By Gwendolyn Ann Smith
While issues of discrimination, hatred, and prejudice tend to be universal, there are some things that a transgender person deals with on a regular basis that few non-transgender people are ever likely to face. One example that often frustrates yours truly is some of the questions I've been asked.
"Have you had 'the surgery?'"
"What was your name… before?"
"Which bathroom do you use?"
"What do your genitals look like?"
It's not so much the questions themselves that annoy, it's that someone felt this was an appropriate question to ask — and that they have a right to an answer. I believe I know why they might think this, too: it's part of them trying to figure out — by their own definitions — just what gender I am.
You see, these questions all boil down to one simple question, and one that many transgender people have heard, perhaps more than any of the above.
"Are you a man or a woman?"
In return, I might ask a simple question in response. Particularly if I feel the person asking the question might be open to learning a thing or two. It's rare, but it happens.
"What is your definition of 'man' and 'woman'?"
For myself, I find it a deceptively difficult question. I can't so easily quantify it into a set of raw components, I cannot just say, "the doctor just removes your puppy dog tail, and you take sugar and spice on a daily basis."
I'll gladly admit that I did not grow up like many other women. I have a history that some would regard as incongruent with the gender I inhabit today. As such, I have an adjective — transgender — that sits in front of the word woman. It's a modifier for the modified, I suppose, but it does not diminish the value nor the importance of the word "woman" in my life.
When I try to think of those elements that everyone labels as feminine, I find that there are also plenty of women who bend, even outright break, these notions. I've also known many men who also do a damned fine job of breaking all the usual descriptions of "man."
I know it's not biology alone. The number of folks I've known with chromosomes that don't fit what my high school textbooks said seems to toss that right out the window. Never minding, of course, that these sex chromosomes are what most will try to tell me defines my gender.
It's also not one's body, at least not in a specific sense. I've known too many woman with penises and men with vaginas to settle for that definition. Likewise, this assumes that if, say, a man loses his genitals in an accident of some nature, he does not become a woman simply because he lacks his meat and two veg.
It's certainly not based on the ability to procreate. I mean, people aren't considered non-gendered before puberty, nor is gender removed at menopause. Infertility has never determined gender for a non-transgender person, so why would it define me?
Hormones? These are too slippery, as it's common for human beings to have both testosterone (the hormone usually attributed to men) and estrogen (strong enough for a man, but made for a woman). Some just have more of one than the other — and all of those can be manipulated.
I sure hope it isn't merely one's social role, because even though we're years removed from the era of Donna Reed and Ozzie Nelson, these remain so much a part of the cultural landscape. I'm neither of them, nor would I want to be.
So how does one define those two genders? It's all nearly impossible to define, without heading into words like "spirit." It's something that one can only feel for themselves, and no amount of questions about bathrooms, genital configuration, or "old names" can change that.
I can only tell you I am a woman, because that it is what I see, and it is just what I am. Besides, I've asked myself far more questions than anyone else, over many years — I know my truth, and that, ultimately, is all that matters.
