The Garment To Wear Among Strangers

Read this story, once. In it, visiting aliens show up, and they wear these odd cloaklike garments, with hoods and bunchy sleeves; you can’t actually see any of the ALIEN, just a sort of Grim Reaperesque cloak and hood.

Our hero later discovers that the aliens refer to this outfit as The Garment To Wear Among Strangers. It’s not only clothing, it’s a space suit, it’s armor, and has a variety of other functions... notably to conceal, and to keep the natives from learning too much about the aliens. It’s a thing to keep the locals at some distance, as well as protection.

And I found myself thinking about that today.

My coworkers don’t really know who I am. I work in public education, a field that’s quite vulnerable to criticism and assumption, you know? There’s any number of folks who, knowing that one fact, would START by accusing me of working too little, putting in too few hours, and making too much money, and END by flat calling me a child molester. I’ll never forget that one parent who gave me a hard time for having toy dragons in my classroom (because they didn’t approve of dragons, and why do you have these things? Do you teach about dragons? Dragons aren’t REAL! Don’t you take your job SERIOUSLY? What’s WRONG with you?)

So at work, I have to be at my best, putting my best foot forward... and not showing off any personal quirks that might lead to awkward questions. At work, I am not Tom O. Bedlam, nor am I really the guy who wears my right name; I wear a carefully crafted public persona, a Garment To Wear Among Strangers, a set of mannerisms and speech patterns and behaviors that serve as armor, as protection, as a concealing cloak to defuse potential questions and issues that I don’t want to deal with and aren't really anyone's business but mine.

And it seems strange that I teach lessons about math and science and life, essential truths that my students will need in their futures... while basically lying to them about who and what I am on the off chance their parents might not approve.

And that’s just ME. A teacher of my acquaintance who plays for the other team, so to speak, has much more to hide; in their case, the Garment To Wear Among Strangers is far more necessary and much more comprehensive. After all, I’m just a weirdo; being gay is considerably less acceptable to some folks.

Made me think about another person of my acquaintance, a trans individual. When she came out, I wasn’t sure what to think until I actually spent some time with ‘er. My first thought was that she’d be the same person after transition as before, just with a different wardrobe and hairdo. Right? Same person, just with a wig and a dress, right? Whatever it takes to make'm happy...

I was struck by how wrong I was. Wasn’t the same person. More like a similar person of different gender who had the memories of that other guy I’d known back when.

It was a jolt, and a lesson: this was not really the person I thought she was. More going on here than a wig and a dress. WAY more. It was my first real clue about this whole Trans thing.

It took me a while to realize what the deal was. She talked about how THIS was who she really was... or at least, had WANTED to be... had FELT like she was... and now she was free to BE the person she WAS. Which didn’t make a lot of sense to me at the time, but she sure seemed happier NOW than BEFORE.

Until I considered that the BEFORE person was wearing The Garment To Wear Among Strangers. I’d never seen ‘er without it. I didn’t really KNOW who she was until she took the damn thing OFF.... and transitioned. Over time, I came to consider: geez, did SHE really know who she was? Aside from this nagging feeling of living a lie?

Thing about that Garment? It’s not without weight. Part and parcel of the thing is the fact that by WEARING it, you are not being who you really are... you’re wearing a costume... a disguise...

...and by their nature, some costumes are considerably heavier and less comfortable than others. I can take my Garment off when I get home; the wife knows full well how weird I am.

But what’s it like when you don’t dare take it off?

Ever?