Gender

On a cruise from Singapore to Hong Kong, I became aware of some people’s obsession with gender roles. Among the Americans I met on the ship, I quickly made friends with a pair of travelers from Nevada: a young woman, Jo Ann, and her mother, Anni, a Buddhist nun. They were quiet, yet amiable, and we soon struck up a friendship. 

After living in Hawaii for thirty years and studying Buddhism there, I felt familiar and comfortable with Buddhist nuns. Anni wore dark robes, had a shaved head and a sweet smile. The Asian crew members showed respect for her and, when we were seated for meals, made sure she never sat next to a male, a common custom in their culture.

I also made friends with other Americans. One day, much to my chagrin, an older woman from Kansas, Diane, approached me with anger in her voice. “I see you talking to those people,” she said, pointing to Jo Ann and Anni, “Who are they? What’s the story with them?” She stared at Anni. “It looks like a man, but is small. Why does that one get special seating?”

I felt stunned to hear the vitriol in Diane’s tone. She seemed to take personal offense that she couldn’t identify Anni’s gender or status. I explained to Diane about Anni’s family relationship with Jo Ann and Anni’s religious commitment. 

Diane remained grumpy. “She shouldn’t look like a man and get special perks at meals.”

I felt horrified that Diane justified her anger because Anni didn’t clearly reveal a stereotyped version of her femaleness. 

Since this incident, I’ve come to admire the Millennial Generation’s open and refreshing attitude toward gender: a person needn’t portray themselves as male or female. With the Millennials’ culture-wide influence, a person today truly has the choice to be non-binary. I relate to this option because, as a young girl, I enjoyed being a tomboy – an old-fashioned tolerant attitude that allowed me to dress and act however I wanted until I turned twelve. 

I hated my adolescence when society forced young women into an extreme sexual identity. In junior high, all girls had to wear straight skirts with a girdle, and nylon stockings attached to a garter belt.  The girdle made me physically sick and tight skirts greatly reduced my range of movement. I felt imprisoned because I couldn’t run or stride as I loved to do.

Unlike me, my mother proudly declared herself a “blond bombshell,” wore sexy dresses and skirts and flaunted a flirtatious personality to attract males. I knew she wanted me to copy her style, but it repulsed me. I loved my tomboy ways. As a kid, I didn’t understand why I was forced to change into an image that made no sense to me and that I resented. With the social pressure of school and Mom, I adopted female dress but couldn’t go to my mother’s extremes. In the late 1960s, I joyously abandoned girdles in favor of the casual and comfortable clothes of the late 1960s and 1970s.

Now in my seventies, a medical condition forces me to keep my estrogen level at zero. The other day, I realized, with a grin, I’m back to my tomboy days. While I’m glad to be female, at the same time, I feel it’s perfectly okay to have short hair, don my tool belt for projects and wear a tie at times.

I’m happy for all the people who can comfortably exercise choices about how to display their innermost identity, whether masculine, feminine or non-binary. I’m overjoyed to see that Diane’s rigid assumptions about gender are less common today.

---