I
was there. June 6th, 1944. D-Day. Yeah. I landed with the 29th Infantry Division in the first wave at Omaha Beach. Our job was to clear the way of obstacles for DD Tanks, so we could punch through and get everyone out of there. Well, we landed, and we were immediately hit by mortar and machine gun fire that tore us to pieces. I can still see it in my dreams. The one thing that really stuck out to me in the early morning hours of June 6th, 1944. I looked around at my brothers in arms and suddenly realized there was absolutely no trans representation. My best friend was lying there dead. His body was full of holes from an MG 40 to a machine gun. Up there on the hill. Biological male. Big surprise. Three others from our platoon never made it out of the Higgins boat. Mortar round. Boom! Again, three more biological males. A captain was decapitated by another mortar round. Yeah. Yeah, you guessed it. Another biological male. I am so ashamed. In hindsight, this was the reality of America in 1944. You mean to tell me they couldn't go out and find some trans men or trans women so as to make the largest amphibious invasion in history? You know, they didn't even try. In the trenches, in the on the hedgerows, you know that there was a lot of guy talk talking about how much we missed the dames back home. They say boys will be boys, but maybe they won't be. Maybe they'll be dames one day. I realize that now.
