And honestly? I’d love for the President to forget we exist for a while. It isn’t because we’re ashamed of who we are; it’s quite the opposite. It would just be nice if our government viewed us the same way it views left-handed people for a change. We’re just… well, we’re Americans. We pay taxes, we vote, we drive to work, we worry about how long it’ll be before we have to mow the lawn.

Dear Neighbor, 

You know, there’s something extremely… well, weird about sitting down to watch the President of the United States, hoping to hear about the economy, healthcare, housing, or the price of groceries…

…and instead finding out that he apparently woke up this afternoon thinking about you.

Not you, specifically.

Pretend, for a second, I’m referring to people like you. Use your imagination for a moment and go with me here.

I’m transgender. That’s a single part of who I am, and it’s not even in the top five most interesting things about me, according to my husband. It’s not the first thing I think about when I wake up, and it’s not something I even think about daily. Honestly, I’m probably thinking about what’s going on in Rowan County. I’m thinking about the next article I have to write, what we’re posting on social media, what my candidates may need, whether my Diet Coke is still cold enough to enjoy, what I’m going to pack for my son’s lunch, and whether I remembered to answer that email from yesterday (spoiler: I didn’t).

I’m thinking about normal things for my line of work and life.

Most transgender people are.

The narrative that somehow we’re all obsessed with gender is one of the biggest lies in American politics. Guess what: we aren’t. We’d actually love to think about it less, believe me, but unfortunately politicians won’t let us. It seems like half of the press conferences are reminders.

Last night, before talking about issues that affect every American family, Donald Trump chose to open his speech with attacks on transgender people.

Again.

I don’t think most (white) Americans realize what that feels like.

Imagine, for just a moment, that you’re just trying to exist. You’re trying to get through the workday so you can pay for groceries. You’re trying to find a doctor for that persistent cough that just won’t quite go away (maybe it’s allergies, you tell yourself). You’re trying to save a little money by looking through your grocery store’s app for coupons when the notification hits (woohoo, eggs for $1 a dozen!). Maybe you’re raising kids, or have pets that need constant attention. Maybe you’re also caring for your parents, because home-centered healthcare is expensive.

Then, after a long day, the President gets on television and decides you’re the opening act.

Not inflation. Not housing, either – and keep using your imagination here if you need to – you probably know someone struggling. Not wages, stagnant for much of your 30-ish years of life. And nope, it’s not healthcare, either. 

It’s you.

Do you know how that feels? It’s exhausting. Transgender people don’t want that attention. We want to be left alone, trust me. And honestly? I’d love for the President to forget we exist for a while.

It isn’t because we’re ashamed of who we are; it’s quite the opposite. It’d just be nice if our government viewed us the same way it views left-handed people for a change. We’re just… well, we’re Americans. We pay taxes, we vote, we drive to work, we worry about how long it’ll be before we have to mow the lawn.

I don’t spend my days wondering how to make other people’s lives harder; I’d appreciate the same courtesy.

I really don’t care whether my existence makes a good campaign ad. I do care about whether I can see my doctor without politicians interfering. I care whether my friends are safe. I care about whether or not I’ll be welcome at my place of worship.

I care whether some teenager who’s just figuring themselves out is going to hear the President of the United States tell the country that people like them are a problem before they’ve even had breakfast. That’s a heavy thing to put on a kid.

Come to think of it, it’s a heavy thing to carry as an adult.

The irony is that most of us are remarkably boring: We’re teachers. Nurses. Mechanics. IT workers. Programmers. Retail employees. Veterans. Parents. Students. We stand in line at Food Lion like everyone else. We complain about Duke Energy bills. We cheer for the Panthers (well, okay, anyone in that particular boat probably deserves sympathy). At the end of the day, we’re just… people.

The Bill of Rights doesn’t promise freedom only to people who never become politically inconvenient – it promises liberty to all of us. I didn’t stand up daily in a classroom reciting the Pledge of Allegiance to not believe we were all entitled to liberty and justice for all. That said, I’ve also never expected everyone to understand me – that’s not realistic. America is a big place, and we’re all different. I was raised by my then-Republican parents to see that as a strength. We’re all unique, and that’s not just our superpower, it’s what makes our country different and better-positioned to take on the rest of the world. That means – well, we’re probably not all going to be able to expect to understand one another all the time, and that’s got to be okay.

I have always, on the flip side, expected the President to understand that his words matter.

When you repeatedly tell millions of people that one minority deserves national attention – not because we’ve committed crimes, not because we’ve harmed anyone, but simply because we exist – you make life harder for that minority. This is obvious – 

– and not just in Washington.

It’s true in Rowan County. It’s still true in Salisbury. Same with Kannapolis, where I live. It’s true in schools, at worship services, and at work. Even at the grocery store of all places.

People hear those words. Some repeat them. Some act on them, which my family has personally seen.

That’s why it matters.

Here’s what I wish the President had opened with last night: I wish he’d reminded Americans that we’re all on the same team. That we’re facing real challenges together. That we can argue about taxes, spending, immigration, and foreign policy without deciding our neighbors are the enemy.

Instead, he started with us.

Again.

I don’t need the President to celebrate me, and I certainly don’t need him to agree with every decision I’ve made. I just need him to remember something that feels increasingly rare in today’s politics:

I’m an American, too.

“Dear Neighbor” authors are united in a belief that civility and passion can coexist. We believe curiosity and conversation make us a better community.