Emily Bradley

ENGL 2010; T, R
April 7, 2014
Memoir: Pride

As I step out of the car I am immediately assaulted by a blast of wind, ripping through
my medium length hair, bringing stinging raindrops with it, quickly obscuring my view through
my glasses. I pull my jacket closer to my body, desperately trying to hold onto the warmth that I
had from inside the car, but mostly failing.
I trudge across the slick pavement, looking to the left for a sign of the building that Im
trying to get to, and finally I arrive, looking up at the multi-colored sign reading Utah Pride
Center, but its not like I expected. As I peer through the front window I can see that it is mostly
empty inside and looks like it is still under construction. Unlocking my phone I recoil from the
bright screen. After I have adjusted to it enough I scroll over and across the webpage for the
building, fiddling around with my phone until I find the information I need; it says to go around
the back of the building to get to the rear entrance.
So I do just that. I walk around the back, doing my best to appear like I know what Im
doing so not as to attract unwanted attention. The only way that I see goes under a parking
garage, and its dank, dripping ceiling gives me the chills. I shiver inside my coat, and look
around for the door into the center, but all I see is a black door that says Deliveries Only.
I feel the panic rising in my chest, squeezing my heart, filling my eyes with tears, and
constricting my throat. //This cant be right There has to be another way!// My thoughts race
around and around in circles. The panic causes my hands and fingers to fumble as I pull my
phone out of my pocket, visiting the various pages of the website with terrifying desperation.
Eventually I come across a phone number for the center, call the number, and am sent to one of
those call-sorting machines, its tinny female voice seeming to mock me in my dire situation,
without a care in the world for the confusion and terror that are flooding my amygdala.
The female voice drones on monotonously about the different options I can choose to talk
to somebody. The recording goes around once and as it repeats I decide on the Administrator
option, and am promptly sent to the front desk, where the cheery woman on the other end guides
me to the ramp up to the center that is painted in rainbow stripes.
Once I know where Im going to panic begins to subside, allowing me to breathe and
think clearly. I go up to the door and open it gingerly, and am amazed by what I see; at the front
of the long room is a rack of pamphlets and a desk behind it, then a row of computers, but behind
that there is a library. Ive always loved libraries, and this one is no exception. It is very well
organized and has an interesting variety of texts and subjects, from biographies to fiction to
childrens books.
Im only able to browse the selection for a moment before someone comes to welcome
me to the center. As I was glazing over the different titles I was passively listening to the
conversation between a man and a transwoman who were using the computers. Using quick,
sideways glances I took in the appearance of the transwoman, her shoulder length dirty blonde
hair framing a slightly tanned face, the structure of which seemed somewhere between masculine
and feminine, but more on the latter side. She was wearing worn light wash jeans with a
colorfully patterned hanging loosely over her thin frame. Her blue-grey eyes sparkled slightly,
but behind them I could see pain and anger. I wanted to talk to her, but didnt quite know how to
breach the subject.
After being shown through the center and talking to the various staff members I found
my way back to the front room, and to my surprise the transwoman was still there, though she
was talking to a different person. I stood back for a little bit, listening to them talk and getting up
the nerve to talk to her.
Eventually there was a lull in the conversation and I took that opportunity to start a
conversation with her. She told me that her name was Tracie, and I told her my name, then I
asked if I could interview her for my English assignment about Transgenderism, and she agreed.
We moved to what they called the eating area so we could talk in a more private setting.
The room was dim, lit only by the obscured sun and the room beyond it. It contained a single
gray table, the kind you tend to find in school lunch rooms, with a handful of mismatched chairs
sloppily moved around it. I got the distinct impression that there had been a meeting here not
long ago; a lunch meeting, based on the faint food smells permeating the area. Once we got
settled down in some chairs I started asking her about the things I was curious about; things like
what it was like to have lived in both of the gender realms of our culture, how being transgender
has affected her life, both personal and otherwise, along with questions about how she feels
education about transgenderism would help transgenders and non-transpeople alike. She had a
lot of interesting and well thought out answers.
I strongly believe that professionals such as doctors and teachers should be educated
about transgenderism so that they would be better equipped to identify transgenderism and talk
to parents of possibly transgendered children about it, as well as creating tolerance and
acceptance of this growing issue.
She also talked about how she had lost complete custody rights to her children once she
started to transition, and how that had had a very negative impact on her life. She felt that the
court system as heavily weighed against men, along with people who are transgender, and I
could tell that she was still hurt by the loss of her rights to see her children.
Tracie was very adamant about what she felt should be written down in my notes and
what shouldnt be. Several times during the interview she mentioned you dont need to write
that down, its not important. Other times she felt like something was very important, so she
would say Thats really important, you need to write that down while pointing at my notebook
and making sure that I wrote it down. Some of the things that I thought would be important that
she didnt, and vice versa, it was a very unique dynamic that I hadnt come across before.
Eventually I ran out of things to ask and she ran out of things that she felt were important for me
to take note of so we went our separate ways and the interview was over.
Afterwards:
During the course of this interview I was made aware of a lot of the facets of transgenderism that
I had never heard of, nor thought about. There is so much to transgenderism that I still have to
learn, even after nearly a semester of intense research, reading, and watching of documentaries.
While I will never know how it feels to be gender dysphoric or feel the need to transition from
my born gender to another, I still find myself experiencing a kind of empathy with them, because
I have struggled with feeling like I dont belong or fit in for my entire life. Ive felt trapped by
our strictly bi-gendered system since a very young age, and I believe that there are millions of
other people who have felt the same way.
It is not something that is unique to transgenderism; it is so much bigger than that. Our
bi-gendered system smothers countless children and individuals, and something has to change. I
have heard numerous stories about people who grew up being forced to enjoy or participate in
practices or activities that they didnt feel like they wanted to do, simply because of their
biological sex at birth. They were teased and ridiculed, not only by classmates, but also by
parents and siblings; we seem to be taught and believe that non-conformity to ones biological
sex, and therefore natural gender is something that is wrong and should be fixed, something
that isnt at all acceptable and inherently deviant.
Our society seems to think that by simply sweeping the growing non-compliance to
traditional gender roles under the rug it will just disappear; that if we hurt people enough they
will stop speaking up for themselves and others. It is simply not true. This issue is only going to
continue to grow and become more prominent in our society. Action has to be taken, and choices
have to be made.