Call me Andrew, when we’ve lost contact and you see me in public.
Call me sir, when I’m next in line.
Call me Mr. Dright, when I’m at the doctors office.
Call me man when you’re shouting at me on the street.
Call me their nephew when we’re at family reunions and your introducing me to long lost family members.
Call me son when we talk on the phone and we’re saying our goodbyes and I love you’s.
Call me your brother when we’re sitting at the table.
Call me Andrew when we’re reminiscing about Alyssa’s past.
Call me he/his when speaking about me.
Don’t call me Alyssa to be spiteful.
Don’t call me she to be hateful.
Don’t call me your sister to hurt me.
Don’t call me your niece to be rude.
Don’t call me your daughter to show me you don’t care.
Don’t call me lady/ma’am/miss to purposely remind me of my anatomy.
But most important, Don’t call me anything if you can’t respect what I am asking.
Call me what I ask you to call me. Not what you want to call me.
This is me taking MY life back. Me taking my pronouns and reminding you what they are.
Don’t tell me how to feel. You do not know my internal hatred and fear.
Don’t let the media fool you. We are normal people. Who want normal rights.
We are your neighbors, your mailmen, your cashier, your banker, your nurse, your doctor, you CNA, your cousin, your mother, your father, your brother, your sister, your niece, your nephew, your grandchild, your student, your teacher, your counselor, your therapist, your friend, the person standing in line two people ahead of you. We’re open about our transition and we’re private about it too.
We’re asking for simple things. Basic human things. Compassion, love, acceptance.
We love, we hate, we cry, we fight.
We live. We breathe. We’re silent. We’re loud.
We’re humans with feelings. Respect ours and we’ll respect yours.