What's in a Name?

I was at the hair salon this afternoon; a little place in Mesa that I go to with a friend from work. Clara (not her real name), the owner, is a lot of fun, has a million great stories and does my color perfectly. What she doesn't do very well is remember my name.

When Clara addresses me, about half the time she calls me "Bill." She never knew Bill, never saw Bill; my first appointment was well after I went full-time. She knows I am transitioning; my thinning hair, bald spot and struggling girl voice made it inevitable that she would find out. Still, how she can look at me with my hair plastered down with yellow goo, wearing a black, bra-less, V-neck tunic, black capri's, pink lipstick and hoop earrings and call me "Bill" is a trifle puzzling.

Clara is not the only one who calls me "Bill." I have a close friend of over 20 years who has stood beside me from day one although he doesn't understand what I am doing. When we meet for lunch I sense he has one foot outside his comfort zone ready to run, but he doesn't. He told me he is not comfortable calling me "Billie." I admit that I secretly hope "Billie" will one day be comfortable for him. Until then however, I will answer to "Bill" from this dear friend.

My Mother's boyfriend calls me "Bill" all the time. I am not sure if it's due to old age or orneriness. My two brothers are pretty good, until we start drinking and then "Billie" pretty much goes out the window. When she was alive, my sister Kate never missed, but then she called me "Billy" most of our adult lives. My kids call me Dad, but I'm not sure that counts. Hell, even my mother slips up now and again and calls me "Bill." But in fairness, as kids she would often call for one of us by shouting, "BillySteveKateAndy, get in here NOW!" It was easier than remembering whom she actually wanted.

In contrast are those that never miss; the folks that knew me as "Bill" for three, four, twenty- five years and have been able to make the transition. There are also those who never knew Bill, but know my history and address me flawlessly from the outset. Maybe it's a skill they possess, maybe they're detail people, or maybe they understand the importance of getting someone's name right.

I am not good with names, but I am pretty sure I don't bounce back and forth between "Clara" and "Clarence" while my obviously female hairdresser blows out my cut. This is a phenomenon that seems unique to the Transgender Community and the non-trans folks we interact with. I want to be sensitive to those that are taking this journey with me, give them time to adjust and let it sink in that my name is different. I must admit however, the longer it takes my non-trans colleagues to get my name right, the more annoyed I get and the more I suspect there is more to it than a slow adjustment.

Don't get me wrong, I don't expect non-trans folks to understand the significance of the name change to us within the community. That wouldn't be fair. Most are simply unaware of the joy we feel, the sense of accomplishment it brings and how it helps us identify to the world who we have been all our lives. How sweet it is the first time you hear yourself called by "your" name!

So what is in a name? For us in the Trans community it represents a new life, a true life and life wholly our own. Maybe it's a little unreasonable to insist that our non-trans friends adapt quickly in this area, but it is important. This rose does not go by any other name; my name is Billie and I will be grateful if you will remember that.

Love always,
Billie