i-can't-believe-i-drew-a-guy

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Happy Trans Day of Visibility you guys!

I’m Meg (and the one in the tux is Ron) and we wanted to join in on the fun.

I love Ron. I really do.

I just wish we met differently.

Our official meeting:

It was kindergarten and the teacher wanted everyone to draw a self-portrait.

Ron looked down at the template before him (think of a headshot of Slenderman’s face). His job was to fill in the head with how he perceived himself to be with the crayons provided.

Everyone around Ron drew themselves. Ron noticed one that had peach-crayoned skin, a teardrop nose, a crescent for a smile, and had topped it off with grass-like hair.

While Ron? Ron drew me. He even scribbled my name beside it so everyone knew.

The kids around him thought that was strange. They were like, “You were supposed to draw yourself” as he colored within the lines of the portrait.

And he was like, “I am?”

When the teacher came to collect their portraits, Ron presented it to her proudly. The teacher eyed it warily and gave it back to him. “I’ll see you during recess, Ron,” she told him as she plucked the portrait away and threw it to the nearest trash bin.

“Ooh,” a girl said. She seemed to be enjoying his demise. She pointed at him. “You’re in trouuuuble.”

During recess, as the children went outside to play, the teacher approached Ron who was sitting all alone, surrounded by empty chairs. She placed another copy of Slenderman’s headshot before him.

“Draw yourself,” she ordered.

He drew me as he had before with noodle hair, a round nose, almond eyes, and brown-crayoned skin.

The teacher whisked it away, threw it in the trash, and handed him another.

“Again,” the teacher demanded.

He drew me with shorter hair this time.

The teacher took it and raised it up so that my drawn face met his.

“This is not who you are,” she told him almost hostilely as she ripped it to bits before him. “You are not Meg.”

“Yes I am,” he told her as she threw away the scraps.

“Would you like me to talk to your parents then?” she challenged. Ron bowed his head in defeat.

She handed him another. “This is the last copy,” she told him.

Ron slowly, sadly, but surely drew what she wanted to see, a boy with peach-crayoned skin, a teardrop nose, a crescent for a smile, and grass-like hair. 

He looked at it when he finished. It looked nothing like him.

The teacher nodded approvingly and took the portrait away from him.

Today is the day trans people are visible and for once I want to be noticed as who I am.

I am Ron. I am Meg. I am me. And I am trans.

(she/they)