Originally posted by piiyb_i_will
was about 9 years old the first time someone pointed out that I didn't act like other boys. I was living in the small town of Happy Camp in Northern California, 70 miles from the border of Oregon. I was sitting in class, daydreaming, waiting for the recess bell to ring, when my fourth-grade teacher asked me to accompany her to the principal's office. In her hand were some of my drawings.
I was totally scamming my head to remember if she caught me doing something bad, or if I had done anything wrong without knowing it. She said my mom was at the office waiting for me to have a talk with the school counselor. Instantly, my stomach jumped. I was nervous, remembering movies and TV shows about what type of people see counselors, people like that creepy kid in my class. I wondered if I was another creepy kid in class without knowing it.
When we arrived at the office, I saw my mom. My teacher told to me to have a seat in front of the receptionist. Then the door shut, but I was able to hear what they where talking about. I heard my teacher saying how she noticed that I rarely ever played with other boys and she was worried about my ability to socialize with boys. I could hear my mother asking what that had to do with my scholastic achievements. The counselor said they were worried that I might be in the infancy of a gender identity disorder, and that they feared I could be mistaking myself as a girl!
I remember feeling really weird in my chest, and this tingling feeling moving up to my throat. I remember wondering why they thought I was thinking I was girl. I never wore any dresses to school. I was totally tripping out on myself. When I heard my teacher's voice telling me to come into the office, I remember telling myself to act more like a boy, since they said I forgot how to or something. I was totally prepping myself up, wondering if my acting was good enough to fool them.
I walked into the office. The counselor put her hand out to shake mine. Then I saw my drawings from class. On the paper was a picture of a smiling princess in a blue dress holding a heart scepter. Behind her were some rolling hills with a castle. A couple of clouds and birds. All the objects on the page had happy faces. Seeing the picture on the desk made me feel really weird. I was so bothered inside, knowing that these adults were looking at my happy creation with concern. I almost started to cry, and my mother could sense that I wasn't OK with the meeting. She asked to talk with me at home. The counselor said if she needed help dealing with this "issue," she could call her.
'Only girls play with dolls'
My mother went home and I went off to recess, thinking of ways I could act more like a boy. That's when I realized that most of my best friends were girls. I remember going out on the tetherball court and changing my mind instantly when I saw the line was filled with girls. I thought I would do a natural thing and play by myself. I built houses with the sawdust beneath the swings. The bell rang and I was off to class. As soon as I sat in my chair, I was thinking about what I overheard in the office. I started to wonder when I was going to start wearing dresses, playing with dolls, and curling my hair; or was I going to leave it straight like my sister's hair? I was so upset, I didn't want to be a girl, but if that's what was going to happen, then I might as well like being a girl. The idea felt serious to me because I was hearing it from an authority figure — the person who dealt with the crazy kids.
All I could remember was an incident when my father caught my sister and me playing with dolls. He took the doll and laughed at me, saying, "What are you doing with doll? You're not a girl; only girls play with dolls." He made me feel so ashamed of myself. The whole time I was in class, remembering that memory, all I could feel was shame and guilt. Guilt because I would play with Barbies secretly. The bell rang, and I skipped out of class, trying not to seem sad in front of my peers. Then I caught myself again, I was acting like a girl. I stopped and tried to walk down the hall like a boy. At the end of the hallway was my mother. I was surprised to see her since I usually took the bus home.
In our van on the way home, I could see a baseball field filled with girls playing softball. My mom asked me what types of games I played at school. I tried to lie to her by telling her I played football. She knew I was lying and asked me if I would feel more comfortable playing softball. I lied to her again, saying that I wanted to play baseball instead. As soon as we stepped in the house, my mother gave me a big hug. I started to cry. I asked her if she thought I was acting like a girl. She gave me a sincere, "no," and hugged me again. While we were embracing each other, she told me in my ear that I was just fine and that I didn't need to see the counselor. That I just needed to do my homework and forget about the whole thing. That's all I needed to hear. I mean, I was pretty close to accepting that I had a gender identity disorder.
Realization and rejection
Years later, into the present, I still hold that memory with some pain. I feel fortunate that at such a young age, I was able to think about the femininity and masculinity within myself and how those differences played major roles in my development. As I got older, around age 12, I came to the conclusion that the cause of my feelings of difference was because I was gay. But everyone always knew I was gay, so that was never the real problem. It was more that I was treated differently because of my feminine mannerisms, my high-pitched voice, the way I walked and how I talked with my hands a lot.
Around that time, I tried to embrace my Native American culture by learning of the Kuruk traditions and growing my hair long. I attended some of the sacred dances of the tribe and ate up as much information about the dances, the regalia and the philosophy as I could. At age 13, I attended the "jump dance," which is a very powerful dance that Kuruks and the Yuroks practice. I remember between each dance, the male dancers had their own area to rest. I would bring them food and drinks with a big smile because I had so much respect for what they were doing and I couldn't wait to enter manhood and dance beside them. While I was serving drinks, I would listen to some of the conversations the dancers had. One time in particular, I overheard a dancer talking about one of his "fag" cousins and how he wanted to dance but they wouldn't let him.
I remember feeling my face going numb and that familiar tingling moving from the middle of my chest to my throat. At that moment, I made a broad generalization on Native American men and their sexist ways, dismissing them all as uneducated, worthless, coward men, cry-baby boys who couldn't work in the real world because the "white man took it all away from them." Looking back, I am upset with myself because I made a terrible mistake in making such assumptions. But back then, I felt no one would understand what I was going through. This thought was so deeply embedded within me that my belief system became really screwed.
Around age 19, I rejected most everything about my culture. I felt I had no men in my life to help me deal with my rejection of my cultural identity and religion. It was a cultural loss due partly to myself, but mostly, I feel, my many experiences with sexism in the Native community. Of course, not all Native people discriminate, it's just that I didn't give the better half of people a chance because of a few sexist men.
Gaining clarity
I didn't really feel the pain of my rejection of culture until this summer. I went back to Northern California to visit with my younger siblings and my grandmother, who is one of the last fluent speakers of the Kuruk language. Conversations with my grandmother helped me a lot. Then one day, I heard her speaking Kuruk, and that's when it hit me: I didn't know what she was saying in my own native tongue. I looked at pictures on the walls of Native art that my uncle had made. I thought how beautiful his drawings are and how I wish I could express the beauty of my culture. But I knew nothing of it. Or I had forgotten all about it.
Since that point, I have been determined to find out more about my people and traditional ways. I am talking to Native people who practice ceremony and seeking out other Natives. It's so weird how the sexism really messed me up mentally, emotionally and spiritually. It's still so weird to me today. But I know now that by learning about my culture and the philosophy of my people, I will be able to gain some clarity.
Solid 45-pound iron plates were submerged in gallons of -320?F liquid nitrogen, freezing them to impossibly low, subzero temperatures.
When the iron emerged, water in the atmosphere immediately frosted over the plates and left a vapor trail as they dropped through the air.
As the thermomechanically altered metal hit the ground, the normally resilient plates shattered due to destabilized crystal lattice integrity previously not present in the alloy.
was about 9 years old the first time someone pointed out that I didn't act like other boys. I was living in the small town of Happy Camp in Northern California, 70 miles from the border of Oregon. I was sitting in class, daydreaming, waiting for the recess bell to ring, when my fourth-grade teacher asked me to accompany her to the principal's office. In her hand were some of my drawings.
I was totally scamming my head to remember if she caught me doing something bad, or if I had done anything wrong without knowing it. She said my mom was at the office waiting for me to have a talk with the school counselor. Instantly, my stomach jumped. I was nervous, remembering movies and TV shows about what type of people see counselors, people like that creepy kid in my class. I wondered if I was another creepy kid in class without knowing it.
When we arrived at the office, I saw my mom. My teacher told to me to have a seat in front of the receptionist. Then the door shut, but I was able to hear what they where talking about. I heard my teacher saying how she noticed that I rarely ever played with other boys and she was worried about my ability to socialize with boys. I could hear my mother asking what that had to do with my scholastic achievements. The counselor said they were worried that I might be in the infancy of a gender identity disorder, and that they feared I could be mistaking myself as a girl!
I remember feeling really weird in my chest, and this tingling feeling moving up to my throat. I remember wondering why they thought I was thinking I was girl. I never wore any dresses to school. I was totally tripping out on myself. When I heard my teacher's voice telling me to come into the office, I remember telling myself to act more like a boy, since they said I forgot how to or something. I was totally prepping myself up, wondering if my acting was good enough to fool them.
I walked into the office. The counselor put her hand out to shake mine. Then I saw my drawings from class. On the paper was a picture of a smiling princess in a blue dress holding a heart scepter. Behind her were some rolling hills with a castle. A couple of clouds and birds. All the objects on the page had happy faces. Seeing the picture on the desk made me feel really weird. I was so bothered inside, knowing that these adults were looking at my happy creation with concern. I almost started to cry, and my mother could sense that I wasn't OK with the meeting. She asked to talk with me at home. The counselor said if she needed help dealing with this "issue," she could call her.
'Only girls play with dolls'
My mother went home and I went off to recess, thinking of ways I could act more like a boy. That's when I realized that most of my best friends were girls. I remember going out on the tetherball court and changing my mind instantly when I saw the line was filled with girls. I thought I would do a natural thing and play by myself. I built houses with the sawdust beneath the swings. The bell rang and I was off to class. As soon as I sat in my chair, I was thinking about what I overheard in the office. I started to wonder when I was going to start wearing dresses, playing with dolls, and curling my hair; or was I going to leave it straight like my sister's hair? I was so upset, I didn't want to be a girl, but if that's what was going to happen, then I might as well like being a girl. The idea felt serious to me because I was hearing it from an authority figure — the person who dealt with the crazy kids.
All I could remember was an incident when my father caught my sister and me playing with dolls. He took the doll and laughed at me, saying, "What are you doing with doll? You're not a girl; only girls play with dolls." He made me feel so ashamed of myself. The whole time I was in class, remembering that memory, all I could feel was shame and guilt. Guilt because I would play with Barbies secretly. The bell rang, and I skipped out of class, trying not to seem sad in front of my peers. Then I caught myself again, I was acting like a girl. I stopped and tried to walk down the hall like a boy. At the end of the hallway was my mother. I was surprised to see her since I usually took the bus home.
In our van on the way home, I could see a baseball field filled with girls playing softball. My mom asked me what types of games I played at school. I tried to lie to her by telling her I played football. She knew I was lying and asked me if I would feel more comfortable playing softball. I lied to her again, saying that I wanted to play baseball instead. As soon as we stepped in the house, my mother gave me a big hug. I started to cry. I asked her if she thought I was acting like a girl. She gave me a sincere, "no," and hugged me again. While we were embracing each other, she told me in my ear that I was just fine and that I didn't need to see the counselor. That I just needed to do my homework and forget about the whole thing. That's all I needed to hear. I mean, I was pretty close to accepting that I had a gender identity disorder.
Realization and rejection
Years later, into the present, I still hold that memory with some pain. I feel fortunate that at such a young age, I was able to think about the femininity and masculinity within myself and how those differences played major roles in my development. As I got older, around age 12, I came to the conclusion that the cause of my feelings of difference was because I was gay. But everyone always knew I was gay, so that was never the real problem. It was more that I was treated differently because of my feminine mannerisms, my high-pitched voice, the way I walked and how I talked with my hands a lot.
Around that time, I tried to embrace my Native American culture by learning of the Kuruk traditions and growing my hair long. I attended some of the sacred dances of the tribe and ate up as much information about the dances, the regalia and the philosophy as I could. At age 13, I attended the "jump dance," which is a very powerful dance that Kuruks and the Yuroks practice. I remember between each dance, the male dancers had their own area to rest. I would bring them food and drinks with a big smile because I had so much respect for what they were doing and I couldn't wait to enter manhood and dance beside them. While I was serving drinks, I would listen to some of the conversations the dancers had. One time in particular, I overheard a dancer talking about one of his "fag" cousins and how he wanted to dance but they wouldn't let him.
I remember feeling my face going numb and that familiar tingling moving from the middle of my chest to my throat. At that moment, I made a broad generalization on Native American men and their sexist ways, dismissing them all as uneducated, worthless, coward men, cry-baby boys who couldn't work in the real world because the "white man took it all away from them." Looking back, I am upset with myself because I made a terrible mistake in making such assumptions. But back then, I felt no one would understand what I was going through. This thought was so deeply embedded within me that my belief system became really screwed.
Around age 19, I rejected most everything about my culture. I felt I had no men in my life to help me deal with my rejection of my cultural identity and religion. It was a cultural loss due partly to myself, but mostly, I feel, my many experiences with sexism in the Native community. Of course, not all Native people discriminate, it's just that I didn't give the better half of people a chance because of a few sexist men.
Gaining clarity
I didn't really feel the pain of my rejection of culture until this summer. I went back to Northern California to visit with my younger siblings and my grandmother, who is one of the last fluent speakers of the Kuruk language. Conversations with my grandmother helped me a lot. Then one day, I heard her speaking Kuruk, and that's when it hit me: I didn't know what she was saying in my own native tongue. I looked at pictures on the walls of Native art that my uncle had made. I thought how beautiful his drawings are and how I wish I could express the beauty of my culture. But I knew nothing of it. Or I had forgotten all about it.
Since that point, I have been determined to find out more about my people and traditional ways. I am talking to Native people who practice ceremony and seeking out other Natives. It's so weird how the sexism really messed me up mentally, emotionally and spiritually. It's still so weird to me today. But I know now that by learning about my culture and the philosophy of my people, I will be able to gain some clarity.
Solid 45-pound iron plates were submerged in gallons of -320?F liquid nitrogen, freezing them to impossibly low, subzero temperatures.
When the iron emerged, water in the atmosphere immediately frosted over the plates and left a vapor trail as they dropped through the air.
As the thermomechanically altered metal hit the ground, the normally resilient plates shattered due to destabilized crystal lattice integrity previously not present in the alloy.
