Inspired by Sugarbutch and Belle and the comments on their posts…
An ex girlfriend told me a few months ago that I should feel guilty that I pass as straight, that I can sit out on the front porch without hearing the words “fucking dyke” screamed from a passing truck. It’s true…unless I make a specific point of coming out to someone, I am simply another single mom at girl scouts or the mall, just a girl with a laptop in the coffee shop or at the bookstore. There’s not even a rainbow on my car, although that is more the result of laziness than intent.
Passing is lovely, really, some of the time. I know, without a doubt, that it makes all those light social conversations with the children’s friends mothers easier. Even the ones who know, who ask about girlfriends and will talk about gender and sexuality or at least try, are more at ease because of my lip gloss and skirts. They can ignore what they’d rather not deal with and simply discuss knitting. I am able to choose who matters enough to tell, and who simply doesn’t.
I can walk down the street, but instead of hearing fucking dyke, I get propositioned. Casual acquaintances introduce me to men they know, in situations so awkward that they could be a comedy skit. I hear the parents of my children’s friends open their mouths and spew hatred, or at least ignorance, in front of me.
I find myself constantly faced with the question of who to come out to and when, and why I am choosing to tell this person and not that one. How much do I protect my children from and how much do I let them face and know? I know that the day will come when those random casual social acquaintances will know, whether I tell them or one of my children does. Some days, I would love visibility over the privileges of passing.
Passing in an utterly different sense has been a subject of much discussion in my daily life of late, as I sit on the cusp of renewing a relationship with an ex who is now transitioning, albeit without hormones. If we are together, the question, sometimes asked (by him) and sometimes silent always looms…do I pass today? did they read us as straight or gay? Amidst this, there are endless discussions on masculinity and society and queer culture and even life in what is really small town America.
After spending my adult life having claimed heterosexual privilege thanks to a (queer but biologically male) husband and then kids, now that I’m single I find myself both desperately wishing for visibility (if only so perhaps occasionally I’d actually get read as queer and find myself with a date) and grateful that I retain some semblance of privacy when I choose to claim it.
