Hey Queer!!!!
Hey Queer!!!...
Being in Heterosexual relationships my entire life, I still find it difficult to deal with this slur. I know recently the GLBT community has embraced this label and has effectively minimized it's usefullness to hate mongers who love nothing more than to hurl aspersions at anyone who does not meet their code of normalcy. None the less, I find it offensive, much in the same way I would have found it offensive in the past to have a Gay person yell 'Hetero!' at me.
Let me give you some more background, as this writing is an update of sorts to the middle section of the 'Life is not Dichotomous' piece. Several weeks ago I was preparing to attend a peer group meeting in Virginia with a TS friend whom had never experienced a meeting of TG folks of any manner. After some initial confusion on my part we decided that I was to meet her at my house after work on the night of the get-together. When I pulled up on meetings eve I noticed she had arrived at my place before me and was sitting on the front porch waiting, a languid half-smile affixed to her face. In lieu of the fact that this was her first meeting she was dressed fairly androgenously in denim shirt and shorts, with a pair of white athletic shoes.
After exchanging salutations and a few barbs about my punctuality we went inside. I needed to get ready for the meeting, so I proceeded upstairs for the quickie bath and make-up job (which wound up taking me upwards of an hour) after I had stated to her "I'll be about fifteen minutes". After numerous trips back and forth to the bathroom and bedroom, and a hurried dog feeding I was ready. My friend had gone out a few moments before me to get the car cool so my face wouldn't drip all over her interior. It was nearly twilight as I exited my abode, fully femme. I had my hair up and my shorts were hidden by a pair of baggy jeans, my top buttoned crisply over the white camisole beneath just in case any terribly nosey neighbors were looking on. You see, I'm not trying to hide my transition, but I see no reason to shout to the neighbors, "Hey Everybody!!!!, I'm a Transsexual and I'm now dressing according to my gender identity, so get used to seeing me in women's clothes!!!!"
Heading for the car, my suede clogs swooshed a path through the tall soggy grass, I giggled about the overflowing bag I had slung around my shoulder. I remember years ago giving my wife a sermon about the amount of 'stuff' she lugged around in her purse, and now, I was experiencing first hand the hauling around of a bulging sack of feminine adjuncts. Rattling off street by street directions and trying to check my look in the visor, we lurched down the street in the seafoam green contour, my friend literally stuffed into the drivers seat and me just as uncomfortably crammed into the passengers compartment. She mentioned something about the neighbors saying something rude to her when she arrived,... Um,... something about calling her Queer!??!, "Whatever!"... I was too busy primping to fully appreciate what she had said. Shallow?... not me!!!!
The ride down interstate 270 was punctuated with anecdotes, laughter, numerous questions, and some slight apprehension on my friends part. There was a time two short years ago when I would not even leave my house en femme. Now here I was, riding in a car in plain view of literally thousands of motorists attempting to glue artificial nails on my wavering fingers as we sped toward Northern Virginia. I was sooooo proud of myself as we pulled up to the meeting place and I was finshing the paint on my new, long and beautiful nails. Wow! Am I getting the hang of this girl thing or what!??!... I smiled,... content.
I won't go into great detail about the meeting, suffice it to say that in every group there is always one person who has the conviction that their particular stories and witticisms are of immense interest to everyone in the room. I'm Sorry but, if you're not a highly trained professional speaker who happens to be very good at what you do, or, a person who has a genuine problem or issue and needs help, or, someone with something useful to share,... SHUT UP!!!! I don't attend meetings to hear some idiot Yak on for agonizingly dull, seemingly endless chunks of time. Ten minutes of this abuse is more than any mortal can take.
Mercifully, someone had the presence of mind to call an end to this torture. It seems as thought the meeting place had to be emptied at a certain hour and everyone was shooed out the door. We proceeded to a local restaurant for a late night meal and more personalized conversations. Fortunately, we were lucky enough to sit at a table with people whom I actually enjoy being around, the offensive orator being seated out of ear-shot. Still, we didn't stay very long, almost as soon as we had finshed our meals, my friend and I departed. The trip home was tedious, I was drained from work and the rushing home and back out again. My eyes were heavy and I was finding it difficult to keep them focused on the road, indeed, I was tired.
An hour and a half after leaving the restaurant we pulled into a parking spot beneath the street light that illuminated the side of my house. Uh-Oh!!!! my friend muttered. "What?,... what's wrong?" I asked, thinking maybe she had lost something or forgot something. "There are people on that porch over there!" she replied, pointing left past my face to some shadowy figures sitting behind raggedy lattice work across the street. I was too tired to care, I wanted to go in, but something held me in my seat, I check the porch again to see if there were any threatening movements. "What should we do"? she asked. As I reached in the back seat for my bag she said, "I think they're going inside". I faced forward again and peripherally caught some bodies moving into the house.
Great!, I thought,... I'm too tired to sit here and worry about it. I told my friend that I was going to go, as long as they were moving inside. I opened the car door and hadn't taken three steps when I heard it,... QUEERS!!!!!... it sent a wave of fear through me,... it was the voice more than the actual word that frightened me. It was graveley, yet shrill and powerful, I could almost envision threads of spittle and bile bursting forth from the viscious, growling, mouth of the man behind that voice. It was filled with anger, and hatred and ignorance. It was the voice of a person you knew was capable of doing insanely ugly things to another human. QUEERS!!!!!!!.... it came again as I made my way to my front door, not even looking back to see my friend climbing into the drivers seat of her car.
At my door, my heart pounding, I fumbled for the keys and hoped that there was no one closing in on me from behind. Nervously, I inserted the key and twisted the lock open, stepping through to darkness, I immediately groped the wall for the light switch. My fear eased as my eyes adjusted and scanned the room for intruders, finding none, I hurried to the window in the dinning room and looked out, my friend had gone. She was no small girl (nor am I) and I'm certain she could take care of herself very well. None the less, such experiences are not met with the kind of reaction I had the last time someone yelled this sort of thing at me. I have lost even more muscle mass in the past 6 months and am starting to weaken considerably, I know better than to do what I had done before.
Gaining a little confidence I went to the back door, I could hear the people across the street coming out of their house and resuming their beer drinking and macho camaraderie on the porch. Opening my door, I gently tip-toed out back. With the abundant wisteria covering my lattice work to conceal me, I listened almost snickering now as they talked about me. "That was that a guy"??? one of them said. "I dunno",... came a female voice,... "He was a guy this morning!" They laughed and one of them exclaimed, "Maybe the big one was the husband and the other one (I'm assuming, me) was the wife!" They laughed some more and started talking about other things, eventually I lost interest and went upstairs to my bedroom. As I shed my femme clothes I wondered what they were doing as they watched the lights in my house travel from the downstairs to the upstairs and then finally go out. I began to worry again. What if they get really drunk and decide to come over to my house and come in after me?
I slept fitfully, waking up several times to sudden, almost violent outbursts of laughter from next door. I dreamed of vandalism being done to my house, my car, even now I expect to go to my car some morning and see 'Faggot' sprawled across it in some drippy, spray-painted-too-close fashion. Don't get me wrong, I have the necessary artillary to defend my health and my home against intruders, and I would use it if the situation arose, all that still does not make the fear go away. When I got out of bed the next morning I began to ready myself to go out and mow my lawn, it really needed it bad. I peeked out the window to check for rain and spied the next door neighbors setting up tables for a yard sale. DAMN!!!! Now I can't even cut my grass!!!! As quickly as that thought had entered my mind another moved to take it's place. Why, can I not cut my grass?... who is stopping me? Them? ...or me?
I began to pick out the clothing I would feel the most comfortable in working in the yard, a black tank top, and a large baggy pair of shorts. I kept reassuring myself, that if they said anything to me, I would politely stop mowing, and cross the street to see if I could talk to them in a calm and collected manner, and ask them if I could answer any questions they had about what they had seen the night before. With great apprehension I went to my back porch and wheeled the mower off into the back yard. Checking the gas tank I found it totally empty. At the same time I became aware of movement and voices from ascross the street. My tormentors were busying themselves with bringing items for sale out to stock their tables. I observed them with interest.
I grinned and shook my head slowly side to side as I saw one of them, a fellow about my age with big gawky cowboy boots and a handle bar moustache, walking down the sidewalk as if he had a sharp pencil firmly implanted in his butt. He wore a red pocket t-shirt and black flare bottom jeans with a thick black, biker sort of belt. He topped off his ensemble with a red bandanna that was wrapped tightly around his noggin, barely allowing his oily locks to breathe. It was just then that the thought occurred to me; 'He certainly has a lot of nerve making fun of the way I dress'! The next guy I saw had equal appeal, short dirty hair, greasy unshaved face, sweaty looking green tank-top, soiled denim shorts, and a lovely prison gray tatoo on his upper right arm, and of course, the ever present ball cap. I realized something as I viewed these fine specimens. I was taller, and in a hell of a lot better shape than either one. My confidence high, I grabbed the gas can and headed for my car which was parked directly in line sight of the neighbors who actualy live in the house, a fat italian looking man of about 32 and his wife of undeterminable age. These other two guys must have just been visiting.
As I walked slowly and with great aplomb to my car, I gazed in the direction of the people whom had made me feel like dirt the night before. I made eye contact with all four of them, and I did something I did not expect of myself,... I smiled. Not a 'Please don't hurt me' kind of smile, but a 'I'm a person who is not ashamed of themselves' smile. I think it threw them off. They just looked, they said nothing, they didn't even give me dirty looks, I think I confused them. I got in my car and went to the gas station and filled up my container. When I came back I saw them again,... nothing! As I mowed my lawn, I wore my sunglasses and I kept stealing little glances at the neighbors, they just sat there, as a few customers fingered over the junk they were selling, looking natural (read: a bit vacant). They never said a word.
I'm almost sure this is not where this particular story will end. Although I am hopeful that my neighbors now know I will not run from them, I will not hide in my house because they make me the brunt of their jokes. I will never get used to someone being ignorant enough to yell names at me, or my friends. However, I do not wish to embrace the Queer lable anymore than some proud Black Americans are willing to embrace the Nigger lable. For me, it makes no sense to nod my head and smile cynically when someone yells 'Queer' at me. I'm more than a lable. Quite possibly, I have been blessed with the ability to see two perspectiives in this world. I feel lucky indeed!, my shame is waning, I feel stronger, more confident than I have in years. Must be that self acceptance thing kicking in!
©1997 Robin Leigh. Not to be used without express written permission!