Going Stealth

Going Stealth

Lee transitioned in the fourth grade.  Now, four years later, he is in middle school with a bunch of kids who remember him as a girl, and a whole lot of students who know him as ‘the trans kid.’ 

And we all know that people can be mean.  And kids this age can be brutal.  There’s a core group of kids who refer to him as “that tranny.”  Of course, they never do it within earshot of adults, so it’s hard to prove and even harder to combat.  But, despite the ‘haters,’ he’s got a great group of loyal friends.  He’s got support and people who love him.  He is out and proud and unashamed.  

How much of that is a performance?  A show to convince everyone that the bullying and the name calling doesn’t bother him?  I’m not really sure.  I always just assumed this kid had an over abundance of confidence.  His “give-a-damn’s busted,” or some such cliché.  His favorite shirt reads, “Nobody Knows I’m Trans,” and I love him for wearing it proudly.  

But times, they are a changing.  He’s applying to High Schools.  And he’s excited about something I didn’t see coming.  

Going stealth.  

In the trans community, it’s a particular privilege (although this isn’t true for all trans people, especially those who with a non-binary identity) to be able to ‘pass’ in social situations.  When people in transition get ‘read’ as the correct gender by strangers in public, it’s often a milestone.  In unfamiliar situations, Lee has always had ‘passing privilege.’  Because he never went through a female puberty, he presents as male.  His hair, his clothing, his name… all of those non-medical changes were enough, at the tender age of 8, to prompt strangers to view him as a boy.  Now that he’s older, we’ve taken some medical steps, so his jaw is squaring, his shoulders are widening, a little shadow has appeared on his upper lip.  He’s pretty consistently gendered correctly.  

And having this ‘passing privilege’ opens up the option to ‘go stealth.’ He can simply rely on the general public to perceive the correct gender and not share his trans identity. 

That’s what Lee wants to do.  He wants to start at a new school, and just, well… keep his privates private.  He wants to be known for his artistic talent and his anime obsession and his animal-whispering skills.  He wants to make new friends and just BE, without answering uncomfortable questions and explaining himself to people who may or may not genuinely want to understand. 

His room is currently plastered in Pride flags.  Gay pride flags.  Pan pride flags.  Trans pride flags.  And last week, he asked me if he could take them down.  I didn’t know how to react.  The question was so unexpected… so out of character… that I wasn’t sure where it was coming from.  He read my face and clarified, “If I get to go to a different high school, I’m taking down my flags and climbing back into the closet.”  His phrasing made me giggle, but his words broke my heart.  

And, of course, it’s HIS choice.  It’s HIS lived experience we’re talking about, here.  

I haven’t lived as a trans person, so I don’t know what it’s like for him to be ‘out’.  I can’t imagine how hard it is to feel like you have a target on your back, especially as you navigate the nightmare of middle school.  But I do know what it’s like to have a secret.  To worry that someone might find out the thing that you so desperately want to hide.  To be afraid of the truth.  

Secrets are scary.  They can be used against you.  As blackmail or punishment or even a defense in court.  If a straight person murders a trans person, they can actually argue that they were so shocked and surprised by someone’s trans-ness that they’re not responsible for their own actions.  SERIOUSLY???

So, while I’m sure it would be easier for him to go to school as a boy and just ‘pass,’ I’m also worried about the repercussions if his ‘secret’ gets out.  Will he face potentially violent reactions if his peers feel like they’ve been lied to? 

I keep playing the ‘what-ifs’ in my head.  I keep imagining worst-case scenarios.  But I also need to imagine the relief at finally being able to just blend in.  The comfort of not having to watch your back or read between the lines or second-guess every interaction.  

Ultimately, I don’t think my opinion on this one is worth a damn.  He’s got to decide.  He’s always going to have to decide.  Every time he meets someone new.  Every time he starts a new job or makes a new friend or gets close enough to date someone.  Every time he enters a relationship, he’s going to have to make a choice.  He’s going to have to decide if the risk is worth the reward.  

And I can’t protect him from it.  I can’t mitigate the risks or predict the outcomes.  I can only be there to support him through it; to cheer him on through the wins and comfort him through the losses and remind him that his value is not dependent on other people’s reactions to him.  

Just like every other parent, I suppose.  I can’t fix the world for my kid, so I have to prepare my kid to be brave and bold and vulnerable and kind.  I have to help him to be cautious AND resilient as he becomes the incredible adult human that God intended him to be.  

February Vacation

  

I’ve been browsing Facebook more than usual, because I’m on vacation this week. And it’s fascinating to get a glimpse of what my friends and acquaintances are doing.  There are ski trips and museum trips and big smiles and happy families.  There are pictures of beautiful beaches and tropical drinks and colorful sunsets.  I see old friends in bikinis, looking better than I ever did in my 20s. I have a friend who is on a once in a lifetime trip to Tokyo this week to visit her son.  How amazing is that?  

And, because I know and love these people, I am happy for them.  These are awesome experiences and once-in-a-lifetime trips.  These people deserve their vacations.

But holy cow, guys.  That’s not what my February vacation looks like.  And it’s not what it looks like for most of the people I know.  

Jackie’s kitchen ceiling collapsed this week.  She’s putting on a smile and being a trooper, but… GOD.  That sucks.  

Rebecca’s kids are with their dad this week. She’s working overtime to distract herself.  She hates missing vacations with them.    

Stephanie sent her kids to Florida to visit Grandma (at exorbitant cost), so that she can pack up her house and get ready to move.  She’s spending her days at work and her nights packing boxes.  

Jennifer is a single mom to two kids.  She’s fitting in her oil change and her trip to the DMV and taking her kids on day trips to pretty cool places.  She still feels like she’s not doing enough.  

Annie drove with her family to Florida.  Everyone was sick and it took two days longer than it should have.  But they made it.  

My kids have been watching too much YouTube and playing too many video games and when I finally got them out of the house yesterday, they argued the whole time.  

To the dads trying to entertain stir-crazy toddlers… You’ve got this.  

To the moms planning activities and crafts and distractions… You’re amazing.  Even when it ends in tears. 

To the parents who are letting your kids play too many video games… It’s fine.  They’re fine.  

To the working parents trying to cobble together child-care… Stay strong.  You’ve got this.  

Guys, let’s be in this together.  It’s not a contest.  Love your kids.  Go to work.  Have fun when you can.  Keep showing up for your family.  But take time to rest.  Cut yourself some slack.  You’re doing great.  

Fourteen

Last night, my house was full of teenagers and laughter and off-color jokes.  There was pizza and painting and loud card games.  There were make-your-own sundaes, drowning in chocolate syrup and Swedish fish, because Kyle invited four friends over to spend the night in celebration of his 14th birthday.  My husband thinks I’m crazy, but I loved every minute of it.  Because when teenagers gather in groups, they forget the adults can still hear them.  They become wrapped up in their own inside jokes and their crude humor and their developing sense of self.  When they’re gathered like that, you get a glimpse of them becoming.  Becoming individuals.  Becoming adults.  Becoming the version of themselves that doesn’t have anything to do with you.  

Watching your kids grow up is a pretty universal phenomenon, but like childbirth or any aspect of raising kids, it’s also intensely personal and life-changing and brutal and beautiful. 

Today, my firstborn is 14.  Despite all evidence to the contrary, deep down, I think I thought he would be little forever.  When he was born, I couldn’t imagine a day when he wouldn’t need me to take care of him.  Yet, here we are. 

Today, my heart aches.  It aches with sadness AND joy and I didn’t even know that was possible.  Where did my baby go?  How did I get so blessed?  How can he be so funny and brave and talented?  Where did all of that come from?  

When did he get his own, caustic, incredible sense of humor?

How did he learn to draw like that? 

Where did that confidence come from? 

Why won’t he do his homework? 

Where did the years go? 

What will I do when he doesn’t need me anymore? 

If the goal of this whole thing is to help him become a real, functional, grown-up person, why does the thought of him NOT needing me bring me to tears?  

For all these years, people have been saying, “Enjoy every moment,” which is sage, yet impossible, advice.  And I’ve tried.  I try to enjoy every phase and appreciate each stage and just love the little moments.  But the moments are slipping away.  If fourteen years went by in a minute, the next four or five will be gone any second. 

And I can’t stop time.  The best I can do is notice its passing.  I can look around in this moment and pause to take it all in. 

There’s a gaggle of teenagers on my living room floor on sagging air mattresses, wrapped in cartoon-character blankets.  

There are two boxes of donuts on the counter, for when they wake up craving carbs and sugar.  There’s extra coffee for the parents because they will be full of carbs and sugar. 

There’s a fourteen year old with orange hair and trendy glasses and a smile that lights up the room, anticipating his traditional birthday breakfast donut.  

There’s a dusting of snow on the ground and two dogs asleep at my feet, while I sip coffee from the cup holder in the reclining couch that we almost didn’t buy because “Cup holders belong in cars, not couches.”  That logic was wrong, by the way.   

There’s a strong, funny, talented, kind, and easily-distracted bald dude sitting next to me who fills my heart with overwhelming love and also sometimes incredible frustration, and I look at him and I see my future and I also understand this teenager just a little better.  

There are two more kids upstairs, one sound asleep who was fourteen yesterday and will spend this weekend writing college essays.   The other is playing online games with his friends at this early hour.  He’ll be fourteen any second.  

The moments blend together and then separate with amazing clarity when you least expect it.  

There’s a giggle from the gaggle in the living room.  They’re stirring. 

In a moment, there will be more moments to enjoy.  And while I watch this child becoming who he will be, I will try to remember that I am becoming, too.  I am growing into this next phase of parenting; the phase that looks more like worrying and advising and celebrating than supervising and shuttling and, well, raising.  

They’re growing.  They will soon be grown.  And, thank God, there’s still so much to look forward to…