On February 11 I
buried my wife of 30 years. A sad day, for sure, but
also a remarkable one. Remarkable because Barbara and I had
lovingly stayed together in spite of my transition
from male to female in 2002. And especially remarkable
because those last few years before her death were
some of our best.
I've been
told that only 20% of married couples survive the transition
of a spouse from one sex to another. Some do so
"for the kids" but in the absence of any
real relationship. Some actually do stay friends, but
without intimacy. Yet Barbara and I had it all!
But that's
little comfort to me today--I miss her so.
I have always
been attracted to and been more comfortable being around
women. When I was 7 I used to get together with the
neighborhood girls and try on their clothes. Once my
parents learned of that, they made it abundantly clear
that what I was doing was terribly wrong. I don't
fault them for that--they were just being good,
responsible parents of the 1950s. But their
admonishment was so clear that it sent me into a period
of heavy denial that did not end until the late 1990s, when
I first saw another transgender woman and realized I
was not alone.
Soon after
reaching the point in 2002 where I could no longer live as a
male, I started pondering what transition would mean for my
sexual orientation. It didn't take long to
figure out that I still liked women, regardless. That
discovery led to one of my more embarrassing moments
when I said to Barbara, "I've got great news.
I'm a lesbian!" I was positively excited
because I thought this fact would allow us to stay
together. But my excitement evaporated in a flash when
Barbara replied without hesitation, "Well,
I've got bad news, dear. I'm not!"
But Barbara
worked hard to understand. Imagine my emotions on
Valentine's Day, only a few weeks after I had
told her of my plans to transition from male to
female, when she sent me roses! I'm so glad Barbara
did give it a try, because along the way she
discovered that she actually wanted to be intimate
with me in my changed anatomy. Perhaps she was bi after all?
A recent
Associated Press article referred to the groundbreaking
movie Transamerica as "more of a healing
family comedy than a threatening exploration of
transgender issues." I recently went to see the
movie with some of the gay guys from my church (to my
knowledge, I'm the only transgender member of
the congregation). They were happy to go, and it
didn't hurt that Kevin Zegers was the costar either.
Afterward, over
dinner, I answered one question after another about the
movie, about being transgender, and about me and my wife. I
guess that was the "threatening
exploration" part. Yet it struck me that the guys
were curious, not threatened, and had never had anyone else
around to talk to about this stuff.
It's a
familiar story for me. It started when I joined the board of
directors of Gay and Lesbian Advocates and Defenders [a
Boston-based nonprofit organization that focuses on
litigating cases to advance LGBT equality].
GLAD's lawyers had already scored several victories
for transgender rights, but there had never been a
transgender presence on the board. As GLAD's
first trans board member I was surprised at how
welcome I felt and, more important, how anxious everyone was
to learn more. When I became the first transgender
member of the board of trustees of the Point
Foundation, an organization that had already given
scholarships to transgender students, I felt warmly welcomed
again. And I continue to feel welcome elsewhere.
All of which
leaves me believing that there is a lot of healthy curiosity
and interest in understanding transgenderism--and few
easy ways to do so short of going to the library. So
I'm going to try in succeeding columns to cover
all of those questions that you were "afraid to
ask" and to do so in bite-size chunks. I hope
that, like Barbara, you'll stay with me.