"I am a gay man, not a straight woman, no matter what parts my body has, no matter how hard it is for my family to understand. I'm luckier than many in my position. My family may not understand, but they are only confused, not hateful.
And I have Zach, who knows who and what I am, who sees the real me.
Note: This story is included in the author’s anthology, Whetting the Appetite."
Zach’s Man By Elizabeth L. Brooks They didn’t understand, back home, when I told them what I was. They’re not dumb, mind you. They know what the word “transgender” means. Neither are they inherently cruel; they wanted to understand. They tried. They read the literature, they went to the support groups, they asked the questions. They tried. I have to give them that. They tried. But they never could quite apply it to me. They didn’t understand how I could stand before them, round breasts making a curve even under the baggy sweatshirt, other parts hidden but there, without question; I’d been an infant in their arms and they knew how my body was made—and tell them that I was really a man. They never could understand how it was that I loved men, had spent my unexceptional and tumultuous ado
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