This Thing Called Me

by Sheila Bragg-Hopkins

           “You have a healthy baby! A beautiful healthy baby, with a head full of dark hair and the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen,” said the doctor who delivered me. Did you see what he left out? Mom did. Not dad, because when I was born, dads didn’t always go into the delivery rooms when their baby was born. This was in June of 1967. That’s a long time ago. More than half a century you know. Figure out what the doctor didn’t tell them yet? Okay, okay, I won’t keep you in suspense anymore. He didn’t tell them what gender I was. Because I wasn’t one gender, I was two. Yeah, that can happen, and it happened to me. We call it intersex now. But back then, well, there were a lot of names for it, most of which are no longer used, but the most common one was freak. Or queer.

            My name is Casey. Yeah, mom and dad decided to give me a unisex name, and this was before they knew about my two sexes. After they knew, I guess they didn’t see a reason to change their minds. They said my face was more feminine, so they told everyone we knew I was a girl. The problem was, as I got older, I didn’t feel like a girl. But then again, I didn’t always feel like a boy either. But as time went on, I did feel like a freak. Do you have any idea how hard it is to maintain such a façade, especially when you live in a small town? Sedalia, Ohio. That is where I grew up.

In our total school population from kindergarten to twelfth grade, there were just over four hundred students. Think about that. Think about growing up as two sexes in a town so small, most people have known each other their whole life. And mine too. And people in small towns have very long memories and lots of cliches. None of which a freak fits into. But my mom and dad were determined I would be normal. The only problem with them wanting me to be normal is neither of them could agree with what normal I would be. Mom wanted another daughter. Dad insisted I was all boy. No one asked me what I thought. They didn’t do that back then. Children were rarely seen and never heard. Especially if you were a kid with something to hide. And I had a big secret, didn’t I?

            My parents didn’t mean to make my life more difficult, they just didn’t know what to do with someone like me. And they couldn’t agree once they each felt they had an idea on what to do. Mom insisted since my hair lightened to a pale blonde and my face was cherubic (her words I swear), that I needed to be more girly. So, I learned baton, tap dancing and gymnastics. My tap dance instructor said I was a natural at dancing. I lead most of the shows we put on. Mom declared this proved I was meant to be a girl. Dad on the other hand, felt I was an all-American boy. He gave me my first motorbike at five years old. It was an Indian and I loved it! He taught me how to fish, I learned all about camping, and when he gave me my first gun, a 4-10, shotgun, I learned to hunt. I was better than both my older brothers. Which cemented in his mind I was supposed to be a boy.

It was only when puberty hit that, things went south for all of us, especially me. I still presented as a girl, but now I was considered a tomboy. And my curves were coming in. So were my likes and dislikes. Wouldn’t you know it, I liked girls. Now as a boy, that would have been heartily accepted, but I presented as a girl all these years, so a girl liking a girl in a small conservative town, well, that riled up a hornet’s nest. Because by the time the curves came, people started noticing how much I would watch girls. And those curves, yeah, didn’t do me any favors with the boys, because I unfortunately was curvier than most of my fellow classmates. Now if I was interested in boys that might have been fine, but I liked girls. You can see how this would make trouble for me right?

My middle school and high school years were fraught with lots of lonely times. Everyone knew I preferred girls, so they would call me queer. A few times, we would get a substitute teacher for gym class, and they would insist I shower afterwards like all the other kids, but I wasn’t like all the other kids, was I? Anyway, when I refused, some of my less than kind classmates started whispering maybe I was a freak. You know, one of those he-she’s. I was better at some sports than most guys, and I definitely was better at hunting and fishing and could ride any motorcycle. Of course, I was good at tap dancing, baton, and gymnastics, but my parents pulled me out when I was pretty young didn’t they? Why would they do that? Did I have something to hide? Most girls wouldn’t be good at all those boy things, and most boys wouldn’t be good at all those girls’ things, but if you were both—you get the idea. Suffice to say, I wasn’t exactly invited to slumber parties.

But then something happened. I graduated. And life, well, sometimes it is as kind to you as it is cruel. I left that small town, I went to college, traveled the world, met a few other people like me. And you know what I did? I made that choice to decide once and for all, who I will be. Now years ago, no one asked me who I wanted to be. How could they? I was a newborn baby. It’s not like I could jump up off my mother’s belly and exclaim, “I want to be—a he or she?” now, could I? Of course not. But having grown up as a bit of both, I had come to understand exactly who I was, and you know what I decided?

            I decided to be me.

So, if anyone ever tries to tell you that you can’t be something or someone, remember, I am and always was, this thing called me, and you can be whoever or whatever you want to call yourself too.