A Man without A Country

I have become a man without a country. Well not really a "man" by my choice of definition, but that’s another story.

The other day I took a very good friend to the Milwaukee Mitchell Field Airport. My friend is butch. She’s strong, assertive, large, often dresses in jeans and button-down shirts and boots, has shortly trimmer hair, and walks with confidence and pride. She knows who she is and isn’t afraid of letting others see her core identity. She proudly wears rainbow-colored rings off the right epaulet of her black leather jacket. She’s a dyke and doesn’t conceal this fact from the world.

We’ve been friends for a long time and I take great pride in knowing her. She has known me through my transition, through some difficult time, and through many good times as well.

As we were walking through Mitchell Field Airport, we noticed two butch women sitting in a row of seats. They were most obviously a couple. My friend was walking in slightly in front of me. As we neared them, I watched the two women’s faces light up, smile, and nod at my friend. The brightness in their faces quickly vanished as I walked by them. I felt a bitter sadness, but didn’t quite understand why.

Only moments later, we reached the gate and approached the airline counter to be greeted by a wonderfully sweet, very effeminate male flight attendant. My friend commented, after we stepped away from the window, how nice it was to have a "family" member on her flight.

Then it hit me. It all made sense. That sense of sadness, that great inexplicable sense of loss that I never even realized was a even a loss.

Who is my family? And why don’t they recognize me any more?!

When I’m in public, I recognize my gay and lesbian family. I recognize so many of my MTF sisters. I continue, like I always have, smiling when I see someone also belonging to my queer and/or transgendered family. But they don’t see me. They don’t know that I am one of them any more.

I am alone in my queerness. I am seemingly alone in my trans-ness. I’ve become a nameless, faceless guy. While many FTMs may enjoy their "success" in being able to pass so well that no one knows of their past, I am saddened by my loss of casual, social recognition of my queerness and of my trans-ness.

As I walked back through the airport alone, towards my car, I saw the same to dykes sitting together. I wanted to scream "I’M ONE TOO!!!!!". Can’t you see?! I’m just as queer (if not moreso) that my friend you so nicely smiled at! Why won’t you smile at me any more? Why won’t any of my family recognize me any more!!!???

But, of course, I just kept walking, thinking, realizing I don’t know what to do with these overpowering feelings of isolation. It all made so much sense to me. I had lost part of my tribeor rather my tribe had lost me, or at least wasn’t able to find me through my scruffy beard, flat chest, pierced right ear, baggy jeans, and loggers. Lesbians just see me as just another guy, presumably a straight man. Gay men often see me as too "butch" to be one of them, so also see me as just another straight guy, also. MTFs are typically the same dealno recognition, since they only see me as just another guy.

I feel I’ve moved into an invisible never-never-land.

Those of us who came out as queer prior to coming out as trans, know both the joys and heartaches of the les/bi/gay community.

I am no longer recognized as a dyke of course.

I have all too slowly come to the realization that I am alone.