Tim Gunn's Gay Word of the Week

Today I'm starting a new segment called Tim Gunn's Gay Word of the Week. He managed to pull out one even I didn't recognize. This week's word is Ebullient:

e·bul·lient
-adjective
1.overflowing with fervor, enthusiasm, or excitement; high-spirited: "Well that was an ebullient departure!"

Close, but No Cigar

Okay, let's just get it out of the way first this time:

I'm not actually gay. I'm transgendered.

Yes, as in "I'm a straight woman trapped in a man's body," though I hate to use a stereotype.

Wow. Hold up. I know. It's weird.

The truth is I can't begin to describe how weird it's been pretending my whole life to be something everyone else thought I was. For the longest time I felt like a stranger in my own body because I have never really seen myself as a boy. At all. I acknowledge what's between my legs, in my head, and in my genes do not match up. I've known ever since I discovered what the word "transgendered" meant when I was in elementary school, but I was too worried about how hard it would be, how scary, how alienating. I kept putting roadblock after roadblock in my way, finally hoping that being an effeminate gay man would be an acceptable option. But it backfired. Being out about just one aspect of myself made me realize that pretending to be something I'm not is the most painful thing I could ever do to myself.

No, I am not a cross-dresser, transvestite, or gender-bender. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I guess the best way to describe it is with a superhero metaphor. (God, I'm going to make one nerd a very happy wife.) We trans-girls are a lot like Superman. We were born different, but assume the "secret identity" of a boy early on in life. The rest of the gender-queer are kind of like Batman. They were born a normal person, but developed a feminine personality later on. So now you know. (And knowing is half the battle.)

So what does all this mean?

No, you don't have to refer to me as "she" or "her" yet but you might as well get used to the idea. On December 8th - or what was my "gay birthday" - I will begin living as a woman full-time. This will involve therapy, taking hormones, laser or electrolysis hair removal for my face, and eventually surgery to turn my penis into a vagina. No, I will not be changing my name, thankfully "Dorian" is unisex.

For the longest time I worried the most about what everyone would say, but I've been out at home and work for the last two weeks and everyone's been very cool about it. Already my friends have done everything in their power to not only make me feel comfortable, but to help me get all the resources together that this journey is going to take. I can't believe how lucky and blessed I am. At long last I'm happy to be who I am. And I got to tell you, it's the greatest feeling in the world.

Bite Back.

At this point Friday was easily my favorite day of the week. For one, it meant a weekly class trip to the library and thus a new book. And if I was lucky, it was mom's weekend to have Kei and me. But this particular Friday was not one of them, and seemingly just to drive the point home it rained all morning. However, we were "allowed" to play outside during recess anyway. I had my new book, so I found a dry piece of blacktop next to the PE building and got comfortable. Unfortunately, the boys decided they'd play basketball since the field was muddy. I went unnoticed until Hunter decided to change up the sport a little.

"What you got there, Shorty?"
The others guffawed stupidly, but I kept my eyes on my book and didn't move. Hunter became bolder as the crowd of boys around us began to thicken.

"Didn't you hear me? Why ain't you skipping rope or something with the girls over there?"
I didn't move or say anything, didn't even look at him. Just kept my eyes on my book. The crowd was starting to get restless and bored. My plan was working. At least it was until Hunter threw his basketball at my book, knocking it to the ground. The crowd was roaring with laughter once again. Without my book I couldn't hide my face, and thus couldn't conceal my anger. I was so angry that tears began to stream from my eyes, which only made matters worse.

"Cry for your book, nerd!"

"He's crying! Oh my god!"

"What a girl!"
I stood up to get my book and leave, but instead Hunter shoved me into a nearby puddle, and before I could even begin to stand my book was kicked into my face. My stomach twisted, my heart began beating a war drum inside me, my teeth clenched up, my muscles tensed, and my mind was gone. The only way to describe it comes from one of my favorite superheroes at the time; someone else who was extremely short, got picked on for it, and got even for it. Images of Wolverine in one of his "berserker rages" went through my head as I launched myself at Hunter. Hunter the athlete, who was at least a foot taller than me and probably had at least 50 pounds on me, not to mention a crowd of supporters. But that didn't matter, I butted his stomach with my head and he fell onto the wet concrete. I was on top of him, punching any part of his body I could find and cursing a blue streak even my grandmother could be proud of. The boys were laughing again, but I didn't know why until Hunter's fist connected with my head. I fell off of Hunter and now he had me in a sleeper hold. He stood up and pulled my feet off the ground with him. I could feel my face redden with anger and partial suffocation. I couldn't get out, I just struggled and dangled as the boys redoubled their cheers in the seeming victory. I had to get free and get out of here. My arms were useless, my legs were useless, I couldn't even move my head and my mouth was covered by Hunter's arm. So I ripped into his forearm as hard as I could. He yelped and dropped me, and this time there were no cheers or laughter. Just the sound of me gasping for breath while Hunter stared at the blood dripping from his right arm. Trent and the others rushed to his side and started migrating back to the school building. I didn't know if they were going for a teacher or the nurse, but I knew I was in serious trouble.

I don't know that there's anything more frustrating than being a kid talked down to by self-righteous adults.

"Why were you fighting, Dorian?"

"I wasn't fighting, I was reading a book until they came along."

"Well, I've got 20 boys outside who all say you started it.

"And they're all Hunter's friends. What does that tell you?"

"I don't appreciate your attitude, young man."

"Well, I'm sorry ma'am, but I was just minding my own business when they came over and shoved me in the mud."

"You should have told a teacher and let them handle it."

"I couldn't. I was surrounded by 20 boys."

"Well it doesn't matter. It takes two people to start a fight, so you're both in trouble."

"What was I supposed to do? Let him choke me?"

"I don't want to hear any more about it. I'm calling your parents and sending you home."
She began to dial her phone in the most menacing way possible. I wasn't worried, because I knew I had done nothing wrong. I would accept any punishment because it was worth it just to see that look on Hunter's face. The injuries hadn't been serious, we were only kids after all, but for some reason the fact that I bit someone was a very serious matter.

"Can I go talk to the counselor, please?"

"No, you need to sit out in the hall and wait for your parents to get here. Why do you want to see Mr. White?"

"Because he listens to me."

Boys are stupid.

I've always made friends easily in life, just usually not the ones I was supposed to. The first school friend I can remember making was Donny in 1st grade. I was so short people often thought I was still a toddler and I could already read and write so I ruined the class dynamic right away. Donny was black, deaf and retarded. I had been learning sign language with my mom over the summer while she tutored the deaf for her college. So when I actually saw someone my age signing I was thrilled to have someone to "talk" to and he felt the same way. I honestly can't remember much about our friendship. We both liked Batman and playing on the swings at recess. I quickly began to doubt the "retarded" diagnosis. He was a little slow sometimes, but he was just like any other kid out there. Most perplexing was the praise I was given for being his friend. He didn't tease me and I didn't tease him, that's all you need for friendship when you're 6.

By the time I made it to 4th grade I had really hit my stride. All the short jokes the kids could come up with had already been done over the years and I was finally getting attention from a teacher who didn't punish me for being ahead of the class. Her name was Miss Funk. She had a great teaching style that only a new graduate can bring: a combination of kindergarten togetherness and participation along with an adult amount of respect and interest. We'd build chains of paper that represented strands of DNA. We acted out short stories and then sat in a circle and discussed them. Even multiplication tables were done with a couple of game show buzzers and bite-sized candy for prizes. But then, the divorce happened. All I had left of my favorite class was a giant piece of butcher paper in my favorite shade of robin's egg blue. "We'll Miss You, Dorian!" it said in a big rainbow of color across the middle. Everywhere else in black marker were words of encouragement, compliments, and goodbyes. "You're so smart and funny." "Make lots of friends at your new school!" And underneath Miss Funk's pep-talk were four words I had heard but never put together before: "Don't worry. Be happy."

But those words were easier said than done. Especially in this new town. The school consisted of two separate buildings, each one a long hallway with classrooms on either side. The smaller building was for the Kindergarten and 1st grade classes, and was were my sister went to school. The bigger building had 2nd-5th grade classes, generally with just one or two teachers to a grade. There was also the cafetorium, where good students were allowed to eat on the stage with the principal during lunch and the library, with one of the nicest librarians I had ever met. The two buildings ran parallel to each other until the kindergarten building ran short. The remainder of this space was filled with the playgrounds and the new PE building. I quickly learned that the main difference between an inner-city school and a small town school is viciousness. In the city, kids weren't too concerned with your problems because they had plenty of their own. But here everyone knew everyone. Unless they didn't know you, in which case you were not to be trusted. But somehow, they still had a knack for finding out your personal business. "See that short kid? He lives down the street from the school." "I heard he was too smart for The City to teach him so they had to move here." "If he's so smart, why hasn't he already learned cursive?" "His grandma goes to my church and my dad says he's from a broken home." "I heard he doesn't even have a mom." "No, he does, but she lives with another woman." "My dad says that's evil."

The boys of my class all played together under the rule of Trent and Hunter, the two "cool" kids who always knew what was best because they were the best athletes. The boys played soccer during recess and when I turned down the offer on my first day I became an instant outcast. So I spent much of my recess reading books from the library and sitting in places where other kids weren't likely to bother me. Today I was in the middle of the merry-go-round reading Ramona the Brave. I'd already finished all of the Roald Dahl I could find, and since I told her that Matilda was my favorite the librarian had lead me to Beverly Cleary. Deep in my book, I was surprised to find two blond pigtails reading over my shoulder.
"I have that book! Do you like it?"
I was still in a state of shock, but when I realized it was just Elizabeth from class and not someone else I relaxed.
"Yeah, it's really funny. This is my 3rd Ramona book so far."
She looked over at the blacktop nearby where several other girls were waiting, including Amy and Amber who I recognized from class. They must have been waiting for Elizabeth to scope me out because they quickly joined us once she waved them over. The merry-go-round had 6 handles and was divided into 3 colors: red, blue, and yellow. I sat in the middle with Elizabeth on the red slice behind me, Amy sat down on blue, Amber on yellow and a few more girls filling in the gaps who I didn't recognize.
"Why are you reading a girl's book?" Amber asked just as she sat down. I clutched the book to my chest for fear they might take it, "Just 'cause it's about a girl doesn't mean I can't read it, too!" Amy let one of her legs drag through the dirt as the wind lazily spun us.
"Why don't you play soccer or basketball with the boys?"
"Because boys are stupid. And I hate sports."
"But you are a boy!"
"So? I'm not stupid."
This proclamation seemed to hang in the air just as Trent scored a goal over at the soccer field. The boys all cheered, despite the fact that there was no goalie and no actual "goal" to speak of, seemingly proving my point.
"Do you want to help us push?" Elizabeth was off the merry-go-round, her hands on the rails and ready to go.
"What do I do with my book?" I asked. The girls giggled until Amy replied, "Why don't we set it down over here where it can't get dirty?" indicating the edge of the dirt-box we were in.
"Okay."

We spent the rest of recess running, spinning and laughing, particularly at the boys. For the next few weeks life was good, on the playground at least. I couldn't do anything that was strictly "girls only" such as eat lunch together or hang out after school, but I was the only boy they ever allowed to play with them and I took it as a great compliment. I was always willing to be the dad when we played house, I was the best at hopscotch, and I knew just as many clap-songs as the rest of them thanks to my sister, such as "Miss Mary Mack", "The Baby in the Bathtub" and the mildly explicit "Hell-o Operator." Of course, none of this went unnoticed by the boys. Now I was the short sissy kid who read too much and played with girls.

Something was bound to happen.

Life, the Universe, and Everything.

Maybe it's the laziness brought about by the summer air, maybe it's the unity shared after going through a wedding together, or maybe our weed's just gotten a lot better, but for whatever reason there's been a lot of philosophizing going on in our house. I've never really tried to explain my spirituality to anybody before, not even myself. It's always just been something I've known and felt, but I feel like writing it all down will really help me tie it all together. So here goes:

I guess the best place to start would be the beginning of Everything. Some call it The Big Bang, some say that God spoke, but for whatever reason the Universe sprang into existence. Out of all the planets and stars was at least one special planet where Everything aligned just right. Over millions of years of chemical reactions water and oxygen hit just the right level. And then, Everything aligned just right again and Life was born. It wasn't a lot, just the most basic of cells, but millions of years of evolution eventually led to the world and all the species we know today. Yes, I believe in evolution. I also believe in creationism, though I would never actually phrase it that way. It's just my belief that the odds against it all are just too astronomical to not believe there was some kind of divine guidance. But I also don't think the human race or the earth or even the Universe for that matter are nearly as important to this "God" as we like to think. It all feels more like a science experiment to me, an infinitely complex and fascinating experiment that none of us can even begin to comprehend...yet.

I don't worship or depend on a God, despite the fact that I believe He exists. It is my belief that it is up to the Human Race to redeem itself. The first spark made by the first early tools that gave way to Fire have benefited all of the Human Race from that moment forward. Who's to say that "God" didn't put that funny shaped rock in front of that particular human who just last week saw a lightening bolt strike a tree and noticed the heat coming off the resulting fire? We know that Moses, Jesus, Mohammad, Buddha and all the rest of our "prophets" were all genuine, in-the-flesh people. Moses was a man who freed his people from slavery. Did God really talk to him from a burning bush? Did he really part the Red Seas to make his great escape? It doesn't matter, but what does matter is that from that day forward the Jews were their own people. Jesus was a hippie who walked the earth preaching love, forgiveness, and redemption. This pissed some people off and he was killed. Did he really rise from the dead three days later? Was he really the son of God? Again, it doesn't matter. His existence has caused more love and more destruction across the world than anyone else to date. But what about the men of science? Can we not learn just as much about Life from them? Leonardo da Vinci, Isaac Newton, Benjamin Franklin, Charles Darwin. All these men have advanced our species by leaps and bounds just from their thoughts and ideas. Darwin serves as the best example because he was fully aware of what his discovery would mean to so many people. Here's this kid fresh out of college who goes on a cruise and writes his observations and sketches down as they go from island to island. At some point, something clicked and he started putting it all together and interconnecting it all and suddenly Life all made sense. And he was terrified. Who wouldn't be? But he sucked it up and published his book and sure enough, all hell broke loose. But because of that idea we've been able to build more and more ideas on top of those, including the thoughts going through my head and onto this screen right now. His theory of Evolution was another stepping point in our Evolution. Which brings me around to what this whole mess really all boils down to.

Nirvana, Heaven, Enlightenment. There's a lot of different words for it but it all boils down to the same thing, death. What happens to us after we die? Does our spirit live on or do we just rot in the ground? We don't know. It's just that simple. It's my personal belief that we are reincarnated, but not in the traditional sense of trading out your old body for a new one. But instead, I believe our actions and our thoughts and our ideas all continue to live on long after our bodies. It's the reaction that other people have to you that causes reincarnation. People take your ideas and build on top of them until they come up with their own ideas, which are passed on to other people and so on and so forth. It evolves and changes but the root of it all is still there. Eventually with enough time and enough inspiration and enough ideas I believe we will ultimately create Heaven. Life isn't about what happens in the afterlife, it's about Life!

It's because of this ultimate goal that I believe in complete freedom of speech and thought. Who are we to say that anything is worthless? Your Life is part of the Universe and Everything else whether you acknowledge it or not. There is no such thing as a "bad" or "evil" or "sinful" experience when you look at the bigger picture; Hitler was one of the most sadistic people to walk the Earth, but in uniting against him the Earth came together. There's no sense in wondering about why bad things happen, but instead just accept that they have happened and build on top of it. Never deny yourself, because you never know when your contribution to the Human Race will present itself. Open your mind and accept everything that goes in there and don't be afraid of what comes out. It might be ugly at first, but don't try to force your inspiration out. Give it time, patience, and just a pinch of faith. The real irony is, most of us will probably never know what our contribution to society is. That's okay. Just take pride in the fact that your Life does matter, as does Everything in the Universe.

Opportunity of Equality

When was the last time you can remember your preacher railing against inter-racial relationships? Have you ever seen a daytime talk show try to cure someone of their religion? How about a constitutional ban against the handicapped? Of course not, this is the land of Equal Opportunity. Nobody can be discriminated against, regardless of age, color, creed, disability, race, religion, or sex. And if they do, they'll have a lot of people to answer to. But you know what my boss can do to me at anytime? Walk right up to me and say, "I just heard you're gay. You're fired." And I wouldn't have a legal leg to stand on. Why?

People say it's because nobody really knows whether sexual orientation is genetic or learned. I mean, we only just discovered that it isn't a psychological disease! After all, maybe people just choose to alienate themselves and go through hell and back just trying to feel like a normal person. Well, even if that is the case, what about religion? If I can't fire you for being Christian, then you can't fire me for being gay. It is as simple as that. And since we have separation of Church and State, and there's nothing outside of religion that makes homosexuality "wrong", what exactly is the legal conundrum here? Last time I checked, this country was about protection for everyone, no matter how hated or weird they might be. So tell me, why have I seen the President of this great country lead a personal attack against me and 1/10th of the country? Does he actually think that us getting married and living happy lives together is really going to destroy the Breeders next door? Perhaps he's just worried about the biggest, scariest monster the Religious Right has ever seen: The Homosexual Agenda.

Since I've come out of the closet, I've been expecting my communist literature and anarchist cookbook to arrive any day now. In the mean time, though, I have my own agenda.

I will conspire to be a good person, and prove to people on a one-on-one basis of my humanity.

I am prepared to rebel against any law I see as unjust or hateful.

I am dedicated to making tomorrow a better day for us all, no matter how many religious nuts I piss off along the way.

There you are, the conspiracy is over. Now can we all act like adults and at least respect one another if we can't agree? You keep your religion out of my government and I'll keep myself out of your church.

Hidden History

Today I saw a documentary about Bayard Rustin, a non-violent political activist who arguably started the civil rights movement with his actions in the 40s. This man did the same move as Rosa Parks back in 1947 and was the man who taught Martin Luther King, Jr. how to fully embrace non-violence. He also organized the 1963 March on Washington, the largest gathering of it's kind where MLK gave his famous speech. So I have to ask, why have I never heard of him until now?

The sad truth is this man has been kept out of the history books because he's gay. Even back in the 40s he was occasionally forced to work in the background because he was open and proud. But the fact that someone so inspiring can nearly disappear from memory because of one aspect of his life is not unusual. It's a trend I've noticed throughout my public education. Were it not for my name and theatre teacher, I would never have heard of Oscar Wilde, let alone about his works or trials. Leonardo da Vinci is too big to be ignored, but his "alleged homosexuality" is still controversial. Same thing goes for Shakespeare and Alexander the Great among who knows how many others. Even more modern events like the Stonewall Riots are impossible to find literature on. But even if I had to wait 21 years to hear about Bayard Rustin, I'm glad I did. He bridges the gap between race rights and gay rights, even saying in 1987 "The barometer of where one is on human rights questions is no longer the black community, it's the gay community. Because it is the community which is most easily mistreated." But that doesn't mean we wait around and hope for a better future. He also said that when you see an injustice you must act, against any odds, and you must act with your body to get things done. If you say "There's nothing I can do, I'm just one person," then you've accepted it and allowed it to happen. It all goes back to what I've been thinking about symbolic support, it may make you feel better but it accomplishes nothing. If we want equal rights we can't ask for it timidly and politely, we have to demand it. And if they refuse we have to react.

Bayard explained non-violence in a way that really clicked with me: The idea is not to avoid conflict, but to confront it; to turn a violent conflict into a creative conflict is the ultimate goal. I realize now that I have a responsibility to my community to never be ashamed of who I am, to stand up and fight injustice, and to ensure that my voice is heard. No matter what barrage of controversy, hatred, scandalism or misguided morality. Because it's going to take a lot more people like Bayard to get him into the history books. Perhaps then it will be easier to admit that a gay man can do great things.