I find it fascinating when two former friends decide they need to justify to me why they were right to drop me as their friend after nine years. Here's a reality check: if you need to justify your actions to me then part of you already knows you're wrong. You don't hear me saying "Hey, guys, let's clear the air" especially after it's been nearly two months of my having to hear second hand all the reasons you think you have the right to pass judgment on me. I am more than the sum of my negative traits. You forgot that I'm a human being. Consider this your reminder.
I was having a nice day too. I thought to myself "Lilly, today is the day we start being a kinder, gentler person to everyone around us. Let's just pretend everyone is an adorable puppy!" and that had me feeling bubbly and cutesy and sweet. Now the sweet has a little tart to it and while I love me some sweet tarts, today was meant to be sweet and sweet alone day.
At first I thought that, since their behavior made no sense, I would not be able to learn or grow from this experience. I did have one of those "The more you know..." moments though. I realized that my being overly emotional doesn't preclude my ability to know when it's time to walk away from an abusive situation. My heart got a little harder but my demeanor got softer, squishier, and more huggable. Putting on a bright face for the world makes me feel warm and cozy. Knowing I won't be fooled so easily into being an emotional doormat again makes me feel strong and independent.
Life is good. Puppies are good. I am good. Yay!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
the Unicorn and the Dinosaur
I've been sitting on this revelation for a few days now, sorting out it's relevancy in the here and now. It's an interesting story, one I think is worth sharing because of how telling it is.
A long time ago in 1984...
I should have known. Any preschool who had the audacity to call itself "The Jelly Bean School" and not put those sugary delights in my wormy mitts daily for jubilant consumption was obviously governed over by peoples of highly suspect moral character. In fact, the only time jelly beans were ever begrudgingly parlayed was on one's birthday when a paltry bag of far too few of those joyous confections were allotted. Generally speaking preschool lasts but a year which means you only get jelly beans on one day ever! Tres unfair!
But this story isn't about jelly beans. This story is about a box, a chest of wonder and imagination. It was opened once per day and contained the sum of all the toys and joys a child could hope for. I was four years old and probably sporting an explosive mop of curly hair, a smart burgundy vest, checked shirt, and trousers. "Put that kid on a time train to the 21st century Williamsburg, Doc Brown!" I might shout if I were a noisier narrator. Instead I'll let the scene and the characters do the talking.
I remember the first day that box opened. I was a curious like most all children, hoping to find something deep within the chest's hold that I could press close to my heart and call my own. There were a laundry list of everything a boy could want: actions figures, toy cars, dinosaurs, building blocks, and all the typical trappings of a 1980's prepubescent existence. None of these items interested me because most of these were things I was familiar with. "Been there, done that", I thought or something similar thereof. No. What excited me most were the dolls, the horses, the unicorns, and the cute, light blue, princess dress. Those were the ticket! I'd never had much interaction with girls before nor what they were gendered into playing and associating with. I only knew that I wanted to wear that dress and play with that unicorn. How exciting this brave new world would be!
But you already know the rest of this story. Maybe it's because you lived it yourself or maybe it's just because you aren't stupid. I hadn't gotten both arms in that beautiful frock before the adults were upon me, quietly pulling me out of my happy place and placing me aside. "You can't play with girl things", they would softly coo. "You're a boy and dresses are not for boys. Here, play with this dinaosaur instead". The looks of concern told me all I needed to know as a four year old. I'd done something wrong. So I took that stegosaurus in my grasp, the adults smiled, and I went off on my merry, albeit confused, way.
I tried a few more times here and there to experiement with the Barbies and the horses but the adults were already on to me. They were always ready to switch out the offending toy for something far more suitable. Eventually, I gave up. I liked dinosaurs and action figures and building blocks, after all. I liked eating boogers too but, what the hell, I was four!
I didn't know at the time while I was sitting in the sand box and pondering my place in the universe the impact those grown ups had on me. They had taught me something I'd never really known before: shame. It wasn't ordinary shame, either. It wasn't the kind where you did a doo doo in your pants or because you knocked mommy's things on the floor. This shame was buried at the core of my subconscious as everything else about me formed around it. I wasn't an especially feminine child and I had a sprawling list of interests for a four year old so I didn't realize, as the years went on, that I was actively avoiding anything the girls touched. I didn't know that after those strangers I would never see again closed that first door that I was single handedly closing every other door there after that might lead me toward understanding this huge part of my indentity.
It's strange to suddenly regain such a vivid and important memory. Before this I'd always assumed that my gender confusion hadn't really come into play until puberty but, suddenly, here I was faced with a whole new reality. In hindsight, it explains so much about why this process of transition has always been so challenging for me. I've spent years shamefully wondering if maybe I would like more female identified things and places but always feeling like they were not for me even though I knew I was a woman, transsexual or otherwise. I still felt relegated to mostly masculine gender expression. It's hard to break down a barrier when you don't know how it got there in the first place. Now I know and I'm busting down that wall with reckless abandon. I don't know what I'll find on the other side. I doubt I'll stop liking the things I've always liked but, for the first time since I was four, I finally feel like I can play with any toy I want.
A long time ago in 1984...
I should have known. Any preschool who had the audacity to call itself "The Jelly Bean School" and not put those sugary delights in my wormy mitts daily for jubilant consumption was obviously governed over by peoples of highly suspect moral character. In fact, the only time jelly beans were ever begrudgingly parlayed was on one's birthday when a paltry bag of far too few of those joyous confections were allotted. Generally speaking preschool lasts but a year which means you only get jelly beans on one day ever! Tres unfair!
But this story isn't about jelly beans. This story is about a box, a chest of wonder and imagination. It was opened once per day and contained the sum of all the toys and joys a child could hope for. I was four years old and probably sporting an explosive mop of curly hair, a smart burgundy vest, checked shirt, and trousers. "Put that kid on a time train to the 21st century Williamsburg, Doc Brown!" I might shout if I were a noisier narrator. Instead I'll let the scene and the characters do the talking.
I remember the first day that box opened. I was a curious like most all children, hoping to find something deep within the chest's hold that I could press close to my heart and call my own. There were a laundry list of everything a boy could want: actions figures, toy cars, dinosaurs, building blocks, and all the typical trappings of a 1980's prepubescent existence. None of these items interested me because most of these were things I was familiar with. "Been there, done that", I thought or something similar thereof. No. What excited me most were the dolls, the horses, the unicorns, and the cute, light blue, princess dress. Those were the ticket! I'd never had much interaction with girls before nor what they were gendered into playing and associating with. I only knew that I wanted to wear that dress and play with that unicorn. How exciting this brave new world would be!
But you already know the rest of this story. Maybe it's because you lived it yourself or maybe it's just because you aren't stupid. I hadn't gotten both arms in that beautiful frock before the adults were upon me, quietly pulling me out of my happy place and placing me aside. "You can't play with girl things", they would softly coo. "You're a boy and dresses are not for boys. Here, play with this dinaosaur instead". The looks of concern told me all I needed to know as a four year old. I'd done something wrong. So I took that stegosaurus in my grasp, the adults smiled, and I went off on my merry, albeit confused, way.
I tried a few more times here and there to experiement with the Barbies and the horses but the adults were already on to me. They were always ready to switch out the offending toy for something far more suitable. Eventually, I gave up. I liked dinosaurs and action figures and building blocks, after all. I liked eating boogers too but, what the hell, I was four!
I didn't know at the time while I was sitting in the sand box and pondering my place in the universe the impact those grown ups had on me. They had taught me something I'd never really known before: shame. It wasn't ordinary shame, either. It wasn't the kind where you did a doo doo in your pants or because you knocked mommy's things on the floor. This shame was buried at the core of my subconscious as everything else about me formed around it. I wasn't an especially feminine child and I had a sprawling list of interests for a four year old so I didn't realize, as the years went on, that I was actively avoiding anything the girls touched. I didn't know that after those strangers I would never see again closed that first door that I was single handedly closing every other door there after that might lead me toward understanding this huge part of my indentity.
It's strange to suddenly regain such a vivid and important memory. Before this I'd always assumed that my gender confusion hadn't really come into play until puberty but, suddenly, here I was faced with a whole new reality. In hindsight, it explains so much about why this process of transition has always been so challenging for me. I've spent years shamefully wondering if maybe I would like more female identified things and places but always feeling like they were not for me even though I knew I was a woman, transsexual or otherwise. I still felt relegated to mostly masculine gender expression. It's hard to break down a barrier when you don't know how it got there in the first place. Now I know and I'm busting down that wall with reckless abandon. I don't know what I'll find on the other side. I doubt I'll stop liking the things I've always liked but, for the first time since I was four, I finally feel like I can play with any toy I want.
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