The Assumption of Nancy

After the dust settled from my coming out I sat down with my mom to have a bit of a conversation about it. The first question she had for me was, “Does this mean you will be wearing women’s clothes?”

Of course I answered quickly with a “pshaw, of course not” which is more or less true (I am not against women’s clothing, my favorite workout shirt proclaims “Best Dachshund Mom Ever!” but I am much more comfortable shopping in the men’s section.)

But I did think about that moment a lot. I answered so quickly. My upbringing taught me that men in women’s clothing was wrong. “I ain’t no sissy,” I told myself in the most masculine deep voice I could muster.

Coming out is never easy and neither is it in the final step in figuring out who we are. It took me several years to find my way in a large and diverse community and all of its subcultures.

Let’s sidetrack for a moment. I took an anthropology course near the end of my degree and we were assigned to consider a subculture of a larger culture and write a thesis on it. I chose the subcultures of the LGBTQ+ community and my professor denied the request. I submitted a complaint to the department, but ultimately just moved on to finish my degree. (To be clear: There are subcultures of the LGBTQ+ community, despite an anthropology professor trying to tell me otherwise.)

I finally found comfort in my own skin when, in 2016 during the height of Pride month, a terrorist entered Pulse, a gay night club in Orlando, Florida, and brutally murdered 49 people and wounded 53 more before the horrific night was over.

A devastating moment in human history. Fear tore through the LGBTQ+ communities across the nation.

[Please pause reading and offer a moment of respectful silence. I’ll wait.]

I grew up in a household surrounded by police: my dad, my brother, some of my uncles. If you were a dude in my family chances were you were in the police force or supported them in some manner. Which meant we always had guns around. Add into this that I grew up in a deep red portion of a deep red state near a city that has the highest gun per capita in the nation.

When the shooting occurred my sister began texting me and she mentioned something to the effect of, “If only the club goers had their own guns this nightmare never would have happened.”

I have never supported guns and I never will. I’d rather see no one have a gun than everyone having one. I defended the lack of guns at the nightclub. Violence does not beget violence and all that.

She responded with a link to the Pink Pistols.

I had to look this group up and (remember that I am discussing my personal opinion) I had to laugh. This was a pretty extremist group and from my initial, and admittedly quick, research it also appeared primarily lesbian. My sister had done less research than me in sending this.

I’ve talked about a lot of things already and my goal is not to discuss owning or not owning a firearm or crossdressing or subcultures. (But I should balance out one radical firearm group with another more reasonable group. Consider checking out Bulletproof Pride, a group that champions an end to gun violence.)

My goal is to discuss the assumptions we face every single day.

My sister made an assumption that, just because I’m gay, I should support any gay rights groups.

My anthropology professor made an assumption that all gay people are part of one large community.

My mom made an assumption that all gay people are crossdressers.

These are big examples, but it happens in micro-doses every day… and it is gods damned tiring. We even do it to ourselves amongst our own community.

LGBTQ+ folks: How many times has someone said one of the following:

1) “You’re [fill in our personal LGBTQ+ membership] I know someone you will just love!”

2) “Did you watch the most recent RuPaul’s Drag Race?”

3) “You don’t seem gay. I never would’ve guessed.”

4) “Who’s the man and who’s the woman?”

5) “You are such a cute couple, when are you getting married?”

This last one really triggers me more than it maybe should.

*Incoming unpopular opinion*

I am pro-equality, everyone should have the same human rights. But I am against marriage, all marriage, as a silly traditional institute. This is my personal truth.

I am married (judge me as you may,) but I have never liked using the word “husband.” It feels like I am trying to comply with what other people want in regards to a relationship. I'm using "their" word.

Reminisce back to college with me again, if you will, and my feminist theory course: We were reading a particular piece about a lesbian wedding (I tried my damnedest to find the piece to reference, but you are going to have to bear with me on memory alone on what, and how, I remember it.)

Rather than a traditional marriage the couple purchase a very nice wooden chair. They invited their friends and family to come and witness as they tore through the center of the chair together with a chain saw. Once the chair was in half they lashed it back together with fancy string/rope.

That was it.

How fucking beautiful. They wanted to recognize their union in their own way and on their own terms. They used the chair to symbolize the breaking down of the old and lashed it together as a single unit into something new that they did together.

No priests, no vows, no government documents to sign. Just two people that care about each other doing whatever the fuck weird shit they want to do.

I love this.

A lot.

An easy comparison for this is the major debates in recent years on pronouns. (I absolutely love watching people lose their shit on pronouns. My dude, it just comes down to being respectful. Don’t be an ass. Don’t assume. Respect people for their choices.)

To all my LGBTQ+ siblings: be who you want and don't let anyone ever stop you. We may fly different freak flags, but it won't stop me from offering respect to yours.

Okay, okay, so let’s sum up my essay in a quick statement and move on: When you assume, you make an ass out of me and you, but… mostly you.