SEBASTIAN
ARKANSAS | SERIES # 4
My name is Sebastian; I am a seventeen-year-old privileged white kid with several cats. To most people, I'm a regular kid - no different than anyone else. My name is Sebastian to my family, teachers, government, and friends. But, when I was born, I was named Savannah. For seventeen years, I was as legally a girl as your favorite cheerleader or girl scout. I'm a transgender male, and even though it took me a long time to accept it, I’m very glad I did.
For the first half of my childhood, I lived in Seymour, Wisconsin. For most of my life, however, I have lived in central Arkansas. In Seymour, I first learned the concept of gender. I distinctly remember hating the dresses I was forced to wear for Easter and church- so much to the point that I would sneak into my little brother's closet to steal his monster truck t-shirts. One day, I walked down the hall of my house to talk to my father and brother. My dad beat on his chest like a gorilla and my brother did too; both of them were shirtless. I decided that I wanted to join, so off my shirt went, along with the world’s best King-Kong impersonation a four-year-old could manage. Sadly, my father stopped me abruptly saying that only boys should be shirtless and that it’s not okay for girls. I remember feeling bummed out, but little me let it go through. I wouldn’t think of the incident for another decade.
In Junior High, I eventually start meeting people who claimed to be transgender, and I was immediately revolted. I didn’t understand what they were, as there was no way that “Jamie” from US history was a boy. This “Jamie” claimed to be a transgender boy before I even considered the possibility of being trans myself. Jamie wore Juggalo pants, my chemical romance shirts, rubber wristbands all the way up to their elbow, and had long bright pink hair. Eventually, this hair was cut into an asymmetrical bob and dyed blue, black, white, pink, brown, yellow, orange, purple, and black again. Poor Jamie’s mother “wouldn’t let them cut or style their hair how they wanted,” so they always rocked a bob or emo mullet.
Brian also consistently wore dresses, and still does to this day at their leisure. Jamie also regularly went by their legal name, and never corrected anyone who misgendered or incorrectly identified them. For some incomprehensible reason, I didn’t believe that Jamie was a transgender boy. The possibility of being perceived similar to Jamie made me afraid to express myself. They did, however, teach me an important life lesson: it’s easy to fake being transgender, gay, or LGBT and milk people for attention. The best way to overcome this? Don’t analyze another person’s experience or life story; they aren’t you, and only you can figure out your identity.
Anywho, the following summer, I finally came out to my close friend as transgender. He congratulated me, and promptly asked whether or not I had a new name. I honestly hadn’t given it much thought, but Sebastian sounded cool so that’s what I told him. There were no name generators, 2002’s Most Popular Baby Names! lists, movie character obsessions, or the butchering and reordering of letters of my first name.
I cut my hair a couple of weeks before school started (as short as my family would allow). From that point forward, the majority of my friends referred to me as Sebastian, along with two teachers. While those who didn’t use my new name were intentional in their actions, I don’t hold it against them. To be honest, they were out of my life before it could have a standing impact. The majority of 9th grade was spent with me awkwardly making a name for myself and figuring out how to explain to my mom why her first born was suddenly wearing flannels, baggy pants, and putting their hair into ball caps.
Now, everyone everywhere refers to me as Sebastian. Legally, I am male in all regards and identification. I no longer come out to my peers, as I have no need to tell them I am male: they can see it for themselves. After first announcing my transition and making it official, life got easier, happier, and more fulfilling. This is what I hope for all trans people to achieve.
While I may be young, I believe I’ve learned at least a couple important lessons: The first being that nobody can control their identity. There’s no lottery, petition, or sign-up for your race, gender, sexuality, or nationality; you cannot control who you are. That’s okay though, and there’s nothing wrong with loving yourself, even if you’re a little different than other people.
The second lesson I learned is patience. Patience, patience, patience! The world is changing, and we are part of that change, whether we like it or not. We’re all in this world together, so if we can meet our antagonists with tolerance and patience, instead of indignant bitterness, we’ll be much happier.
