Going Home

The airport terminal is far from brisk. In fact, it almost seems as dead as a retirement home. Except for the occasional announcement and the view out the terminal windows, you’d never know that it was operating.

Two days ago, though, I competed for the women’s alumni in an NCAA sporting event. I know I’m not the first, but I did finally compete. I met my friends and fellow alums Friday night to chill at a local bar - enjoying free sodas from the male bartenders - one of the perks.

After arriving at the event site, I checked in with my old coach, now the assistant athletic director. She confirmed that I was competing for the women’s alumni team and said that the current coach made the call. I later thanked him at the team picnic.

Before the event began, though, I was worried that I would feel like an outsider in the event - like I didn’t belong, but once it began, I felt quite comfortable...felt like this was where I did belong. Although I didn’t provide a superstar performance, I wasn’t horrible either - in fact, we’ll just call my performance average, although not too many 34 year old women likely could have performed as well.

Anyway, we partied with a few other alumni that night, although I’m clueless if they knew or not. I, of course, didn’t ask or tell them either, though. One of the brothers of an alum was also there, and he later introduced himself, started chatting with me, and asked why I was so quiet (I’m usually not). I don’t know if he was trying to hit on me or not, but he was about to turn 24 on Sunday...so he was a bit too young no matter what.

We recognized another person as we skipped around to a few bars (no dancing available at any of the ones we visited). After a few had said their “hello’s”, I walk up to him as Tracy is standing by his side. She introduces him, who I already know, of course. Playing along, I say, “Oh really?” in a half-valley girl, half-blonde way. I introduce myself as Kara and ask him if he remembers or recognizes me. He asks me for my name again and says that I look familiar, especially my big dark eyes. “Hah!!!” I thought, “What a player.”

He still can’t place me, so I step in and tell him I changed my name.

“Why,” he asks, “are you in the witness protection program?”

OK, I’m really starting to crack up and Tracy is still there enjoying the conversation. Then I tell him I used to be - male nickname - at which point his jaw drops and his eyes light up. (I should start taking pictures or something.)

“NO WAY!”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“This is who I am.” He nods and says, “OK” - and life went on. Tracy just smiled and said, “I wanted to see where the conversation was going to go.”

Most people were pretty cool the entire time, with pronouns being the biggest problem.

I drove to my parent’s place yesterday, while also saying hi to my aunt and grandmother. Pronouns were again a huge issue, but I let them slide. I know they are super supportive, but they are just having a hard time breaking past the 33+ years of knowing me as a male. I think correcting people makes them seem uncomfortable - and I just hope that they can correct themselves over time. Dad and I watched a shootout between the Packers and Colts, hopefully spending a little time trying to rebuild the bond.

One of the best lines of the weekend, though, belonged to a fellow alum. In response to a question if I wanted any alcohol, I said, “No thanks - I don’t drink.”

My friend pops up and says, “You still don’t drink? I guess some things just don’t change.”

Yeah, I guess so.

I'm now somewhere between Denver and the Bay Area

I swear, the person sitting next to me on this flight is really a jack rabbit stuck in the body of a man. Luckily, he’s talking to the woman across the aisle and not me. Unfortunately, his rabbitism prevented me from sleeping any further. It’s almost like a continuous rock climber - those who insist on pulling on the seat in front of them as they exit or enter the aisle of their seat - on the side of my chair.

Anyway, I just had a 3.5+ hour layover in Denver which allowed myself and Becca, who lives in the area, over two hours to converse over a late lunch. We’d met in Chicago several months ago, when a number of us from a T forum got together. Like many of us, she hasn’t had it easy, but she’s making her way through several of the initial items involved with her transition. She’s starting out right around the age I started, so hopefully, in a few years, she can reach a point where she, too, moves on in her life. In fact, she may be able to reach it before finishing. She’s at a point where she’s figured out what she wants to do, and is going to school to move into a new career. I’m jealous, frankly, simply because I have no idea what I want to do when I grow up.

As we chatted, we both enjoyed a Turkey Pesto sandwich with a side of Caesar Salad at a nice little French Bistro outside the security area. When it was time for me to go, Becca looked down at the security area and says, “I’ve got one word to say. Moo.”

As I walked back and forth through the roped off areas, she was right, I felt like cattle. I think jack-rabbit-boy got in the wrong freakin' line.