Gender Bender
In this day and age everything's been done, all the plots have been penned every tale's been spun, but something has happened straight out of leftfield, and with the crack of a bat some veracity got revealed.
Truth rocked our community right down to the core, stunning our whole world and then doing something more, why it brought to attention the language of labels, turning out words that would spin all the tables.
And what's all this fuss and dustup regarding? What has the fog of obtuseness been guarding? Why gender identity of course my dears, through hillbilly mountains into rivers of fears, including of course our societal forms, right down to eschews of old sexual norms.
Freedom however like head louse and warts, comes at a cost and with cons of all sorts, so this is the time when our sharp AFABs, brought gender inequity down to its knees!
One female one male assigned thusly 'pon earth, but who slid from sex organs as twins after birth, here their first names recorded that natal day, were Mako and Mika last name Chalet, identical twins from bald heads to wee dactyl, agile and dangling yet perfectly tactile.
Their parents you see were racially mixed, dad used a fork and mom wielded chopsticks, he hailed from L.A. growing up near the beaches, she came from Sabo in Japan's outer reaches, his papa French with a good mother from Cali, her parents Junk sailors who cooked in a galley, they met in grad school via friends they'd known, each of their hearts falling hard as a stone, he said marry me darling let's make some kids, ditching all mores social ordering forbids, and when she replied yes I'll marry you sunny, seemed like everything then would be cold milk and honey.
Now these weren't the first words their pop ever said, neither the last ones not by a shred, they all lived together and worked as a tribe, buying a nice home with an excellent vibe, but sadly one day the twins faced their first test, a challenge coming forth at providential request.
Why are you dressed like a boy, teased the kids, rolling cruel eyes with fanciful lids, addressing of course one stout-hearted lass, with top-drawer IQ and plenty of sass, yes this schoolgirl they chided, born Mako Chalet, cried the first time she got abused in that way.
Later that night, when the twins were alone, snuggled up safe in their twin beds at home, they vowed to stick up for these feelings so felt, and a dimetric gender card here and now became dealt.
And now I must say, as your host from the start, this story's beginning to pull on my heart. Yes, the strings they are playing these twins with a twist, put a lump in my throat and my eyes in a mist. I hope you will root for two underdogs here, lend us a hand with a clap and a cheer!
Dear Mako and Mika were perfect for this, so on with our story of fair-treatment bliss, our virtuous twins only dreamed of a chance, when the world would forget about dresses and pants, would that be so bad, would it not be a gift, for the world to accept a perceptional shift? Oh, to live and let live is the best way to be, so let's open our minds and continue to read.
With all of the fuss at school for these two, something had to be done, but what could they do?
"Let's take self-defense classes!" Mika announced with a grin, "cos when push comes to shove the strong always win. We'll deny them the pleasure of getting our goats, with strikes aimed full tilt at the fibs in their throats. We'll teach them a lesson they'll never forget, that messing with us means a licking, you bet! They'll rue the day, Mako, they dogged you and I, and in the end ask themselves why, oh my, why?
So the twins learned karate, an old martial art, combat without weapons of the bod, mind, and heart. Their stikes, kicks, and punches, plus rhythm and speed, provided the balance the duo would need. Karate translates to the phrase empty hand, but the art is as lethal as stock-still quicksand. One move to the right, and one chop to the left, and any tormentors would soon be bereft.
By the time they were eight they were kick-ass Blue Belts, who had learned how to counter by counting their welts. They sparred with each other, and fellow mudansha, as balanced and cognent as Japanese scrimshaw. They rose up the ranks of the Kyū so fast, and lickety-split, they reached Brown Belt at last.
The twins at this time were just nine-and-a-half, but kicked just as hard as a mother giraffe. For Mako and Maki were now on a quest, to beat all karate-kas, and be called the best. So they entered some tournaments, and low and behold, they won more trophies than their bookshelf could hold. And soon, as foretold, they would need all their training, for combating bias is awfully darn draining.
Some people called what they had an obsession, like basketball jones, a manic possession. But one thing the naysayers knew in a flash, was that Mako and Mika were born for the mats. They lived for the dōjō, meaning place of the way, a place they called home where the work seemed like play. But the dōjō, in fact, was not the first place, they stared Mr. Stink Eye right in the face.
The first jaundiced eyes came from kids at their school, envious students, mean and uncool. It came from the parents of kids with less flair, chips off the block much less sharp and aware. As soon as the twins started dressing the part, wearing their clothes like mixed-up martial art, that's when some kids and their parents got miffed, acerbic and see-through as souls long adrift.
One of the twins' favorite activities to do, was thumbing store catalogues, dreaming their fashion dreams all coming true. That day when the pair had become fully grown, living wonderful lives out there on their own. Maki and his husband, Mako and her wife, with good jobs and nice homes and great friends in their life.
"Oh look at this blouse," Maki purred with a grin. "I bet I'd look gorgeous wearing it thin. And do you see this color? Oh my gosh, it's so blue."
"Yes, it's nice," Mako said, "but I'm more into tools. I'm looking at hammers and nails and screws, and gallons of paint are on sale, too. I want to build benches and swings in the trees, using wrenches the size of the caps on my knees."
"True," Maki agreed. "But come on Mako, let's look at the shoes. Some high heels for me, and some work boots for you; potpourri galore, nuts and bolts and wood glue."
"Well, what about sunglasses?" Mako replied, "if I don't get these shades I'm just going to die. So many boys at school have them, you know, and I just want to look like I'm part of the show."
"Done!" Maki chimed, "they're yours for the taking, but recess is over, and this sunshine is baking. The first bell has rung, so we need to move fast, as quick as two cats chasing after fat rats."
"Hey, where are you going?" Timmy Tractor asked, like a wild savage soldier on a war path. "Me and the boys, we got business with you, and today is the day you two weirdos is through."
The boys Tim referred to were Jimmy and Mike, more cruel than the tip of a cast iron spike. The three boys rolled up like bad pennies from hell, cocky and warlike as crabs in their shell. Timmy and Jimmy blocked the twins' path; Mike stepped behind them, his face full of wrath. But the twins stood their ground, staring down their attackers, then yawped two kiais, which surprised their highjackers. With squawks of pure bravery piping their ki, their energy flowed like great waves from the sea.
The next thing they did was strike the crane stance, and the boys somehow knew they did not stand a chance. But then Timmy made a giant faux pas; he reached out and grabbed Mika's hair with his paw. The next thing he knew he felt a hard thud, and the next thing he saw was his own gushing blood. His nose had been broken with one severe punch, from the fists of both twins, with a sickening crunch.
Timmy dropped staight to the blacktop and wailed, the other boys looked at each other and bailed. Other kids making their way back to class, kids who had seen the twins kicking some ass, gave different accounts of what happened that day, but in the end most thought the twins were to blame.
Mika and Mako got two-week suspensions; but karate sure killed all of Timmy's pretentions.
