Ms Marshal

Ready for Pride! 

Yesterday was the Pride Portland parade and I had the unique privilege and honor serve as co-parade marshal. I was also invited to make a some remarks from the festival stage to a crowd of a few thousand folks. Here are my planned remarks. I probably went off script a few times :)
Hello Pride Portland!

My name’s Gia, What’s yours?

It’s great to meet you! Don't you all look fabulous today!

It is a certainly an honor to be one of this year’s parade marshals, especially alongside such a luminary as Doug Kimmel.  To be honest, I was very surprised when Micheal Snell from the Pride Portland committee called to ask If I’d be a marshal, as I’m very new to this work and know so many people who are far more worthy than myself.

You see, it was just five years ago that I attended and marched in my very first pride, and yes, it was right here in Portland.  At the time, I wasn’t really out. I wasn’t out to my friends, colleagues, students, or my family, but I marched anyway; it was time. And while I was scared and hesitant about being seen as a transgender woman by the public, I felt safe with my new friends from MaineTransNet.

MaineTransNet prepares for Pride!

As we walked down Congress St. and the cheers grew louder and louder, my smile and confidence did too. I had never felt so affirmed in my entire life. I was free. Six months later, I began my transition, doing so in full public view, as a high school teacher in southern Maine, in the very town I live in. Over a matter of a few months, I went from Mr. Drew to Ms Drew. Imagine that!

Unfortunately, a year later my position was eliminated, and my life’s dream of teaching openly and authentically came to an abrupt end.  I tried to move forward, but was unable to find work and became unemployed for nearly two years. An all too common side affect of being OUT as a transgender person. To stay sane and active, I started volunteering with GLSEN, MaineTransNet, and EqualityMaine.  There, I found a new

That's me! Pride Portland Parade Marshal 2015

family, a community, and a sense of purpose. It saved my life.  And guess what? Just last year, I was hired as program coordinator at EqualityMaine and named president of the board of directors of MaineTransNet.  And while I’m back on my feet, I wouldn’t be here today without the incredible support from the people I work with, my friends, a supportive family, my former partner, and of course, all the courageous people who paved the way, the true heroes of our movement.

Trans Youth speak the truth!

Before I go, I want to recognize that as I stand here, transgender people around the world and right here in Maine, experience harassment, violence, and discrimination on a daily basis. Far too many of us feel alone and think about ending our lives because we see no hope or future. That needs to change.  And most urgently, the violence against Trans women of color needs to stop! 

So I’m calling on you Portland to make a difference. I need you to standup to injustice, transphobia, racism, sexism, ablism, and any other form of discrimination you witness. You have the power to make a difference, and together we can create the change that is so desperately needed.

And if anyone asks why… tell them Gia sent you.

Thank you everyone and Happy Pride Portland!!!!!

Prom Queen

In recent years, I’ve noticed schools, high schools to be specific, elect a few femme boys, trans girls, and trans boys to be their prom or homecoming queens and kings. At the same time I’ve encountered countless school districts fight against the inclusion of policies that would affirm these same students as people.  In a strange twist of fate, I was just voted honorary parade marshal for Pride Portland 2015.  It’s true. I even saw a poster Friday night, with a larger-than-life sized photo of me, with my name next to the title, Honorary Pride Parade Marshal, at the launch party for Pride Portland.  The large piece of foam core, most commonly used for science projects, was displayed for the attendees to see on an easel between the lobby of the theater and the performance space. Well, maybe no one will notice I thought to myself as I headed directly to the bar and my waiting Stoli and soda.  

It’s been one of those weeks, you know, some really good things happened, in addition to the Pride thing, I talked to 500 teenagers about gender diversity and sexuality, scheduled one of my gender affirming surgeries for this summer, I was interviewed by a local television station about transgender issues in Maine, and I had lunch with mom.  In fact she took the photo of me that was on the poster. But there were also some not so great moments too, like finding out a job you were interested in wasn’t interested in you, and learning that nagging hip pain that’s been waking me up at night and keeping me from running like I’m so used to is actually arthritis.  As my orthopedic doctor said on Tuesday, “you’ve probably run your last marathon, that is unless you get a new hip.” Arthritis, are you kidding me?  I feel old. 

Earlier in the week I received a voice mail message from a member of the Pride steering committee. It was from someone I knew, and it was nice to hear his voice. He said he was calling on official Pride business.  That wasn’t out of ordinary, as the three organizations I work with will all participating in Pride.   When I returned his call, he started talking about parade marshals and I thought he was calling to ask for suggestions, not to let me know I had been voted to be one of the marshals.  He was really sweet and complimented me on the work I do in the community and how much he had learned. In my stunned silence I began to cry and muttered, thank you.

It’s hard to be recognized. I know that may sound strange from someone who is constantly putting herself out there in the public eye and seemingly involved with everything related to equality, but it’s true.  To me there seems to be so much work left to do that I feel embarrassed to be singled out as people in my community are still treated like outcasts and freaks. About an hour into the Pride party the other night, I realized, like I had the year before, I didn’t belong there. Or least, I felt really out of place. While I knew folks, and talked to many, I still felt alone, like I usually do in large crowds.  I poured out the rest of my second drink, and I left.  On the drive home I blasted classic rock from my radio and played both air guitar and keyboards on my steering wheel, it felt good.

Perhaps part of the reason I do so much is to avoid other things, like relationships, rejection, and intimacy.  Being busy and being alone both give me comfort.  It’s predictable to be isolated from the reality of interacting with people, but I also know the depression that’s grown inside me is the jealous type and doesn’t like company.  It’s ironic that as the protective layers I’ve created over the years fall away and I finally find the strength and courage to be myself, I’m more vulnerable than ever. I’m beginning to see the real me, and it’s not the dark I’m afraid of, it’s the light.

Nobody's Innocent

It was sometime after midnight when his young scruffy face and eager lips moved towards my mouth as our bodies ground together to the industrial Goth music on the dark dance floor.  I had caught his attention as I arrived to the Boston club with girl friends a few hours earlier.  
  
I had met one of the girls at a trans conference a few months ago and after realizing we had some similar interests, like dark music and dancing, we made it a point to stay in touch. She eventually invited me to join her and a friend at Machine to dance and celebrate her friend’s upcoming surgery. Yes, we’re all trans and we’re fabulous.

Ask anyone; I never go out. So, I was of course extremely nervous, yet excited about the possibilities of this adventure.  After confirming with my friend, I needed to find something to wear. This is usually the most stressful decision I make every day, and because of the circumstances, this was far worse. Since starting my transition and separating from my partner almost five years ago, I’ve consciously and unconsciously avoided going out, and have completely steered clear of hooking up.  In fact, I’ve only been close or intimate with two people that entire time. 

The start of the evening was slightly surreal. I drove to my parents’ house just outside of Boston, the same place I grew up in, to park my car and get ready for going out. My friend was going to pick me up on the way.  She said she’d be there around 10.  My wise parents spend late winter and early spring in warmer climates, so I had the house to myself. I had a few drinks and got changed into an outfit I hoped would be appropriate for the club; sleek and black are always a safe bet. Thirty five years earlier, as a lost trans teen in hiding, I would dress up in sexy outfits in my basement and walk around the neighborhood, and later when I had a license, drive through the streets around Boston listening to Madonna till dawn. I guess things haven’t changed much. My friend arrived by 10:45 and after settling in her silent Prius, she let me know my look was perfect. I felt relieved.

We were in Kenmore Square in minutes, and paid the ten dollars for parking just a few blocks from the club. Walking down Boylston Street, a car pulled over and the driver propositioned us through his rolled down window.  We ignored him and crossed the busy street towards our destination. While it was early, the place was slowing filling up. I guess it’s because it’s one of the only Goth/industrial/fetish clubs in Boston.  After getting settled and enjoying a drink we made our way to the dance floor where we’d spend most of the night. It was then that I first noticed that guy I mentioned earlier, you know, the horny one, who wanted to stick his tongue down my throat and … wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. Anyway, there was this cute guy dressed in a leather outfit who looked much younger than me. He smiled in my direction as we walked to the dance floor.  At first I pretended not to notice.

As the night evolved, our other friend arrived and we continued to dance into the night. Every now and then, I noticed the boy in leather, standing or dancing nearby, and at one pass, I smiled back in his direction.  After a few hours, my feet were giving way to my five inch heels, so we sat for a while in back talking with each other along with some of my friend’s acquaintances.  As I nursed a drink I noticed another group of people in the corner, reclining and getting intimate with each other. I was inspired and as we headed back to the dance floor one final time, I met up with him, this time I didn’t turn and run. The final hour we spent mostly on the dance floor, inseparable like teenagers. It was like I been transported back to a summer camp dance in the woods of New Hampshire and feeling like we’d never see each other ever again after they played the final song, Rock Lobster, “down, down, down…”

With the music heating up, and the night coming to a close, I realized my need for contact. As he rubbed his body against mine, I felt sexy, powerful, and playful. Before acquiescing to his passion and my desire, I bit his lip as he leaned in to kiss, letting him know I was indeed hungry, but in control. We stepped off the floor for a break and glass of water. In the quiet, away from the crowd, we became more “acquainted”. I pulled the chain around his neck and tickled his short beard as our lips and tongues met again. He reached between my legs and I quickly redirected his hand and smiled.  While that area is off limits for me, it wasn’t for him.

The dim lights of the club suddenly turned bright.  Fumbling with what to say, we headed to retrieve our coats. It was then I realized I didn’t have a clear plan of what was going to happen next. This was new territory for me, but fortunately I had the good sense to check in with my girl friends who were standing nearby; one was continuing on to party, while the other wanted to grab a bite to eat and talk more. I had an excuse not to continue, plus I wasn’t going anywhere on the back of his Ducati at 2am, at least not that night. And while it was a wonderful experience flirting with the boy dressed in leather, I realized there's a need for me to be cognizant of my own safety as a transgender woman in a world that can turn violent and abusive without warning. As far as I know he may have been a sweetie, but I didn’t need to take any more chances on my first night out in a long time. My sex and gender may have changed over time, but my passions and desires remain.

Denver

It’s seventy degrees in Denver.

A hive of queer activists buzzes about the hotel lobby.

I see some familiar faces and bump into friends.

Between the superficial hugs and kisses, there are warm and tender ones to be found.

To my surprise I stand on stage in protest.

I swim laps in the outdoor pool and breath in the mile high air every other stroke.

It’s February.

I scream with delight on a rickshaw ride I took into the night and eat half priced sushi.

Sitting on a hotel bed I stare at his pretty sky blue nails and hold back the tears.

I eat chicken enchiladas and ride the elevators.

There’s a Do Not Disturb sign hanging from my hotel room door.

I call a friend in Virginia.

It’s three in the morning and she’s sad.

I feel empowered my femme identity.

I’m excluded by a radical feminist and caught off guard.

I’m angry.

I feel hot in my new black dress.

I take selfies in my hotel room window and post them on Instagram.

It’s what we do.

The bartender looks like Elizabeth Berkley.

I have another at last call.

I feel dehydrated and have a headache.

My wig is packed in a zip lock bag.

I wait for the shuttle and talk to a stranger.

I complement him on his sharp navy blue wool tweed coat

His dad bought it for him when he started transitioning

My heart stops as our plane attempts to land during a snowstorm

A stoic young man holding flowers waits for someone to return

I am grateful for the ride home

No Promises

I was sitting at a table waiting to meet with a plastic surgeon to discuss facial surgery as part of my gender transition and ate a stale turkey wrap sandwich I had just purchased at the Starbucks in the hotel lobby.  The day before, busy with attending workshops and preoccupied by presenting that morning at First Event, a national transgender conference, I missed breakfast and lunch.  And in my haste to pack for the weekend I neglected to bring an outfit for dinner.  I checked my “smart” phone and found a TJ Max about a mile from the hotel, the Westin in Waltham, Massachusetts.  If you’ve driven around RT 128 just outside of Boston, it’s the large blue glass encased building across the highway from COSTCO.  It wasn’t there when I lived in neighboring Newton as a youth many years ago. 

I drove out of the hotel complex with Prospect Hill to my right down Totten Pond Rd and waited to take a left onto Lexington St.  I knew immediately where I was; this was indeed familiar territory. It occurred to me after turning left and traveling north that the plaza where the TJ Max was located was where we used to bowl and roller skate as kids. A lot has happened since I laced up rental bowling shoes and roller skates as a teenager more than thirty years ago at the Wal-lex: colleges, degrees, fights, girlfriends, boyfriends, suicide attempts, love, marriage, trips to Europe, teaching jobs, moves, art shows, coming out, marathons, divorce, unemployment, and more, much more.

I was really hungry, so before I hit TJ’s, I did the unthinkable; I ordered a Whopper Jr. and fries from the Burger King drive through and ate in the parking lot listening to Kiss108 on the radio.  For me it was a true guilty pleasure.  With some nourishment, I did a little shopping and found a few outfit options for the dinner and fashion show later that night. With my presentation behind me, I spent the remainder of the conference focused on learning more about resources and support for the trans community, including for myself. I also reconnected with old friends from previous conferences, but also tried more actively to meet new people.  It’s something I’ve been struggling with in my new life as single trans woman.  This is a reoccurring theme with my therapist, and as I tried to explain my goals for the conference to her, she said, so you’re going to make yourself more “available”.  I'll try, I replied, but made no promises.

I finished my turkey wrap and chips and tried hard not to notice the couple sitting in front of me. They sat across from each other with the large hotel window behind them and cars crawling along Rt 128 below. It was tense and I felt like an intruder sitting so close.  If I were to guess, they were married and the trans partner had encouraged her wife to attend the conference.  It was clear she wasn’t having a good time and let her trans partner know.  I tried to distract myself my filling out the surgeon’s information sheet, but couldn’t stop listening.  It was like there was accident on the other side of the highway, where you slow and have to look. It reminded me of a recent piece on NPR about a study on ants, and why they don’t have traffic jams like us humans; they just keep marching.  The couple talked and argued for what seemed like an eternity. In my notebook, I had written, “I don’t care!”  These words came from the wife’s mouth before she stormed off across the hotel lobby and out into the cold January air. It was crushing. The exchange triggered my own feelings of guilt and unrest, bringing me back to conversations my partner and I had before I decided to transition and as we separated.  With my eyes red and swollen, from both crying and staying up too late, I walked over to meet with the plastic surgeon.

I’ve only been out as a trans woman for about four years, and this was my third First Event.  I know that sounds confusing, sorry.  Over the four days I met so many wonderful and beautiful people. I don’t know how many aren’t out and may never be out.  There was a young hopeful athlete struggling with whether to come out and transition versus not to and getting the opportunity to compete in the Rio Summer Olympics in 2016.  There was a very articulate 22 year-old trans man from Framingham, who looked like he was 16.  I first noticed him in one of the workshops on law, he asked some great questions. I saw him later that night sitting alone in the bar drawing a lotus in his sketchbook.  Apparently it was a sketch for a tattoo.  I struck up conversations with Amy and Nicole first separately, then together; they were about my age, I surmised, and easy to talk with.  This was their first conference and they seemed so thrilled to finally be girls in public, even if it was just for a few days.  Amy shared with me that she didn’t want to ever leave. I understood what she meant. I tried to get them to join me on the dance floor, but they both declined. I could tell they were happy just being there.

The dance floor on the last night of the conference is a joyous celebration of freedom removed from the prejudice and hate beyond the glass windows of the hotel. Old and young, and those of us in the middle, mix with first timers, part-timers, and other full-timers like myself. We embrace, hug, sweat, and dance to into the morning.  I had changed out of my long gown and high heels after dinner into something more comfortable, a punk-goth-rockish look, very different than the rest of the crowd.  At one point near the end of the night I found myself with a woman I had encountered that morning in the hotel fitness center. We had introduced ourselves over cocktails before dinner and shared a laughed as she hadn't recognized me from the gym now all dolled up. We held each other’s hands as we danced together and for a brief moment the world and our pasts melted away into the night. 

New Years Letter

Below is a welcome letter I wrote as the newly elected President of the board of directors of Maine Transgender Network, AKA MaineTransNet, a statewide nonprofit dedicated to providing support, education, and resources to and for the the trans community in Maine. 

Dear MaineTransNet Community,

I starting writing a welcome 2015 newsletter just before learning of the tragic suicide of Leelah, a trans teenager from Ohio, and couldn’t bring myself to finishing it for a while because I was more than just sad, I felt defeated. I know that might sound arrogant, given I’d never met her or spent any time in Ohio, but I took the news very personally, not just as the new president of MaineTranNet, but because I know, like many of you know, what it’s like to feel alone, rejected, and unloved. 

Thirty years ago, I was like Leelah. Seventeen, embarrassed, ashamed and confused about my identity, and I tried to end my own life. Twenty-five years later, after half a lifetime living in turmoil, self hate, and reoccurring dances with death, I made the decision to embrace my trans identity and find help. Thanks to the encouragement of my ex partner, I found my way to a MaineTransNet support group. I remember feeling both excited and extremely nervous about meeting other trans folk. I walked into the small office on Brighton Ave a little late and found three guys just hanging out, shooting the shit and eating Doritos. At first I thought I was in the wrong place, and stammered, is this MaineTransNet? They all smiled and reassured me I was indeed in the right place. I was invited to sit down, introduce myself, and join the group. It was at that moment I realized I wasn’t a freak or alone in the world, and I might live to see the second half of my life. 

So it is my privilege to be welcomed as the new president of the board of directors of MaineTransNet. I'd first like to thank our outgoing president Branden Parker for his years of thankless service. With a heart of gold, Branden provided consistent and conscientious leadership that kept our engine running and I am forever indebted to his commitment to our community. 

With your approval and encouragement, I will work collaboratively to uphold our mission by providing necessary support and resources for the trans community, family members, and significant others, while raising awareness about the varied forms of gender identity and expression by being a visible and active member of society and to continue to providing training and consultation, especially for mental/medical health and social service professionals. 

As we welcome 2015, let’s put aside the differences that divide us, and embrace the wondrous things that unite us as a community and not lose sight of what’s really important in our lives. I will be thinking often of Leelah and will be guided by her youthful bravery, but am horribly sad to know she is dead.   We are committed to challenge people’s understanding of gender by being ourselves and supporting each other with no excuses. Our lives Matter!

To a peaceful New Year! 

Gia Drew
President, Board of Directors

If you're sad and thinking about taking your own life or know someone who might be, please call for help.  

The Trevor Project for LGBTQ youth 1-866-488-7386

The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255

The Trans LIfeline 877-565-8860

Closer to the Heart

During the summer before 7^th grade I spent three weeks in Florida with my friend Jason. We stayed at his grandparents’ house in Winter Park, just outside Orlando.  It was July, and very hot and very humid, well it least it was for someone who grew up in New England, and who spent her summers on the beaches of Cape Cod and Maine.  Fortunately Jason’s grandparents had a pool and a really cute neighbor, I forget her name, but they both kept me distracted. Our daylong excursions with Jason’s grandfather (I think his name was Saul) brought us to Disney, Sea World, and Cape Canaveral. And even though Jason and his grandparents weren’t very religious, I was still expected to go to Mass. My parents must have said something.  I remember getting dressed for church and latching my new shark tooth gold chain around my neck. It dangled between the v-cut of my brown and tan velour collared shirt as I sang along to Christopher Cross...sail-ing, take me away...  Being a good friend, Jason accompanied me each Sunday.  We rode our bikes across town trying to stay in the shade of the palm and oak trees. The church was air-conditioned.

I returned to Florida last week and spent seven days in Miami helping out a friend. I had been planning on taking a little time off work before Christmas.  I had started my new job nearly a year ago and had only used a few of my vacation days thus far. In fact, most of them were erased as I recovered from my heart procedure in August.  With winter coming early to Maine this year and daylight in short supply, I hoped to find warmth and some sun to recharge my fading batteries and fight off my reoccurring depression. At first it looked like Southern California would be my destination, but just as I was about to book a hotel room and flight, I saw a post on Facebook, a friend was looking for help.

Miami skyline from Mt. Sinai Medical Center

You see, my friend, well we were barely acquaintances until last week, was looking for someone, female, trans if possible, to be with her at the hospital and at the motel as she had and recovered from her gender confirming surgery.  So I scrapped my plans for California, and quickly found a flight to Florida instead. On Tuesday, December 16^th, I drove her from our motel in North Miami to Mt. Sinai Medical Center in a rented white Chevy at 7am to check-in.  By the time I paid the parking lot attendant the full price at the end of the day, my friend was recovering in her hospital room.

Me and Marissa

I cannot express how fortunate I feel having been invited to share in such a personal event and earning the trust of a virtual stranger. Don’t get me wrong, as I told my new friend, I was doing this to help her out, yes, but also to experience as close as possible the procedure I too hope to have in the very near future.  As I spent time with my friend, we discovered we had several things in common beyond our trans identity. In addition to our fondness for potato chips, our paths nearly crossed 48 years earlier at another hospital. We both were born at St. Elizabeth’s in Boston, just 28 days apart. Her birthday is February 1, 1967 and mine March 1, 1967. We grew up just 5 miles from each other. 

The night before leaving Florida, I drove north on Route 1 towards Fort Lauderdale to meet another friend for a drink at the Diplomat Hotel in Hollywood.  I had known she was somewhere Florida after reconnecting via email recently, but we hadn't seen each other since soon after our college graduation, 25 years ago.  I sent a message earlier in the week, and wouldn't you know it, she was only 10 miles away from our Motel. With a big smile and a warm hug we  joyfully picked up from where we left off. 

While I don’t believe in the maxim, “things happen for a reason”, I sometimes notice the unexpected intersections and patterns that occur in life and nature, like the Fibonacci sequence found on the palm tree rings I first saw in Florida in 1979 and realization that my new friend and I were also at the same RUSH concert at the Boston Garden 35 years ago on December 6^th 1982, trying to sing like Geddy Lee.