down. I gave my art to Hoay, and I walked out, smiling. I tried hard to hold back my tears. I was smiling because I didn’t want them to see me mad. That would mean I was losing and they were winning. It did hurt, though. So many people hated me for no reason.
Christina begins to cry. After a few moments, a composed Christina says, “When the going gets tough, what do tough girls do? We go shopping!”
After a few hours of shopping, we settle down for a lunch in a noisy Korean restaurant. Christina knows I’m curious about her high-school years.
I remember religion class — oh, I hated religion class — one kid raised his hand while we were talking about sexuality. He said, “I think it’s okay for somebody to be gay. But why can’t they just be gay and not turn into a woman? If you change your sex, that’s a whole other level.” Of course the kids knew I was in the classroom, and the boy next to me said, “You’re going to take that? You’re just going to let him say something like that?”
The teacher knew there was going to be a problem because by that point I was really standing up for myself. I wasn’t going to take anybody’s crap anymore.
So I raised my hand and said, “Well, for your information, being transgender is different from being gay. Being transgender is feeling like a woman. Gay men don’t want to become women. They’re men. They like being men, and they like other men. Transgender has nothing to do with sexuality at all. There are transgender girls that like girls. There are transgender girls who like boys. How do you explain that?” The kid had some snide remark, but I can’t remember what it was. The professor immediately changed the subject.
I wasn’t afraid to explain who I was. I like educating people. I don’t like people staying narrow-minded and ignorant and stupid.
There was another time when I was sitting with my friend Christopher, the gay one, in class. Christopher had a very feminine voice, high pitched, and he could be very flamboyant at times. This boy in front of me, his name was Andrew, called Christopher a faggot for no reason.
I stick up for my friends, especially if they can’t stick up for themselves. He was, like, taking it. I tapped Andrew’s shoulder and said, “Why don’t you just leave him the fuck alone?”
And he said, “Shut the fuck up! You’re a faggot too.”
“What did you say?”
“
You’re a faggot! You’re a faggot!
You’re fucking gay.”
“The reason you have a problem with this,” I explained slowly, “is that you’re gay and you’re insecure about your own sexuality.”
We started arguing back and forth while the teacher was trying to teach class. The teacher looked over and asked, “Hey, what’s going on over there?”
And Andrew said, “Get this faggot away from me!”
The teacher said, “Matthew, can you get up from your seat and move to the back?”
I got really upset. When I got up, I pushed my table, and the desk just flew over. I guess Andrew felt threatened about that. He got up and punched me in my face. Then he threw me between the desks and was stomping on my head and back. Andrew was a football player and very strong.
The teacher didn’t try to break us up. He ran into the hallway and called for help. I don’t know who he was calling help for because we didn’t have any security guards. At least the other boys didn’t join in.
I had to go into the nurse’s office because I was bleeding from my lip, always my lip. I had scratches on my face too. Even though I was angry about the fight, I was really angry that he had popped off my nail. I was mad. I didn’t get a chance to hit him back.
I told my mom. We got him expelled and arrested. I eventually dropped the charges ’cause I just wanted him out of the school. I never saw him again.
I never cried in school until I got into that fight. After that I’d cry when some boy called me ugly or said I was not a woman. My friend Hoay would be there
Christina begins to cry. After a few moments, a composed Christina says, “When the going gets tough, what do tough girls do? We go shopping!”
After a few hours of shopping, we settle down for a lunch in a noisy Korean restaurant. Christina knows I’m curious about her high-school years.
I remember religion class — oh, I hated religion class — one kid raised his hand while we were talking about sexuality. He said, “I think it’s okay for somebody to be gay. But why can’t they just be gay and not turn into a woman? If you change your sex, that’s a whole other level.” Of course the kids knew I was in the classroom, and the boy next to me said, “You’re going to take that? You’re just going to let him say something like that?”
The teacher knew there was going to be a problem because by that point I was really standing up for myself. I wasn’t going to take anybody’s crap anymore.
So I raised my hand and said, “Well, for your information, being transgender is different from being gay. Being transgender is feeling like a woman. Gay men don’t want to become women. They’re men. They like being men, and they like other men. Transgender has nothing to do with sexuality at all. There are transgender girls that like girls. There are transgender girls who like boys. How do you explain that?” The kid had some snide remark, but I can’t remember what it was. The professor immediately changed the subject.
I wasn’t afraid to explain who I was. I like educating people. I don’t like people staying narrow-minded and ignorant and stupid.
There was another time when I was sitting with my friend Christopher, the gay one, in class. Christopher had a very feminine voice, high pitched, and he could be very flamboyant at times. This boy in front of me, his name was Andrew, called Christopher a faggot for no reason.
I stick up for my friends, especially if they can’t stick up for themselves. He was, like, taking it. I tapped Andrew’s shoulder and said, “Why don’t you just leave him the fuck alone?”
And he said, “Shut the fuck up! You’re a faggot too.”
“What did you say?”
“
You’re a faggot! You’re a faggot!
You’re fucking gay.”
“The reason you have a problem with this,” I explained slowly, “is that you’re gay and you’re insecure about your own sexuality.”
We started arguing back and forth while the teacher was trying to teach class. The teacher looked over and asked, “Hey, what’s going on over there?”
And Andrew said, “Get this faggot away from me!”
The teacher said, “Matthew, can you get up from your seat and move to the back?”
I got really upset. When I got up, I pushed my table, and the desk just flew over. I guess Andrew felt threatened about that. He got up and punched me in my face. Then he threw me between the desks and was stomping on my head and back. Andrew was a football player and very strong.
The teacher didn’t try to break us up. He ran into the hallway and called for help. I don’t know who he was calling help for because we didn’t have any security guards. At least the other boys didn’t join in.
I had to go into the nurse’s office because I was bleeding from my lip, always my lip. I had scratches on my face too. Even though I was angry about the fight, I was really angry that he had popped off my nail. I was mad. I didn’t get a chance to hit him back.
I told my mom. We got him expelled and arrested. I eventually dropped the charges ’cause I just wanted him out of the school. I never saw him again.
I never cried in school until I got into that fight. After that I’d cry when some boy called me ugly or said I was not a woman. My friend Hoay would be there
Similar Books
