Blur the Lines: Encounter at the DMV

"Next?"

"I just got married, and I'm changing my name."

"Do you have your marriage certificate?" I handed the freshly minted marriage certificate across the counter, and she started to turn back towards her computer, then froze, looking at the form. "I'll have to talk to my supervisor. . ." she said slowly, without looking back at me. I sighed. This was either going to be easy, or it wasn't, and it was beginning to look as if it wasn't. She made her way to a cubicle in the back (the cubicle of an obviously important personage, as it had a door), and disappeared for a few moments. She reappeared with her supervisor, a very concerned looking woman a few years older than she, and they went together to confer with a uniformed state policeman who stood nearby. He looked very seriously at the document, and shook his head decisively, a definite no, of course without looking in my direction (all of ten feet away). The supervisor came over. "This state doesn't recognize same-sex marriages."

"That's not what this is." Keep that understanding smile on! "My birth certificate still has me designated as male. That's why I'm listed as the 'groom'." I handed that over, too, and she went back to confer further. Another decisive shake of the head.

"We gave you an "F" on your driver's license years ago- how did you get that?"

"I provided the proper documentation." Still smiling.

"But you must have had a whole sex change!" Everyone standing in line waiting for their license renewals was getting well rewarded for their time today, that's for sure. I just kept smiling. "And you're all medically female."

I nodded happily. "But my birth certificate says 'male'."

Her frustration was evident. "We have to talk to our lawyer. We'll call you, and it won't be today. This is the first time we've encountered this."

"Oh, without a doubt!" I laughed, and at that, even a DMV supervisor had to smile, albeit fleetingly. When I transitioned, transdyke or no, I was all about the girl thing. Didn't want to be mistaken for a guy, not ever. How could you blame me? After a lifetime of getting asked, "Are you a boy or a girl?" by total strangers, I finally had a definite gender. Still, after a few years the long curls, the dresses, the nail polish and makeup all fell by the wayside. Boots and Carhartts are better on the small New England farm where my partner (now wife) and I live. Of course, as a nurse, I've got to be careful with paperwork, and mine was all in order. I still even have my letter-of-passage, an early transition document from my therapist that I was to hand to the police if they stopped me crossdressed that effectively says, "This odd freak has a mental illness, wearing a dress is normal for it, please leave it undamaged." Until Jan. 1, 2007, though, the Health Department [in the state where I was born] had never listed gender on their birth certificates; now, though, when I wanted to get a passport for a trip to Canada this summer (thank you, Homeland Security), they had opened the creaking vaults and rolled out the ancient scrolls to find the original record. Hey, they declared, you're a boy! My partner and and I walked into our town clerk's office one fine morning a few days later, asked for a marriage license, held our breath. . . and they smiled, congratulated us, and wrote it up (with much checking of particulars). We were married in our living room with a few friends and neighbors in attendance; the elderly Justice of the Peace had made some hasty scribbles in his book to smooth over the gender references in the ceremony, and we put on each other's hands the rings we'd first exchanged on a Provincetown beach nearly four years ago. When summer finally comes to these frozen hills, it'll be time to party.

It all came down to one line on a document. If that doesn't show the absurdity of the marriage laws, then what will? Of course, there are a lot of questions to answer. . . like, will the DMV want to take my "F" back? I don't see how they can, since I met all their criteria, but who knows? They get to make the rules, and they enforce them as they will. What happens to our marriage if I go in front of our county (conservative, Republican) Probate Judge and attempt to persuade him to write a court order to have the Health Department in another state change the notation on my original birth record? Lots of people, married before transition, and whose relationships have survived, would like that question to simply go away. As far as my passport, my lawyer friends have advised me to write in "male," perjury is the last thing I need leveled against me, and besides, all of my trans friends in the UK and Europe are in that boat anyway; they can't get their birth certificates changed at all. Better just be ready to unpack everything on the motorcycle at every border crossing. Better be wearing clean underwear, too. -g.