Transparenthood

I am not an advocate by nature.  At least not an outspoken one.  In the past I allowed my vote in elections to be my mouthpiece. I never wore my feelings on my sleeve, instead opting to send monetary donations to organizations that supported my views.  Political signs never found a home in my yard and my car bumper has always been sticker-free. And it is safe to say no politician’s name or societal hot topic ever graced the front of sweatshirts, hats, totes or any other apparel I might be sporting.  I have my beliefs and strong convictions just like anyone else, but I just never felt the need to climb onto a soapbox to share them.  All of that, I used to think, was for radicals and fanaticals.   That is, until we had Sam.

Having a gender variant child, we quickly learned firsthand how important our role as advocates was to Sam’s mental and physical wellbeing. From school officials and medical providers to friends, fellow students and their parents, we stood side-by-side as we explained a subject that was unfamiliar to most people and misunderstood by society at large. With every discussion on the subject, with every opportunity to share a glimpse of what it was like to walk in his shoes, we felt encouraged knowing one more person might go forward with a new appreciation and understanding for people like Sam.

So that was the extent of my advocacy until last month, when an opportunity presented itself that was on a much larger scale.  An opportunity to be an advocate in front of an audience that was in a position to truly help kids like Sam if they had a better understanding of the subject matter.  And so I said yes.

On October 24^th I boarded a plane to Rochester, NY, armed with a speech and the start of a bad case of stage fright.  I was headed there to join Dr. Ellen Perrin, a professor of pediatrics from Tufts Medical in Boston, Massachusetts, who is an internationally recognized expert in the area of child development.  Dr. Perrin was invited to be a guest lecturer on the subject of children with gender atypical behavior and she asked that I join her to speak on the same topic from a mother’s point-of-view.

As the plane landed in New York I began to question my sanity, wondering to myself how I had arrived at this moment.  Up until this point my advocacy had been in front of audiences of one, a much less stressful stage (if you can even call it that) than the platform I was about to climb onto.  But there was no going back.  As much as I wanted to board the next plane home I knew that I needed to fulfill my commitment, not only because I gave Dr. Perrin my word, but also because I believed that by sharing our story I would be helping her colleagues be better prepared to support parents and children in the same situation.

The lecture hall at Strong Memorial Hospital was large and intimidating.  We arrived early enough for me to observe people coming into the auditorium, the pace of which led me to (wishfully) believe that the audience would be small, however that was not the case.  We were presenting in front of Pediatric Grand Rounds I was told, which meant most pediatricians in residence as well as faculty would be in attendance.  Also invited were doctors from other specialties that might find the subject of interest as well as members of the hospital’s nursing staff and pediatricians from the local community. As the clock struck 8:00am, the lecture hall, which had entrances on two floors, was full, with some people even sitting on the stairs.  And as if that wasn’t enough, we were also being broadcast to remote locations for doctors who were not in the immediate area.

It was my worst public speaking nightmare come true.

Dr. Perrin led off the discussion with clinical information on gender variant children.  The audience was attentive, as I expected them to be for someone who was so accomplished and well regarded.  With each passing minute of her presentation the butterflies in my stomach multiplied as the cotton in my mouth threatened to render me mute.  And just as I was sitting there contemplating how my knocking knees could possibly transfer me to the stage, I heard her introduce me to the audience.  I had reached the point of no return.

I am not sure how I made it to the podium but before I knew it, I was standing in front of medical professionals that, to my surprise, were eager to hear what I had to say. Instead of being preoccupied (as I assumed busy doctors would be) they were actually listening, their heads nodding empathetically with each anecdote I told.  My mind – the conservative protector of my actions – took a back seat to my heart, allowing me to share intimate details of our life raising Sam.  Details that helped the audience fully appreciate the plight of these kids.  It was my heart that shared our struggle to understand Sam’s actions and feelings from a tender age.  And my heart that poured out details of our family’s frustration, sadness, hope and even joy surrounding the hand Sam had been dealt.

Speaking from the heart I reminded them that as medical professionals they might find themselves in the position of being the first person a family turns to for help, and that the tone they set with these families, who are most likely scared and confused, could have a great bearing on how they deal with the situation going forward. And I gave them a heartfelt plea to remember that for those affected it is not a phase or a choice.  It is a true disconnect between mind and body and that these people need medical care that is empathetic and supportive.  They need to be able to partner with medical care professionals who help their families and them understand that being transgender isn’t the end of the world, and most importantly, that they can go on to live happy and fulfilling lives.

With that I stepped off the podium, knowing I had accomplished what I had come there to do.  As I took my seat I recalled words of advice we had been given before Sam was born, words that took on a new meaning that morning…

                  “Your most important job is being your child’s advocate.                                                            And you will have that job the rest of your life.”

My heart spoke volumes that day and as it did, I found my voice as an advocate for Sam and people like him.  I never would have imagined that I would become an advocate with a capital letter ‘A,’ but that is what happens when you speak from the heart for those who might not yet have a strong voice.

As I turn off the yard light and shut the front door on another Halloween I find my mind drifting back, recalling how my feelings toward this day have changed throughout the years.  Ahhh, Halloween, typically a fun holiday for most families and one of the most favorite days of the year for children, who just love to dress up and indulge their sweet tooth.  But as a mom I had come to hate Halloween with each passing year, as my gender variant child came into her own, refusing to wear girl costumes after the age of three.

Halloween is a day when children can allow their creativity to run wild.  Finding or creating the perfect costume that transforms them into a favorite storybook character, movie hero or even an inanimate object is second only in excitement to counting and taking inventory of their candy windfall at the end of the evening. It’s also the one day of the year that society relaxes the rules on what it considers to be acceptable gender dress code.

Yes, Halloween is the one day out of the year that society allows gender to go on a bender.

And while society found it acceptable for Sam to wear boy’s costumes, that was no consolation for me.  I still wanted my daughter to be like other little girls. I wanted to be proud of the costume she chose (like she was) as we paid the cashier at Target, instead of hoping the clerk would assume it was for a male sibling at home.  I wanted to sprinkle pixie dust in her hair and pin pink fairy wings on her back.   I wanted her to be cute not handsome. I wanted her to fit in. But what I wanted was not meant to be.  Pouring over photos recently of Halloweens gone by, I was amazed at how early she made her preferences known. Perusing the pictures brought back a flood of emotions, as I recalled her costumes and the excuses I felt I needed to make to the mothers of her classmates.

Age 4:  Dog

“Sam has ALWAYS been a dog lover,” I explained to the mothers of Tinker Bell, Cinderella and Dorothy from Oz.

Age 5:  Harry Potter

“Sam loves Harry Potter…her Dad reads the book to her every night before bed,” I justified to the moms of Mary Poppins, a cute little witch and the butterfly fairy princess with purple tinsel in her wings.

Age 6:  Fireman

“Sam has an uncle that is a fireman,” I defended to the parents of Minnie Mouse, Little Red Riding Hood, and Snow White.

Age 7:  Football Player

“Sam watches football every Sunday afternoon with her dad,” I rationalized to the moms of Alice in Wonderland, a cherubic angel and the prima ballerina.

Oh so exhausting and unnecessary.  But you could not tell me that at the time.  With each passing year Halloween shed more light on who Sam really was, and that revelation wore heavily on my mind until I finally realized that my source of dread was Sam’s well of delight.   And then I let go.  Let go of the embarrassment I was harboring, the needless excuses and the selfish aspirations for Sam to be someone she was not.  From being a dog and Harry Potter to a fireman and a football player, Sam loved the opportunity this day provided her to be more of who she felt like inside.  Halloween was truly one of the happiest days of her year.  As it turns out, she was just like every other kid after all.

How many times must I learn this lesson?  Never say never.  As a parent of a 15 year-old transgender child you would think by now I would know better than to make concrete assumptions about how anything will play out in Sam’s life.  But that is exactly what I did when it came to the subject of Sam attending high school dances.  I completely wrote it off as something we would never, and I mean NEVER see him do. You see I had chalked that rite of passage up to something he would not be able to experience given his circumstance.  So you can imagine my sheer and utter surprise when he informed me he intended to go to his school’s homecoming dance this fall.

The familiar chirp alerting me to an incoming text message went off late morning on an unusually warm day in September.  I glanced at my phone to see a text message from Sam on the screen.  Given the fact he was at school, I grabbed the phone quickly, thinking something might be wrong.

“I’m gonna go to homecoming!”  The text read.

“Oh dear God,” I thought to myself, “What in the hell is he thinking?”  As I looked at those five words on my phone screen I began making a mental list of all the reasons why he shouldn’t go.  Doesn’t he know that kids like him don’t go to high school dances because they get picked on? Doesn’t he understand most parents, not to mention their children, don’t completely understand his gender variance and would probably not be comfortable having their daughter be his date?  Doesn’t he realize the worry I am about to experience might just push me over the edge?!  And what about a suit?  He doesn’t own a suit so that settles it – he can’t go!

Instead of raining on his parade with my irrational list of excuses I did my best to hide my fear and texted a message back to him.

“That sounds great!  Who are you going with?”

As I typed the words I realized, I had never been so happy to be having a conversation via text messaging as I was at that moment, for if he had seen my face he would have known instantly that I was terrified of the rejection and humiliation I thought he had before him.

“I found a great group. Some kids from band!” He texted back to me.

My fear began to subside. This actually could be okay I reasoned.  A bunch of kids who probably don’t have dates, all going to the dance as a big group.  While it wasn’t done when I was in high school I knew this was an acceptable practice today and I allowed a wave of relief to wash over me.  But before I was able to fully enjoy my respite from fear, a third text from Sam appeared on the screen.

“I’m going to ask Madison!”

Madison is a wonderful girl and has been one of Sam’s best friends ever since he was three years old.  Smart, compassionate and kind, not to mention wise beyond her years, Madison is someone who has always appreciated Sam for Sam.  She also is someone who understands what he has been through and has supported him through thick and thin.  All that said, I was still worried about him asking her to be his date, fearing the situation might be too awkward even for the best of friends.  But that was my worry not theirs.  Sam proceeded to ask her to the dance and she graciously accepted the invitation without hesitation.

The next couple of weeks leading up to the dance were filled with firsts – buying a suit for the first time, ordering a corsage, being responsible for purchasing advanced tickets with his own money and making reservations – the typical things any boy would have to do when taking a date to homecoming.  We stood back and watched in amazement as he did those things we never thought we’d see him do.  Madison and Sam went to the dance with a nice group of kids from his band class.  They posed for pictures, ate dinner at an Italian restaurant and went to the dance, where they danced the night away (yet another thing I never thought he would do) without so much as one person making them feel uncomfortable.  And they had fun.  Lots of fun.  So much fun that Sam happily announced at the end of the evening, as he climbed into the car and before the door was even shut, that he planned to go to the homecoming dance his junior and senior years as well.

Never say never indeed.  Lesson (finally) learned.