The Transgendered Cow
I was just sitting in the back seat of a little red car with my best friend in the world, flipping through her case of CDs in a state of awe. Music was her passion, since she had a million discs. I always had fun picking out the ones with the best cover art as her giggles sprinkled the air.
“You need to be introduced,” she would say, “to all of them.” During those long car rides up north we became well acquainted.
“You know what?” I said. “I’m glad we’re going. I’m really glad we’re together.”
“Me too.” She smiled.
Flat country rolled past us and the sky was so blue, like someone had just decided to scribble with the perfect blue crayon all over the horizon. The steady rhythm of the car left my mind in a lull, and I suddenly felt overwhelmed. I know that I can travel through the world so fast, while my ancestors relied only on the soles of their feet and this rattles me. They never saw half of the wonders that I will, and I find that too selfish. Like a hidden mound of sugar cubes, I hoard all the adventure to myself, while dim streets are full of people longing for that same thrill. I ride my roller coaster of good fortune and it seems I never need more tickets to remain belted in. This may reveal something of my character, or it may only prove that I enjoy metaphors. Either way, I wasn’t prepared for what loomed above our car at the next exit.
“Hey, did you see… what is it?” She asked me.
“I don’t know… a cow?” I replied, confused.
It was a cow; huge, definitely the biggest fake cow I’d ever seen. It was brown with white splotches across it, and it had fat udders. But the sticks protruding from the top of its head were unmistakably horn, which led me to believe that the beast we were gawking at was a…
“TRANSGENDERED COW!” Our unison words confirmed my suspicions. But it wasn’t a beast, really. People with less accepting views may have thought otherwise but not I.
I always knew that being a UU was right for me. I felt a sense of acceptance for curiously different people all my life. People whose gaze met mine for only a split second would reenter my mind days later. I would wonder about names, locations, and I would wonder about their happiness. That’s the thing about me. I am willing to gain knowledge about what I don’t know or understand.
I desperately wanted to know more about that cow. Was it made that way to prove something, or was it a mistake? What did other people think when they drove past it?
Maybe I was the only one who pondered extensively about this lifeless form, but seeing the sweet cow validated what I already knew. I have an attraction to the extraordinary.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.