As trans people, we have the luxury of choosing our own name. We abandon the one our parents gave us, like an unwelcome gift, and we get to pick a name that we truly want and like. And for many of us, that name carries meaning.
When I first came out, I knew it was going to be difficult with my parents. For once, because they are old. But also, because they played a significant role in me suppressing my identity for decades. Needless to say, there was always going to be some tension.
I figured that by picking the right name, I could send a strong signal that I wanted to salvage what I could instead of completely breaking with my past. I hoped the name would help reduce friction and act as a bridge between the past and the now, the person I used to be and the person I was looking to become.
Grandma’s name
In this spirit, I picked my grandmother’s name: Liz. I loved my grandmother, and I have many wonderful memories with her. She was a very special woman: she was smart, she was fierce, and she did not give a damn about traditional gender roles. In fact, she was the first woman to receive a PhD in engineering from the University of Vienna, in 1932. And she was quite capable of challenging the rules and assumptions of a man’s world.
One way to look at her would be to call her the first gender‑nonconforming member of our family. Unfortunately, she is long gone, and I have no way of knowing how she felt about her gender. I can only imagine that she might have preferred to be born a man. I would give anything to have that conversation with her today. Even though that is impossible, I take comfort in having that permanent connection to her in my life.
Johnny Cash’s humor
From there, it is only a very small step to Girl Named Liz. I am a music lover, and one of my all‑time favorites is Johnny Cash. And among all the wonderful songs he performed in his career, A Boy Named Sue particularly stands out to me.
The song resonates with me because it tells the story of a boy forced into an impossible and ill‑fitting role. Reading through the lyrics, I find similar motives to my dad pushing me into the role of a boy: maybe well‑meant, but with a terrible result, nonetheless. And yes, I wish the story with my dad would also end with a hug, just like in the song.1
So here I am, somehow trying my best to keep a positive connection to my past. I miss you, grandma – and I am proud to carry your name.
With tears in my eyes, Liz
- I substituted that hug with one from an organization called Free Mom Hugs. At a Trans Pride event a while ago, I got lucky and they brought a dad, too. I definitely couldn’t pass on that opportunity. And yes, I took a photo of that moment, and I look at it from time to time. ↩︎