Quietly Confused

“It is not possible to preserve one's identity by adjusting for any length of time to a frame of reference that is in itself destructive to it. It is very hard indeed for a human being to sustain such an 'inner' split - conforming outwardly to one reality while trying to maintain inwardly the value it denies.”

-- Betty Friedan (1921-2006), writer, feminist, activist

I had just finished unloading my casserole 'contribution' to the Saturday morning breakfast for the homeless, several years ago. As I placed it on a folding table, one of the volunteers taped a paper heart to my sweater as a remembrance for the daughter of the founder of this weekly feed. The daughter died, some years back, in a car crash.  She had lived among these people, the homeless, and considered herself one of them. The crowd was thin this winter morning.  It was cold. The breeze picking up off of the Puget Sound didn’t help with the chill, but at least it wasn’t raining.  Small blessing.

The crowd was slow to brave the cold walk, from around the town of Olympia, to the parking lot by the bus barn where the morning was served up.  They dribbled into the line a few at a time.  By the time breakfast finished, we knew all the food will have been served.  It always was.  But, the numbers of those needy and homeless showing for a meal had been dwindling as temperatures dropped and winter marched in.  It was clear that many "regulars" had moved on to warmer climates for the season.

Because it was slower than usual, I was taking a short break from the serving line to talk to some of the "clients" about their circumstances, hoping for some muse for my blog.  I happened to look down the sidewalk and saw a young, waspy, female walking in our direction with her head down, eyes on the sidewalk. Maybe a teenager, or a local college student, but young, all the same.  She looked up and our eyes met.  Pretty face.  I smiled and she angled toward me, off the sidewalk and into the vacant parking lot. 

She was blonde, wrapped in a pea coat.  She was decked out with a crocheted scarf and cap, petite gloves and neat, fashionable blue jeans pulled over slender legs.  Her makeup was slight, just enough to say she'd put some on, which was fine because she had a "natural" attractiveness which required little help.  It was fairly obvious, by the quality of clothing, she was not one of the usual 'clientele' in dire need of breakfast, but protocol demanded I ask if she was hungry. As she shook her head, it occurred to me, by her humble, quiet manner, she was shy and, perhaps, also somewhat sad.

Someone, hurrying passed to get in line, bumped against her and apologized without breaking stride. Hungry.  In a quiet timid voice, she responded, “No problem.”  I felt my eyebrow rise at the timbre of her voice.  I smiled at what I had missed.  Those tell-tale signs missed from a distance and brought into clarity closeup.  The timid voice was either masculine for a young lady of her slight build or, more probably, a cross-dressing young man. Taking everything into account, I reluctantly passed judgment and settled on the latter after a lucky peek at her, otherwise, delicate feminine throat.  A young adult out for a walk, while the sidewalks were thin on pedestrian traffic.  Perhaps a time when "she" felt relatively secure.  A time when one might "experiment" with acceptance.

“What matters most is not 'what' you are, but 'who' you are.”

-- DaShanne Stokes, sociologist, author, speaker

"She" only stayed a minute, looking at what was going on, at the crowd and the food, more curious than in need of assistance. She nodded to me and smiled as she quietly moved off across the parking lot, continuing on her morning sojourn.  I watched her go as she left me to wonder why she was.  

I am not homophobic.  People are who they choose to be.  Your life choices are your own.  I don't judge, because it is not my place to judge.  The bible has its uses, and I always try to remember Romans 14:4, "Who are you to judge another man’s servant? To his own master, he stands or falls. And he will stand, for God is able to make him stand."  I ask "why" she was, because I see her dilemma as a product of our times, and seemingly of great concern to many, though I can't imagine why the many give a damn.  We either create these children, or God does; no one really knows, yet.  The young seem to be searching for answers harder than we are.  If there is an answer it will probably start with acceptance.  If there is a second coming, I can only imagine Christ will take these children unto Him first, and God help anyone who denies them passage.

"I got stuck when I looked into her eyes, they said she was okay but were brimmed with the thoughts of dysphoria..."

-- Ruby Behera, Cart of Emotion

"She" was one of those rare people that enter my life for only minutes and fill me with interest, wonder, and a multitude of questions. I couldn't help but smile, as I watched her go, wondering which of us was more confused. She was pretty but her eyes betrayed her confusion or her pain, and her manner evidenced the sadness she carried, an emotional burden for one so young. There was nothing flamboyant about her.  To the contrary, she went out of her way not to be, even trying not to speak and keeping her voice at not much more than a whisper when she did.  

Where I saw her as attractive, I couldn't help but think she wondered why she just couldn't be herself around everyone. Just wanting to be pretty, yet not labeled as such; wanting to be seen, accepted, as something other than an object of curiosity.  Maybe wondering why people couldn't just accept her so she could be free to feel... well, pretty?  I wish she and I could have had a moment to talk, maybe over a cup of coffee so I could learn her mind and she could know I don't judge her. But, again, that would make her feel like a curiosity.  I would have hated making her feel that way.  I remember smiling in the knowledge of how my attitudes have matured in more and better ways than I could have ever imagined.

"You can’t move forward—you can’t have people love you, you can’t look at other people and accept them for who they are—unless you completely love yourself."

-- Samira Wiley, actress

She moved my heart, and our brief meeting caused my thoughts to travel back in time to a young Asian acquaintance in high school. I call him an 'acquaintance' because I never asked to be his friend.  Was I afraid?  Yes.  Not from any ass whipping I might get from being friends with the gay kid, though.  I got a whipping just for looking at someone wrong, as much as I tried to avoid it.  No, it was probably due to the misguided and closed-minded which high school student societal "values" demanded in order to try and be accepted.  I was never going to be accepted, I knew this, and it would take a couple of more years, and more beatings, for me to finally stand up to bullies.  I never considered myself a true friend to this kid, although he probably considered me one. In my mind, I still punish myself for not being strong enough. He was unintentionally flamboyant in his gayness because he didn’t know any other way.  He wasn't that old and, therefore, I couldn't see how his flamboyant feminism could be a learned trait.  Why in God's good name would anyone want to learn something that can cause you that much pain? His exaggerated effeminate mannerisms were something he had grown up with, and can only imagine he endured years of ostracism, cruelty, and grief, from fellow students and, probably, the public at large.

I felt, at the time, the difference between the young lady and my friend, was that he didn’t have a choice; he was, what he was, what he had always been, and I'm not even certain he understood how gay him effeminate mannerisms made him look. This young “lady” was struggling with an identity crisis, perhaps she had grown up with some dysphoria, maybe she was dealing with just discovering she wasn't who she thought she was, or who her family thought she should be. I am still just learning to understand a segment of our society which is morphing faster than an old boy, like me, can keep up.

"They're expected to forget everything they knew about being anything other than what they're supposed to be."

-- Anna-Marie McLemore, author

If I had to come up with a common factor for these two people, I have to say it was what I saw in their eyes. They both had the same sadness and confusion,  but where my "friend's" was outwardly obvious, hers was timid, quietly reserved.  Now I think they're both one and the same; my friend simply grew up as what he was, and she may have not understood what she was until later.  Then again, I may be so out in left field as to still understand nothing of which I speak, and this is fine.  Mine isn't about judgment, it's about knowledge.  I accept both of these people as being beautiful in a way which I don't, yet, understand.

I erred in the meeting with this young lady, by not introducing myself to her. I would have been interested in getting behind those eyes and finding out more about her situation. A photo would probably have been asking too much, I’m sure.  I would have liked to have taken her to coffee to see if she would discuss why she was and if she would mind if I printed it on this blog. I hoped she would pass my way again.  She didn't.

Ultimately, why she is, is not as important as who she is.  I missed my chance to find out either.  I wish for her some peace, and answers, the same peace, and answers I hope my young friend found in his adult life. I hope she finds friends and support without the taunts and ridicule, without the pain. I hope she discovers that she is, and that simply being is more important to acceptance than any knowledge of why you are. The mere fact that you are should be enough.  I hope she doesn’t become some statistic on a police blotter, another sad footnote in the back of a local paper. 

God bless her.  God bless my friend.

“I don’t identify as transgender. But I’m clearly gender not-normal. I don’t think even lesbian is the right identity for me. I really don’t. I might as well come out now. I identify as tired. I’m just tired.”

― Hannah Gadsby, comedian, writer

Editor's Note

(Re: disclaimer cum "get out of jail free" card)

Before you go getting your panties in a bunch, it is essential to understand that this is just an opinion site and, as such, can be subjected to scrutiny by anyone with a differing opinion. It doesn't make either opinion any more right or wrong than the other. An opinion, presented in this context, is a way of inciting others to think and, hopefully, to form opinions of their own, if they haven't already done so. This is also why, occasionally, I will present an "opinion" just to stir an emotional pot. Where it may sound like I agree with the statements made, I'm more interested in getting others to consider an alternate viewpoint. 

It is my fervent hope that we keep open and active minds when reading opinions and while engaging in peaceful and constructive discussion, in an arena of mutual respect, concerning those opinions put forth. After over twenty years with military intelligence, I have come to believe engaging each other in this manner and in this arena is the way we will learn tolerance and respect for differing beliefs, cultures, and viewpoints.

We all fall from grace, some more often than others; it is part of being human. God's test for us is what we learn from the experience, and what we do afterward.

Pastor Tony spent 22 years with United States Air Force Intelligence as a planner, analyst, briefer, instructor, and senior manager. He spent 17 years, following his service career, working with the premier, world renowned, Institutional Review Board helping to protect the rights of human subjects involved in pharmaceutical research. Ordained 1n 2013 as an "interfaith" minister, he founded the Congregation for Religious Tolerance in response to intolerance shown by Christians toward peaceful Islam. As the weapon for his war on intolerance he chose the pen, and wages his "battle" in the guise of the Congregation's official online blog, The Path, of which he is both author and editor. "The Path" offers a vehicle for commentary and guidance concerning one's own personal, spiritual, path toward peace and the final destination for us all. He currently resides in Pass Christian, Mississippi, where he volunteers as lead Chaplain and Chaplain Program Liaison, at the regional medical center.