Boy, Your Gonna Carry That Weight
When I was young, the Florida heat raged and so did the winds of change. For me it was
a time of soaring popularity because I had found out the secret of making friends, being funny.
Though my idea of funny is what many called dirty, jokes about racist and offensive stereotypes.
One day I got in trouble at school for calling someone a faggot and my mom was livid.
"You cannot be making jokes about that type of stuff; people will find it offensive" she
yelled at me before grounding me for a month. It had made me think that maybe I should not
have said what I have said but I did not mean to hurt anyone. In fact, I never wanted to hurt or
hate anyone for what they were. I came back from that grounding changed.
One of the first things that I changed was the way I looked at others who were different
from me. They did not need to be put down anymore than they already were. One such person
was a gay transfer kid. James was his name and when I talked to him, despite me thinking he was
strange for being gay, I realized one thing and that was we had a lot in common growing up poor
in Florida. We both knew what it was like to suffer from weeks on end of the AC being broke, or
to suffer with the notoriously bad south Florida internet speed.
Many months passed and this friendship between us grew stronger and with it I was more
open to things that I previously thought were forbidden to even think about. Thoughts about
things that were always there but I tried to bury them because I did not want to be condemned to
hell. I was more open with me being attracted to men, feminine men, but still men at the end of
the day.
* * *
As my journey to being more accepting my mother was on separate journey. One night
over dinner she began a discussion.
"So, you are old enough now what do you think about those trans people."
"I don't know they don't seem all that bad, I mean I think it is a little weird but it's a free
country" I responded between bites of butter noodles.
"Well, I think they should not be allowed to do what they are doing. I mean they can't
force me to call them what they are not. Plus, they are trying to shove it down kid's throat."
"Yeah, I don't know mom, I think I would have to look into it more before coming to a conclusion."
"Well, you should just take it from me, they are not to be accepted. I can see being gay,
but someone can't just change their gender." I choose not to respond. That night I did some
research into what a transgender person was. The discovery of gender dysphoria shook me to my
very core. To think countless nights of whishing to be a woman was not normal, to think that not
thinking about a future where I grow up to be a man is not normal. Praying to God to give me
breasts. Then I thought of my mother who has sacrificed so much to give me a life that I enjoy.
What would she think about this discovery. She would not accept me that night's conversation
made that very clear. But also, if she can accept gay people then surely, she can learn to accept
trans people. Afterall, I thought, she was the one who made me more accepting of other people.
That night I cried because this was something I couldn't come back from. It was the
opening of my own personal Pandora's Box, and it couldn't be closed because all the evil has
been released. The next day at school I met up with my friend James on top of the stairwell
outside. The sun was not even up at this time so all we had was the yellow light above us making
the world seem softer than it really was. Before school we sat on the outside staircase, and I told
him about my discovery.
"So, James, what would you say if I discovered I was trans?" I asked him
"I would say congratulations it must be a weight off your shoulders" He responded.
"Yeah, well about that" I started before trailing off. "My mom she seems to not be the
most supportive of trans people"
"Hm, most people in this rotten state are not. The sun and conservative news have rotten their brains."
"Yeah, I feel stuck I do not know what to do."
After a long pause James finally spoke "Well what would you rather contend with the
demons inside or the demons outside. Either way girl you are fucked." He said before lightly
punching my arm. The way he immediately switched over to calling me a girl made me feel seen
for the first time in my life.
Me coming out to my mom became less and less of a reality as the months started to click
along. As she became more transphobic the people around me at school became more supportive.
I was scared to come out to my friend group expecting them to hate as they were all raised
catholic. But after much pushing from James, I finally 'woman'd up' and came out to resounding
support. They dissuaded my fears by letting me know that they would love me no matter what
and the bible taught them to love everyone regardless of who they are. This support was
something I was not used to ever having in my life. The idea that love, thought platonic, was
unconditional and no matter who I was they would still love me. This made me think of my mom
surely, she would be the same. I was her child would she really disown me for being myself. I
planned to come out to her that night.
* * *
That night full of courage, I went right up to my mom and came out to her.
"You cannot be one of those freaks" she said voice quivering with disgust and fear.
"But mom —"
"But mom nothing I have not raised you to be a girl. Years of breaking back work and
you do this. You are throwing away your future and for what so you can look bad in women's
clothing!"
"This is just who I am I cannot change it. Do you want me to live my life dissatisfied in
my own body." I returned but my will to fight this is fading.
"Nobody is satisfied with their lives or bodies. So be a man and stuck it up now go to
your room and go to bed. I do not want to hear anything about this ever again or you are out of
my house." Her voice at this point was dripping with venom and anger as if I did something to
destroy her life. It was something that I will never forget.
"Mom I —"
"Boy, you are just gonna have to carry this weight. End of discussion."
That night my room was cold and dark, I had not expected the night to go the way it did.
She didn't even hear me out, allow me to explain myself. I did think of my future that night how
much harder my life would be if I transitioned. Were my friends an exception, would everyone I
meet have that same disgust in their eyes as my mom? On the other side could I not stand being
myself, to constantly have this background feeling of wrongness? Could I live my life avoiding
my reflection and pictures of myself like they would wound me? Could I put my mom through
the pain of shattering her expectations of my future? Expectations that she worked tirelessly,
much to her own detriment to her own health, to ensure that I had a stable foundation to pursue. I
loved her deeply, but should that come in the way of what I wanted, no need to be? It was all too
much to handle so I cried into my pillow as to not alert my mom. However deep down there was
something burning within me. This something was like nothing I had ever experienced in my life
before. It was a newfound hope that made me feel like I had a future to look forward to. For the
first time I could see myself living one, five, ten, fifty years from then.