While the other girls argued about who was the prettiest (or, worse still, played ‘kiss chase’ around the playground) my friend and I would spend playtimes quiet and happy, behind the school kitchens. She used to fold her arms backwards “because why should you do it the same way as everyone else?” She liked to draw spiders and funny faces on her maths books and wanted to be a cartoonist when she grew up. We called each other boys names and pretended to be spies on exciting missions, I was “Jim” and she was “Jake”. (My family still call me Jim even today.)
As the years passed, I lost touch with other friends but somehow we kept going. First letters, then emails, we shared our losses and joys, photos of our kids. Wow but we are so different, I thought. She liked nature, birdsong and trees while I liked what I thought were cool things, cities, dressing-up and clubs! I sensed a kind of underlying trouble or pain in her life, but despite this I loved our meetings, especially my friend’s peacefulness, affinity with animals and love of nature.
Then I got an email in which my friend explained that he was no longer ‘she’. He’d had therapy and now planned surgery. I knew nothing about trans identity but I hoped it would ‘work out’, especially as my friend seemed so happy. A bit anxiously, I went to meet him at the private hospital. He wasn’t rich and he told me it cost a fortune but it was worth it. We talked for ages about the fact that he’s always been trans (I knew he was visiting the Tavistock clinic when we were teenagers although I didn’t know why) He answered my questions honestly and explained about his treatment and support network. I don’t know what I was expecting, sitting by his hospital bed, but he really didn’t seem any different from before, just happier.
We continued to stay in touch until one day he messaged to say that he’d had his final surgery and would I like to meet up? We agreed to meet in Covent Garden. I was scared, if I’m honest, that he might seem threatening in some way or that I wouldn’t know him or that I’d embarrass myself by saying the wrong thing, maybe calling him the wrong pronouns.
Of course I spotted him in the crowd, not because he looked unusual but because I knew him really well. How absolutely male he was! There was no chance I would use the wrong pronouns! He’d had complete surgery and hormone treatment. He was deep of voice, stubbly, broad shouldered with rather epic tattoos. While I am pretty strong, I wouldn’t fancy myself in an arm-wrestle with this guy.
I was flustered for a minute, but soon I relaxed. Because he was -and is- the same person, my friend from the school playground who loves trees and animals. As the years go by, he leaves his ‘transitioning’ identity a little further in the past and is simply a lovely middle aged guy in jeans with a job, grown up children and a dog. Jake’s story is one of a million ways that people can be trans.
After that, I guess I became a ‘trans ally’ without really being aware of it. However while I was glad for anyone to be man/ woman / (n)either I was still ignorant of the prejudice and hostility directed trans humans.
Fast forward ten years, I now work professionally with several kind, thoughtful, incredibly talented trans and non binary people and… HELL, I’ve had that prejudice in its ugliness shoved in my face. In my naïve bubble I simply didn’t expect it, but believe me it’s real.
Then, last week I heard that, as a response to a recent High Court ruling, the government have decreed all ‘trans women’ must use the men’s toilets and ALL ‘trans men’ -including those like my friend who are fully transitioned- have to use the women’s toilets.
There are so many ways to make life safer & fairer for the most vulnerable in society.
How is this one?
This story is shared with permission.