Election Reaction

My therapy is my writing. Please understand that I am raw, emotionally and mentally. If reading this helps, then I have done my job. If you want to contradict and argue with these emotions, do it somewhere else. I had to take a mental health day to try to come to terms with this election and what it may mean for my family and community. Today, I have watched and read many reactions to this election. I have seen friends posting suicide notes, while other friends crack a beer and laugh.


November 9th, 2016

I have never had to use my protected time off work on the day after an election. At the same time, I have never been so terrified to leave my house. A few weeks ago, I dreamt of a Trump win and last night proved eerily accurate to that dream. The only part that did not happen was the eventual reveal that Russia had ensured his win and that Trump’s cries of a rigged election were silent pleas for help. But now we are on the precipice of a Trumpian era.

Anger. Frustration. Fear. These are feelings I am dealing with this morning, as I watch my social media feeds blow up. I am afraid of my fellow Americans in a way I never really have been before. I have never felt the need to own a gun and I am beginning to regret that decision. I feel like my husband and I have no real method of protecting ourselves and I do not know if we will need to or not. I do not know what the Trumpian era will do for our marriage and our rights. Will we have any kind of protection from anti-LGBT+ bullying tactics?

I am frustrated with folks who, in their absolute revulsion against Hillary and the establishment, opted to elect Trump. I get it, voting third party allowed folks options to vote their conscience and hope that their candidate earned enough of the vote to help with third party funding. The reality is, voting third party was also a way to say, “I don’t care of Trump wins.” And, for those folks who point out that if they had not voted for third party they were likely to not vote at all, an abstained vote would have also been a vote for Trump. Pretty much the only vote that were not for Trump were for Hillary, as she was the only one available that could have prevented his election. I will agree that this election certainly proved the power of the popular vote.

Anger was my companion after the DNC this summer. Polling data showed that Hillary Clinton could not win against Donald Trump. It also showed that the only Democratic win would come if Bernie Sanders was the candidate put forth by the party. Armed with this data, the DNC still opted to put forth Hillary Clinton. I definitely want a woman in President, but Clinton was not my candidate of choice. She may have won me over with a powerful woman running mate, but she opted to go with a white guy who seems incredibly lack luster. I liked her message about a strong, working, middle class. And I understand concerns about her credibility and her competency, not on the basis of her gender, but because she has made some questionable decisions. Those decisions do, in fact, make her a more qualified candidate, because at least she has political experience. Unfortunately, the Democrat spin doctors could not rally more support behind her. I think we failed when we were relying on “At least a vote for Hillary isn’t a vote for Trump.” It was an accurate statement, but the Democratic party and our allies needed to focus on action statements, we needed to focus on how a Democratic vote would benefit America. I voted for Hillary, but only because I could not vote for Trump and that is not a position we should ever be in. I wanted a democratic nominee that I could be proud to support, not because the alternative was terrible, but because they were an amazing candidate whose platform matched up nearly perfectly with my beliefs.

Numb.

What does the next four years look like? Posted on one friend’s wall was an anecdote from a colleague of theirs. In it, was shared that a friend of theirs had to go to their child’s school today after another student told them that they better pack their bags for their move back to Africa. This was from a child in elementary school. Admittedly, it is a comment much removed from me, but I believe the accuracy of it. This decision is not about adults. Our children are impacted by this decision in ways we cannot fully appreciate in this moment. We may chastise Millennials, but their entire worldview was changed by 9/11. This election and the hate before and after will echo in our young people for a generation or more. However, we must acknowledge that it is not just this election that will affect them, but how we as a nation choose to react to it.

Disbelief. I see friends posting about the hilarity of people’s reaction to this election. Or people asking for “Hillary supporters” to lose graciously. A brief check shows these messages as coming from heterosexual, white, men. None of them are in a position that is hated right now. They do not seem to understand the fear generated by this vote and my hope is that if they begin to see their friends and loved ones impacted negatively as a result of this election, they might wake up and understand that this is not a laughing matter. However, I will not hold my breath waiting for it.

How do we begin to heal from this? How do we come together as decent people and support one another against the possible backlash of this election? I do not know. For me, I must temper my anger. If I attack people, how will I be any better than Trump? If I let hate and anger and fear guide me, how do I act as a pillar of support for the people I love? Right now, I want to cry. I want to believe it was a horrible dream. That the election is still a few weeks away and that we can make a difference. I want to believe that we are all better than this and that we find a way to embrace one another and change. I want to believe that some good can come from this. Some terrible catharsis that we need in order to grow and become a progressive force for good.

I want to believe.

Masculinity and Me.

Before reading this, I suppose a small introduction might be necessary. First, writing this triggered memories and experiences for me, so it might trigger things for you. Second, I was identified as male when I was born. I was raised male my whole life. When I was thirty, I finally had my first physical examination. After a series of test, the doctor "diagnosed" me as intersex-- hormonally, possibly chromosomally-- I am not quite XY-male. It took a little bit to figure out what that meant for me. Ultimately, it means that I am still me and still very much male. I consider myself fairly masculine, but at the same time I have my queeny moments.

The essay here presents little snapshots of my masculinity, through both fictive and non-fictive moments. I won't pretend to speak for all men, or even a majority. I also can't claim to give voice to all those who are not men, but identify as masculine. I can only speak for me and how I have been made to feel over my life. Hopefully it will do some good. 

“You’re too butch to be gay,” my mother would tell me anytime I would affect a Paul Lind/Charles Nelson Riley-esque speech pattern. Honestly, at the time, I had no idea what gay was or that these two men and the way they spoke was associated with homosexuality. It just felt sort of natural at times. Without any knowledge about what being gay was, being chastised made me feel like I really didn’t want to be gay. I just had to figure out what gay was, so I could avoid being it.

“No one likes a crybaby,” a boy told me on the playground. It wasn’t the first time I was told this, but the voice echoes in my mind all the time. Before then, most adults I knew described me as “sensitive,” or the adult equivalent of saying a child is emotional. Until then, I had no real problem with crying and demonstrating my emotions in front of people. After being told over and over about being a crybaby, I stopped being able to cry in front of most people. Being emotional became a private affair and in time even those tears dried up.

“There are three genders in singing: Men, Women, and Tenors,” said the choir director of Capital High School. When my voice changed, I had become a tenor, specifically a first tenor. I loved my high voice, before cigarettes and testosterone changed my voice a bit. But, she and her students were great to remind me whenever we had cross-town choir events that I wasn’t a real man, nor was any tenor. Men are baritones and basses. Boys could be sopranos and altos. But tenors were something quite different.

“What is that thing?” The third time I attempted to have intercourse with a woman, she was less than impressed with my endowment. She was still laughing as she left my apartment. I knew I wasn’t really into women, but I wanted to be straight. I wanted to feel normal. But, not only could I not be a straight man, but my endowment meant I wasn’t a real man, at least not to a random woman from the bar. The next morning, I woke up in a bathtub of cold water. Thankfully, my attempt to kill myself failed.

“I’m sorry, but you won’t be able to father any children.” My world crashed down when my doctor told me. Growing up, the one consistent dream for my future was that I would be a father. When I turned thirty, I finally had a physical examination. The doctor was concerned when he had difficulty finding my testicles and explained that I had hypogonadism. After a battery of tests that found that my testosterone level was significantly lower than the “normal” range for men. The hormones for body hair was perfectly fine and all of the other pituitary hormones were fine. This was the first time the word intersex was used to describe me.

“Well, I’ve found one of them,” the radiologist had been called in because neither the student tech nor the regular ultrasound tech could find my testicles. I had slipped on the ice the day before and due to gravity and the size of my body, I had managed to dislocate both testicles. A few months later, I was given a choice: “We can leave them where they are, We can open you up and pull them down and stitch them into place, but they won’t be able to protect themselves. Or, we can remove them completely. If they can’t regulate their temperature, there is a higher chance of cancer, so you may need to have them removed anyways.” Right now, they are still dislocated.

“Don’t be such a pansy.” While I have spent almost three decades subduing externalized emotions, such as tears and crying, I can be quite passionate at times. She, my boss at work, didn’t realize what she said or how it might affect me. I had made the mistake of voicing emotion, even without tears in my eyes. But it was clear that as a man, I shouldn’t feel anything. Or if I do feel something, I shouldn’t say anything. No one wants to hear a man express his feelings.

“You know that’s not healthy.” After being told by several friends that I should go see a therapist, I finally decided to reach out and get help. It was easier to talk to her about being raped by a friend and that my father abandoned me when I was quite young, than t talk with her about crying. As we were finishing our work on the primary concern, I told her I have only cried three times as an adult. I know it isn’t healthy, but I don’t know how to do it any more. Even if I did know how to do it, who would care?

“You’re a misogynist.” All I said was that I am frustrated by the #MasculinitySoFragile movement. We are all fragile. We can all be broken. Treating all men as if there is only ONE form of masculinity misses the point and puts us all in a box—often a box we don’t belong in. This isn’t about #NotAllMen. We’re told that people understand that it is a small majority who are toxic, but too many people lump all of us into toxic masculinity. They don’t seem to realize the microaggressions that take place every day, the little jabs that happen every day. But we have to toughen up, soldier on, no matter how much the constant bombardment of images, memes, hashtags, blogs, Facebook, Twitter, words. They hurt, but Chin up. Don’t let them see that they are getting to you. Don’t let them win.

“I can’t believe he’s gone.” There was a time when I hoped someone would say this. While I am not suicidal these days, there is someone who is. Someone who has been told over and over that he has to fit into a box—a box that is now belittled—that he never fit in. He has to sit and listen as people poke and prod at who they think he is because of his beard, his chest hair, his penis. If they only knew that at night he wrote poetry that he was too afraid to let anyone see. He cried himself to sleep because no one would listen to him. They always said he was the tough guy, because he stood 6’3” and spent time lifting. Thing is, he lifted because it hurt and pain was the one way he knew he was real. His sweats are crisscross scars from years of cutting. In death, maybe someone would notice that he’d been hurting and no one allowed him to heal.

We worry about toxic masculinity, but we forget how toxic our criticism can be to those who experience and live other types of masculinity. We reach out and slap others down for trying to put people in a box, but then we put certain people in a box and label them. We want men to be able to communicate, but silence them. We want them to express emotions, but we offer little compassion. In order to heal the toxicity, we need to help men be the people we want them to be, not tear them down for any perceived flaw. We need to remember that just as there is no universal sisterhood, whereby all women can be lump together, there is no universal brotherhood. There is no set standard for masculinity that all men can be judged by.

This should not be construed as a Men’s Rights Activist manifesto. Men have plenty of rights and privileges conferred on us just because we have a penis. Instead, this should be read as an appeal. That many of us are hurting and feel trapped. We can’t deny that we are men, but we also don’t like that our bodies lump us into a box that seems so terribly despised. I understand, there are some that specifically want men to feel as powerless as women have felt. To be universally treated because of your sex/gender. What does a win look like from that perspective? Men lashing out because no one taught us how to deal with our emotions? Suicides because we feel trapped?  How do we get it to stop? To begin the healing?

Creating Safe Spaces

I really planned on working on my term papers that are due in t-minus three weeks. Yet I keep seeing things that pull my attention away from the papers. Sure, I probably didn’t need to watch RuPaul’s Drag Race this week, but it helps me unwind and switch gears. And I will admit that I should probably just turn off my FaceBook account when I am in crunch mode. The real distraction comes from various posts and articles I read where women continually get treated as outsiders in fandom.

What do I mean? I belong to various gaming communities on FaceBook where we share ideas about the game, as well as problems we encounter when running/playing. Recently, a female player was discussing actions in a game that were forced on her. Now, similar discussions have been had by male players and they are generally met with comments like, “I would talk with the GM and tell him that it wasn’t cool to force your character to do something like that” or “You should probably just leave the group, it doesn’t sound like it is a very good space.” Yet, this time, voiced from a woman, she was met with comments like “You shouldn’t whine so much” and when she voiced that she would probably kill off her character and leave the group, she received responses like “Killing yourself and ragequitting a group isn’t attractive.” The fact is, this player was expressing the fact that her character had been impregnated against her will, which amounts to rape, and rape isn’t attractive. When the player attempted to point out that the people making these comments were being sexist, they attempted to again silence her using shame tactics.

When I have seen various posts about the terror of white males in gaming, I have generally cast them aside. I fell into the trap of “This hasn’t happened in my games and it must be really isolated.” The reality is that MY games are really isolated. The games I have run with female players have generally been pretty great and I didn’t think they had really had any situations like this. In retrospect, I realize that one of my games did have a female player that felt uncomfortable and she left, though it wasn’t because of something that had been done to her character and more about how over-the-top one of the players was in his playstyle. As a player, I have certainly been in games where things like pregnancy has been forced on female players and it made me genuinely uncomfortable in the moment (and still bugs me years later). Because of the group I play with, we don’t have many people that play across gender lines, so I have been trying to think if I had ever encountered a male GM doing the same to a female character run by a male player—I can’t think of any. Even if there had been, it would have been equally frustrating, unless this was something we had agreed when we began or with discussion between the player and the GM.

I can’t know what it is like for each female player out there. I can only come at it from my own experiences as a gay male. After I came out, I always set my characters as gay at creation. Most games, it wasn’t discussed because we weren’t really exploring romantic or sexual situations in our game. When it did come up, the GM would just default that all characters are heterosexual and assume that all of us would be beguiled by them (which in and of itself is a terrible trope to use, but not the point of this discussion). Once they started to realize that my character was gay, they slowly started figuring out that perhaps male prostitutes should be seen in taverns, but it generally stopped short of the GM having to act out male-on-male flirtation.

In the game that saw our female companion get raped, the GM was very tactful with my gay character. The game was set in the 20s and he had spent time researching what gay clubs were like at this time. When we would have dream sequences and such, he would discuss both the happiness of me dreaming about my partner as well as the agony of nightmares of losing him. Certainly, there were plenty opportunities for this character to experience horrific torture and sexual assault at the hands of the cultists, but that line was never crossed with me.

Now, the important thing to consider isn’t just the ways that we treat women inside the game, where all too often they are treated as objects to be played with in ways that we generally don’t with our male companions. We also need to consider how we treat them in our community. I have tried very hard, especially as an adult, to make the gaming environment and geek culture an inclusive place. I remember feeling like I was the only gay gamer at our local convention. But, at no point was my identity as a gamer/geek questioned. I acknowledge that other gay gamers and geeks may have had other experiences, but I have generally been accepted into the boy’s club. But, I have watched as women have had to prove their geek cred, by discussing at length how they got into fandom and being tested about various games. When you watch the body language of the questioners, you can see they are ready to pounce on anything that they could use to discredit her. Or they make assumptions that her geeky shirt, “must belong to her boyfriend.”

We are cultured to be dismissive, which is rather unfortunate. This comment shouldn’t be read as affirming of male behavior, through justification. Rather a simple statement of how we tend to react. Our parents, mothers and fathers, dismiss our playing pretend and sometimes dismiss the way we are feeling as ways of helping us grow up. I dismissed the various posts by removing them from my feed or ignoring them without a real thought. Others have verbally dismissed women by trying to silence their complaints. But these dismissive actions serve only to perpetuate the problem. If someone like me, or you, dismisses this type of behavior, we can’t stand up for our fellow games. This means that we aren’t actively working towards an inclusive environment. Maybe we justify our dismissiveness because we don’t want to but it or we don’t want the negative attention we know we will get. When we do that though, we are resting all of the burden on the woman who spoke up and the negative feedback towards them is meant to silence them and force them to put up and shut up or get out of fandom. If we really want to put an end to this type of behavior and work towards inclusion, then we need to be willing to step up and help shoulder some of the attitudes people will throw out there.

While there are those that will read this as me taking up the torch of social justice. And perhaps I am, but I want to be able to be in a fandom where we are all accepted— a place where we can just connect with one another and enjoy the company and the awesome discussions that are possible when we gather with people with similar interests. It shouldn’t matter what gender or race you are or what your background is. While our little playful tests to see how much we have in common can be great, they shouldn’t serve as some sort of sorting hat that determines who gets to be included and who gets to be excluded.

I want to belong to a community where mutual respect is central. This means that we aren’t purposefully trying to create situations where we can make one another uncomfortable just because we can. And if we have made someone uncomfortable, they are empowered to tell us and we are respectful enough to accept the criticism and apologize. I know this part can be difficult. Sometimes, it can feel like the criticism is targeted at us and telling us that we are bad people and that hurts. Getting called out as sexist, misogynistic, homophobic, transphobic, abelist, sizest, etc., can hurt. We may not realize that what we are doing or saying sounds like that because it isn’t our intention. Or maybe we don’t want other to think poorly of us. All of us ultimately want to be accepted. Labels that “Other” us hurt, which is precisely why we use them. That little face slap can be a good wakeup call. Too often, unfortunately, it can backfire and cause people to push harder against the issue and ignite bigger fires. However, another one our social methods of behavior correction can be beneficial when a person digs in their heels and refuses to change and escalates—avoidance. We don’t like to be cut off from things, but it can be better in the long run to cut someone off and isolate them than to give tacit approval of their behavior because we don’t want to lose friends or have difficult conversations.

Whether we want to accept it or not, white males (especially heterosexuals) have power in the community as a whole. For way too long, fandom has been a boys club. And certainly those of us that have been in it for a while have endured some knocks from people outside of fandom. They teased us and questioned our manliness for playing make belief. We have been torn down and Othered for this thing we are passionate about. Those of us who have experienced that, probably hated every minute of it. It sucks to be belittled. Some of us banded together even tighter because the community we created was a safe place for us to talk about fantasy, science fiction, and all of our favorite characters and games.

It may have felt like this special safe place was invaded when women and non-white men started to find their ways into fandom. But it wasn’t. We were gaining new friends that had the same things in common. Instead of recognizing kindred spirits, some of us recognized that we had the ability to turn the tables. The powerlessness we were made to feel by the “cool” kids was ours to inflict on these new folks. And in doing so, the much coveted sense of power and control was ours to take back. Somehow, in the moment, we forgot what it was like to be the Other--- we got drunk on the power and didn’t care. This was our domain and you needed to earn your way. But no one needed to. All of it could have been so much different. While we can’t change the past, we can damn well make the present a much better place.

It starts by speaking up. Now, speaking up doesn’t mean start a flame war and it doesn’t mean we need to troll everyone (my genuine apologize to any of my readers who identify as a troll). It does mean recognizing sexist/disrespectful behavior. Whether it is inside your game or in various real or virtual spaces where our community comes together, we need to speak up and help put an end to it. While most of this post has been directed at disrespectful behavior towards women, the same is true for speaking out against people being disrespectful towards people of color as well as all of the various diverse personas we find in our community.

Also, recognize that someone may interpret your action different than you intended and they may call you out for it. I know it can be difficult, but put aside your ego for a moment and try to figure out where the miscommunication came from and work together to create a safe space.

Be sensitive and recognize that sometimes folks just need someone to listen. Don’t try to justify what the other person did or said, but recognize and validate the experience. We may not understand where they are coming form, but we can probably find some sort of experience where we can relate. Clarify if the person needs back up or if they just needed to vent. Sometimes, once we get all of the emotions of frustration or anger (or other emotion) out, we recognize that we may have over reacted and just needed to get it out. But, other times we may need some back up to help us stand up for ourselves.

We may also need to recognize that folks who are feeling alienated need a safe space where it is just folks like them. So this may mean and all female-identifying group or a queer group. This gives them that same safe space that many of originally created in response to the experiences we had. Seeking or creating a group like this does not equate to sexist or racist or any other ist (including elitist). It just means that they want to have a safe space and they may not feel like they are getting that. Also, if your immediate reaction is that there needs to be a men’s only group, remember that we had it for a long time and there are groups within the community who are actively trying to make this a men’s only group. This one especially gets me as a gay man, because this mentality is the same as folks wanting straight pride celebrations or white pride marches. Support our friends who feel they need a safe space by empowering them to do what they need and that you are always willing to act as go between or work with them when the deal with the community as a whole.

We need to recognize that there is a problem. There is this pain in our community and we all need to work together to create an inclusive space. One where people of all agents, shapes, sizes, ethnicity, races, gender identity/expression, orientation, and really just all of the things that make us unique, can feel safe and enjoy the company of people who have the same passions in common. All of the things that make us unique mean that there are all of those great experiences that we can explore and play with in our games and all of the different backgrounds mean endless points of discussion. The problem isn't going to end over night. But together, we can make this right. 

Gender - what is it good for?

I suppose this works as a follow up to the post I wrote the other day. The news of the day (well, really the last couple of days) is our public introduction to Caitlyn Jenner. The first moment I saw the cover and looked at Caitlyn I thought to myself, "She looks amazing!" What I saw was a woman who looked comfortable and confident in her body. When I watched the interview with Diane Sawyer, I saw something different, a person that looked uncomfortable. Perhaps this was partially projection on my side, but looking at the two side by side, there is a difference.

The downside to such a public transition is the very public voice that begins to emerge. Of course, in my news feed I see many comments of support. When I click on the various articles and links and look at the comments on them, a different voice is seen. People refusing to use the new name. Refusing to use the correct pronoun. People describing this as disgusting and against God's Will. And, of course, those who see this as nothing by a stunt to get more ratings.

My first experience with transgender folks was back in the late '90s. I was working for USWest at the time and one of my co-worker's husband was beginning to transition. As a male, he struggled with depression which fueled an alcohol addiction. He felt trapped in a life that wasn't right. He loved his wife, but hated his body and who he was. My co-worker had taken the job at USWest partially because she needed the pay it offered, but also because of the medical benefits it provided her spouse. These benefits included hormones and surgery.

This co-worker was the first I'd come out to at work. I was out in my private life and USWest had an LGBT employee organization that gave me the courage to be out at work too. After I told her, she had someone that she could open up to about what she was experiencing with her spouse. I didn't know really anything about transitioning. I especially didn't understand why someone would want to. I was raised as a boy and always felt comfortable with all of my bits and pieces. I couldn't really wrap my brain around the idea, but I lent a sympathetic ear.

The hardest part for my co-worker was that she wanted to get her spouse out of the house. Living in Helena, her spouse was terrified of going out. Of the looks and the comments. I left USWest and started managing a movie theater. It became their special treat with one another. They'd come during the week, when we didn't have many customers. They knew that I'd make both of them feel welcome. The first time I met my co-worker's spouse I was confused. I didn't know what to say or how to act, but I smiled and thanked them for coming in. I keep using the word spouse because that was how they preferred to recognize each other.

I understood immediately why her spouse was afraid to go out. She had a very masculinized body, even after being on hormones for quite sometime. She told me on one their nights out that she hated that all anyone saw was a man in a dress. I told her that I didn't see her that way and she told me I was sweet. But it was true. I didn't see her as a man in a dress. I saw her as a woman. With tears in her eyes, she kissed me on the cheek.

After I moved to Missoula, I had the good fortune of meeting other people who were in various stages of transitioning. I still didn't understand it, but I supported them. I made a few stumbles, mixing up pronouns or deflecting my own insecurities and lack of internal understanding with my usual off-color remarks. One particular moment of stupidity on my part came when I asked a friend if she planned to have surgery. She said she wasn't sure and my brain hit a speed bump. Until then, I thought the end goal of transitioning was complete transformation. I made a remark, which I won't repeat here, that ended up ending our relationship. It wasn't my intent to insult her or hurt her. I reacted without thinking. It has been years since it happened and I still feel utterly ashamed of it.

The first moment of understanding happened when I had my first complete physical examination from a doctor. I was thirty at the time, which probably sounds odd that I was that old before having a physical. I was never involved in any athletics or other activities which would require it and I had never thought to actually schedule an appointment to have one. After the urging of my husband, we agreed to do it together. Our doctor's office let us set up back to back appointments with our doctor and he examined us together. I was the first one of us to have to "turn his head and cough," and that was when it happened. He couldn't find my testicles. I was horribly embarrassed in the moment, especially when he looked up at me and asked why I had never noticed that I was different, given that I am a homosexual man and likely had seen other men. I figured everyone is a little different and just chalked it up to genetics. He eventually found them, but was concerned and ordered an extra set of tests.

When my lab results came back, I met with the doctor again. He explained that normally a male should have a testosterone level of between 300 - 1000. Mine was 60. Another round of tests looking at the pituitary gland and other areas that could affect it showed those levels as normal. He said it was possible that I was XXY. We could run tests to confirm it, but they'd be expensive and my insurance wouldn't cover it. This visit was the first time I had heard the term intersex and he used it to describe me. He wasn't convinced that I was XXY as I lacked many of the tell-tale body signals for it, including the fact that I had quite a bit of body hair. Before meeting with me, he had contacted an endocrinologist and showed him the test results and the recommendation was to treat me as if I was XXY and put me on testosterone replacement.

I remember trying to reconcile myself as intersexed. Up until that moment, my understanding of myself was that I was born male, I was raised male, I felt male. I had a rough time growing a beard, but had long attributed it to the Native American genes I'd inherited from my father. I had some struggles at first, but resolved that I was male. There was no question in my mind about this at all.

This changed a couple of years ago. It was a particularly icy winter day. As long as I can remember, I have been terrified of icy conditions, always afraid I was going to slip and crack my head open. I got to the bottom of my stairs and slipped on a patch of ice landed on the right side of my butt. After a couple of failed attempts, I struggled to my feet. I walked around the corner of my building to my car. As I stepped off the curb, my foot found another patch of ice and down I went, landing the same way as I did before. I was frustrated, cold and wet as I pushed myself up. I drove in the early morning darkness to work. I noticed I was running late, I tried to walk quickly and carefully towards the office doors. I saw the glimmer of another patch of ice and figured I would try to get to the get around it, but missed the snow covered ice patch in from of me. Down I went, but this time with more speed and force. Like the previous two times, I landed on my right side. This time was different. As I got up, I felt like I had taken a swift kick to the groin and my stomach was in knots.

I told the security guys about my fall and had to write up an incident report. I reported it to my supervisor and she gave me the Worker's Compensation information. I told her I was certain that it wasn't necessary, but took it anyways. The whole day was one of general pain, as anyone who has been kicked can attest.

I didn't realize anything was wrong until I got home and started a shower for myself. I saw the dark bruise along my thigh from my wallet chain. I could see each link in the bruise. As I started to wash up, my mind became aware even if I didn't want to be. Two things were missing. They might be different from other males, but I knew where they should be and they weren't there. My testicles had vanished. I was too embarrassed to insist on going to the ER, figuring a trip to Urgent Care in the morning would be ok. I was in shock. I couldn't really think. The next morning, the doctor confirmed they were not where they should be. After a trip to radiology to get an ultra sound, I was told by a student technician, a regular technician, and then a radiologist that they couldn't find both of them. The radiologist did find one, but not where it should be. Returning to Urgent Care, the doctor said that they may have retreated and the trauma may have caused swelling. He gave me some NSAIDS and sent me home. I dubbed this whole even "Finding Nemo," only we still hadn't found them.

I scheduled a follow up with my doctor for a few weeks later. They had moved, but still hadn't returned home. The doctor felt around and eventually found both of them but was unable to get them to go back to where they should be. He let me know that both of them were dislocated, something I didn't know could happen. It is rare, but can (and clearly does) happen. My doctor's initial assessment was that since they seemed to drop down to regulate temperature, it could be left as is. We could also set up surgery to pull them down and stitch them into place. The last option was to have them removed, since they weren't doing their normal job anyways. He cautioned that if they stop regulating temperature, it may lead to testicular cancer, at which point removal would be the only viable option. To date, I haven't had any surgery.

The accident brought back up the questions I had about my sex. Now, part of my external was missing. It created a good bit of dissonance for me. Inside, in my mind, I felt male. Outside, in my body, I felt distinctly not male. Given their size, I was surprised that it could feel so different, but it did. Over the years I have questioned myself if I'd feel more male if I had them pulled back into place. Or should I have them removed and see if replacement would work. Since I haven't done it, I don't know, but the veil had been pulled back for me. I realize that this isn't quite the same for transgender folk, but I started to understand. The accident dropped my testosterone level even lower (putting it at 40). I felt externally more akin to the doctor's diagnosis of intersex. But, that isn't who I am inside.

My mind started to settle when I took a class on Gender, Race, and Class. Added to this, I also took a class focused on Queer Theory. Through these classes and by reaching out and talking to my friends who are transitioning, I started to consider sex and gender differently. I realized that I could be intersex and male. That the bits didn't define how I, or anyone else, had identify or express themselves. I can be masculine most of the time and have my feminine moments and still be male. People transitioning don't need to have surgery. The goal, at least as I have come to understand it, is to be happy and healthy and be who you are supposed to be. And, ultimately, to have the world see you for who you are.

I have to thank all of my friends of all sorts of genders. I know I haven't always been the quickest learner. Sometimes, as much as I'd like to just be able to understand and empathize/sympathize, I need to experience some part of it. All of you have been wonderful about answering questions, especially when I have felt awkward asking. I have always felt like we have grown into a culture that is too afraid to ask personal questions. Sometimes the answer, isn't any of our business. And I am always ok with the answer of  "None of your business, Will." But, for me at least, the easiest way I can understand to question. To take the answer and mull it over and take into me all of what I can of it. Sometimes, it leads to more questions. Other times, it clicks and I get an "AHH GOT IT!"

I decided to write this after seeing so many hurtful comments out there about Caitlyn and others in transition. To me it seems odd. As we grow up, we change. For me, I have changed names a few times. I was Cody for a while (and still am to my family). I have been Bill. Most of the time, anymore, I am somewhere between William and Will. And when I am especially Irish, I am Liam. I am not the same person I was when I was 6. Nor am I the person I was in my twenties. I can't even say that I am totally the person I was three years ago, before I started school. At no point, was I ever met with resistance about my changes. No one ever told me that it was disgusting that I had changed. Nor was it unnatural. Or against God's Will. Now, admittedly, these types of changes aren't the same as people who are transitioning. And most people, looking at me, wouldn't know that I am classified as intersex. But, I feel like people should accept the changes people make in themselves. It takes a good deal of courage to be who you are. Love them. Accept them. Support them. Even if you don't fully get why they might have changed-- because life is too short and precious to fill with hate.