SEBASTION’S STORY:
ACCEPTANCE IN A SMALL TOWN

It's October 16, 2020. Sebastion and I walk side-by-side down the 50-yard line as bleachers full of spectators watch. He and I are dressed in our formal wear, me in a gold gown that reflects the lights above and him in a black tux and red bowtie. The crowd cheers as our names are announced: “Your junior homecoming court representatives - Stella Govitz and Sebastion Shearer!” I glance over at him and can’t help but smile.

Sebastion’s come a long way since being Alyssa.

It's September 5, 2014. My fifth-grade class gets a new student named Alyssa. She’s wearing a green John Deere hoodie, blue jeans and a long brown braid in her hair. I have a gut feeling that we’ll become great friends. 

My instinct proves to be right. We hit it off immediately, bonding over our love of acting, public speaking and basically always being the centers of attention. Other than that, we’re polar opposites; I’m a girly-girl, and she’s the biggest tomboy I’ve ever met.

We continue to be close over the next few years. We don’t talk every day. When we do, though, it’s like nothing’s changed. 

What I don’t realize - what I can’t realize - is that Alyssa is figuring out her sexuality even at this young age. She dates a few boys to rule out the possibility of liking them, knowing deep down she probably isn’t straight. 

It's January 23, 2017. Alyssa and I are catching up in class when our conversation comes to a pause. Alyssa says, “Hey, Stella?”

There’s a beat. I wait for her to continue.

“I’m bisexual.”

I give her a hug and tell her that I’m happy for her. I’m not that surprised by the news. I’m grateful she trusts me with this information, since very few people know. 

Alyssa goes through a lot in the year to come. She walks the line between being  completely out of the closet within her circle of friends and being more secretive beyond it. 

Typical for any teenager, she also deals with the confusion of having feelings for another person, but with the added layer of her complicated sexuality. 

It's October 3, 2017. A casual text exchange takes an unexpected turn when the words “OMG Stella, my crush likes me!” flash on my phone. Alyssa now knows she’s a lesbian and not bisexual, but I have no idea she even has a crush. 

Soon enough, Alyssa and her crush become girlfriends. They’re the first openly gay couple at the school that I know of. They go strong for a while, gaining support from many of our classmates. It’s a huge milestone for Alyssa, but also for our school. 

We live in a small town, and Alyssa can no longer keep the secret from her family. She decides it’s time to come out to them. The moment is highly emotional; she starts crying long before the words “I like girls” tumble from her mouth. Her father isn’t surprised. He already suspects she isn’t straight, and he supports her. If she’s happy, he’s happy. 

It’s February 26, 2019. In English class, our latest read-aloud book is The 57 Bus. The story’s protagonist is a non-binary individual experiencing a hate crime. It informs about different sexualities and identities - mainly transgender people - and how they endure discrimination on a daily basis. 

It’s clear to me that this book will be a problem for our class. Rather than trying to understand the book’s message, a few of my classmates take the opportunity to spout homophobic and transphobic bullet points. They’re fully aware Alyssa is in the room. 

“I just don’t like seeing gay people kiss. It’s gross.”

“It’s impossible for you to be a boy if you’re born a girl - you’re just confused.”

“Transgenders shouldn’t be allowed in women’s bathrooms because they probably go in there to spy on little girls.”

They say all of this with smug smiles. It’s funny, they seem to think, to be this hateful. They know how it might affect Alyssa. They continue regardless. 

During one heated discussion, Alyssa leaves the room. I follow her and find her slumped against the lockers with tears rolling down her face. 

“Hey, are you okay?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“They’ll never know what it’s like to be in my position and they keep saying awful things.”

I feel so bad for her. I want to understand. I can empathize, but I can never completely understand.

It’s December 17, 2019. At a basketball game, the never-predictable Alyssa and I are talking about our winter plans. Seemingly out of the blue, she says, “I think I’m trans,” allowing only a sliver of doubt. 

I freeze for just a second.

“Wow, are you sure?” I ask. Then I say something I’ll never forget, for all the wrong reasons. “First you were bisexual and then you were a lesbian. Don’t you think this is a big leap?” 

What I can’t know, not because of intolerance but because of ignorance, is that he’s figuring out his identity. It’s not a leap at all. It’s his path to becoming Sebastion.

Weeks pass, and my reaction to Sebastion’s news chews away at my conscience. I’m ashamed of my response, and I know that years later, I’ll still wish I’d handled that situation better. Allies have to be understanding. Even when they don’t. 

It’s August 31, 2020. The spring shutdown gives me time to reflect on how I responded to one of my best friends coming out to me. I have to do better. 

Before the shutdown, Sebastion’s close friends were using this name, but by no means was he out to the whole school yet. It was a balancing act of trying to respect his name and pronouns while also not outing him to people. Now I know I need to help him feel like Sebastion, not Alyssa. 

It seems like the whole school feels the same. I find out that administration has sent an email to all the teachers; Alyssa now goes by Sebastion. 

Sebastion texts me and asks if I would run for homecoming court with him. I’m hesitant because I have no idea what a pandemic homecoming looks like. Regardless, I run. We’re in it together.

The day homecoming court is announced, we huddle in our classroom and patiently wait for the PA system to tell us what we want to hear. When it’s revealed that we’ve won, I feel so proud. Not of myself, but of Sebastion. Because of his fearlessness, passion and kindness, our class chooses him, our first transgender peer, to represent us. 

It's October 16th, 2020. The Homecoming court is introduced at halftime and Sebastian is glowing. This is a groundbreaking stride for our small town, and seeing everyone cheer him on means the world to him. This isn’t just his coming out to the whole town, either. This is Sebastion being Sebastion, living the life he wants to live. 

Finally, Sebastion feels like himself.

(This story originally appeared in the Midland Daily News; it appeared subsequently in the Clare County Cleaver and Second Wave Michian.)