As many of you know, I particularly love this kind of story: about a person who just decides to be who they are in whatever small town they’re living in. In this case, Sissy is particularly amazing: to take the name Sissy, for starters, but Wyoming?! Damn.
Sissy Goodwin is out shopping. He’s on the hunt for an industrial-sized wrench for a home handyman project along with two special somethings: colored hair bows and a pretty new dress — preferably red, size 12.
He walks through a mall, a linebacker-sized figure in a pink skirt, lacy yellow blouse and five-o’clock shadow; a gold lamé purse slung over his shoulder and a white bow affixed to his receding gray hair. The 67-year-old college science instructor looks straight ahead, ignoring the stares and the catcalls.
That said, I have a particular soft spot and respect for sissies – they’re like the bottom of every possible hierarchy within & without the trans community, but I hope there are plenty of others like me who know that Sissy is no way “less than” any other kind of (trans) person.
Worth reading. And good for you, Sissy.