WARNING: This essay contains information about a suicide attempt which may be triggering to some.
Out-of-blue a few weeks ago I received a message on Facebook from a high school classmate from thirty years ago. She was on the reunion committee and had a question about nametags for our upcoming 30th reunion. She asked if it would be okay if they used my high school graduation picture from the yearbook, like they do for most reunion attendees, or would I prefer something more recent that reflects who I am now. I was touched by her kindness and sensitivity. It may not seem like a big deal to many, but to me, a transgender person, it meant the world. I thanked her for inquiring, and asked, “Can I think about it?”
Out-of-blue a few weeks ago I received a message on Facebook from a high school classmate from thirty years ago. She was on the reunion committee and had a question about nametags for our upcoming 30th reunion. She asked if it would be okay if they used my high school graduation picture from the yearbook, like they do for most reunion attendees, or would I prefer something more recent that reflects who I am now. I was touched by her kindness and sensitivity. It may not seem like a big deal to many, but to me, a transgender person, it meant the world. I thanked her for inquiring, and asked, “Can I think about it?”
So last Friday I went to my 30th high
school reunion. This wasn’t the first reunion I had been to; in fact I think
I’ve attended all the others leading up to last week’s, but it was the first
time attending openly as a woman.
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| Football Captains Then |
Thirty-one years ago, during the
fall of my senior year, I played my last football game. It was the Thanksgiving Day meeting between
Brookline and Newton North, a tradition that dates back to 1894, one of the
oldest rivalries in Massachusetts. I was the starting running back and captain of the home team,
the Newton North Tigers. I finished the game with more than a hundred yards
rushing, receiving, and returning kicks and punts. In the end, we won 14-7; it
was only our third victory of the season.
Seven months later I made a short
speech as Senior Class President at our gradation before a downpour forced the
ceremony to be cut short. I was tossed my diploma by my headmaster in the
auditorium and ran home through the rain to my waiting family. The celebration
included family friends, our large extended family, and my maternal grandparents
who had traveled from Canada for the occasion. Two months later I started college in upstate New York.
I found returning home after my
first year away at school to be difficult. At college, I began to find myself. Secretly, I continued to be the girl I knew I was on the
inside, and continued to dress like a woman alone in my room and on occasion
walk around neighborhood late at night, like I had been doing for years back
home. I also began to experiment romantically and sexually with men for the
first time, and while that was liberating, it was also confusing, because I did
so under the guise of being a man. Home for the summer, I got a job at Filene’s
in Downtown Boston. It helped to be in a more urban setting, with a few gay
co-workers and the ability to shop at stores where I could buy women’s clothes
without being hassled, but it wasn’t enough.
