YAH-HUH — And So it Begins
This blog is for people like me who lack the facts/citations to validate their feelings on important political matters. I pay gross attention to the world but rarely have an answer that sends my conversant to some “proven source.” I don’t argue well but I know what I feel and how it translates into reality.
I speak from my heart.
I rarely have the evidence, but I know my experiences in this world and I know my heart and the hearts of many people around me. I want to speak and let you know that the life that I am living with 5 beautiful trans kids is important. It’s not just about supporting transgender/binary/fluid people, but affirming a belief in my fellow Americans that DIVERSITY is the key. Fuck homogeny.
I have always lacked the ability to validate.
When I argue with people. My first defense is always “Yah-Huh,” because I know in my heart I am right. It doesn’t work very well. I am educated and continue to educate myself, but am more interested in the heart of humanity. Do I really need to defend it? I live with it and surround myself with people who care and give back, whose empathy is surface, who care about humanity, and that bolsters my vision, even if I know that 50% of my country doesn’t agree.
You don’t want me as senator, but you might want me as a shoulder to cry on in 2025.
Here is my first post:
I have always been an “ally” since I went to my first gay bar in college and developed strong relationships with my gay friends. When my son transitioned 10 years ago, I cursed myself for saying to him “You are gay and I love you, but thank goodness you are not trans.” He was trans. I can’t imagine how I hurt him. When he told me, I was shaken to tears. My little girl …
My “little girl” is now my son and I call him to carry heavy things and trust him to tell the truth. The friends he has surrounded himself with are also my children. Some struck from their homes, some wandering. I love that they are safe here with me. Not because they are on some gender scale and incapable of living on their own, but because I give them someone they can turn to, rely on, and they give that back to me. I need a lock changed, Art does it. I need artistic advise, that’s Val. I need to understand the complications of black queerness, that is Coa. I need to hear a viola, that is Andy. I need a writing partner and muscle, that is my son, Silas.
It all feels very natural and very threatened by our current administration, much as it was in the bastard’s first term, but more so. So, I decided to speak — finally. Words are all I have. Words and connection. Connection to anyone who cares/understands/supports. And even to those who don’t. I will never stop fighting for my kids, and for myself, really. Here is a poem I wrote for Silas years ago when he transitioned. Thank you to Michael Simms for publishing it first on Vox Populi and thank you for reading.
On the Rocks
I love my son so much,
I no longer call him my daughter
He presses his bound breasts to me
when I hug him hello and goodbye.
He wants them gone.
I want him safe.
I show him how to draw back
the testosterone in the syringe.
Years as a diabetic
make me an expert.
I never wanted a son and now
I want him more than ever.
Water and ice are the same
thing, right? It’s just one
is harder than the other.
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