Trans Traveling
Venturing into Kansas with CJ
As many of you know I’m mom to CJ, a 22-year-old art student majoring in Illustration at the Kansas City Art Institute. They are, without question, my favorite person ever. They’re loving, sweet, kind, hilarious, talented, devoted, tenacious, hard-working, and they used to say “pillilow” instead of “pillow,” and “copumper” instead of “computer.”
When they were 16 or so CJ came out as nonbinary. No big surprise, seeing as they weren’t raised with strict gender roles. CJ’s dad and I always just let them be who they are and do what they wanted. Easy and harmless.
And then they chose to attend college in Missouri. Not the most friendly state for gender non-conforming or queer folks, especially after being raised in a very inclusive town (Belleville) across the Mississippi from Missouri in the trans sanctuary state of Illinois. But KCAI is beautifully inclusive, and part of a progressive community. CJ’s also found a home at a Unitarian church near campus.
But then there’s Kansas …
Short version: At the end of February Kansas enacted a law that invalidates the state-issued IDs of anyone whose gender presentation doesn’t match that of the gender they were assigned at birth.
Fuck that.
It would be easy enough to avoid Kansas, even with CJ living just blocks from the state line. Except every semester (minus last fall when we couldn’t coordinate schedules) CJ and I spend a weekend in Lawrence where we eat pie and milkshakes at Ladybird Dinner, then go all-out with a few hours at Mud and Lotus where we get massages, soaks in an outdoor mineral water spa, anti-gravity time, and salt chamber therapy.
Both businesses are loudly pro-LGBTQA+, so giving them our money wasn’t a problem at all. No, my trepidation came entirely from taking my androgynous they/them adult offspring into a state where, should I get pulled over, the cops could decide that CJ’s personhood is less important than police comfort level.
Also, not thrilled to give a bigoted state any sales tax money.
We discussed this last month when CJ was home for spring break. They didn’t want to miss our spa time and frankly, neither did I. If CJ’s cool with it, I’m cool with it. We stayed on the Missouri side and then, Friday morning, headed to off to the yellow brick road.
Ladybird gets really busy, no matter what day of the week. And for good reason. It’s everything a diner should be—friendly counter service, packed-in tables, a bakery case, some genuine kitsch like the vintage Pyrex bowls turned into lampshades, and seriously delicious and hearty classics. Being the starving artists/student, CJ threw down on a chicken fried steak and eggs with a side of grits. I had the Dakota—one giant biscuit and gravy, eggs, and bacon. CJ had some leftover chocolate shake that I stirred into my coffee. I left with two slices of pie, one cherry and one peach raspberry with a crumble top.
We managed to not get over-filled because who wants a massage when they’re busting a gut? It’s all about balance. Sort of like the anti-gravity chair, to which CJ said no thanks because last year they felt like it was going to dump them head-first backwards onto the floor. I gladly took their time in the chair, though, because, despite my perpetual dizziness, I like that feeling. CJ spent time in the salt room, breathing saline-infused oxygen and sketching.
Both of us got stretched on the rack. Or, rather, steamrolled on the jade roller-equipped heated massage bed. I want one of these at home. While flat on your back, it scans your spine and creates a massage pattern from the base of the skull to the end of the tailbone. As I’ve been doing my vestibular migraine physical therapy, we’ve zeroed in on neck stiffness and strength (or lack thereof) being part of the problem. My therapy sessions include neck and shoulder massage after working out my neck. And my lower back is always a mess, thanks to walking around bow-legged while awaiting my replacement knees. I might have squawked when the rollers made their first few passes over my ass. But then everything loosened and I got some much-needed relief and a reset.
CJ didn’t take the full hour we had for our soak, but I savored every second of my naked outdoor mermaid time, followed by a one-hour human-administered massage with whipped shea butter. Except I was too dizzy to lie face-down. No matter, since we focused on my neck and shoulders and arms.
Our Kansas time was delightful, with nary a reminder of the hateful-ass laws the stat keeps enacting. Except when we were on our way out of downtown Lawrence after the spa. For about five miles a police SUV followed us, closely. They stopped following when we pulled into a coffeehouse parking lot. I was hyper-aware of staying within the law, driving a smidge below the speed limit, turning on my turn signals early, and such. All while extremely aware that a normal traffic stop might no longer be “normal.”
This shit sucks.
This is what it looks like to lose your human rights. Constantly looking over your shoulder, being perpetually aware of the presence of police who are no longer protectors but predators. And for what? Some pronouns and a haircut?
I hope Kansas changes the asinine law soon for the sake of their trans residents. If it’s the same next October, I don’t know if we’ll continue this little beloved tradition CJ and I have made. Maybe someplace else, even though that means giving up rituals we’ve created and perfected to suit us so well. Just because some people don’t like my kid. Who they haven’t even met. And who’s almost certainly a better person than they are.
Travel opens us to a world of views, values, and ways of living that we would never otherwise consider. This is always a good thing, even when it reminds you that some ways of living are gross and cruel.
Wanna share a diner coffee with me? I’d be ever-so-appreciative if you bought me a cup.
I was sold on CJ with their Johnny Cash middle-finger salute reenactment