Transgender

I had a dream last night. When I woke up, I had some thoughts brewing in my brain, but as I always do, I asked my son if he would allow me to write about his story.

I’m hyper aware that Lee’s story is not mine to tell. The topic is sensitive and personal, and while my son isn’t ‘stealth,’ there are times when he’d rather ‘just be a boy.’ As this is a luxury that eludes many trans people, I like to enable him to access it whenever he feels it’s necessary.

Anyway. It’s been over two years since I started parenting another son instead of the daughter I thought I knew. It’s been two years of seeking resources, finding support groups, researching legalities, and delving in to this community that I never knew existed.

Throughout our journey, we’ve encountered an amazing amount of support and love. Lee has shared his story with other kids, with teens, and with professionals who wanted to learn more about his transition. He has been welcomed and supported in school, in church, at camp, and in the wider community. We’ve been in this little bubble of support and love; for that, I am incredibly grateful.

We made our announcement to family just about two years ago, and I was raised very much in a, “If you don’t have anything nice to say… “ kind of environment. When I shared our experience on Facebook, I asked that our friends and family commit to learning on this journey with us or “quickly and quietly unfriend.” The urge to check was intense, but I never did look to see if anyone ‘unfriended’ me. I guess I didn’t really want to know.

But if I say I didn’t notice a change, I’d be lying. While many of our loved ones expressed support and concern, there were a number of others who responded with radio silence. I choose to interpret this silence as, “We love you. We don’t understand, but we’ll hang around to see how this plays out.” And I respect that. I certainly didn’t ‘get it’ at first. I had to do a lot of reading and a lot of research and a lot of reaching out to learn about the lived experience of others like my child.

Like so many others, I had other pressing issues. I had causes and concerns and fears and they didn’t include the fate or lived experience of transgender people. In all honesty, I don’t think I would’ve sought to educate myself until it became necessary. I don’t know that I would’ve been that concerned or interested in this unique life experience that didn’t seem to connect to my life. I’m ashamed to admit this, and I’m sorry to those who were inherently impacted by my indifference.

Last night, I dreamt I was sitting at a large oak dining table with the family members who have been silent about the topic. They were asking questions and I was so relieved. When people ask questions, they share a vulnerability. I have friends who acknowledge that, “I might say this wrong…” or family members who start an inquiry with, “I hope this question doesn’t offend you…” and I LOVE IT.

There is such a beautiful power to awkward conversations. Sometimes, we’re so afraid of offending people that we bite our tongues, or we hold our thoughts, and consequently, we miss the opportunity to connect with and understand each other. These connections are a blessing, and these awkward conversations are the conduit for them.

So back to my dream. I sat at the table, and I answered questions. I answered them honestly and vulnerably and, at times, I got angry. In this dream, these family members often referred to my child with the wrong pronouns, and I want to explain my reaction.

In the trans* community, there’s a lot of concern and conversation about ‘misgendering.’ When someone refers to another person using the wrong pronouns, parents filter our response through a hierarchy of intent. A supportive person who is legitimately trying and made a mistake is easily forgiven. A loved one who doesn’t quite understand and feels that the pronouns are ‘no big deal’ will likely get a talking to in private. Someone who is openly hostile and dismissive will most likely get the ‘we will not allow you to treat our child with such disrespect’ talk just before the ‘we don’t need that kind of negativity in our lives’ talk. Hell hath no fury like a parent protecting their child.

So, in my dream, I corrected their pronouns. I hoped that my passion and my love for my child would help them to understand the importance of getting this right. And then, in my dream, I endured a series of overtly personal questions. Questions about my child’s genitals. Questions about his sexuality. Questions about his hormones and his pubertal development and our medical decisions. Please, hear me out. I’m an over-sharer by nature. I understand and appreciate curiosity. So if you’re asking me private, personal, deeply emotionally-laden questions about my child’s adolescent development, I will do one of two things. If I trust your sincerity, if I’m convinced of your support; if I have no doubt about your intentions toward my child, I will answer honestly and openly.

If I question your sincerity, your support, or your intentions, and you ask a question about my child’s genitalia, please expect the answer to be, “Would you be comfortable talking with me about your child’s genitals? Would you ask about any other child’s sexual preferences?” If you are about to ask a question that would be inappropriate in the context of talking about any other child of the same age, then please assume it is doubly inappropriate to ask in regards to my transgender child.

This child is amazing. He is brave and strong and funny and smart. He is observant and loving and enthusiastic and positive. He is kind and loving. I have no doubt that this kid will change the world.

A unique life experience means that my child will always have to defend himself in ways that should be unnecessary. It is my hope that each one of these intensely personal, often inappropriate conversations will make him stronger and more self-aware. It is my hope that each of these conversations will provide him with an opportunity to define himself more clearly, to point out hypocrisy, and to demonstrate patience and kindness and love to those who may be hesitant to do the same for him.