When I was about five or six years old, I went to Ohio with my family for an extended family get together. It could’ve been for Thanksgiving since we gathered at my grandma’s house.
Before we left for the trip, my parents had a talk with me. They told me I was going to meet a relative for the first time. I was going to meet my Aunt Suzy. (I changed her first name for this piece.)
My parents told me not to ask my aunt any personal questions. I was a questioning child.
I was told she was born a man but now she is a woman.
Aunt Suzy was kind and she gave great hugs. My Aunt Suzy was the first trans person I met.
When I came out as a gay man nearly two decades later, I remembered Aunt Suzy. But my parents acted as if I was the first LGBTQIA+ person in the family.
As a gay man, I’ve participated in marches, petitions, ceremonies, and committees in support of LGBTQIA+ causes and rights.
All of that, and I still didn’t know how to say or write the word transgender. Somehow, I had developed a bad habit of writing and saying transgender with an added ed.
I didn’t know how ignorant I was until just a year ago — in 2016! I was writing an article about Pride when I second-guessed how I spelled transgender.
I didn’t feel comfortable asking my aunt, so I went online. It was confirmed.
I had been spelling transgender incorrectly.
I had even sold paperback and eBook copies of a book with the word transgender misspelled.
To paraphrase GLAAD’s media reference guide — transgender is an adjective. The guide says how only verbs change to an -ed ending. So, to write transgender with an -ed is grammatically incorrect.
This means the word transgender with an -ed is all the way wrong, all day, every day.
Microsoft Word gave me no red lines for my grammatical error. And, neither did Grammarly, a grammar editing service. There was no warning to say — hey, this term is offensive and ignorant. I don’t blame the software.
The software doesn’t get it because people don’t.
I feel guilty even calling it a typo because you can make a typo and know better. But that’s not what happened in my case.
When I realized I was wrong, I was humbled.
I felt like I had been writing and saying a slur. I realize all trans people may not feel like my error was a big deal.
But to me, it was as if I was saying negro, color-ed, the r-word, or any other dated term that would piss me off.
I wondered how many times in the past I had said transgender incorrectly? How many times had people cringed in my presence and I didn’t know?
I should’ve known better, but this is what I learned from my typo:
Knowing Someone Does Not Make Anyone an Authority
People we know in passing aren’t a pass. Having a family member or a friend who is a part of a community isn’t enough. Especially if there’s no sustained relationship with the person who’s a part of the community.
My having a trans aunt didn’t teach me how to say and spell transgender.
Being an Ally Doesn’t Mean You Don’t Make Mistakes
My mistake as an ally was like friendly fire. And it’s hard to accept that you f-ed your own community. Especially when that community is already being f-ed every day.
Now that I know how to write and say transgender my ears go up when I hear the word.
There’s nothing like learning by failure.
I’ve noticed even people who oppose rights for transgender people, may know how to say and write transgender correctly.
Enemies can get things right that allies mess up.
I suppose if you go to enough rallies, eventually you get the basics. But for a person who is an ally — every now and then, mistakes will be made.
And we should expect to make mistakes and to learn from them.
Membership Is Not Enough
The LGBTQIA+ letters are all lumped together to say — solidarity. But all too often some letters get silenced.
I had trained myself to write and say all the letters when I spoke about the community. I never wanted to just say gay if I also meant lesbian too.
And, I had noticed how the order and the number of letters changed over time.
While I tried to include all the people the letters represent, I didn’t know people for every letter.
I represent the letter G in LGBTQIA+. But that doesn’t mean I understand the lives, the terminology, and the language of all the letters.
Our membership alone can trick us into thinking we know more than we do.
Our membership alone can keep us ignorant.
I proved to myself that you can be a member of a community and still be ignorant.
Question What You Think You Know
I am not an expert on anyone else. People and movements change. Words expire, and new ones are born. We should expect what we know today to change tomorrow.
So, I should always ask myself and others — did I say it right? Or, what’s the best way to say this?
And we all know there’s unlimited information online in the form of blogs, articles, studies, videos — you name it, it’s there.
The hurdle isn’t about the availability of information, it’s about interest and curiosity.
We can offend fewer people, and learn faster, if we slow down, be curious, and question what we think we know.
Family Takes Work
The LGBTQIA+ community is like a family. And, just like family, it’s possible to be related and not be close.
For some of us, it takes effort, consistency, and time to really know our extended family members.
And like a family, we have to be patient with each other.
And we must also be patient with ourselves.
I feel like a child who doesn’t know how to say or spell their last name. It’s frustrating. It’s embarrassing. And, I should’ve already learned how to do it by now.
But I’m going to keep practicing and trying. And then, once I get it, I’m going to say it, and spell it, for everyone.
That is until it changes again.
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