I chickened out. The U.S. Customs Officer behind the counter was grilling me on the purpose of my trip to Washington, D.C., along with every other annoying detail of my life. “A conference? What kind of conference?” he asked as if such a preposterous activity automatically added my name to the list of suspected terrorists.

“On gender,” I said meekly, “and stuff like that.”

You’re never supposed to sound vague to a Customs Officer. It makes them suspicious. But it’s only us weak-kneed, unprepared, infrequent flyers who ever sound vague and unsure. We’re so afraid they’re not going to let us get where we’re going, we stumble over our answers and have to double-back and explain.

He was tremendously irritated with me and demanded to see proof of my return flight. When I couldn’t produce it, he sent me back to the check-in counter to damn well get it. I wanted to tell him that if I was a terrorist I’d likely be better organized. But that’s another thing you never say to a Customs agent.

My handsome, insolent, cocky lover, on the other hand, at the Customs desk just opposite mine, told the inquiring agent, plainly, that he was going to attend a conference on “gender identity and female to male transsexuality.” The agent replied with only a small “Oh” and, though he took a special interest in my lover’s passport (containing his female identity), didn’t ask anymore questions about the trip.

On the way to our third search-and-dismantle-your-luggage station (we were, after all, travelling to Washington), I confessed my lily-liveredness to my lover who also admitted that, despite his bravado, U.S. Customs generally terrifies him. Given the increased security focussed on those with any dissimilarity to the information in their passport, and the general suspicion of gender-queers and tranny people, it’s an understandable dread.

But I faced the same dilemma at our B&B breakfast the next morning. The male half of an older, white, straight couple asked, “Is it true most Canadians pretty much consider themselves part of the United States?” His wife shh-shh’ed his ignorance, then politely said they’d been skiing in Quebec once and how wonderful it was that you could always find someone who spoke English.

Then she asked why we’d come to Washington. “A conference,” I said vaguely, regretting it would only pique her curiousity. She cheerfully asked, “On what?”

I really didn’t want to know how Mr. and Mrs. Middle-America felt about sharing crumpets with a Canadian transman and his lesbian girlfriend. So, trying this time to sound as if there wasn’t anything more to explain, I answered briefly, “Gender.” Whether it frightened her or the word itself exhausted her knowledge on the topic, all she said, nicely, was, “Gender? That sounds interesting.”

I kicked myself again for chickening out. I felt like one of those idiots I frequently chide for not being gay enough or out enough or resistant enough to stupid discrimination. On a usual day, arm in arm with my transsexual boyfriend, I don’t care what other people think. I take pleasure in the idea that we shake up a few assumptions.

But face to face with someone who has the power to curtail my travel freedom, or restrict my access to the toaster, I waffle. I don’t necessarily want the probable assortment of varied hostilities to rain down on me just then. Sure, in lots of situations I stare back or yell back, snap back or bite back. But crossing the line into full-frontal disclosure isn’t always easy. I don’t always want to be educating over breakfast.

And that discomfort, I think, is one big fat reason why conferences such as True Spirit exist. True Spirit has been happening every February since 1997. A gathering of female-to-male transsexuals and their friends, family, allies, partners and chasers, it’s a four-day blast of information-sharing, workshops, film-screenings, performances, counselling, meeting, greeting, learning, flirting and, um, quite a lot of sex.

While the speakers, workshops and general networking are enormously important, it’s also simply about having a huge number of handsome, courageous, colourful, noisy, visible, timid, talented, intelligent, excited and excitable gender freaks all in one place. It’s the relief, affirmation, absolute comfort and, for a few small days, the exhilaration of being the norm.

For four days, the Washington Court Hotel, all polished and sparkled up for the likes of business executives, is overrun with pierced, tattooed, vibrant and vocal transmen and their supporters. Workshops cover topics such as surgery, hormones, trans-accessible washrooms, activism and advocacy, how to handle your G.P., employment and health issues, and making use of the media. Also on-site were tables of resources, a clothing exchange, support groups and lots of opportunities to make new friends and meet new allies.

Some conference attendees have been out, vocal and active for years and years while others, like eleven-year-old Zach, are pretty new to the scene. But despite one’s level of familiarity, pride, confidence and courage, events like True Spirit are essential way stations on the road of self-realization and social change. And a party by the side of the road with a bunch of similar, supportive folks is exactly the inspiration you need when faced, the other 361 days of the year, with interrogating Customs officials and narrow-minded breakfast companions.