Pronouns
Pronouns
I belong to any number of organizations/email lists/informal associations that are primarily women. Nothing exclusive- my views on biology and destiny have changed over the years, and while I once crossed the gate into Michigan, I wouldn't do so now. I'm not a separatist. I understood that point of view better, once, but never shared it.
Some of that comes from my own ambivalence about being called a woman. Female bodied, sure, no argument. But a woman? I mean, sometimes, maybe. But I'd rather be called a man. I'm not a transman- I don't plan on taking hormones or having surgery. But I am transgendered by most definitions. Female bodied man, I'm used to saying, to the right audience.
I'm also at a point in my life where I don't make a big deal about it. Call me she. Call me by my given name, if you work with me. Kids get to call me anything they want. My in-laws as well. People over 80. My parents.
My partner has it down to a science and an art. Calls me 'he' in most conversations, even with the in-laws. Calls me Smitty. Will use 'she' around strangers and children. J.'s bi-gendered, and gets it, better than I do most days. Go back and forth with the pronouns in the same sentence.
Usually, belonging to these groups, and being a 'woman', I end up party to some variation of the 'we're all women here' conversation starter. Usually followed by some assertion about how women really are, or men. I always shut the hell up and listen politely.
But its is starting to get my back up, every time somebody asserts that 'we' are all women here- I keep wanting to say, uhmn, no, not really. Or when someone makes an assumption about women not having to deal with gender. Or gender not being a part of lesbian relationships. I absent myself from the conversation. I'm unqualified. I'm not enough of a lesbian if I say I'm male. Or not enough of a male if I don't get my chest cut off and take hormones. Or a traitor to the cause, upsetting the comfort and security of the subculture by pointing out that the lines aren't so clearly drawn as they were in the 1970's.
We're not all women here. They aren't all men over there. That big old Michigan feminist dyke might be a conservative man in a few years, stick around. Or that man might be your sister.
I belong to any number of organizations/email lists/informal associations that are primarily women. Nothing exclusive- my views on biology and destiny have changed over the years, and while I once crossed the gate into Michigan, I wouldn't do so now. I'm not a separatist. I understood that point of view better, once, but never shared it.
Some of that comes from my own ambivalence about being called a woman. Female bodied, sure, no argument. But a woman? I mean, sometimes, maybe. But I'd rather be called a man. I'm not a transman- I don't plan on taking hormones or having surgery. But I am transgendered by most definitions. Female bodied man, I'm used to saying, to the right audience.
I'm also at a point in my life where I don't make a big deal about it. Call me she. Call me by my given name, if you work with me. Kids get to call me anything they want. My in-laws as well. People over 80. My parents.
My partner has it down to a science and an art. Calls me 'he' in most conversations, even with the in-laws. Calls me Smitty. Will use 'she' around strangers and children. J.'s bi-gendered, and gets it, better than I do most days. Go back and forth with the pronouns in the same sentence.
Usually, belonging to these groups, and being a 'woman', I end up party to some variation of the 'we're all women here' conversation starter. Usually followed by some assertion about how women really are, or men. I always shut the hell up and listen politely.
But its is starting to get my back up, every time somebody asserts that 'we' are all women here- I keep wanting to say, uhmn, no, not really. Or when someone makes an assumption about women not having to deal with gender. Or gender not being a part of lesbian relationships. I absent myself from the conversation. I'm unqualified. I'm not enough of a lesbian if I say I'm male. Or not enough of a male if I don't get my chest cut off and take hormones. Or a traitor to the cause, upsetting the comfort and security of the subculture by pointing out that the lines aren't so clearly drawn as they were in the 1970's.
We're not all women here. They aren't all men over there. That big old Michigan feminist dyke might be a conservative man in a few years, stick around. Or that man might be your sister.