So, I've learned a couple of things this afternoon about myself, my daughter and the world. Wow-what a productive day, and it's just nearing dinnertime.
DJ and I started the day with college discussions. She's set her sights pretty darn high and is thinking of shooting for Juilliard, of all places. I told her we support her if she can get a scholarship, because otherwise, it may be out of our budget. That led, in due course, to analyzing what would make her competitive with other applicants. Her grades, standardized test scores and talent all seem pretty phenomenal to us, but we're her parents. DJ and I talked about the advisability of mentioning her status as a transgender person, how it's affected, and even enhanced her talents, and how it makes her a unique person. We figured, right or wrong, that it might serve as a clincher in an application process.
Fast forward a number of hours, and I'm preparing to make a phone call to the driver's ed folks (see post earlier this day) to discuss the birth certificate, legal name change paperwork that we would have to provide to enroll her in class. The conversation went well enough: I adopted the "breezy" tone cited in the earlier blog and told some tiny white lies meant to make him think that DJ's birth certificate was incorrect because of a medical condition that I painted to look physical (which technically it is) and mentioned that the surgery required to correct the condition would be the only way to change the birth certificate by Virginia law (which is also true). If he wants to draw the conclusion that she was born with a congenital genital defect, strictly speaking, like some of those folks who are born with incongruous genitals, so be it. Some people can understand that more than gender dysphoria. I mean, after all, if a person is born with genitals that cannot be readily identified, and then is accidentally raised as the wrong gender, folks get that because the genitals gave a mixed message. What they don't get is when the genitals give a clear, but incorrect, message. So, I played on what I (likely correctly) assumed would be his ignorance about my kid's condition.
But, just to be sure, I decided (shamefully, mostly, but not completely) to play the MILF card. If you don't know what a MILF is, Google it. Now, I do not think of myself as a MILF, but a few people have convinced me that if I put plenty of time, effort and cosmetics into it, I might could be a MILF candidate, if the planets are aligned and the moon is in the seventh hour. So, I figured if the card is in the deck, and it may help the situation, why not play it. How would it help? Because (most straight) men are hormonally affected goobers. If they see a woman who made a point of blow drying her hair, actually putting on make-up and high heels to make her legs look longer (and hopefully thinner) in her jeans, they are likely to do whatever the woman asks because that surge of testosterone temporarily renders them unable to think, which, at times, can be a very good thing for those people who can parlay it to their advantage.
OK-that whole, superficial, rigamorol turned out to be totally unnecessary. Why? Because, in the end, sometimes the almighty dollar dictates the course of action a person takes. I don't want to steal Mr. Driver's Ed guy's thunder-maybe he just didn't care what the birth certificate said regarding gender, as long as he could prove that DJ was legally DJ. Truthfully, he was very nonchalant about the whole affair in person, after my preparatory phone call. Almost too nonchalant, but so what? Maybe he's more accepting than I thought, or maybe he's a savvy enough businessman to know that $275 is $275 even if it's paid by a "one eyed episcopalion kangaroo, if that happens to be (its) kinky inclination" (stole that from the movie "Goodbye Girl"). So, kudos to the almighty dollar, in this instance. Anyone who knows me well knows that that statement would normally never emit from my verbose mouth. But sometimes you just gotta accept another person's motivation to do the right thing, even if it might be, technically, for the wrong reasons. It's still the right thing. After all, this guy is running a business in a tight economy. He can't be choosy about his customers and whether or not they meet his idea of "normal" or "acceptable." He, too, must play the hand he's given.
And, as long as nobody gets hurt, and no laws are broken, what the hell is wrong with that? We are not born equal. Let me explain-we are all born equally deserving of our civil rights, but no way in hell are we born equal. Otherwise, why would there be people who are born smart and beautiful, while the rest of us are kind of mediocre, or worse, in one or both areas. For instance, I was born with a decent enough figure until my 3 children ruined me, but I have godawful huge feet. One of my sisters is slender, with no chest whatsoever, but has cute little feet, and my other sister has a cute figure and cute feet. Now, try to convince me we were born equal, because it ain't gonna happen. No one told my sisters their feet were "gunboats." So, if someone were looking for a foot model, my sisters would have the advantage, and would be smart to play their "feet" card, because, let's face it, none of us is gonna get any other modeling contract until we grow at least 6 inches in height, and even that might not convince Vogue that we would look stunning on the cover of their magazine. I, however, would be out of luck. But, let's say some company was looking for a person who could express every single opinion about the world, and it didn't matter how she looked or how big her feet were? Well, naturally, I would shamelessly optimize that quality and play that card.
So, if my daughter decides to play up the fact that she was born in the wrong body, overcame that terribly unfair inequity through her own strength and perseverance and managed to still do exceedingly well in spite of, and in some ways, because of that inequity, I support her. She's taking a risk-and when the stakes are this high, that's what card playing is all about.
DJ and I started the day with college discussions. She's set her sights pretty darn high and is thinking of shooting for Juilliard, of all places. I told her we support her if she can get a scholarship, because otherwise, it may be out of our budget. That led, in due course, to analyzing what would make her competitive with other applicants. Her grades, standardized test scores and talent all seem pretty phenomenal to us, but we're her parents. DJ and I talked about the advisability of mentioning her status as a transgender person, how it's affected, and even enhanced her talents, and how it makes her a unique person. We figured, right or wrong, that it might serve as a clincher in an application process.
Fast forward a number of hours, and I'm preparing to make a phone call to the driver's ed folks (see post earlier this day) to discuss the birth certificate, legal name change paperwork that we would have to provide to enroll her in class. The conversation went well enough: I adopted the "breezy" tone cited in the earlier blog and told some tiny white lies meant to make him think that DJ's birth certificate was incorrect because of a medical condition that I painted to look physical (which technically it is) and mentioned that the surgery required to correct the condition would be the only way to change the birth certificate by Virginia law (which is also true). If he wants to draw the conclusion that she was born with a congenital genital defect, strictly speaking, like some of those folks who are born with incongruous genitals, so be it. Some people can understand that more than gender dysphoria. I mean, after all, if a person is born with genitals that cannot be readily identified, and then is accidentally raised as the wrong gender, folks get that because the genitals gave a mixed message. What they don't get is when the genitals give a clear, but incorrect, message. So, I played on what I (likely correctly) assumed would be his ignorance about my kid's condition.
But, just to be sure, I decided (shamefully, mostly, but not completely) to play the MILF card. If you don't know what a MILF is, Google it. Now, I do not think of myself as a MILF, but a few people have convinced me that if I put plenty of time, effort and cosmetics into it, I might could be a MILF candidate, if the planets are aligned and the moon is in the seventh hour. So, I figured if the card is in the deck, and it may help the situation, why not play it. How would it help? Because (most straight) men are hormonally affected goobers. If they see a woman who made a point of blow drying her hair, actually putting on make-up and high heels to make her legs look longer (and hopefully thinner) in her jeans, they are likely to do whatever the woman asks because that surge of testosterone temporarily renders them unable to think, which, at times, can be a very good thing for those people who can parlay it to their advantage.
OK-that whole, superficial, rigamorol turned out to be totally unnecessary. Why? Because, in the end, sometimes the almighty dollar dictates the course of action a person takes. I don't want to steal Mr. Driver's Ed guy's thunder-maybe he just didn't care what the birth certificate said regarding gender, as long as he could prove that DJ was legally DJ. Truthfully, he was very nonchalant about the whole affair in person, after my preparatory phone call. Almost too nonchalant, but so what? Maybe he's more accepting than I thought, or maybe he's a savvy enough businessman to know that $275 is $275 even if it's paid by a "one eyed episcopalion kangaroo, if that happens to be (its) kinky inclination" (stole that from the movie "Goodbye Girl"). So, kudos to the almighty dollar, in this instance. Anyone who knows me well knows that that statement would normally never emit from my verbose mouth. But sometimes you just gotta accept another person's motivation to do the right thing, even if it might be, technically, for the wrong reasons. It's still the right thing. After all, this guy is running a business in a tight economy. He can't be choosy about his customers and whether or not they meet his idea of "normal" or "acceptable." He, too, must play the hand he's given.
And, as long as nobody gets hurt, and no laws are broken, what the hell is wrong with that? We are not born equal. Let me explain-we are all born equally deserving of our civil rights, but no way in hell are we born equal. Otherwise, why would there be people who are born smart and beautiful, while the rest of us are kind of mediocre, or worse, in one or both areas. For instance, I was born with a decent enough figure until my 3 children ruined me, but I have godawful huge feet. One of my sisters is slender, with no chest whatsoever, but has cute little feet, and my other sister has a cute figure and cute feet. Now, try to convince me we were born equal, because it ain't gonna happen. No one told my sisters their feet were "gunboats." So, if someone were looking for a foot model, my sisters would have the advantage, and would be smart to play their "feet" card, because, let's face it, none of us is gonna get any other modeling contract until we grow at least 6 inches in height, and even that might not convince Vogue that we would look stunning on the cover of their magazine. I, however, would be out of luck. But, let's say some company was looking for a person who could express every single opinion about the world, and it didn't matter how she looked or how big her feet were? Well, naturally, I would shamelessly optimize that quality and play that card.
So, if my daughter decides to play up the fact that she was born in the wrong body, overcame that terribly unfair inequity through her own strength and perseverance and managed to still do exceedingly well in spite of, and in some ways, because of that inequity, I support her. She's taking a risk-and when the stakes are this high, that's what card playing is all about.
