Post by Deleted on Jan 21, 2015 21:39:03 GMT 8
Hello, Folks!
I suppose it’s a bit ironic that I should go off on a rant like this. After all, I’m the one who, whenever someone’s complaining about people not using their correct name or pronouns, always counsels patience. “The closer they are to us, the longer they’ve known us, the more deeply planted in them the image they have of us and the harder it is for them to change it. We have to give them time.”
So I suppose I’m being a bit inconsistent now. But as Emerson said, “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” And I wouldn’t want Emerson thinking I have a little mind, would I?
A while back there was a new cashier in the supermarket, and when I asked her her name, I badly misunderstood her. So for a while I was calling her the wrong name, and when I copped on to what it really was, I was hugely embarrassed. I apologized profusely, and the next time I saw her I made a point of apologizing again. She tried to brush it off: “It doesn’t matter.” But I insisted, “Oh, but it does. Your name is very important to you.” That’s something we transpeople know, right?
All the time my son was growing up, I was calling him “Jimmy”. But after he’d gone off to the university, the first time I went over to visit him, I noted that all his mates were calling him “Jim”. That was obviously the way he’d introduced himself to them, and I understood: now that he was grown up, he didn’t want a little boy’s name any more. He wanted a man’s name. No reason why he shouldn’t. So I switched over. I know I slipped up a few times at the beginning, but I haven’t for the longest time now.
Which brings me to the subject of my own name. Recognizing that some people were going to have real trouble using my new name, I offered them a compromise. They could use my “initials”—that is to say, my first name can be split into two parts. Take the first letter of each part, and that’s something I can live with. I don’t really like it, but I can live with it.
And yet my sister can’t even call me that. Now in the main I have nothing but praise for her. She’s been completely accepting and supportive. We never see each other since we live an ocean and half a continent apart, but we exchange e-mails quite frequently. In two years she’s only called me by my initials once. The rest of the time she doesn’t call me anything at all. She just starts an e-mail with “Hi!” and off she goes.
And then once, a cousin of mine that I’m out to and with whom I correspond fairly regularly addressed me as “Red” in an e-mail. That’s something I’ve heard fairly often in my life because of my hair, and it’s a nickname I’ve always despised. It’s so trite and superficial. Can they not be more imaginative? I think I’d almost prefer “Sh** for brains”. Well, maybe not, but it’s not too far behind “Red”.
And he’d never, ever called me that before I came out to him. I was thinking, “Red! Anything to avoid using my real name, or even the compromise I offered him.” Why not just call me “Cuz”? He’s called me that before, and I don’t mind. I’ve called him that before, and he doesn’t mind. Are my initials so hard for him?
Where all this comes from is the letter I got today from my son. A couple of months ago I gave him a fairly sizable loan, and he’s beginning to repay it now. In today’s envelope was a postal order that I can cash at the post office.
Now before sending it to me, he’d asked me if he needed to use my full name on the postal order. I told him, no, just make sure you use the right name. That is, my new one (my legal one), not my old one. And I spelled it out for him just to make sure he’d get it right.
And of course he didn’t get it right. He didn’t even come close. Both on the envelope and the postal order itself, he didn’t just spell it wrong. He spelled it badly wrong, almost farcically wrong. When I first saw it, I must confess there was a little flare of anger at the back of my mind. It came across as intentional disrespect—given that I’d made a point of making sure he knew the correct spelling (two years after I legally adopted the name, two years after he should have learned).
I don’t really think it was intentional disrespect. What I think it is is a sign that he’s so deeply uncomfortable with my new name that it’s somewhat painful to him to get it right. I’m not about to start a quarrel with him. For one thing, we’ve always been very close. It was just the two of us together from the time he was two years old, and something like that makes a relationship special.
And my changeover was difficult for him. He had a hard time even looking at me at the beginning, but he got used to it fairly quickly, and he’s pretty comfortable with it now. E.g., at Christmas we went out to eat twice. He can do that sort of thing with me without any embarrassment these days. In short, he’s been about as marvellous as you could hope anybody would be and I love him dearly, and a serious fight with him would be unfair to him.
But still, it is my bloody name. And it isn’t just my name. It’s my heart and soul. So I am going to have to ask him, as gently as possible, to try and get it right, at least on legal documents. Knowing him as I do, no matter how gently I ask him, he’s not going to like it. But it is my bloody name, isn’t it?
I suppose it’s a bit ironic that I should go off on a rant like this. After all, I’m the one who, whenever someone’s complaining about people not using their correct name or pronouns, always counsels patience. “The closer they are to us, the longer they’ve known us, the more deeply planted in them the image they have of us and the harder it is for them to change it. We have to give them time.”
So I suppose I’m being a bit inconsistent now. But as Emerson said, “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” And I wouldn’t want Emerson thinking I have a little mind, would I?
A while back there was a new cashier in the supermarket, and when I asked her her name, I badly misunderstood her. So for a while I was calling her the wrong name, and when I copped on to what it really was, I was hugely embarrassed. I apologized profusely, and the next time I saw her I made a point of apologizing again. She tried to brush it off: “It doesn’t matter.” But I insisted, “Oh, but it does. Your name is very important to you.” That’s something we transpeople know, right?
All the time my son was growing up, I was calling him “Jimmy”. But after he’d gone off to the university, the first time I went over to visit him, I noted that all his mates were calling him “Jim”. That was obviously the way he’d introduced himself to them, and I understood: now that he was grown up, he didn’t want a little boy’s name any more. He wanted a man’s name. No reason why he shouldn’t. So I switched over. I know I slipped up a few times at the beginning, but I haven’t for the longest time now.
Which brings me to the subject of my own name. Recognizing that some people were going to have real trouble using my new name, I offered them a compromise. They could use my “initials”—that is to say, my first name can be split into two parts. Take the first letter of each part, and that’s something I can live with. I don’t really like it, but I can live with it.
And yet my sister can’t even call me that. Now in the main I have nothing but praise for her. She’s been completely accepting and supportive. We never see each other since we live an ocean and half a continent apart, but we exchange e-mails quite frequently. In two years she’s only called me by my initials once. The rest of the time she doesn’t call me anything at all. She just starts an e-mail with “Hi!” and off she goes.
And then once, a cousin of mine that I’m out to and with whom I correspond fairly regularly addressed me as “Red” in an e-mail. That’s something I’ve heard fairly often in my life because of my hair, and it’s a nickname I’ve always despised. It’s so trite and superficial. Can they not be more imaginative? I think I’d almost prefer “Sh** for brains”. Well, maybe not, but it’s not too far behind “Red”.
And he’d never, ever called me that before I came out to him. I was thinking, “Red! Anything to avoid using my real name, or even the compromise I offered him.” Why not just call me “Cuz”? He’s called me that before, and I don’t mind. I’ve called him that before, and he doesn’t mind. Are my initials so hard for him?
Where all this comes from is the letter I got today from my son. A couple of months ago I gave him a fairly sizable loan, and he’s beginning to repay it now. In today’s envelope was a postal order that I can cash at the post office.
Now before sending it to me, he’d asked me if he needed to use my full name on the postal order. I told him, no, just make sure you use the right name. That is, my new one (my legal one), not my old one. And I spelled it out for him just to make sure he’d get it right.
And of course he didn’t get it right. He didn’t even come close. Both on the envelope and the postal order itself, he didn’t just spell it wrong. He spelled it badly wrong, almost farcically wrong. When I first saw it, I must confess there was a little flare of anger at the back of my mind. It came across as intentional disrespect—given that I’d made a point of making sure he knew the correct spelling (two years after I legally adopted the name, two years after he should have learned).
I don’t really think it was intentional disrespect. What I think it is is a sign that he’s so deeply uncomfortable with my new name that it’s somewhat painful to him to get it right. I’m not about to start a quarrel with him. For one thing, we’ve always been very close. It was just the two of us together from the time he was two years old, and something like that makes a relationship special.
And my changeover was difficult for him. He had a hard time even looking at me at the beginning, but he got used to it fairly quickly, and he’s pretty comfortable with it now. E.g., at Christmas we went out to eat twice. He can do that sort of thing with me without any embarrassment these days. In short, he’s been about as marvellous as you could hope anybody would be and I love him dearly, and a serious fight with him would be unfair to him.
But still, it is my bloody name. And it isn’t just my name. It’s my heart and soul. So I am going to have to ask him, as gently as possible, to try and get it right, at least on legal documents. Knowing him as I do, no matter how gently I ask him, he’s not going to like it. But it is my bloody name, isn’t it?
