Understanding the T in LGBT: A Friend's Journey

Photo by Igor Omilaev on Unsplash

As we close out Pride Month (as someone who spent decades going to parades in New York City, Pride Day will always be the last Sunday in June), I kept coming back to a conversation I had with a dear friend several years ago. It was one of the most impactful conversations I’ve ever had and brought me to a greater understanding of trans issues. I’m happy to recount it here, with permission from my friend.

I’m not sure if anyone ever understood Faith. Few would take the time to get to know her, most likely. We were high school classmates and friends.

She had a page-boy haircut and gold, wire-rimmed glasses. Faith was a big girl, but you wouldn’t call her fat. The fat jokes were reserved for others.

What people did notice about Faith was that her face was disfigured. This started from birth and for years afterward as surgeons tried to correct the problem. Her mouth curved leftward and you could see small white scars above her lip and on the left side. When she spoke, the volume was there—she wasn’t shy—but the voice was muffled because she was unable to articulate sounds with her mouth’s limited movement.

Her teenage life must have been a horror but she never showed it to us. This, despite the cruelty that was thrown her way by high school bullies who took cheap shots about her looks, the most childish form of bullying.

One day, a bully insulted her a few minutes before English class started. This time, Faith got up and walked up to his desk and took a swing at him. He dodged it but quickly slid out of his chair and backed away. She came toward him again and he ran. Suddenly, the cheering began, not for the bully but for Faith. Soon after, Miss Gilmore, the teacher, came in and, before she put a stop to it, you could see her smile curling upwards.

Faith and I and a few others found peace in a church youth group. Later, our friend Bruce christened us “the island of misfit toys,” named after that bunch in the animated Christmas special, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. In our case, we were the misfits who didn’t fit in with the cool kids, for one reason or another.

We helped get each other through those painful high school years and most of us have kept in touch, often or occasionally, for decades.

Years later, I was living the urban, artsy life in New York and I was invited to Faith’s 40^th birthday back in our hometown. I decided to journey back home for the occasion.

It was a good-sized gathering but I was disheartened to see that Faith was now in a wheelchair. Still, as she had her entire life, she took her pain in stride and maintained her sense of humor and love of storytelling. It was a wonderful reunion for the misfits who had gathered for the occasion.

Flash forward another half-dozen years or so. I was back in town and staying at my parents’ lakeside cottage for a week. Faith was in town and contacted me; she said she wanted to visit. She had something to tell me.

Okay, I thought, Faith is a lesbian. Maybe she felt comfortable coming out to me because I was a sophisticated New Yorker (ha!) and I had come out to family and friends a few years before, although well into my thirties. (There was something in that church water!) I was ready for the conversation.

But when Faith showed up, dressed in khaki pants, a button-down shirt, and suspenders, she offered a different surprise. She was now a he, or becoming a he. He was now Elijah.

I am an open-minded person, but this was my first personal encounter with a trans person. Yes, even though I lived in New York, I had seen a few trans people but didn’t know any personally (to my knowledge). This was the late ‘00s.

I am happy to have the T in LGBT (human rights are human rights) but I quickly learned that trans is a different kettle of fish than L, G, or B. In our long conversation that day, Elijah told me, “Gender is not the same as sexual orientation.” In other words, your sexual attractions are beside the point. Discovering you are a man in a woman’s body (or vice versa) is a completely separate issue.

I noticed right away that when Elijah came to visit me, he was walking. No wheelchair, as there had been the last time I saw him (then her) in person at the 40^th birthday party. I congratulated him on his recovery.

“Well, my therapist explained to me that I had spent so many years trying to be something I was not that I was twisting myself into a pretzel,” Elijah explained. “Since I started living my truth, the physical problems have gone away.” Mind-blowing!

Elijah was the youngest child in his family and he had only older brothers. So, I wondered how his mother (then about eighty-five years old) took the news of her only daughter revealing to her mother that she was a man.

“She said, ‘That explains so much!’,” Elias told me. Fascinating! As they say, a mother knows.

Recently, I saw that a high school classmate of ours, of the rightwing variety, posted something on Facebook to the effect of “God doesn’t make mistakes. You are born male or female.”

I took the bait, as I often do. Knowing that we were both classmates of Elijah, I said, “We both know someone who would disagree with that, and that someone is very active in their church.”

The one who posted said, “Well, SHE thinks she’s a he, but it’s a mental health issue.”

I countered that I didn’t realize they were a mental health expert. (They are not.) And besides, even if it were a mental health issue, how is such a post helpful to anyone struggling with their gender identity?

My point was this: Why do people assume trans people just say to themselves, “You know what, I’m a woman (or man).” And then they decide they are going to change their gender as simply as one changes their shoes. For most, this is a years-long discovery process and it always involves a mental health professional.

This is probably especially true for a teenager exploring the issue. No parent is going to say, “Oh, Josh! You think you’re a girl? Okay, we’ll set up appointments for surgery and hormone treatments as soon as possible!” No, they are going to seek out as much professional help as they can before making such a monumental decision.

In the case of Elijah’s brilliant therapist, he realized Faith was indeed something else inside. The proof of that correct diagnosis is that as Faith became Elijah, the physical problems slipped away. Today, Elijah is healthier than he’s ever been, physically, mentally, and spiritually. Who is to say otherwise?

I recently attended a concert by a southern gospel band. The music was terrific but, as is often the case, there’s a moment where the music isn’t enough and the singer feels the need to preach. In this case, the guy started talking about how we need to pray for the children because they are being exposed to things that kids never had to see before. “It’s not like it was when we were kids.”

No, it’s not, and I thank God for that. We are in a backlash these days, with many loud voices decrying our times and recalling golden days of yore. But I beg to differ.

Yes, certainly we should pray for our kids. Like any generation, there are new challenges they face. But the vast majority of young people are far more open-minded and empathetic than my generation was. I don’t think of my childhood as the good old days. Don’t assume I do. As Carly Simon once sang, “These are the good old days.” Believe it or not, despite the current crises, they are—or they can be and will be for many.

We shouldn’t be afraid of things we don’t understand. Our best bet is to try to understand. To give empathy even if we ourselves are confused or conflicted. Condemn people for their actions, if we must, but not for being who they are, something that most likely can’t be helped or changed.

Come to think of it, even Faith didn’t understand Faith. But Elijah figured it out.