When People Don’t Fit Into the Mold, Throw Away the Mold

The most politically conservative friend I know was incensed when he heard rumors that his employer might mandate “sensitivity training.”

“That’s an insult to my mother,” he fumed. “She raised me better than that.”

How true.

While the LGBTQ community has been celebrating the Supreme Court’s recent ruling allowing same-sex marriage, and their detractors continue to huff, puff and spew invective to vent their disapproval, I have been thinking about the first time I met a transvestite.

Right out of college, I very briefly worked as the receptionist for a small, rinky-dink modeling agency in Hollywood. This agency represented a small handful of pretty girls who would do shows at local venues, which meant dressing up in stylish, weird clothes and walking across a dramatically lit stage to the beat of even weirder music. When I was hired, everyone was preparing for an upcoming show at a local nightclub.

On the day of the show, I met Jasmine, who was somebody’s friend, and she had offered to do makeup for all of us non-models who were going to be working at the show. I don’t know if she was a professional makeup artist or not, but she was pretty, friendly, enthusiastic and her own makeup was exquisite. I was excited. Being a lifetime dork to the nth degree, I barely knew what to do with makeup and I thought it would be so much fun to have it done by a real or pseudo professional.

There were several of us girls who met at the studio before the show and we had a fabulous time with Jasmine, who had a colorful, vivacious personality. Her quick wit kept all of us laughing and it was truly one of the most fun “girl times” I remember having.

At the nightclub that evening, I watched as the models strutted across the dance floor. After the show, the audience packed the floor and danced to the beat of whatever the popular electronic dance music was at the time. Jasmine, in her funny, flamboyant way, rushed to the floor and began to dance, twirling to the music with abandon. Her Marilyn Monroe-esque skirt flared in a wide circle as she spun around, and that’s when I saw it. I wasn’t sure at first, but no matter how sheltered and innocent my upbringing, there was no denying it.

Jasmine had an honest-to-goodness man package.

I felt shocked. Growing up in a strict, conservative, evangelical Christian home, I was so naïve, it was the last thing I expected. But in that quick, fleeting moment, when I realized that people did not necessarily fit into the mold I thought they did, this is how much my opinion of Jasmine changed:

NOT AT ALL.

I just accepted it. It was that simple. It didn’t bother me and it didn’t alter how much I liked Jasmine because she was fun and funny and I truly enjoyed her company.

My deeply conservative parents might not realize it, but they, too, raised me right.

* * *

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/9361468@N05/15870049980″>rainbow-flag</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>(license)</a>