Acceptance

By Bobby G

Oh, I've read all about crossdressers and transsexuals, and seen them on television talk shows. I've scanned their homepages on the net, gone from link to link, and read their stories. But I've never visited with one in person. Never had the opportunity. And I've never spoken to one personally either. We've exchanged e-mail, but that's as far as it ever got.

I'm not a therapist or a counselor, or a merchant who caters to their special needs. Nor am I transgendered. So why do I feel this way? Why do I have this desire to know them, to join with this society of people who walk a different path, to be their friend? What strange magnetism do they have for me? I don't know. I can't explain it any more than they can explain their transgenderism. I'm just this way.

I guess it all started a long time ago, when I was fascinated by the Christine Jorgensen story during the early 1950's. Just the thought that one could change sex was mind-boggling to me. I've had an avid interest in the subject ever since, and learned all I could about it. More recently, I've had the time and a good computer, so I've been able to cruise the net. That's how I found the TGF and the many homepages in the TransGender Ring. It didn't take long to realize that there existed a very special feeling, a unique oneness among the authors. As "Angela A" so eloquently wrote in "What We Are, Or, Who We Are":

"One of the things so remarkable about the transgender subculture is the incredible speed with which we can form deep, lasting friendships after knowing each other only a very short time. A singular phenomenon occurs in the military and in law enforcement, occupations where people work long hard hours in close proximity to one another, separated from loved ones, often under great physical and emotional stress, and sometimes at great risk to life and limb. It seems that shared adversity tends to quickly build strong bonds between people. Whether CD, TG, or TS, all of us in this subculture share a common burden, differing only in its degree of severity - that of having to pretend to be someone we are not, presenting to the world a facade of 'ìmalenessî that society demands of all children born with the XY configuration in their 23rd pair of chromosomes."

"Our empathy toward each other is what makes our support groups such warm, comfortable, and joyous places to spend our time. We have all been through similar hells, and therefore share a special insight into how our sisters feel, an insight that even the best, most sympathetic, most well-informed mental health professionals will never know (unless they themselves are transgendered)...."

And so, there is this special bond that you share; this strong empathy that supports and strengthens you, and keeps your sanity in a world that would ridicule and destroy you. But this bond, while your defense, also stands as an almost impenetrable wall of suspicion and doubt to those who truly want to know and reach out to you. Although I've had some success in breaching it, at times I've felt like an outsider looking in, an intruder into a world that I didn't belong in and that didn't want me, constantly having to justify to some why you should trust and accept me. How can I convince you otherwise?

You tell me that I can't possibly know how you feel. That to attempt to describe a transgendered person is like trying to describe a sunset to a colorblind individual. I reply that there's an old Indian saying, "To truly know a person, you must walk a mile in his footsteps". I've walked that mile with the transgendered, and more. No, not in the flesh. Not in any physical way. But through their words, their lives. I was there when Christine Jorgensen was born. I know the stories of Canary Conn, Nancy Hunt, Jan Morris, Renee Richards -- of all who have traveled their path. Who can read the journals and writings of Melanie Phillips and Becky Allison and not hear their torment and feel compassion, not share their grief and pain? And the agony of countless others whose stories of guilt and purges, of tormented lives and shattered relationships, of unfulfilled dreams and unbearable reality scream across the pages of the internet. No, I may not know from personal experience. I may not have suffered your reality; but I know, and I empathize, and I care.

So I ask you to accept me, and others like me, into your community. Don't reject us out of hand because we can't possibly know how you feel. The internet has changed all that. You have changed all that. Welcome and include us, if not as sisters, as brothers. Let us earn your trust. We can all learn, and share, and benefit by it.