I remember lining up in two lines in elementary school—one for girls, and one for boys. Even then, I wondered why we did that. It wasn’t fair that I never got to line up with my friends, who were invariably boys. I also was upset that I couldn’t join the Boy Scouts with my friends.
When my sisters and I would play house, I was always the dad. I assumed it was because I was the oldest and biggest, and most dads are bigger than most moms… or because my middle sister L was stubborn and always wanted to be the mom. Now I’m not so sure.
I’ve always loved to sing. Whenever we sang songs as children, I always sang the male part. Upon entering choir in college, I was told that I couldn’t sing with the men because, “There’s a big difference between male and female voices.” I attempted to sing with the women, and the director said, “There’s a man singing with the women, and he needs to stop.” I realized she was inadvertently talking about me, and I’ve been singing with the men ever since.
In third grade, I was cast as the titular character in the play, “The Half Boy of Borneo”. I was very pleased, and I didn’t find it odd at all to be cast as a boy.
The summer after seventh grade, I was cast as Max, the main character in a children’s play. We had already spent a week learning the songs, so although the director changed the name to Maxine and pronouns to feminine pronouns, many of the kids still used “he” in the songs. I liked it, but I didn’t know why.
The summer after eighth grade, I was told that I couldn’t audition for a male part in the play. I also couldn’t play a female lead, because I couldn’t hit the high notes. I ended up playing (one of) a male lead’s girlfriends and singing with him to help him hit the low notes. It felt strange wearing a skirt in a play.
In ninth grade, I was one of few freshmen allowed into the school play. When I asked to sing with the men, I was told I could no longer be a part of the production.
I have since been with more understanding directors—I have lost track of the number of male roles I’ve played, but I remember only the single time I’ve played a female. I wonder whether that’s part of why I enjoy theater so much.
I was alone in the men’s make-up room when a couple of guys walked in. “Oh good, you can teach us to put on make-up,” one said. I laughingly told him I’d learned from one of the more experienced actors only a few minutes ago, but I’d be happy to share what I knew.
I’ve always been proud of my lack of knowledge about make-up, jewelry, fancy hairstyles, and more. At first I assumed it was just that I was not “a girly girl”. Then I began to wonder if I wasn’t a girl at all. But I wasn’t a boy, so I assumed I had to be a girl. It’s not like there were other options, right?
I don’t remember exactly how my youngest sister S brought up the idea of being non-binary, but I remember it feeling right from the very beginning. I wonder if I’d have gotten there without her—probably, but it would have taken a lot more time. I feel fortunate to have her to talk to about these things, and it’s helped guide me into groups and spaces where I can meet others like me.
I’ve made a lot of changes—while I’m still read as female, I wear almost exclusively boys’ and men’s clothing, and I’m enjoying the few people who use “they/them” pronouns for me. It’s strange to get used to, but it beats the alternatives. I’m not sure where I’ll end up—will I eventually use exclusively “they/them” pronouns? Be more open about my gender than I already am? Right now, I’m taking my time and moving slowly, trying to figure out what’s right for me.