Nobody Passes: Rejecting The Rules Of Gender And Conformity - Plot & Excerpts
This was my mom’s official intervention in my transgender identity. She was helping me to pick out a dress shirt in the boys’ section of a department store. I’d been binding my chest around my family for a year, and my mother was finally able to talk about it. She grabbed me, ran her hand down my back, and then my chest. I thought she saw my tattoos and I was sweating buckets, ready to run away in fear. Nope. She just lectured me about how I’d better not chop off my breasts and start thinking that I was a man. “I never would have guessed.” That’s the response I usually get when I tell people I’m biracial. I guess that’s a reasonable answer to give a person with white skin privilege. But every time it cuts me. It erases my heritage, my experiences, everything I grew up with. When people use female pronouns with me it doesn’t hurt like this. I get annoyed, frustrated, check what I did “wrong” in the mirror when I get home; but this discomfort doesn’t separate me from my male identity.
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