When gender does not compute

At W’s family reunion, we sit inside an old firehouse at long tables covered with vinyl tablecloths. At the end of one of the tables, a woman with a laptop is trying to piece together the family tree.

This year, W and I are legally married. This year, my name can go on the tree.

W leaves me to sit with the lady with the laptop and give her my information.

She is gone a long time.

“Her software won’t let you be a girl,” she tells me when she returns.

“Story of my life,” I reply.