MY four-year-old niece Kaanyag almost aced a quiz in school the other day. She was one question shy of a perfect score in a seemingly innocent gender-identity test, and I was to blame. Her father, my brother Chad, posted this on his Facebook account, tagged me, and immediately made my day: This was her only mistake on yesterday’s quiz but Uncle Jude Bacalso is the only person she calls “Uncle.” does this mean she was still perfect on this quiz?
The likes soared within a few minutes of his posting, and so did the interesting analysis of the situation.
You could tell, upon closer inspection, that Anya’s socio-cultural pre-programming had her write by default “he” in reference to Uncle. I can only imagine her hesitate mid-stride, thoughts drifting to me, the only one she calls “uncle” (by tradition, we all call our father’s eldest brother the same), taking in my tight blonde ponytail, perfectly-drawn eyebrows, hint of blush, and fairly recently, a bra strap sneakily visible under transparency. Anya must’ve reached for her pencil, and in a moment of clarity, drawn the “s” that defines who I am in my heart. I couldn’t help but cry.
When you are old enough to read this and understand it on your own, my darling Kaanyag, let your uncle tell you what you absolutely did right. Despite the glaring “x” that the world marks a mistake with. “She changed her answer for your benefit,” Chad sums it up. You did right by me, and the constant battle I face to change people’s perceptions of gay men and women, one person at a time and within my sphere of influence. I do not dress and act the way I do to spite anyone.
I do it because I, and those before me, only want to see in the mirror who we are in our mind’s eye. The inexplicable joy of congruence, the state of coming together…a blessed agreement of what you see, and who you are inside, is worth the taunts that have been hurled at us through the years.
Anya, there will be many who will point out how silly your uncle looks, bundling size 12 feet into tight heels and with my signature bouffants, as you hurled at us through the years. But know this: my soul is finally at peace from a lifetime of denial. And when you are older, I’ll tell you about this other journey, the one where I will someday curb my first instinct when I fall for someone… apologize. Like I was a mistake that needed righting. Because, my darling, God did not make mistakes.
