When I was in college,
I lived in the large house of an older woman who sort of ‘rented’ out rooms. In one room, was a young divorced woman trying to ‘fix her life’. In another room another young girl who was her relative. I, a student at the University of Wisconsin at the time had my room. And the last room belonged to ‘D’. That’s what we called him, short for Demetrius. He was her foster child and she was earning a sizable income looking after him because nobody else wanted him. When I met him he was 13 and at first glance, I assumed him to be a girl. After all, he was wearing a dress, lipstick, walked with a switch and had his hair layed out! I didn’t know that he was a boy until someone told me. (SubhaanAllah)
D was very flamboyant,
he needed lots of attention and there was no way you could ignore him. He talked loud. He laughed even louder and he squeaked and squealed! Being from New York City, I had seen transvestites from afar, you know walking down in the Village in lower Manhattan or coming from a party uptown. but actually knowing one persoanlly and living with him was crazy. One day, we were all sitting in the living room watching t.v. and he came sachay-ing into the room like a model, wearing these beautiful light blue bell-bottom jeans. (He did quite a bit of shoplifting and had an amazing wardrobe!) We were like, ‘D, go sit down somewhere!’ He said, “So how do I look?” I said, “I like those jeans, can I have them?” He squealed and said, “No I mean how do I look up here?” He shimmied his shoulders. “Oh my God! He has breasts!” The boy had taken small balloons, filled them up with water and put them inside of the bra. We touched his ‘breasts’, they felt real!!
The Queen of the house used to just laugh at him, so we did too.
At that time, back in 1993- 1994, She used to pull rank on us all by saying’ “Don’t play with me I’m almost half a hundred!” It’s funny that I am almost that age now. When you reach middle age you start to look back on your life and collect lessons; well I do. D came to my mind just before I prayed Fajr (Before Dawn) prayer today and I had to shed a few tears. I had not thought about him in many, many years. I think my memory got jogged by something I heard a psychologist saying a few days ago, about the percentage of homosexuals who had been molested as children. D was in foster care because his mother was on crack and his uncle had molested him. Now I see why he was the way he was, he was calling out for attention to his plight, but nobody heard him. I imagined him in front of me and giving him a big hug. No, as a Muslim, I do not condone homosexual behavior and it carries a heavy punishment if 2 are found engaging in these actions. I am also a human who believes in the natural order of creation in this universe, I believe male was created for female and vice versa. However, I do understand something about human pain. As I rested my forehead and nose on the carpet, my heart went out to D and I ask Allah to guide him wherever he may be. I ask Allah to put compassion in my heart for all His creation.