hormone replacement therapy. We won't know the full extent of my breast development vis a vis hormones for at least a year, and it is strongly recommended that trans women wait until hormones have done all they are going to do before considering breast augmentation. Typically, trans women do not develop large breasts this way (an A or small B cup are typical). But you never know, so we wait.

For the curious, after 2 1/2 months on hormones, there are definitely changes happening. My body odor has changed, my urine smells differently, I'm feeling more intense emotional fluctuations, among other things. And yes, there are changes taking place on my chest. My nipples have gotten bigger, and a small amount of breast tissue has started to accumulate. They're also sore all the time. I described it to a female friend and she said, "that sounds like me in 6th grade".

Anyway, the real point of this post is another friend who announced yesterday that she has breast cancer . That news makes the three previous paragraphs utterly frivolous. I suppose I could make a case for gender dysphoria and body congruence, but, no. My desire for a pair of C cups is trivial when compared to my desire for my friend's successful outcome.

That should be obvious, though, right? So again, what's the real point of the post? That's where the PTSD comes in. Based on what I have been told, her prognosis is pretty good. I mean it's cancer and all, but on the cancer continuum, it's not to bad. You know what people say: "well, it sucks to have cancer, but if you have to have it, this is the best kind to have..."

But the whole thing scares my shitless. I've been weeping for her all day. In fact, I believe I had a bit of a panic attack. I know all to well the vagaries of cancer treatment. The "It was a very rare side effect that we didn't anticipate". The uselessness of cliches like "You're a fighter - you'll win this battle". The watching your wife take her last breaths, knowing there is nothing, NOTHING you can do but hold her hand and wait for death to take her.

On second thought, I guess I'm weeping for both of us.

Number 30

3rd Life & Counting (here we go again)

It's been a long while, and a lot has happened. I thought about writing a recap of the 18 months, but I have opted not to. I'm just going to pick it up and go. Besides, a lot of those details will be evident as I keep writing.

I am a transgender woman, and my name is Nora.

I had my fourth laser hair removal session today. The purpose of these sessions is to permanently remove the hair on my face. It also really fucking hurts (Imagine a hive of bees stinging your face one after the other, and you'll have the general idea of how it feels). Interestingly enough, I pay money for this.

Here is my point. Some people, in speaking out against transgender folks, will speak about it as being some sort of 'whimsical' choice. They, of course, don't know what the hell they are talking about. Anyone who would go BACK for a second laser appointment (let alone a fourth, with a fifth scheduled), is not acting upon whimsy. The yearning need to achieve congruence between the way you look and the way you feel (regarding gender identity) is a powerful thing. Powerful enough to go under the laser time and time again.

Being transgender is not for wimps.

BTW: I heard this recently, and thought I'd pass it on. Someone asked the question: "How do you know if you're transgender?". The response? "If you don't spend a lot of time wondering if you're transgender you're probably not."