Dictionary.com, you’ve failed. Transgender is not a noun. I am not attempting to be a member of the opposite sex. I am not a habitual cross-dresser. I simply do not identify with the gender I was coercively assigned at birth. I am a trans guy. Transgender is not a verb. Adding ‘ed’ to the end of the word implies that it is a verb. I have never transgendered, nor have I ever cisgendered. Have you? Do you cisgender every day? Also, ‘transgenders’ is not a word, since as I said earlier, transgender is not a noun. It’s an adjective. Please use it as such.
Fail, dictionary.com. Fail.
14 year old girl calls for boycott of cookies because the Girl scouts were inclusive of a transgender girl. →
And this is why I will be buying as many girl scout cookies as humanly possible.
Women’s College Problems #395
Get into a discussion about gender with a friend from home. Have to explain that no, you didn’t just make up that word.
One teachers approach to preventing gender bullying in a classroom
“It’s Okay to be Neither,” By Melissa Bollow Tempel
Alie arrived at our 1st-grade classroom wearing a sweatshirt with a hood. I asked her to take off her hood, and she refused. I thought she was just being difficult and ignored it. After breakfast we got in line for art, and I noticed that she still had not removed her hood. When we arrived at the art room, I said: “Allie, I’m not playing. It’s time for art. The rule is no hoods or hats in school.”
She looked up with tears in her eyes and I realized there was something wrong. Her classmates went into the art room and we moved to the art storage area so her classmates wouldn’t hear our conversation. I softened my tone and asked her if she’d like to tell me what was wrong.
“My ponytail,” she cried.
“Can I see?” I asked.
She nodded and pulled down her hood. Allie’s braids had come undone overnight and there hadn’t been time to redo them in the morning, so they had to be put back in a ponytail. It was high up on the back of her head like those of many girls in our class, but I could see that to Allie it just felt wrong. With Allie’s permission, I took the elastic out and re-braided her hair so it could hang down.
“How’s that?” I asked.
She smiled. “Good,” she said and skipped off to join her friends in art.
‘Why Do You Look Like a Boy?’
