I am asked, “Will you get the operation?” I really don’t know. There are, after all, 46 chromosomes.
The difference is so very small, but has been enough to make men of half the children: expendable, hunters, fighters, spear-wielding watchers of the dark.
Others, not missing the last leg on the last "X", grew up carrying eggs for the tribe, stayed near the houses, dug roots and pound berries.
Yet there were always mistakes of nature.
some of the women bore no eggs.
We have learned: of these, a few were really male, but never got the hormonal soup. They married, made good wives, adopted, raised families.
Others, carrying women's chromosomes, yet wide-shouldered, bearded, reached for the spear.
We don’t know enough about it to make categories stick.
If I’m not looking for a man, do I need the operation?
Let’s say I do this, the whole one hundred yards -- not saying that I won’t -- what will you think?
Will I be a woman to you?
With that little telltale “Y” in every cell in my body?
I’ll be, perhaps, able to pass, when I learn the culture but I know a facsimile is just that. But why should it matter to you? Do you shun a sterile XX woman?
So, no, I don’t think I’ll fight to get into the womyn’s festivals. If you don’t
want a woman not born woman to dance inside, I get it, I can respect this. I make no demands.
What I will want in return is that you respect me as I am.
Whatever it is, it's as human as you are.
-- risa b