Last week saw the presentation by one of my amateur theatre groups of a stage show at the Spa Pavilion in Felixstowe. I've been playing for this group for two years now, and it was at their rehearsals last summer that I started experimenting with blouses and sarongs. My early efforts were rather clumsy in retrospect, but I was making a statement about who and what I was. The people in the group were wonderful - they all treated me like nothing was different, despite the fact that I must've looked rather bizarre at times! Now, of course, I have more experience and confidence as a guy in a skirt, and my wardrobe has become a bit more 'conventional': I have two black skirts - one smart, one casual - and two coloured sarong-style patterned skirts, one blue, the other red. All are ankle-length, and go well with a white tee-shirt and ordinary men's sandals.
When summer finally arrived this year, I decided to wear these skirts with a variety of sleeveless tee-shirts and blouses to as many of my social functions as I could get away with - so over the last eight weeks, I've worn trousers only once, and have worn shorts just for work. Again, none of my friends has commented on what I look like, and I've even been down the pub with my theatre groups after rehearsals. Naturally, there have been a number of minor incidents in the more public venues, and if I had a pound for every person who's gawped at me, I'd be very rich indeed! But I take the same precautions as when I'm fully dressed - never go anywhere alone, never go anywhere dark, and always know who's behind you.
So it was that the week of the show arrived. After we all thought that summer had come to a premature end, the weather turned very warm again, and produced the highest September temperatures for ninety years - consequently, the orchestra pit had been very stuffy during the dress rehearsals, but I'd been quite cool in a sleeveless tee-shirt and a sarong-skirt. But for the show itself, it was necessary to wear 'black and black' - the usual shorthand for a black shirt and black trousers - although black skirts or dresses are optional for the ladies, naturally! Now, playing a musical instrument is a strenuous activity, and, with no circulation of air, the pit was a very unpleasant place to be by the end of the show! It so happened that, on the next night, a couple of my tranny friends were in the audience, and I'd joked about the possibility of wearing a black blouse and skirt to keep them company! Well why not? So that's exactly what I did. I thought I looked very smart, and I was certainly a lot cooler than I'd been the previous evening in a sleeved shirt and trousers. Of course, there were the inevitable gawpers in the bar during the interval, but when they saw me chatting to the other members of the orchestra, and it became evident that I wasn't some nut going through a personal crisis, they returned to their own business.
But the priceless moment came on the night of the final performance. I'd parked my car as usual at the top of the cliff overlooking the theatre, but had to return to it just before the show started to get a libretto for collection. I made my way up the winding cliff path, near a half-dozen giggling girls and their boyfriends, then directly past a group of four boys in their early teens. I expected the giggling, of course, but a barely-audible disparaging remark from one the four boys annoyed me. I pretended I hadn't heard it, and continued on to my car to collect the book. On the way back down, the boys were still standing there, watching me and sniggering. Just as I got within earshot, I heard the shortest of the four say: "Here he comes - watch your backs!" He was obviously determined to impress his friends using homophobic rhetoric, and I was equally determined that he wasn't going to succeed. So as I went past him, I stopped, and spoke assertively to his back.
"You got a problem with me, son?"
This was the first time I'd challenged anyone in public before, and despite his age, I'm not sure who was the more terrified! He turned round quickly, evidently surprised that I would have the courage to challenge him in front of his mates.
"Um, no." He spoke softly, and without a hint of the bravado which had been so apparent a few seconds earlier.
"Good", I said, "because you know nothing about me at all." I was enjoying watching the little sod squirm. "And next time you want to impress your mates", I added, prodding his jacket as I spoke, "make sure you know what you're talking about!".
Having said my piece, I walked off, leaving them all in stunned silence. The other group of girls and boys had stopped giggling, and was watching intently from a distance.
Of course, it'll take a long time to educate the world about transgenderism. Where people are willing to take time out to learn, then the 'softly-softly' approach is undoubtedly best. But the only way to treat blatant transphobia is by direct confrontation - we must show the perpetrators that we're not prepared to endure their bigotry.
From personal notes.