Inter•pellated: Day One

On September 10th, I underwent gender reassignment surgery. Today, my mother came to visit. For one day of her visit, I attempted to transcribe every instance in which I was interpellated as “she,” as female, by her and by others.

Day One

“He said, I’m going to to see her in November—”

“She wanted one for hers”

“It’s her doing”

“She was 15, she was pretty mean. She couldn’t talk things out in a civilized way.”

“I think—she, Emji, used to be T——I got upset that she changed her name. That hit a nerve with me. I took it as an offense.”

“I was ready to X her out of my life. It was a one minute moment. Was she devil-possessed? I don’t know.”

“It was a huge decision and she shut us out of it.”

“She has some depression issues and that’s something that she—you—has to deal with.”

“We are supportive of her, but we are shut out.”

“No—I don’t think that I feel guilty as to how I brought her up.”

“She feels that I don’t understand and not knowing herself, what those feelings are.”

“She obviously feels that her feelings are hurt that I wouldn’t use the pronouns you use.”

“It’s okay. I love her anyway.”

“It was walking distance from where she lives.”

“She could spend the night. Have a girls’—oh, slumber party.”

“One senior ticket, and one for her—uh. I’m from North Dakota, and she—uh, and, lives here. I’m visiting my kid.”

“She’s a resident of San Francisco, I mean, him, I mean, they are.

“I thought she’s writing it down—”


“You might have been a little girl—a little toddly toddly kid.”

“Do you remember when you were a little girl? You used to put olives on all of your fingers?”

“She can put an ice cube in it.”

“She can have it. She can take it.”

She’s clumping hers all together.”

“She just can’t reach right.”

“Denver omelets, and she had grits.”

“She wanted to know what kind of traits I got from my mom and dad.”



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