CLH Words

I went blind in high school. This story isn’t about that, but that is relevant (which is honestly a pretty apt analogy for being disabled—it affects everything, while most stuff  is not about it). While I was going blind, I did not really think it would lead to more school, but it did, no matter how grumpy it made high school me. Besides working with a teacher for the blind during the school year (which I was so lucky to get—most schools do not have one and there is huuuuge inequity in what should be a standard service for blind kids), I attended Blind Inc, a (now defunct) blind training center in the Twin Cities. I spent the summer before my senior year of high school up there with a dozen or so other blind high schoolers learning how to do day to day living skills while blind.

               The program was co-ed.  In general, we were not broken up by gender: everyone lived in the same dorms and both boys and girls (at the time everyone there fell into this binary) learned to cook, clean, use the computer, and travel the same. Looking back, this is kind of wild. The organized blind movement is not the most radical social movement. I have written before (though not on this blog) about some of the… less than ideal situations I have encountered as a trans woman in blind spaces. That being said, Blind Inc was pretty chill, at least in memory. There was no major separation of gender. We were all expected to be able to live independently, which made gender roles around housework impossible to enforce. As a closeted queer person working through my gender, it was pretty nice.

               That is, for the most part. I remember one night, after dinner and cleanup, when we were back hanging out in the common room of the dorm. One of the trainers/councilors, a blind women in her early thirties, announced that the girls would be learning how to braid hair as that night’s activity. This was not out of the ordinary, as self-grooming skills were covered. All teenagers should learn how to be clean and well kept, as many teenage boys (at least when I was one) thought axe body-spray counts as a shower. That is to say, these are important skills that need to be taught, so we learned them. But this was the first time that it had been broken up by gender. We even learned to shave co-ed (boys simply doing their faces instead of legs).

               “Well, can I learn too?” I pipped up, before I could think it through. I was not out yet. I had not fully realized I was trans, only that there was a deep ache inside me that wanted to be a part of “the girls.” At the surprise division of the sexes, that ache had won and asked the question before my learned heteronormativity had time to catch up to the situation.

               “I mean…sure,” the councilor said, not unkindly just confused, “but why do you want to know?” If I had thought it through, I would have known this question was coming. At the time, my hair was long—for a boy—but not long enough to braid. I knew the truth (because I want to be included in with the girls, I want long hair to braid, etc.) would not be accepted. Maybe not out right rejected, as it was a fairly inclusive environment, but not accepted. My learned heteronormativity served to save me from this rejection, with the only downside being shoving me deeper into the closet. And the pain of rejecting who I am. Small price to pay.

               So like I had many time when I failed to correctly be a boy, I thought on my feet and landed on a, somewhat, acceptable response: “because I may need to braid hair one day. Help my future girlfriend.” While the request was seen as unusual (a boy being into girl things? Gasp) by heteronormative standards, this answer at least allowed me to navigate it with plausible deniability and may have even earned me some points (wow he really cares about women). It did not, however, let me be myself.

               Several other of the boys decided to be included after I chimed in. They ranged from “yea what he said” (looking back probably also closeted women) to “eh, I don’t feel like leaving the rec room.”

               The councilors leading this, to their credit, took this in stride and taught us equally. I do not know what they thought, but I doubt I widely changed their world view. This was their job, and it just meant a few more kids to check off on this particular skill.

               Still, the sudden inclusion of a gendered space in what had been a summer of pretty lose gender roles was shocking. But I quickly navigated it and was able to be included, at least honorary, in the space I wanted to be in.

               There is no lesson to this story, at least not one that I can wrap up with a bow and hand to you. I was recently remembered this while reading, and it stuck with me. Gender is such a weird concept, and unpacking it and navigating it was hard. Even in spaces where there was no real need for it, I found myself being forced into a box that I really did not want to be in. Now, almost ten years later, I still find myself slightly surprised, and delighted, when I am automatically included in with “the girls.” I have grown into the woman teen me wanted to be, and I am happy.