It's been a busy six months.
I have just a few things I'm going to touch on and then possibly I'll do in-depth updates later this week.
- Six months on testosterone! I shaved (and regret it) the fuzz I had for a funeral.
- I have hair on my legs again! (kinda) After not having hair since 2003 on the majority of my legs, some thigh and knee-cap hair is exciting to me.
- Rachel and the kids met my dad's side of the family.
I'd like to touch on the fact that Rachel and the kids met my family in this post. That's momentous. They never got the chance to meet my dad (in fact, none of my friends did until his passing.) so meeting that side of my family was nerve-wracking to say the least.
I also hadn't seen or talked to most of my family since shortly after my dad's passing in 2008. Needless to say, none of them knew about me being transgender. Officially. I hadn't told them and because I was afraid of rejection and disappointing them, I just kept my distance. It was easier, in a sense, because I wasn't dealing with the drama that can come with telling (and I mean this in the best possible way)* a black family that I'm transgender.
That doesn't mean they didn't know, or have the inkling like everybody else did. My favorite aunt, Aunt Pat, and I have always had a special connection. I used to stay with her when I'd visit my friend who was stationed in Ft. Hood. She would always ask me "Is there anything you want to talk about, baby?" She calls everybody baby. I love it. This was back in 2004-2005. I was still in high school. I hadn't come out to my mom yet. That happened in April, 2005. Aunt Pat just knew and I was always afraid to put words to my feelings. I semi-wish I had done so, but we both agreed that God gave us the perfect timing.
Aunt Pat and my family from Kansas...and the rest of the United States...came to Oklahoma in July because my uncle Gene passed away suddenly. He was kept on life support until some of them made it to say goodbye. Aunt Pat was one of them. Not seeing her for nearly nine years was a fear I don't want to experience again. I had kept tabs. Watching from afar via Facebook vicariously though my siblings and cousins. I wasn't under my birth name on Facebook and only my siblings had me as their friend.
None of that mattered. She gave me the most wonderful hug when she saw me (and I was first in line), that literally melted all of my fear and awkwardness away. The following day, we had "the talk". I explained my journey from day one, why I was so distant, so on and so forth. She explained that she knew something was off, and hoped I would eventually reach out. She had searched and searched for me online, but never found me (which made me feel like I did a good job of covering my past). She also said that it wasn't until about eight months ago that she had worked closely with transgender individuals and openly admitted it would have been harder to accept me had I come out earlier. The honesty, the compassion, and the love that she gave me took away the pain that her words might have had years ago. She accepted me, accepts me, and struggled only once the whole time I saw her. It was amazing.
We went out, Rachel and I, to lunch with Aunt Pat, Uncle Chris, and Raaja (my cousin) before the funeral. My aunt Pat is boisterous, beautiful, warm, welcoming...she's Aunt Pat, guys. She hugged on Rachel before me, she accepted Rachel without hesitation. She even invited us all down to visit whenever we want. That's an offer I intend on accepting. The following day or so, we gathered up my mom and we went to the funeral.
I knew that there would be my extended family and that without Kim (my adorable sister), none of them knew who the hell I was anymore. Kim had added me to the family chat and some picked up on it, but it was not openly discussed. We arrived a few minutes late, thankfully, so we sat in the back with Kim and her mom and step-dad. I saw my youngest brother across the church for the first time in person since he was 11 or so. I was filled with so much pride. He's a good looking kid and he's come from some major shit to be more successful than me...and he's only 19.
During the ceremony, family got up and shared memories of Uncle Gene aka Uncle Pookie (typically to the older cousins/nieces/nephews that were born before me). My amazing (and protective) sister shared memories that everybody was familiar with; some had even been there! She used male pronouns, she used my name...and nobody batted an eyelash. The stress was melting away and my sister was becoming my heroine. After the service, when everybody did the walking between the pews to give people hugs and catch up, the stress quickly rebuilt and my walls shot to epic heights.
Now, you can say what you will, but my kids have only ever known me as Colby. They don't know anything about my transition other than Riley knows I take a weekly shot that helps my brain and body function better. My fear was being misgendered as well as being called by my birth name. That's stuff they don't know about nor do they need to know unless they ask me directly. Aunt Pat came and gave us hugs. John, my younger brother, came and gave me a hug. It was nice. Then extended family came and they kinda knew I looked familiar but didn't know exactly who I was. Facial hair can do some wonders, but my mom did kinda give it away. Everybody knew my mom. Even people I didn't realize knew my mom.
An aunt came and clearly yelled my birth name and I cringed. I think I will always cringe. I had a beautiful name. My mom was cheeky and my initials were MEG, the first three letters of my first name. Smart lady. All the same, it makes my heart sink when I'm called that. We moved along into the dining area and struggled to all sit together (Kim, John, Matt our brother, our kinda-step-John's-half-brother Alex, and my crew plus my mom's friend Jane). We got it sorted, we ate, we laughed, I pointed out family members to Rachel and Ma. It was pretty good. Then came time for goodbyes.
The misgendering started. The birth name came out. It was stressful. I developed a crazy headache. But I kept on a brave face. I gave my family hugs, we exchanged numbers and became friends on Facebook. I connected with family members I didn't even know existed, but who said they loved me and were so glad to see me. I wonder if it was true or if it was just being polite. We got another invitation to visit my cousin Toni, whom I had a special bond with in middle school. She moved from Kansas to Norman to go to OU. She stayed with Uncle Gene and Aunt Debbie and helped with Josh and Zeke. Then she moved and I didn't see or talk to her unless we were at family reunions. I knew she had gotten married and moved to Baltimore and I always wanted to visit her. Since then, she's divorced, remarried, and moved to Washington, D.C. We will for sure be visiting Toni and her family.
As we were leaving, we had to find Aunt Pat and tell her bye. You don't leave a family function without telling Aunt Pat bye. Rachel, Jacob, and I found her and all gave her hugs. She asked Jacob a few times "Whose Aunt Pat am I?" and at first, he wasn't getting it. Then it clicked and he said "Mine." and my heart was ten billion times bigger than when we first got there. We piled into the car and we left. My dignity was in tact thanks to my sister and my steel wall. My humility was in tact because of my aunt Pat and Rachel's unwavering support.
I may not talk to any of my family on a daily basis, save for the three I live with. I may not see them often. But they're with me, in my heart, in my mind, and in my veins. They're family. I'm proud that, even though they infuriate me at times, they're mine.
Having Aunt Pat as my aunt makes it pretty easy to be proud of my family. No matter how long we go without talking, or how far away they are, they're mine.
* I mean no disrespect to black Americans, African Americans, anybody of color when I make this statement. It has been exhibited to me in the workplace, in friendships, and on social media that there do exist some black people who are totally against the LGBTQIA communities. My family, and there are at least a few, was gracious enough to not let their personal opinions affect the celebration of life while we were together. But I know from experience that it can be very difficult to be a non-binary person with people of color in your life who are close to you. I'm not sure what breeds the hate/caution/whatever you want to call it because it happens in every single race. It just seems to be more obvious, I believe is a good way to put it, in the black community. That's part of what makes Aunt Pat's acceptance of me so important and special to me.
