While studying for the bar, I decided that it was time to update all of my identity documents with the correct—eh, relatively more correct—gender marker. I figured that it would make the transition (ha, get it?) into my first job easier if I got this done now, instead of after I started working.

Now that the bar is over, I was finally ready to do it, and today, I went to the DMV in Brooklyn.

THE EXPERIENCE:

Overall rating: 5 out of 5

Total time: 35 minutes: 30 minutes in line for the front counter and the wait to be called, 5 minutes at the counter; then 8 days to receive my new license in the mail

I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am when I say that today’s experience deserves a 5 out of 5. It was as painless as a visit to the DMV could’ve been.

When I reached the front counter, I explained that I was there to change my gender marker. The lady went through my documents and asked if I wanted to change my name, too. Even now, her question sticks with me. To me, it demonstrated that she understood the process and, specifically, my needs.

“No, just the gender marker,” I said.

The entire time, I waited for her to make a weird face, give an awkward remark, ask an invasive question, or just show some kind of distaste. It never happened.

She then asked if I wanted to have a new picture taken, to which I said yes. “You sure?” she responded, pointing over to the line of the century on my right. “You’ll have to wait in that line over there.”

“Um, no, I’ll just keep my old picture.”

“Good choice,” she said with a laugh. She printed my ticket, handed it to me, and told me to wait in a specified portion of the room.

When they called my number, I told the lady behind the counter only that I wanted to have my gender marker changed. I handed her my documents, which she quickly looked through. I didn’t even have to show her my court order. I stood there, watched her push some buttons, paid my fee, took my “interim license,” and I was done.

This is what I have been waiting for.

I didn’t realize how excited I’d be until I was sitting on the subway going home. It says “F!” It really says “F!” The awkwardness of the “M” is gone forever. (Granted, I don’t think licenses need a gender marker at all, but that’s another conversation.) I did it! How awesome. =D

WHAT I NEEDED:

B is for (a New) Beginning

August 18, 2013

I Got a Boy

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The view from the bench.

I knew it was going well when he got up, moved his bike, and sat just a little closer to me on the bench. I didn’t mind. I just took another look at the city across the water and smiled to myself.

I’m going to call him “B,” and funny enough, I didn’t really like B when we first started talking. From our initial conversations, I thought he was just another guy pursuing his “fantasy”—read: douchebag.

I had originally planned on meeting B on Friday. But he came home from work, fell asleep, and asked to move our date to Saturday. On Saturday, he wasn’t sure if he could meet me because he didn’t get paid as expected. I suggested doing something free in the city. He’d get back to me, B said.

I remember sitting there Saturday afternoon at a Starbucks, wondering if B was just getting cold feet, like most guys thinking about meeting a transperson for the first time. “He’s just going to bail at the last minute,” I thought.

He didn’t.

—

The Saturday crowds of Williamsburg hipsters greeted me as I stepped above ground from the subway. Lost in the the throng of people, I began sending texts, asking for a signal to point me in the right direction. A wave and a smile from across the street caught my attention.

As I approached, he said hello as he opened his arms. I stepped into them.

Guest Post: The Restaurant with No Ranch and No Lemonade

May 28, 2013

The Family

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In addition to my family, several of my fraternity brothers came to celebrate my graduation weekend, as well as to witness the family reunion. This post is from one of my fraternity brothers and best friends. I’ve known him for nearly eight years now, and he’s shared in my struggles with my parents and with being transgender for the past four. I am still grasping at the words to describe the life-changing lunch we all had the day of graduation. Therefore, I am sharing his perspective:

I’ve known Stevie for eight years now. She joined our fraternity two years after me, so while we worked together and hung out a lot, I wasn’t initially as close to her as others her own age. In 2009, Stevie came out to her parents a month before her graduation. As many of you know, it didn’t go well. They came to Arizona and took away Stevie’s car. They shut off her cell phone. They cut her off. While I did not meet Stevie’s parents and only got her side of the story, it was clear that she was now on her own. Stevie, though, was determined to survive with no support from her parents. That summer, I bought a house and Stevie moved in as my first roommate/tenant so she could work to save money and apply to law school. I added her to my T-Mobile family plan so she could have a cell phone. She got a job working for one of our other fraternity brothers. She took the bus to and from work. She clipped coupons and brought lunch from home to save money.

During the year she lived with me, I began to feel as though I was filling the “parent” role in her life, now that she no longer had a relationship with her parents. She was 22 and fresh out of college. There were a lot of things she didn’t know how to do. So I stepped up. I spent hours with her haggling at the car dealership after she had saved up enough to buy a new car. I helped her plan and organize her move to New York. I was there to wake her up on her last day in Arizona by yelling that if she didn’t get her ass out of bed and get over to UPS to ship her boxes, we would never get on the road. And I was there to drive with her across the country when the time came to begin her studies at Hofstra University School of Law. This dynamic continued over the next three years, as I often found myself debating major decisions with her. While I sometimes felt resentful of how she treated me, I knew she needed me in that role because her parents weren’t there.

The Great Graduation Explosion of 2009 was a life changing experience for Stevie. And in the four years since, Stevie has frequently talked about how hurt she was. The experience made her extraordinarily resentful of her parents. She hated them. Her demeanor would instantly change if they were mentioned. She talked many times about never wanting to see them or communicate with them again because of the way they behaved. Yet, I always had hope that her parents were not as far gone as she made them out to be. I had faith that the relationship could be saved, but I wondered if Stevie would ever be able to get past the hurt and resentment. I could write for pages about the back and forth Stevie did over her relationship with her parents, but the bottom line is that I did not know what to expect when I heard that they were coming for graduation. I had hope that it would go well, but I didn’t know if either Stevie or her parents would be able to move past their individual issues. That uncertainty was actually very stressful. Rather than being excited about going to New York, I thought it was going to be a mess and I didn’t really want to go.

But I did, along with a few of my other fraternity brothers. Because I knew we needed to be there for her in case things went south. We arrived on Thursday morning—a few days before Stevie’s family. Spending time with just friends was great. We laughed, drank, and reminisced. The anxiety of the impending family meeting, though, was still palpable. On Saturday morning, the dreaded moment finally came. We all met Stevie and her family in Grand Central Station. They had arrived the night before and Stevie met them alone. We knew there wasn’t a big fight but we didn’t have much information beyond that. First, we met her aunt and uncle. They were so friendly. But we expected that. After all, Stevie’s Aunt Minh was the reason this whole weekend was even possible, having reached out to Stevie and serving as the intermediary between Stevie and her parents. Then, her parents, who had been taking pictures, finally came over.

And they weren’t the fire-breathing monsters I expected.

—transgenderless

the ramblings of a transgender woman

Changing My Gender Marker: Washington State Birth Certificate

Changing My Gender Marker: New York Driver’s License

B is for (a New) Beginning

Guest Post: The Restaurant with No Ranch and No Lemonade