Breakfast at Bob Evans

2018

This is part three of the trilogy discussing how a church responded to transgender people. I recommend reading the first two parts, for clarity.

you can find part 1 here: https://highheelsandankleboots.blogspot.com/2018/07/ok-e-mail-from-transgender-person.html

You can find part 2 here: https://highheelsandankleboots.blogspot.com/2018/08/church-bylaws.html

You're Not Having...

As previously discussed, my wife and I had left the church we were attending. The Senior Pastor there still had no idea why, and he and his family were vocal about wanting us to return. My wife and I decided that the best thing to do was to sit down and talk with him, and tell him bluntly why we left.

We met at a local Bob Evans restaurant, for breakfast. There, we small talked, and wasted time, and ate, until it got to the point that we couldn't ignore the elephant in the room any longer. So, I took a lot of deep breaths, and with a shaky voice, told the Senior Pastor why we had left his church.

He didn't act surprised, but he had to have been. I doubt he had any inkling of the situation, previously. From the moment the words "I'm transgender" left my mouth, he never again said he wanted us to return. Instead, at the end of our talk, he agreed that it was best that we go. He actually suggested we not return. Mind you minutes before, it was "what would it take to get you to return?"

Then he looked at me and asked something I still can't believe he actually said. "You're not having sex with men, are you?" he asked. 'Because if you do, that's it for you."

Let me ask you a question, dear reader. How exactly is that any of his business? One of the things trans people always seem to get are questions about their genitals and about their sex life. Neither are okay. I don't ask you, and that's for a reason. It's none of my business.

I'm not going to do that

He then asked me what it took to help people like me feel more welcome. I told him that it'd be nice for people to have a place to pee. He said "We've got that now", a reference to the redesignated bathroom that they only changed because insurance had told them to. I told him that people look for churches with groups that aren't gendered. In other words, churches that have activities and Bible studies, not "men's Bible study" and "women's golf outings". He indicated that this wasn't likely to be put into place. That's when I told him it might be best to take "All are welcome here" off of the church sign, because I for sure hadn't felt welcome, and there were some other peiple who hadn't as well. You see, in the last two years, some young people who were lesbians or bisexual had left, totaling 9 people that I knew of, including my family of 3. I explained to him that he had other trans people in the church, and a couple of lesbians, a few porn addicts, etc.

The next thing he mentioned was in response to my statements about the attitudes of church leadership. He was concerned, but not like you'd think. He wasn't thinking of changing the attitude of church leadership. Rather, he asked me if when another person like me visited the church, would they be able to pick up on the church's attitude, or would it be hidden well enough? It's possible, he said, that I only knew about their attitude because I had been in leadership?

I explained that the right thing to do was for him to stand up on Sunday and bluntly confront the church's prevailing attitude. He said he wasn't going to do that, and the conversation broke up a few minutes later. Off we went.

I honestly don't know why I was even upset. I hadn't expected anything, in particular, to come from the talk. Yet, I was disappointed. But you know what? Walking away was the best thing we could have done.

Advice From Our Kids: Coming Out Letters

I came out to our kids using personal, sealed letters. My research showed that this was an effective way to do it. They were roommates in an apartment, so I asked them to take them into their rooms, and read them alone, at the same time. I used sarcasm, and humor, because that's how our family communicates. I wrote a very heartfelt letter.

I'm not a complete idiot, so I ran the letter past my therapist. She liked it, but was concerned about the humor. We're a quirky family. I explained to her that we communicate that way, so she told me to go for it.

In the letter, I employed the "Mom, I'm pregnant! Just kidding. I need money for college" approach. I explained a bit about what I had been experiencing. I let them know I love them, and I was extremely vulnerable with them. 

The letter made them cry. Partly because of the content, partly because my sarcastic humor was probably not such a good idea. Moral of that story? Listen to your therapist, because they are an unbiased observer.

What would our kids recommend for a coming out letter?

- Be honest. Don't lie, don't tell half truths or sort-of truths, and don't say things that aren't reality.

- Talk about your reality, what you've experienced, and why coming out is important.
- Don't talk down to the person / people you're coming out to.
- Explain things in terms they can for sure relate to. It's easy to say "My gender doesn't match my body", but for someone with no frame of reference, that will simply make no sense. Find a way to put it in terms that make sense to them.

- Be vulnerable.
- Make sure you tell them how you feel about them, and your relationship with them.
- Reassure them. 

The Day My Boss Learned Something

 2023

The Day My Boss Learned Something

One day, at a work meeting, I was relating a story of something that happened at a previous job. My career field is relatively small compared to many, and most people in it had bumped into each other at some point. It turned out my current boss was good friends with the guy who was the Assistant Director of the department at the job I was telling the story about. I've been at my new job about a year, and my boss was loving the idea of getting with his friend to share stories from when I was years younger.

That worried me. Not because I had done anything wrong. I am good at what I do. I wasn't worried about anything they might tell each other, except for one thing. In that previous job from years ago, I was using my deadname. 

As a reminder, a deadname is the name a transgender person was known by before their transition. The last thing I wanted was that name being brought up at work. That  isn't my name, and I don't want people thinking about that name when they see me. 

I honestly didn't know what to do He certainly had a right to speak with his friend about whatever he wished. Yet, my job is a good job, and I'm happy there, and I don't want to see it become less friendly. Does that make sense?

I decided that what I needed to do was explain my concern to my boss. So I sent him a message that said, among other things, that as he spoke with his friend about me, one thing they were going to quickly realize was that my name then was different than what it is now. I explained what a dead name is, and how transgender people typically would go to about any length to not have that name come up. So, I asked him to please keep that name to himself, and please not tell my coworkers. That was, as you might imagine, a difficult message to send. 

Yet, in my job interview, they asked me my thoughts on diversity. So I took the plunge and told them that I'm transgender, right there in the interview. I explained that diversity really matters, that it makes an organization stronger and more effective, and to me personally, it allowed me to have a greater impact on the organization because I could bring my authentic self to work. They hired me. 

So, I sent the message to him.

His response came relatively quickly, and it was brief. He said "That being the case, while I will of course still talk with him, I will not have any conversations with him about you.".

The next morning at work, he sent me another message. I was surprised. "Thank you for helping me learn something new".

I am thankful to have a boss who is open to learning. I know that is a blessing. 

The Street in Front of the Library

 8^th grade, 1982

 

8^th grade was a time of change for me. I suppose it is for most people. Honestly, until that time, I had little care for my personal appearance. One day, something clicked with me, and within the meager means I had available, I began trying to stay clean, keeping my hair looking nicer, dressing in the few outfits that I had that didn’t look totally cheap. My teachers noticed such a change that they commented to me.

In my middle school, 8^th graders were required to participate in gym class. That of course included showering and changing, a process that was increasingly causing me to be severely uncomfortable, especially from being naked in front of the other guys, and showering right next to them. I did what I could to minimize my exposure. But naturally, for the most part, I wasn’t able to hide for long.

I approached the gym teacher early in the year about my locker location, and was able to get permission to move to a locker well away from the guys most likely to cause trouble. That worked for quite a while. But like always happens, once you get comfortable, things change. A few of the guys changed up how they showered and changed, started going straight to the shower instead of talking. That was my move, so they showed up with me just starting my shower. They were large, and clearly masculine, and I was anything but.

I tried nervously to hurry. I was embarrassed for them to see me. Showering while trying hard not to show any “sensitive” body areas is not an easy task. They noticed me trying to shower while covering up, and started to snicker. They didn’t say anything, though, and soon, I was out of the shower, drying off in just a few seconds, and heading out of the locker room fully clothed but very damp. To tell the truth, I thought that might actually be the end of it.

Because life is always complicated, there are always multiple stressors. My parents were very conservative. There had been a lot of news in the papers lately, with a gay boy who had committed suicide at my school. My dad was blunt about the futility of suicide, but my mom had lots of acid things to say about gay people. In her opinion, he was dead because he was gay. I remember her saying if he had had the sense to actually be male, he’d have been just fine. Between her and my grand-parents and brother, I knew that gay people were considered wrong, at best.

There was a boy in school, an 8^th grader names Rodney, who was a happy bully. By that I mean that he was a bully, and happy about it. Like many bullies, he was big and strong, but mainly just loved scaring people. I had a habit of going to the library after my after school activities, because it was only a 30 second walk from school. I waited there for my parents to pick me up. One day, as I was walking down the street to the library, I saw the two guys from the gym shower calling across the street to Rodney. I couldn’t hear what they said, but I heard him yell back “Who?”. They then pointed at me.

I recognized that something was going on, and turned to go into the library. Unfortunately, I was still a decent distance from the library, and Rodney easily ran across to me before I got anywhere near the door. The two guys on my side of the street were about 30 feet away, looking on, laughing. Rodney didn’t even look at me, merely stopped running once he was across the street near me, and kept walking right past me like I wasn’t even there.

I turned and saw him moving off. So, I headed across the sidewalk toward the library. What I didn’t know was that he had turned around and was coming up behind me. He punched me in the back of the head, which stunned me. We were right out in front of the library. He came around in front of me and one of the two laughing boys grabbed me by the arms from behind. Then, Rodney punched me in the face. He then leaned in close and told me to never, ever say I wanted to suck his dick again.

I was even more shocked than when he had punched me. I hadn’t even thought it, let alone said it. He saw the shock on my face, and laughed, calling me a little fag. Then, suddenly he was gone, and I was standing there, with a headache and a bloody nose, and broken glasses.

Soon my parents were there to pick me up. Naturally, they demanded to know what happened. I told them who did it, and their next question was of course why? I tried to explain that I honestly wasn’t sure, but at this point, my dad cut me off, and told me he was disappointed in me for “not winning the fight”. I don’t think he meant to be cruel, because honestly, there’s not a cruel bone in that man’s body. But honestly, I wasn’t wanting to say anything about any accusation of being gay, and I was so shocked still that nothing coherent was coming out of me anyway. My dad’s blunt statement that he didn’t care why, as long as I assured him I hadn’t done anything wrong, ended it for the moment. I was glad he at least took the approach of taking my word for it.

But my mom of course wasn’t satisfied. She wanted financial retribution. So, my parents took me to the police station, to try to file assault charges. They made a police report, and the police photographed me. The officer was a member of our very conservative church. I did not mention the accusation of being gay. The police talked with Rodney and his dad, but were not able to find enough to file charges.

Weeks later, I tried to talk about it with my parents, but they seemed upset about something else, and my dad, not really knowing what had actually happened, told me that when he had said before that it was ended, it was ended. I knew he meant it.

 

 

Hope Collective Church

 2024

Hope Collective Church

I was thinking last night about the church my wife and I attend. I know, I'm transgender, yet we attend a church? Generally, those two things don't go together. Yet, this church is different, and I wish that it wasn't different.

What I mean by that is this church really does a great job of living out what a church should be. I wish lots of churches did that. I'll give you some examples:

Why the church exists. Well, the Pastor got the idea from sitting in a bar with a few drag queens, and listening to their stories of hurt and rejection. He couldn't shake the idea, so here we are! This is a United Methodist congregation. But, we meet in a movie theater. What we do is love people. Regardless who they are, where they live, who they voted for, how much money they have, or what their needs are. 

Race. This church is interracial. Sure, I know lots of churches are that way, but it is relatively uncommon in our area. We have white people, African American people, and though we don't currently have any in person attenders who are Asian/Pacific Islanders or Hispanic or Native American, these folks are 100% welcome too! I love seeing a worship team and church crown who isn't all white.

Gender - This church isn't one that thinks women are inferior. Not at all.

Gender identity. People who speak during the service, be it the person preaching, the worship leader, the person doing the welcome, whoever they are, start off with, as an example: "Hi. My name is Meredith Pendragon, and my pronouns are she and her". Believe me, no one grumbles about it, and no one criticizes anyone's pronouns In fact, we work hard at getting those pronouns right.

Who gets a voice. Everyone. Literally everyone. There is a large group of Pastors and former/retired Pastors, and who speaks on any given Sunday is widely varied. White men. Black women. Black men. White women. We have even had a transgender woman give the sermon. But it's more than that. Each Sunday we have an 8 minute talk from someone. Sometimes it is a local community organization. Sometimes it is someone telling part of their story. Everyone gets a voice. 

Participation. The number of volunteers in this church group is mind blowing. Many churches struggle to impact their community, or to have people offer to help the church do things. The vast majority of Hope Collective volunteer with in the church itself, and in the community. At my last count, Hope Collective partners with 26 community organizations, and we're always looking for more. In the church itself, we have a fully diverse group of volunteers we are so thrilled with!

Music. Talented musicians. you never know what they're going to do on a Sunday. We've had everything from stately old hymns to funk. 

The Pastor is a pretty cool guy too. You'll never meet a more humble person. 

I attend church with cis-gender people. Lots of them. Lots of heterosexual people. Bisexual people. Gay people. Lesbian people. Non-binary people. Queer people. It's honestly pretty awesome. 

Well, to get to the point, I am blessed to go to church with a wonderfully diverse group of people who genuinely love people just as they are. You'd be welcome to stop in with us, but you're also welcome to look us up online, at hopecollectivechurch.org, or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/hopecollectivechurch

Write with the wrong hand

So you are transgender! Good, so am I!

Oh, you're not trans? Well, that's fine, because really, this if for you. 

You see, according to neurologists, our gender identities - our sense of self as a man, woman, or other gender identity - begins to form while we are still developing. We're still in our pregnant mother, yet the process of starting to figure out who we are has begun.

It's very similar to the idea of being left or right handed, and trying to write with the wrong hand. We have no control over whether we are born left handed, or right handed. Yet, schools used to try to force left-handed students to write with their right hand. Give it a try. It's pretty difficult. 

See what I mean?

It's pretty awkward. It's difficult to do. It feels wrong. So, so wrong. It can be just as difficult to try to read writing done with the wrong hand. That's exactly how I felt before I decided ti was time to do something about my gender dysphoria. Thousand of other trans people struggle with the same overwhelming feelings within themselves. 

Trans people aren't mentally ill. We're certainly not perverted, rebelling against God, or any of the other negative host of labels attached to us. We've just been trying to write with the wrong hand!

My Name Change Hearing

2019

I'm the brunette, transgender wife.

In early 2019, I had a court hearing for the purpose of changing my name.

I tend to try to plan things out in advance. I was trained to do that in the military, and the more stressful I expect the situation to be, the more carefully I plan. That's just how I am wired, I guess. So, I tend to plan as much in advance as I can. 

At Probate Court, in the hearing for my legal name change case, I was very nervous. A lot hinged on that case, and the result of it. I came in armed with talking points, what to say and especially what not to say. There's a lot of information online regarding how to speak in name change hearings for transgender people.

The Magistrate (in our county, there is a Probate Judge and several Magistrates. The Magistrates hear the lower, less important cases) started off by explaining the purpose of the hearing, established the identities of everyone in the room (it was a small hearing room), and then asked me why I wanted to change my name. 

The websites said to explain why it was important in a roundabout manner, to specifically not say I am transgender. So, heeding that advice, I began talking. After about 30 seconds, the Magistrate interrupted me. "Are you transgender?" he asked. Shocked, I responded "Yes, Sir". 

"Just say that next time", he responded. He then announced that he was approving the name change, and handed me the paperwork. Elated, my wife and I left the room. 

In the hallway, I was reading the paperwork, and suddenly noticed that the Magistrate had both signed and dated the paperwork about a month previous. He'd apparently only held the hearing because he was required to.