On Male Privilege
Today’s post is guest authored by my old friend Shiloh Stark.
I know male privilege because I went from not having it, to having it.
At different points in my life, I’ve been perceived as a girl, perceived as a boy, perceived as in-between. As straight, as lesbian, and as a gay male. I’ve always been the same person, but the Rubik’s cube of my life was extra jumbled up there for a while. Each different setting, though, uncovered a new lesson in how gender works.
When people perceived me as a straight, white, heterosexual teenage girl, every time I took a walk alone, in the back of my head, a part of me worried that I might be raped. It was more present than a fear of being mugged, and carried more dread. I don’t know if all women feel that, or if it gets better over time — I just know that it was the kind of feeling you actively try to discredit, and can forget about for stretches of time, but that you can’t shake.
When I cut my hair shorter and donned more gender neutral clothes, people saw me as a lesbian. Occasionally a man would shout “dykes” when I walked down the street with a girl. I still worried about being sexually assaulted, but the tenor changed: the concern was that some straight man would feel compelled to “teach me a lesson.” Read More…
I am blessed with many people in my life. Ironically, right now a large number of those people are either pregnant, awaiting the immediate birth of a baby, or brand-spanking new parents. A few have asked me questions about what to expect as a parent but since I am known for “telling it like it is” I usually don’t field many follow-up questions about labor and delivery or life with newborns.
This is the first piece of writing I’ve published in over three months. During those three months, I’ve let languish the very thing I’ve wanted my entire adult life – an audience who likes my writing and want more of it. I’ve probably lost a few existing readers, and I’ve definitely missed out on many opportunities to build my audience.
I, for one, am relieved to see the space shuttle fleet retired. I realize that this is not necessarily a popular opinion. I watched the launch of Atlantis and the seemingly countless interviews with weeping grandmothers and space-enamored children who feel cheated that they will not get to walk on the moon during a space shuttle mission, or see the earth through the shuttle windows as they cavalierly orbit the planet. Those childhood dreams, however, are simply outweighed by my own childhood ghosts. Specifically, the ghost of the Challenger. 
Honeymoon Interrupted
Trans/plant/portation 