I consider myself pretty observant. Running a classroom requires
a certain amount of paying attention to detail, and I would like to believe
that I am just a little better than most at watching and taking in my
environment. Fortunately, this belief was challenged
recently as a friend and I returned from a day spent at a local, all-women’s writing
retreat.
As we drive away at the end of a full day of meeting and
greeting, and intensive writing workshops, my friend and I discuss the workshops
and the other participants.
My friend mentions Susan. Susan sat next to me at breakfast that
morning, and during open mic at the end of the day she read a great fictional
piece about a girl who refused to wear a bra to school. I say how much I liked her writing. Then my friend says, “You know Susan is
transgender.”
“Really?” I say. “You think she’s transgender?”
“Yes! You didn’t notice
her huge Adam’s apple?"
“No, not at all. Really?” I say again.
“Yes! You didn't notice that she was almost 7 feet tall, and that she had shaved the hair off her hands? Seriously, you didn’t notice?” she says. She's turned to face me as I drive, and out of the corner of my eye I can tell she’s
amused.
“Wow, no,” I say, wondering how I’d missed it, being the very
observant person I know myself to be. I tell my friend that Susan was even in
both my morning and afternoon breakout sessions. I confess that I spent all day
with her in small group workshops talking and doing exercises to quiet our
inner critics. I admit that I sat right
across from her. I talked with her and
listened to her read her writing, and had no idea. It didn’t even occur to me.
This provokes a good belly laugh from my friend, and she
cracks some joke about me being from a small town.
We let it pass, and go on to talk about the quality of the
workshops, how delicious the food was and how no time was wasted during the
breakout sessions. We agree that overall it was a great experience for both of
us. But later I ponder the transgender
conversation a bit more. How could I not
have noticed?
There is such a huge to-do in the news lately about laws requiring
transgender people to use the bathroom according to the gender they were
assigned at birth; shouldn’t it be more obvious if someone is trying to be a
different gender? I think maybe it was
Susan’s politeness that threw me off.
At breakfast that morning seven tables tightly
filled the little meeting and greeting room, and with chairs around all sides of each table it was a snug
fit, even for someone of average height and weight. When I saw Susan approaching our table I
pulled a chair out for her next to me. She
needed the end of a table like someone with extra long legs might require the
aisle seat on an airplane. I recall being impressed by the way she said “thank
you” when I offered her the chair, like she really meant “Thank You!”. Her explicit expression of gratitude made sense
later that day when we were asked to list two of our greatest pet peeves during
a fictional writing activity. She
revealed that her two most egregious peeves are when people don’t say “thank
you” and when people cut other people off in traffic. She said she can’t stand it when people are
rude to each other.
I ponder this, and remember that she was also very kind to another participant during our morning small-group session. Maybe that was it. Our morning
facilitator used news stories as writing prompts, and one woman chose to use a
recent Orlando nightclub shooting article as a catalyst for a piece of
narrative non-fiction. After our fellow
participant read her piece, Susan said she thought about using that one, but it
was hitting a little too close to home for her. The other participant was crying
and Susan was comforting her. Susan told
her she appreciated that she was brave enough to write about it. I was so impressed
that she chose to put another person at ease, even though it was obviously a personal
and difficult topic for her.
Or could it have been her sense of humor that distracted me from noticing her male gender indicators? In our afternoon breakout session, I wrote a story about a woman who hated her couch so much that she prompted her dog to pee on it so her husband would have to let her buy a new one. I explained that I chose this topic based on a certain recliner my husband owns, and a disagreement we once had about buying a reclining sofa. Susan was cracking up as I shared my story. It felt really good to have someone appreciate the humor in my writing, and at this point I was thinking that given the chance to get to know one another a little better, she and I could definitely be friends.
After witnessing Susan’s politeness, compassion and sense of
humor, I do admit that I sit here and wonder what the controversial bathroom
laws are all about. It seems like much
ado about nothing. Susan has about as much
in common with a pervert wearing a dress so he can stalk little girls in the
women’s bathroom as Hitler had in common with Mother Teresa.
She and I did not use the bathroom at the same time that day,
but based on my interactions with her all day in our writing sessions, here is
the truth about what I imagine happening if Susan and I ended up in a public restroom
together. I’m pretty sure it would go something like this:
I see her walking into the restroom since I am right
behind her. I don’t notice her Adam’s
apple or shaved hands but I do notice she’s a very tall woman with short brown
hair, cut in a modified “Dorothy Hamill” style, walking with the long, slow
gait of someone approaching six-and-a-half feet tall. When we reach the inner sanctuary, she turns
to politely offer that I go ahead of her into the next available stall. As she turns and smiles, I see her interesting
face. I notice she wears no makeup and I
guess that she is someone who doesn’t plan to spruce up her appearance to be
more feminine. I judge that she is neither
homely nor pretty, but somewhere in between, plain, like a Midwestern housewife
who has risen with the sun to bake bread and muffins and can only think of all
the work she’ll accomplish before the rest of the family is even out of
bed. I see her as common, everyday folk;
no frills attached. I take her up on her
offer to use the stall first since I have waited too long, as usual, and really
have to go bad. When I get into the
stall I hear her walk in beside me and lock the door on her side. She goes, I go, we both go. I reach for the toilet paper and there is
nothing there. It is Costco after all,
on a Saturday, and it is BUSY! I say, “Hey….um,
would you mind passing me some toilet paper?” She will laugh at this because it
is awkward and funny to get that far into the bathroom experience only to reach
for an empty roll. Because she understands,
she gives me a lot of toilet paper. She
passes no judgment on what I might have done on the other side of the divider,
but gives me enough to be prepared either way.
During this encounter I see that she is polite, has a sense of humor,
and is kind. Who knew you could learn so
much about a person during a trip to the restroom? The only thing I would not have learned about
her is that she is transgender since we didn’t actually share the same bathroom
stall.
In other words, having Susan with me in the restroom would be
an absolute non-event for me. It is
likely that most people wouldn’t wonder for a minute if she was in the right
restroom if found in the women’s room.
However, I assure you that eyebrows would rise dramatically if she were
to walk into the men’s room. Having to use the men’s room would be
embarrassing, and, in some circumstances, might even be dangerous for her.
On this day I wonder if we need this law, or other laws like it. Could
old-fashioned interpersonal politeness, humor and compassion really be all we
need? Whether there is a law in place or not, one day it will simply come down
to me and the person standing across from me.
What will I become in that moment?
That is the greatest question of my life really.
All I know for sure is that I have decided if the person with
me in the moment is Susan, or someone like her, and they are kindly passing me toilet
paper, I will be sure to say “thank you” and truly mean it.
