Transcending Your Family
(I’m a college student home for the summer, and when I’m home I tend to hermit in my room away from my family for what will soon become obvious reasons. I make a rare appearance outside of my room to get something to drink when I hear my mom and older brother talking. Note: My brother is only two years older than me.)
Mom: *reading from her phone* “Kennedy put a man on the moon, and Obama put men in the ladies’ restroom.”
Brother: *laughs* “That’s really funny, and it’s true!”
Me: “Actually, no, it’s not.”
Brother: “Yeah, they’re talking about those trans people.”
Me: “Exactly, so really he made it possible for women to use the women’s bathroom.”
Brother: “No, TRANS people. You know, the GUYS who think they’re GIRLS?”
Me: “No, they’re girls who were born into guys’ bodies.”
Brother: “Well, I think that you need to just stay the gender that god made you. It’s disgusting otherwise.”
Me: “I think your god has a sick sense of humor if he wants to torture people by putting girls’ brains into guys’ bodies.”
Mom: “Okay, everyone keep their opinions to themselves.”
Me: “So, it’s all good when you guys are being rude but I can’t express my opinion?”
Mom: “I’m not going to have any fighting in my household! You just need to start fights about your gay-agenda bull-s***. You know, one day people are going to start thinking you’re one of them because you talk about it so much.”
Me: “As a cis, straight, white female it’s my duty to stand up for those who don’t have a voice when I do. I can’t wait until my generation is in power and yours is in a nursing home. You’ll all have heart attacks with what we do.”
Brother: “When your generation is in power, I’ll be living in Canada.”
Me: “First of all, it’s our generation. Second, Canada? The nation where gay marriage has been legal for years?”
Brother: “Oh… I’ll just move to a deserted island, then. I don’t like them trans people.”
Me: “Oh, no, I’m so sad now. Boohoo. What will we ever do without your bigoted opinions?”
Mom: “[My Full Name], I’m tired of all of your fighting! Get to your room.”
Me: “Gladly.”
(Sixty days until I move back to school. I have a countdown.)
