Warning: I’m not sure how offensive this is going to get. Can it get more offensive than my title? you may ask. Of course it can. I don’t know how far I will go. I am not intending to offend everyone who is capable of being offended; there is a specific group of people that I intend to be maximally offensive to, but they will never care at all what I say, and the rest of you fine people are not targeted for intentional offense. I suppose the issue is more that this post might make you feel — kinda squidgy. Uncomfortable, like. For that, I’m sorry, but I can’t write anything other than this right now. I won’t. This is the one for now, until I finish this. Then I’ll go back to less squidgy things. Promise.
I mean — if I can.
I am a white male. I am, more specifically, a cis/het white male American. If any of those terms confuse you, allow me to explain: American should mean I was born in any of 35 countries or 13 territories in the North and South American continents or in the Caribbean; but because I was born on the pushiest, grabbiest, most narcissistic nation in the Americas if not on the planet, it only means that I was born in the United States. And I was: in the Northeast, in the state of New York, to be precise. “White” means nothing: we should probably switch to blanco, the Spanish version of the color name, because the “blank” cognate is much more appropriate than “Caucasian,” the usual, err, technical term for my race and ethnicity. Because “Caucasian” makes no sense. To find any of my ancestors who were anywhere near the Caucasus region (The hunk of land between the Black and Caspian Seas, which is mostly Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia, and Russia.), you’d have to go back so far in my family tree that it wouldn’t be recognizable as my family tree. My race is, basically, “Nothing specific,” and my ethnicity is “More of the same.” I suppose I am European; what I know of my national heritages includes Welsh, English, Scottish, German, and French; my family name is most probably derived from a Saxon word that means “Defender of the Home,” though my grandfather theorized it came from “Dall’Umpre,” from Umpre, which he thought was an area of Spain where the Basque people lived. That’s way more interesting than my family heritage actually is, though. I’m just white. Moving on.
The “cis/het” is the most recent addition to my descriptors; I will add that I use the pronouns “He/him,” because I, unlike a whole bunch of goddamn idiots on the internet, am not upset nor offended by the use of pronouns. I speak English, I read and write English; I understand the necessity of pronouns in my language. If you don’t, allow me to present English without pronouns: here is the same paragraph I am finishing up now, without any pronouns. Ready?
The “cis/het” is the most recent addition to Dusty’s descriptors; Dusty will add that Dusty uses the pronouns “singular male signifier subjective case/singular male signifier objective case,” because Dusty, unlike a whole bunch of goddamn idiots on the internet, is not upset nor offended by the use of pronouns. Dusty speaks English, Dusty reads and writes English; Dusty understands the necessity of pronouns in Dusty’s language. If the audience reading this paragraph doesn’t, allow Dusty to present English without pronouns: here is the same paragraph Dusty is finishing up now, without any pronouns.
Isn’t that fun? Sorry: Isn’t the activity Dusty just completed fun?
Of course not. It’s garbage. Everything is better with good pronoun use. Everybody should, therefore, embrace the appropriate use of pronouns. Which means respecting what other people want you to use in reference to them. And which also means including your preferred pronouns in your self-description/introduction when you can, so we all can get used to asking about and respecting people’s preferred pronouns. I know that it may feel strange, especially to those of us who had the habit beaten out of us, to use singular “they,” or to use a pronoun that doesn’t obviously match a person’s appearance, or to use one of the new pronouns like xe/xem/xer [Those are pronounced “zee/zem/zurr”, and are, in order, subjective, objective, and possessive: Xe wanted a ride on xer pony, so we gave xem a turn.]; but suck it up. Practice a little bit, don’t feel bad when you unintentionally make a mistake; just do your best, and you’ll get used to it. My first trans student — pardon me; I had trans students whom I did not know were trans students at the time they were in my classes — my first out trans student used pronouns I wouldn’t have associated with him, based on my assumptions about his appearance, and I struggled with it more than once; but over the four years I knew him, I stopped making the mistake, and he never got mad at me about it. Partly because I never said anything like “This is hard and I’m tired of it, why can’t I just call you ______?” The only expectation, the only burden being asked of us is, “Don’t be an asshole.” Which is too much for some, I know, but don’t let them influence you: you don’t have to be an asshole. So don’t.
“Cis/het” means that I am cisgender, which is the opposite of transgender, meaning I identify as the gender to which I was assigned at birth, and which matches the stereotypical assumptions based on my appearance, at least most of the time — I had very long, very pretty hair for a long time, and I was frequently mistaken for a woman, which I did and do find flattering. Because the “het” part means I am heterosexual, so I am attracted to members of the opposite gender from myself, in this case women; calling me a woman means I would be, in my eyes, far more attractive than most men. (I say “most” because there are some very pretty men out there.)
Why am I saying all of this when most of you certainly already know this? Two reasons: one, it’s difficult to ask about all this stuff, and I know some people are still confused; it took me quite a while to remember what “cis” meant. And it’s difficult to ask for clarification because the issue seems very sensitive, and it often is: but remember, the only expectation is, Don’t be an asshole. I constantly ask my students to explain what their slang and lingo means, and they think it’s cute that I don’t understand. They love teaching me, even though they cringe, visibly, when I use the slang myself. You know why? Because I’m not an asshole. (I’m based, fam. frfr.) And also because I’m not an asshole, I very much want to normalize this entire topic: I want everyone to be comfortable talking about preferred pronouns, and transgender and cisgender people, and heterosexuality and homosexuality and bisexuality and pansexuality and asexuality, and everything in the queer world, in general. Because this is the queer world. Right here. Right now. We all live in it. There is no “normal.” There’s just — people. All of us. And all of us need to not be assholes: and that is the only expectation that matters.
The second reason I am talking about all of this is because there are, apparently, too many people in this country who don’t understand, or who misunderstand, and I assume that some of my friends and loved ones and my beloved readers are included in that group. That is not an insult: none of you are assholes. (Because assholes wouldn’t read what I write every week. I don’t hang out with assholes.) But some of you are uncertain, or confused, or misinformed, I assume. So I want to clarify. I want to help, and I believe that understanding reduces tension, and there is too much goddamn tension in this country right now. (Please also note: I am not an expert in this, and there is stuff I don’t know and stuff I get wrong. This is just what I do know, presented in the hopes that it will be helpful to some.)
So here I go: not talking about my penis.
The last word I used to describe myself is “male.” I identify as male. I think of myself as a man, which is not the same thing as being male: when I was young, I was male, but I was only a boy; when I was an adolescent, I was male, but I was an asshole. And in this whole list, the only one that has anything to do with my genitalia is the last one: because the main reason why I was an asshole when I was a teenager was because I had a penis, and the usual teenage sex drive, and the common total lack of morals or empathy where that sex drive was concerned. Too much focus on the penis makes one less of a man, I have found.
That’s why I picked the title. Because honestly? I don’t need it. I don’t care enough about it, and it drives me fucking nuts that there are so many goddamn people who believe that the existence of a penis attached to my body is somehow the most important defining characteristic when it comes to my gender and sex; so I’m sick of it. Take it. Give it to someone who wants it. I wish them well of it.
I wrote last week about being proud, and what it means to be proud. I am proud of being a man. I believe that is something I have accomplished over the years — though I will immediately and repeatedly say I didn’t do it all by myself. But I am not proud of my penis. My penis did not make me a man. My penis did even make me male: because the category of “male,” biologically speaking, means “of or denoting the sex that produces small, typically motile gametes, especially spermatozoa, with which a female may be fertilized or inseminated to produce offspring.” [Also, writing this I realize that I may not be a male, because I have not to my knowledge ever produced offspring. So do my testicles actually produce spermatozoa? Maybe not.] Which means that my testicles made me male, and more generally, my XY chromosome structure (So far as I know. As I have never had my genes examined, I may not be chromosomally male, any more than spermatozoically male. That’s not a word.). Know how I know that my penis didn’t make me male? Because if I lost my penis in an accident, nobody would identify me as anything other than a cis male: because most people (Obviously no longer including Republican lawmakers, who are trying to pass bills requiring genital examinations as a prerequisite for sports. For fucking sports.) do not check my penis before deciding that I am a male. So its lack would go unnoticed in the face of secondary characteristics: I would still have facial hair and body hair in a “masculine” pattern, and I would still have a relatively deep voice, and I would have the same shoulders and hips, hands and feet and facial structure, and I would still be 5’10”. Those things, amusingly, are much more to do with my heritage, with my race and ethnicity, than with my gender or sex, because I am squarely in the average for most adult white people. Those things are also, at this point, not dependent on my testicles; I could lose those in an accident (And seriously, take ’em. Useless lumps. Itch and sweat and get in the way. And give me cancer scares. [Also, PSA to testicle-havers: do self-exams in the shower. Get used to how your testes are shaped, because you are looking for changes as a sign of potential problem.] Totally pointless, and very annoying.), or have them removed if they became cancerous, and still keep most of the same traits that would make people identify me as male; the ones that might fade would be easily recovered with some simple hormone treatments. Which many of my fellow men will get voluntarily as they get older, even without losing their testicles. And that won’t make them men, either, just as the natural decrease of testosterone doesn’t make one not a man. Regardless of what all those ads on the radio and the spam emails want me to believe.
You know what else didn’t make me a man? Having sex. I know because I had sex when I was still — I don’t want to say “a boy,” because that takes this into weird[er] places; I was between about 15 and 17 when I first had sex, so not a boy: but I was sure as hell not a man. I was an adolescent. I was immature. I was selfish. I was, as I said above, an asshole. And, again, not having sex would not make me not a man: if I lived the rest of my life as a celibate, I would still be a celibate man, and everyone would see me as a man, with no idea of what my sex life was or was not like. The vast majority of you, thankfully, not caring, and wanting to know nothing about it, as I don’t want to discuss it. Further, having children does not make you a man, because I don’t, but I am. (Again, and this still makes me chuckle, the ability to produce sperm that can father children apparently does make you male, which means I might not be male. Well, Mom always wanted a daughter.)
Being aggressive does not make you a man: I am an introvert, and I hate and fear and dread confrontation of all kinds. I can do it, and I have when it is necessary; but I hate it. Being violent does not make you a man: I have never committed an act of violence, never been in a fight, never fired a gun, never killed anything larger than a mouse. (Killing a mouse does not make you a man. Elsewise cats would be men. Though of course they don’t want to be men: cats don’t want to be anything other than cats. Why would you? Once you’ve reached the peak, you don’t come down if you don’t have to.) Loving sports, especially blood sports, does not make you a man; I don’t care for most sports, but the ones I do like are generally skill and grace sports, like gymnastics and skateboarding.
We’ll come back to sports. Because there are a whoooooole bunch of assholes focusing almost exclusively on sports these days, in relation to this issue.
I think to be a man means, in part, not being an asshole. And I hate that, not only do millions of people disagree with that, but millions of people think the opposite: that being an asshole makes you more of a man. It does not. It just makes you an asshole.
And here’s the point: believing and affirming that trans men are not men, or that trans women are still men (or confused men, or “biological men”) makes you an asshole. Not a man. Not a rational person. Not a defender of women, or of people in general. It does not mean you adhere to science and accept objective reality. It means you are an asshole. Because you are helping to oppress and potentially destroy the lives of thousands upon thousands — millions, more likely — of trans people. Men don’t oppress and destroy innocent people. Monsters do that.
So okay, out of all of these things that do not make one a man — including a penis and testicles — what does make one a man?
Well that’s the thing: it changes, doesn’t it? It depends on context. I know that’s an annoying answer (This is why my students hate English sometimes, and prefer math, where there are definite answers. It’s easier that way. But please remember that life is poetry, not geometry.), but it’s the only one, and we know it. I’ve been giving some examples of the classic standards by which we define men, along with counterexamples that show those standards are not actually definitive: appearance does not make one a man, genitalia does not make one a man, fatherhood does not make one a man (Though it sure would be nice if more men were fathers and more fathers were men — though also, more fathers should be women and more women should be fathers. By which I only mean that shitty people shouldn’t be parents, and people who are parents shouldn’t be shitty people.). The only answer that actually fits all circumstances is this: I make myself a man. By deciding that I should act like one, according to my definition of a man’s behavior, and then doing it.
This is a dangerous answer, though. Because if I happen to think that being a Nazi and slaughtering millions of innocent people is what would make me a man, and I did that, then by my definition I would be a man; and I think it’s clear that would make me a monster, not a man. So there have to be some real standards of manhood, for the idea of manhood to have any meaning or value; and since, as I said, I am proud of being a man, I think we should retain the idea of manhood and manliness. I just really, really need us not to focus that idea on the genitalia. And preferably without any gender distinctions, because I think anyone can be a man who wants to identify themselves that way. Anyone who shows the qualities I define as manly qualities will absolutely be welcome to be called a man by me, if you want me to.
So what does manhood mean? First, it means being responsible, because being a man is about being an adult. Children are not men. Nor are they women: they are children. For me, the major difference between childhood and adulthood is responsibility. Responsibility means knowing what is needed, and then being strong and using that strength to do what is needed. Please note that this is not exclusive to men, because women also must be responsible and adult in order to be women — and also, children can be responsible and even adult in some ways, while still being children. The difference there is that children who must be adult are being harmed by that: asking adulthood of children is asking too much, and is harmful even if the kid can handle it; it’s still bad to make kids grow up too fast. Adults are those for whom responsibility doesn’t harm, it actually helps. I feel better when I am responsible, when I do my work, when I do what is necessary. I don’t like it, a lot of the time; but I feel better for it. Another aspect of adulthood which is necessary for manhood (and also for womanhood) is control: self-control, that is. Children do not have good self-control, but that is forgivable in children; it is less so in adults, in men and women. (Though I will note that everyone can be irresponsible from time to time, and also can give up self-control and let loose, sometimes. Just not all the time. Not when it matters. And to be an adult, you have to know when it matters.)
I will also say that one of the toughest kinds of self-control to have is the ability to keep yourself from controlling others. It is also, however, one of the most important. I have been struggling lately, because one of my classes needs to learn that it is important for them to pay attention to the class when I am teaching it; the way I am teaching them that is by not teaching them for a time, and letting them teach themselves. And they are doing a terrible job. And it is so damn hard for me not to stand up and take the class over and make them all learn the way they should be learning: but I need to not control them, I need them to learn. So I’m controlling myself, and letting them learn this vital lesson. It’s hard. But I’m doing it. Because I am a man. Men control themselves. (Also: please note, therefore, that rapists are not men. They are monsters. And any definition that allows rapists to be fully included in the ranks of men is a shit definition. Remember that when we talk about penises as man-defining.)
So that’s what distinguishes men from boys, from children. What distinguishes men from women?
As I said, it’s unclear: it changes. It depends on context. There is not a single trait of manhood that I could name that should not also be part of womanhood. Which is why transphobic bigots have to rely on the one clearly distinct difference in their eyes: genitalia. Ask them about intersex people (Intersex people are those who have more than one of the traits for male and female biological sex — so both ovaries and testicles, for instance. There is a wide range of people with a wide range of traits, and the term is non-exclusionary. Read more here. Note, for instance, androgen insensitivity syndrome, which can affect people with XY chromosomes and can, in some cases, mean that their cells reject male-trait inducing hormones entirely: and they will be phenologically [Is that a word? Should it be “phenotypically?”] indistinguishable from someone with a stereotypically female phenotype), or about men who lose their genitalia, and they will dodge the question. Every time. “Intersex people are so rare,” they will say. “I’m talking about MOST people.” Sure: most of the time “shit” means excrement; but sometimes (say, on 4/20) one might want to go out and buy some “good shit,” and would be VERY upset if someone sold them a baggie of excrement for $50. If you insist that “shit” only be used, ever, for the most common cases, you are losing some very important uses of the word — and your definition, therefore, is shit. A shit definition of shit. So too with simple definitions of “man” and “woman.”
I think in our society most people see the major distinction as being one between strength and kindness. Most people in our society see strong qualities as men’s qualities, and kind qualities as women’s qualities. People who are not assholes, of course, understand that everyone should be kind and everyone must be strong; but if there is a meaning to gender at all (And by the way, I’m totally cool with dispensing with gender entirely: I’m a human and a person much more than I am a man. I said I was proud of being a man, but I am really proud of being strong and responsible and kind.), I think it lands there. I think that I am a strong person, and my accomplishments that have required strength are the ones I am proud of, as a man. I have developed greater strength over time, and I am proud of that; though I think there is an upper limit (like, it’s not true that the stronger I get, the manlier I get, ad infinitum: if I am twice as strong as I used to be, I’m not two men [though I might like just repeating the syllable in one word, like I could go from being a man to being a manman, and then a manmanman].), I do think there is a general area where having enough strength to get through something — and often, to help someone else get through something — distinguishes one as a man from a child, because a child would need to take strength from someone else, where a man would provide strength to someone else who needed it. And a child who got through something requiring strength just on their own is seen as — grown up.
But here’s the thing: I may be a man because I am strong — but I am a good man because I am kind. So let’s not pretend that either virtue is exclusive, or disallowed to anyone in any category. Let’s not be assholes. Which category certainly includes a subset of both men and women. But recognize, again, that there are no traits that are exclusively men’s traits, and no traits that are exclusively women’s traits.
Which is why the debate over trans rights is so goddamn stupid. They have to focus on the only thing that they can point to as exclusively male: my penis. And ignore all the exceptions to that oversimplified definition. Most particularly, they have to ignore that the logical result of that argument is this: if someone who wasn’t born with a penis acquired a penis, then they would, by the anti-trans bigot’s own definition, become a man. This is why the more intelligent anti-trans bigots focus instead on chromosomes: which is just as reasonable and intelligent as distinguishing between people based on their skin color. You can describe someone with their chromosomes, if you can know their genes; but you can’t define them that way. Also, if you look at the intersex links I put above, you will find that there are people with chromosomes that just don’t fit into either category. “But those cases are so rare,” they say. “I’m talking about most people.”
You know what’s amazing about these people, and these arguments? That they then make the exact opposite point by claiming that trans athletes are a threat to sports. To women’s sports, of course — they never talk about trans men in men’s sports. (Someday a trans man is going to join a men’s gymnastics team, and he’s going to wipe the fucking floor with those dudes. But anyway.) Do you know how many trans athletes there are competing at the collegiate level in this country? In this nation of 330,000,000 people or more?
36. 36 trans athletes. (Source)
Out of 520,000 NCAA athletes, nationwide. (Source)
It is impossible to get a complete count of the number of trans athletes, of course, because not all of them are out; but whatever count you come up with, it is vanishingly small. So if you’re going to ignore intersex people and insist there are only two biological sexes, then you should bloody well ignore the tiny percentage of trans athletes and just let people compete. Actually, you should just let people compete even if there are millions of trans athletes: because people who want to compete should be allowed to compete. I wrote once before about how biological differences are sometimes accepted and sometimes not in sports, and it’s earth-shatteringly stupid to say that Usain Bolt has a fair advantage and Caster Semenya has an unfair advantage because Bolt has a penis and Semenya does not. Protecting women’s sports from trans athletes only makes sense if you pretend that trans women are not women: and they are. More importantly, why are we so goddamn concerned with some people winning sports and other people losing? Aren’t they still sports if you lose?
Or did all of my PE teachers lie to me?
Sports are supposed to be fun. I keep hearing they’re not about winning, they’re about sportsmanship and competing and building team spirit and so on; but apparently not so to Republican legislatures around this country, and all the assholes on Twitter, who are fucking up sports, and fucking up the lives of young people, because they hate and fear trans people. The assholes who constantly use videos and photos of trans adults to mock the idea that someone can be trans: and yet nobody speaks of all the men in the world who look damn “feminine,” and all the women in the world who look damn “masculine.” They only attack trans people, which shows how absurd their bigotry is: exactly like racism, exactly like thinking someone is less because of the color of their skin, but ignoring when some “White” people have darker skin than some “Black” people. Or more orange skin than any human anywhere. Because it’s not actually about appearance: it’s about hating the idea of trans people. They see trans people as toxic, as dangerous; as able to spread their “condition” (variously called an illness, a delusion, and every other shitty word that assholes use to insult other people unfairly) to others like a contagion.
That’s why all the arguments about people “turning” children trans, of trans kids being “peer pressured” into seeking gender-confirming medical care like puberty blockers or hormone treatments or even surgery. Look: I am a high school teacher. I have trans students, and I have had several trans students in the past. I did not know all the trans students I had in the past, because not all of them were out; until the last decade, none of them were out, so far as I know — but of course, I don’t know if any of my earlier students were trans and I never knew it, because they might have been visibly indistinguishable from other people of their identified gender; and some of them may have been transitioning without me knowing about it.
Know how much that affected me, or my relationship to them as students?
Neither do I, because I don’t know who or how many there may have been. So I’m going to have to say the impact of their being trans was — none. No impact. Didn’t matter in the least. As with the former students who have come out as trans, or queer, or genderfluid, or anything else under the sun: none of my relationships have been affected by their gender identity. Which is as it should be.
But those people themselves have been sometimes greatly affected by their gender identity. In every single case that I know of, these young people have been happier when they have been accepted as who they are, as people who have been able to find their way to live their truth, to define themselves according to their own standards. As I have been doing for myself in this blog, because I have a right to: and not because I have a penis. Those young people have struggled mainly because they have had people who denied their self-identification, people who told them they were wrong for being who they are, for knowing who they are, and for defining themselves, as we all not only have the right to do, but the responsibility to do, the obligation to do. And then, as reasonable human beings should, the rest of us are responsible for accepting what other people determine their own identity to be. As I have accepted with my trans students, which is why I have never had any trouble with them being trans. Nor will I ever: beyond sometimes slipping up with names and pronouns. But I’m not an asshole, so I do my best, and I always accept people for who they tell me they are. I don’t question or argue with it. Because it’s not up to me, and I don’t try to control other people’s choices, because I am a man, and I am not an asshole.
And in no case, not one case of any student I have ever had, or ever will have, has genitalia been anywhere in the consideration.
Right! See how horrible that is? The very idea of an English teacher judging a student by genitalia? SO WHY THE FUCK DOES ANYONE DO IT, EVER??? How can anyone rationally decide to pass a law requiring genital examinations as a prerequisite for participation on a specific sports team? How can that happen? What kind of insanity is that? It’s as ridiculous as me asking all of you to read this essay I titled with a consideration of my genitalia. Don’t nobody want that. (Actually, the anti-trans bills are unquestionably worse than my title for this piece. But I still feel guilty for talking about my piece in this piece. Kinda.)
By the same token, taken one small step further: we don’t actually judge anyone’s identity by secondary sexual characteristics, not in terms of identity. Nobody thinks a boy with a high voice is not a boy. Nobody thinks a girl with a flat chest is not a girl. Nobody (sorry, guys) thinks that a teenager with a sad peachfuzz mustache is actually a man. But also, I have students with more facial hair than I will ever grow: but I still don’t think of them as more manly than me. Because I am an adult, and they are not, however thick and luxurious their face-locks. Appearances don’t matter. Not for who people are.
So.
If someone wants to be called by a different name, call them that. (Definitely don’t ever be the person who uses only the name on the attendance sheet: my wife’s birth name was Anthony. Because her dad was a prick who wanted a son, not because she is not a woman. On a much less controversial note, my official name is Theoden, but I prefer to be called just Dusty. Partly because most people can’t pronounce Theoden correctly.) And because pronouns are not at all more meaningful than names, if they want you to use different pronouns, then use the different goddamn pronouns. Mistakes are fine, but do your best, and don’t be an asshole. (Unless you identify as an asshole, in which case, fuck you. And don’t ever make an “I identify as…” joke. They’re not funny.) Don’t judge someone by their appearance. Yes, someone is perfectly able and permitted to be a trans man or boy and wear dresses and long hair, as someone is perfectly allowed to be a cis male and wear dresses and long hair. Yes, someone can be a trans woman or girl and have facial hair. If you think it doesn’t look right, nobody cares what you think. It’s not up to you. If someone changes their name or identity or preferred pronouns several times, just try to keep up: and expect to make mistakes, and expect those mistakes not to matter, so long as you are being kind. Don’t question why they changed; it’s not up to you. Don’t say they’d be happier if they didn’t change, or you liked them better before; it’s not up to you. Your only job is to try not to be an asshole.
And one last thing. I wanted to write this blog because I heard about recent polls that show that the public view of trans people in this country is, in my opinion, going in the wrong direction. This research from Pew shows that the majority of Americans believe people’s sex is only what is assigned at birth (and that majority has grown over the last six years), and that the majority of Americans think that trans athletes should not be allowed to compete on teams that match their gender identity, and that almost half of Americans think that medical treatments should be limited for trans youth under 18.
So let me be clear. Gender is not determined by sex. Sex is not determined by chromosomes. And neither is set in stone and immutable. That being the case, who is the one person most likely to know best what their gender identity is? Themselves. (Notice the singular “they” there. And if you wanted me to write “Him/herself,” then get over it.) We know ourselves better than anyone else knows us. And sure, not all of us know ourselves very well; I have been confused about how much of myself I have discovered just in the last few years, and I’m 48 years old. So it’s reasonable to think that young people who think they may be trans may be unclear, or uncertain — just as some cis people are unclear or uncertain about who they are, for countless reasons, including the possibility that they may actually be trans, and not know it, or not be able to accept it.
In that case, you know who are the best people to help the young person figure out what their real self, their true identity is? It’s not reactionary, transphobic, attention-seeking Republican lawmakers, that’s for goddamn sure. No: it is the young person’s family, and their caring medical professionals. And of course some people have fucked up families, who shouldn’t be allowed to influence their children’s choices: but don’t you think that’s true in whatever way the family is fucked up? Macaulay Culkin’s family should not have been allowed to steal all his money. Brittney Spears’s father should never have been granted conservatorship over her. Abusive parents should not be allowed to abuse their children. But if you think that trans youth are only trans because their parents, or their friends, or their teachers, or their social media, tell them they should be trans, then you’re either an asshole, or an idiot. The world tells trans people they should not exist: nobody tells cis people they should be trans. Nobody chooses to be trans, just as nobody chooses to be white: some of us just are. The world should allow us to be who and what we are, so long as we don’t cause any harm. And trans kids don’t harm anyone by being trans. Or by playing on sports teams. Or by receiving gender affirming care, which is often critically important to prevent harm being done to the one person most likely to be hurt by a trans kid: themselves.
And if it helps, if the young trans person who told me that he wants a penis wants mine, he can have it. Take it. Please.
But it’s still not going to make you a man.
You’ve already done that, sir: because you are strong, and you are kind.
Now if only everybody else could be the same.
Just Dusty 