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First published May 13, 2025
School was awful because I was so feminine throughout my childhood, and still am. Studying was really hard because they’d throw things at me. I was afraid to go to recess. I went out for recess, and they pushed me, they threw me around. And the whole school laughed, yelling at me. “Sissy! Little faggot! Girly face!” That followed me until my last years of school. Until high school when I said, “I can’t do this anymore. I’m going to work.” I loved school because I was fascinated with learning, but I couldn’t do it, because of the machismo problem. I think that’s a terrible thing.
The principal called the police on me once. She accused me of having brought all the gays, all the homosexuals to the school.
I said to her, “I wish I had that power! But I don’t.”
She was stunned.
Once she told me, “You have to wash your hair and get rid of that dye.”
I said, “What kind of woman doesn’t know that hair dye doesn’t come out with shampoo?”
And so she and I had a war. But she won, because I had to leave. The kids wouldn’t leave me alone, the students were very cruel.
I suffered from horrible anxiety because of that, something I still have to deal with. My parents, they were amazing and everything, but they had to work so much and had so much to do. I think I must have told them. I think I complained to my mom about the bullying at school. But nothing happened; now that I’m older, I can’t remember them helping me to deal with that.
When I told my father, I used the word lesbian because that’s what we used then.
And he said, “I don’t ever want you to use that word again in this house.”
I said, “Lesbian, lesbian, lesbian, lesbian.”
I kept saying it over and over. He knew it wasn’t going to fly, like he was trying to get mad.
I said, “Look at me, here I am telling you a very important part of my life, and you’re focused on that word.” I said, “You know the friends who come over here with me, that you love? They’re all gay.”
“No way, no!”
And then he started going down the list, every one of them. He already was attached to them, they were so kind to him, they’d come over and help us cook all the time. That really helped.
Then my dad became one of my best allies. He let me bring my girlfriends over and sleep with them in his house.
My brother once said in front of me, “How come Lea gets to bring her girlfriends and everything?”
And my father said, “Pendejo, she can’t get married, you can. So when you get married, you bring your wife over here.”
I was told I was a stud. It was like, “Look at you little studs.”
We were like, “Oh, we studs, that’s what we are? Okay.” Okay, so we need to get our gear together, we need to get our clothes together, you know what I mean? In the white community, there was butch and femme, and butch was a white woman who was masculine presenting. In the Black community, it was that you’re either femme or you’re a stud, and the stud was masculine presenting, so I just took that term. I didn’t question it. I looked more like them, I’m good to go with it. So that was my reality. There was nothing else. Every now and then, we had people come from the East Coast, and they took on the term bull-dagger, and I was like, “Oh, they are tough.”
And, oh, man, it was crazy because these OG studs, they told us so many stupid stories.
They used to tell us, “Oh, you-all don’t know nothing about being with no women, you-all don’t know this, you-all don’t know that.”
We’d sit there and talk a little shit like we knew something. We really didn’t know much of nothing.
And they said, “Oh, you know how to eat pussy and blah, blah, blah?” And one said, “Well how you know you’re good, I’m going to tell you.” And she’s like, “You know you’re good when you eating it, you could just take a tangerine and peel off that skin with your tongue without using your teeth and without biting into it, that’s when you’re good.”
Do you know how many tangerines we went through? Me and Cynthia used to sit there for hours. “Damn, I bit it!” Oh my God, we would sit up for hours with that crap.
When I moved there in ’81, Oakland was the city that held the most lesbians per capita, internationally.
I said, “Oh hell, yes.”
I said, “Woo-hoo, bring them on.”
In the AIDS epidemic, transgender people were treated like shit by homosexuals in the community. Telling them, “Now you have to dress like a boy, you cannot really do this, what you’re doing.”
Women who already had the big silicone tits and stuff, to tone it down and become a boy so you can get your services.
I found that very wrong. Extremely wrong. Because if you now have a disease, and you’re dying, who is anybody to say you have to die this way? No, my dear. I’m going to be a bitch till the day I die, I’m going to do my nails, I’m going to do my hair, whatever the fuck I want to do. Don’t tell me to dress like a boy.
I would show up as me in these [AIDS-related] meetings. I would use my gender, honestly, as a way to confuse people. What I found is, “Oh, somebody wants to focus on how pretty I am and what kind of lipstick I’m using or whatever. Good. Because I’m going to follow it up with, ‘Why have you done such a poor job distributing millions of dollars and that’s resulting in our deaths? Let’s get to the point now.’ I’m going to use this as the entrée where you’re disarmed by me using Lancôme or Chanel lipstick, and then I’m going to go for the throat and get what I came here for.
I was invited to City Hall and given an award, in front of senators and the mayor, for my work on this play [about the Compton's cafeteria riots]. I was telling them: this story was buried and hidden for almost fifty years. What if it had never emerged? It impassions me now. This story is not going to die. Every word I wrote, and we wrote, in the play, is the truth.
I cried, at City Hall. Sometimes you have to cry a little. I got raped many times, and no one ever did anything for me. I went to the police, and the police laughed at me and said, “We’re not going to make a police report, that was a hookup that didn’t work out for you, ha, ha, ha.” I needed someone to hug me or whatever, but that’s what I got.
After City Hall, I went home, and I talked to the girls. “I’m sorry that you died, and you never found out that you were doing nothing wrong—nothing. And that actually, you’re heroes, absolute heroes, not to be kicked around. You laid the foundations for what transgender people need today.”
Yesterday was my sixtieth birthday, which is crazy.
Literally, I woke up in the morning yesterday, went in the bathroom, washed my face, and looked at myself. I said, “This is what sixty looks like? Weird. God, I never expected to make it past thirty.”
I let fear rule me. I escaped in drugs and alcohol. At points of my life, I got really suicidal, because I isolated. And not until I opened my mouth and spoke the fears to my chosen family, could I laugh about it.
It’s just amazing, being able to say I’ve been on this planet six decades. Part of me still feels like I’m twenty-one. My spirit is quite alive. I’ve got a lot of work to do here.
I made it past thirty! Now I’m sixty.
What the hell: I’m going to live.