HOW MANY GENDERS?

HOW MANY GENDERS?

Fifty-nine years ago, I met Ricky.  I was 26 years old and preparing to begin my day at a suburban elementary school in Caddo Parish, Louisiana, when a Social Worker from Child Welfare stuck her head into my little room.  “I have a sixth grader that I really need you to see this morning,” she informed me in an urgent voice, accompanied by a deeply distressed affect. 

“I can make a slot at 9:30, if that works for you?” I replied, and was rewarded by her look of relief.  

There was no opportunity for any briefing, or preliminary information, but at exactly 9:30 she knocked on my door, pulled a reluctant preteen into the room, and said, “This is Ricky,”  She then quickly ducked out and pulled the door shut behind her.

Ricky and I chatted for about 20 minutes.  The child was shy, but polite and demonstrated good manners.  Ricky had lived in the same small-group foster home for almost a year, and I knew one of the foster siblings.  

A recent case of acne was a major concern, and we talked about it.  I noted that Ricky’s voice was changing, but, I was most struck by the fact that Ricky was growing both facial hair -- and breasts.  

After my initial meeting with Ricky, I pieced together a history from the social worker, foster parents, and Ricky’s current physician.  Ricky’s parents had abandoned their new-born in the hospital, refusing to have anything to do with the “freak.”  The name “Ricky” was given by a pediatric nurse, and one could only wonder if the ambiguity was an expression of sympathy or ironic humor.   

The state found the new-born a foster home, but the foster parents, who nurtured him/her through the first months, refused to continue as caregivers as the child grew older.  No one seemed prepared to love or meet the needs of a baby who was neither male nor female, but a bit of both.

Ricky was what was then called an “Hermorphodite,” and is now referred to as “Intersex.”  I had heard “urban legends” about Hermorphodites,  but had never (to my knowledge) encountered one.  I say “to my knowledge” because in subsequent years, I have learned that the condition is not that rare (indeed somewhere about 1%) but that protecting the “child” from public knowledge of their condition is a prime objective of “loving” parents and the medical community.

Most group foster homes at the time were gender segregated, and little Ricky, as a toddler and pre-schooler was placed in a home with boys.  There the little “boy” was sexually abused, and just plain abused by his “foster brothers,” who like the birth parents considered him a “freak.”

In the belief that Ricky would be safer as a “girl,” she was reclassified, and placed in a home with “foster sisters."  Thus the 12 year old, pubescent 6th grader I met in 1966 was wearing a dress, and had been a girl for almost 8 years.  However, secondary sexual characteristics are less easily hidden by bathroom “modesty” and Ricky’s life was about to change big-time.

I was only able to do two things for Ricky.  I listened to him/her talk about his/her problems, and wept inwardly because there seemed to be no solutions.  I did locate a physician in New Orleans with some special interest (but limited experience), and helped the social worker justify the expense of a special referral.  This led to a referral to an local endocrinologist, but I never knew if Ricky benefited, or whether his/her future was as a male or a female.

I confess I was relieved when Ricky moved to a Jr. High where I did not work.  The pain this child suffered, and that I was powerless to relieve, was more than I wanted to bear.  Ricky had never known consistent love from any human being.  In one foster home, he/she had loved a dog, named Bernie, but when he/she was moved to another home, Bernie was left behind.  Ricky wanted love as much as any child, but he/she was resigned to never experiencing real love.  At 12, he/she had accepted the idea that he/she did not deserve love; that love was reserved to those who are not “freaks.”  A lifetime later I think of Ricky and tears form and I still weep.  

Ricky had more of an impact on my life than I had on his/her’s.  I believed then as I believe now that “God does not make mistakes.”  God made Ricky, ergo, Ricky was not a mistake.  Ricky (and all of those who do not fit into our narrow gender dichotomy) was here to teach a lesson, to reveal God’s truth  —  “OUR HUMANITY IS NOT BASED IN GENDER.”  God loves us without reference to Gender; and we should love one another as God loves us.

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POSTSCRIPT

        In the years since I met Ricky my life has been enriched by many people, each of whom has broadened my perspective.  In the 1970's, I was studying in New York, and because of my interest in voice, I was  invited to participate in studies associated with early transgender surgeries.  There were concerns as to the voice and speech aspects of gender reassignment, and we were asked to consult on the need for and content of therapies to enhance this aspect of gender identity.   In the course of this work, I became friends with a number of men (almost all of these early surgery patients were men in the process of becoming women) who perceived themselves as women trapped in men's bodies.   The pain that they had endured was great.

        In the 1980's and 1990's, I was involved in brain imaging research.  One of my colleagues was researching differences between male and female brains.  Brain development in the womb is strongly influenced by hormonal levels, especially the levels of testosterone.  While differences between male and female brains are not a clear dichotomy, it is possible to create categories based on specific characteristics.  My colleague was particularly interested in individuals whose "brain gender" did not match the gender assigned on the basis of their genital anatomy.  That is, she was interested in men with female brains and women with male brains (in very simplistic terms).   I met some of the subjects of this research.  

        Throughout my life some of those I have respected most; some of those I have loved the most, have been gay or lesbian.  In my youth, they were all "in the closet," and in my later years, they have been "out."  I celebrate the differences that cultural changes have permitted in their lives.  

        My last employment was in an academic setting as a member of a team seeking to increase the diversity of our University.  I was specifically assigned to faculty diversity.  I was privileged to work with a number of LGBT organizations, and to see first hand the difficulties and misunderstandings characteristic of societal transitions.  We are changing; we are changing for the better, but the transition is difficult.   

        I have seen my church, The United Methodist Church, split by factions for and against this societal change.  I cannot understand those who quote a few verses, and ignore the clear and incontrovertible teachings of Christ, who said, above all, to love one another, and to know that "God is Love."

        When I was a little child, I was told that if I kissed my elbow I would change from a girl to a boy.  I tried so very hard, that my arms often ached with the pain of my efforts.  As I grew older, I realized that I did not so much want to be a boy as I wanted to have the privileges and recognition granted to boys.  As a young adult, I was greatly complimented when I was told that, "I thought like a man."   I was in my 30's before I realized that this was an insult to all women, myself included.

        The totality of my experiences has reinforced my absolute belief that gender is a complicated (not simplistic), poorly understood concept; and that in the eyes of God, our differences matter not.  We are all human; we all deserve love.  God loves us all; and we should love each other as God loves us.