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. 

Telling my Parents

2019

Well, there came the day when my wife and I discussed with my parents, who were at the time in their 70s, about me being transgender. We had resisted telling them to this point because we didn't honestly think it would end well. My mom is very religious acting, which is entirely different from being very religious. and we expected some issues.

Knowing that there would likely be problems, we held off saying something. For several years. Part of this was the lack of desire for confrontation. Part of this was the knowledge that they are older, there are some medical issues, and if things went south and they decided they didn't want t talk with us any more, there'd really not be someone to help them when they were even more infirm, and in need of help with the kinds of things elderly people often need help with. But, there were some factors arising that made it obvious that the time had come. Among those factors were the changes in my body, brought on by hormone therapy. 

Foremost, there were physical changes were progressing to the point that things were, shall we say, becoming much more noticeable. As my body changed, we began to marvel that they had not noticed. Eventually, those physical changes had progressed to the point that there was no way they weren't going to notice something. My hair had changed. My fingernails had grown and were well kept. I had breasts that were growing nicely. The overall shape of my butt had begun to change. My facial features had begun to soften.  These things alone meant it was time. The changes were just too noticeable. 

Adding to that, my wardrobe had changed. Gone was every single garment of men's clothing. Like my body changing, this didn't happen overnight, but was done in careful phases. This was partly due to the enormous cost involved, and partly due to not wanting to make a sudden, obvious change. 

Adding to that was that my name had been legally changed by this point. My pronouns had also changed. So, my wife was already used to calling me by my name, and calling me "she".  There would soon be times where she slipped in front of my parents. That would have been very obvious.

It was clearly time.

So, we sat them down, and told them. Overall, it seemed to go decently well. There was no unexpected drama. I don't mean she was accepting - far from it. There were a few things she was mad about. This isn't counting the firmly expected "But now you're a SINNER!!!" viewpoint. We knew that was going to show up. It did, o course. 

Our kids, both adults, were there too, when we told my parents. When my mom got upset, the kids were pretty awesome, in their attempts to get her to see how her reasoning didn't make sense. I explained a bit about what I had been experiencing. She didn't care about a word of any of it. 

First, she was very mad that I had changed my name. This I understand to a point. Honestly, though, it was an odd thing for them to be mad about. My older brother changed his name many years ago, and they were fully supportive of that, and even helped him do it. Thus, while I understand this complaint to a point, it doesn't really seem to hold water, in the overall scheme of things. Overall, mom was less mad about me changing my name than one of the other things. 

The second thing was that I have been wearing women's clothes. My wardrobe that day wasn't remotely "in-your-face". Jeans, a long sleeve t-shirt, and canvas shoes. But, she bluntly told me that if I showed up "dressed like a girl" I wouldn't be allowed inside. That was kind of funny, considering I was inside at that time, and dressed in women's clothing from head to toe. 

The third thing, and this one really had her mad, was that she thought this meant she would have to pay money to redo their will because my name had changed. She was very upset about this. She actually got up and dug out their will and power of attorney, and demanded to know why I had made it, in her words, so that these documents were no longer valid. That isn't the case, of course. Legal documents are still valid after a name change. I explained to her that if in fact there were any legal fees incurred for them, my wife and I would of course pay for that. She seemed to calm down soon after. 

She was still clearly mad, though. she didn't have anything else to say, though. My dad hadn't said a word the entire time. 

So that was me coming out to my parents. Well, almost the whole story. 

As we were leaving, my Dad, always a nice guy but never one to display emotion, gave me a hug and told me he is proud of me. I almost burst out crying. 

Coming Out At Work - Telling the Employees

 Several years ago, my transition was progressing pretty well overall, and I had come to a point that I was living authentically in every aspect of my life except work. There, I has continued to maintain the previous status quo, because I really needed the job, both for the income, and because while transitioning, seeking new employment could have been very difficult, as I live in a pretty conservative area. But, the time came where I felt it was best to live authentically at work as well. At this point, my immediate supervisor, HR, and the extremely conservative owner already knew. 

My immediate supervisor, the HR person, and I decided the best approach would be a letter to the employees, because we had more than one location, and if I told the employees in person at one location, the employees at the other location would hear about it before I could get there. So, I wrote a letter, which I read at one location, while the manager at the other location read to the employees there. This is that letter. Perhaps, if you need to come out at work, this can help you, too.

I believe it is time that we sit down together and talk about something that is very important to me.

Have you ever had an experience where you were in the middle of doing something that seemed so out of place that you were extremely uncomfortable? Perhaps something you were doing, or how you were going about it, or the place you were doing it at, or maybe even something you couldn’t identify, but it felt wrong, somehow? Maybe even a combination of these? It might sound somewhat out there, but that’s my experience nearly every day, often multiple times per day. I know that might not make sense. I’m going to ask you to take my word for it.

You see, for many years, I have experienced something. Strange thoughts, unusual feelings, and the like. I won’t get into specifics. Suffice it to say for now that I experience things a bit differently than many of my peers. Frankly, I have for many years felt that something has been terribly wrong, but I didn’t know what, or understand the why and how.

So it’s time to be forthright. I haven’t set out to lie to you, and I’m not going to start now.

Bottom line up front: I’m transgender. Specifically, my gender identity isn’t really that of a guy, My sense of who and what I am doesn’t match what my body appearance says I am. It is something I tried to push away for years.  To be honest, that has been a combination of my own ignorance, and outright terror that if I were to for a moment admit to myself I might not be who I, and everyone else, thought I was, then it might actually be true, and that thought terrified me! So, I pushed it away, because if you ignore it, it goes away, right? Except that often doesn’t work.

I have maintained a public demeanor, without even realizing it. It wasn’t my intent to do so. I didn’t understand that I was doing so. But I reminded myself to act in certain ways, because everyone expects certain things of guys. Even to the point of when sitting, I reminded myself as I sat down to “sit like a guy”, or to walk like a guy, and the like. I chose clothing that made me uncomfortable, but guys wear what guys wear. I made sure I was as much a “guy” as I could be. Not a jock guy; (though apparently I’m a rather vicious soccer player) just a guy. So much so that I often do these things out of reflex, though they are uncomfortable for me. Especially in a military world, men have to be men, or something is wrong. I did what other guys did, because after all, I’m a guy, right? Events in my younger life taught me what it meant to be different. So, I reminded myself all the time, to make sure I was the guy I was born looking like. I still do it, sometimes, without thinking.

Over the years, the dichotomy has gotten more prevalent in my life, and thus more scary, and thus, more pushed away. That only made it more prevalent. So I pushed away harder. So it got more prevalent. Etc.  I have wanted this to go away, and anguished when it didn’t. I remember the day I first thought “Does this mean I never get another Father’s Day?” and the idea was heartbreaking. It’s not a mindset. I didn’t decide this. It’s not a habit. It’s me. I just want to be normal. Typical. But I have come to realize that I am who I am, and I want to be the best me I can. 

I understand that this might be a little surprising, and it might be a massive shock. Maybe you’ll be disgusted. Maybe you’re thinking “Okay, so what?” Maybe you’ll be thinking, “That makes perfect sense!”  Once we hit the realization of what was really happening, my wife, looking back, said “Well, that explains a lot”.

I think it’s important to reassure you of a few things. I want you to know that I still hate vegetables. I still have big ears and a big nose. I still have sarcasm, and a sense of humor. Swedish Fish still are amazing. I still don’t like our dog’s nose slime. I am still a Green Bay Packers fan, even though their season has been awful. I still care about my coworkers.

As I have moved forward in life, my wife and I decided that it was time to live authentically. Having to hide part of yourself is mentally and physically taxing. Living authentically has brought some changes, which a few sharp eyed people among us noticed right away as these changes phased in.

What changes directly affect our company? Well, to be honest, only a few small things. These are:

This last week I filed a request to change my name, legally. Though that request will take weeks to work its way through the legal system, the name change here at work will actually take place today, and thus, (dead name) doesn’t work here, but “Addison” does.

The other change that directly affects the company is the pronouns that I use, which I have been using in all other aspects of my life outside this business. Those pronouns are she/her/hers.

I know that doing something you’re not used to is difficult, and I know that because we’re all human, you’ll slip up. That’s okay. I tend to talk about myself in third person, and I slip up too.

Most people will likely see little to no change. They’ll not think anything about it Though only just begun, my hair is slowly starting to get different. Opinions I express are much different (Ignorance really can be educated out of someone, it seems) than they used to be, though in fairness, my opinions have been changing for many years as I came to understand that some things that conservative Christianity teaches are just plain WRONG. Yes, I really said that.  My fingernails are a bit different. My clothing is a bit different, and will become more so, but with restraint. Nothing is over the top, nothing is “in-your-face”. It is not my desire at this time to be glaringly obvious, but I’m much more comfortable in my own skin than I have ever been.

If it is your desire to learn more, I am willing to try to answer questions, and I can help you find resources, should you wish to seek help or information. Regardless, I know you will probably need time to digest this, and that’s okay too. Some of you are very religious, and have strong beliefs in this area. I respect that. I’m not asking you to go against what you believe.

I’m just asking you to continue to treat me with decency.