Transparenthood

One wish. That’s all we get when we blow out the candles on our birthday cake each year.  It’s kind of a funny tradition when you think about it.  We wait 364 days in anticipation of the one date we are allowed to make this wish.  The rules are strict yet simple:  make said wish in your head so that no one knows, blow out all the candles with one breath and your wish shall be granted.  Or so the story goes.  Children in particular bank on the truth of this practice probably more so than the list they send to Santa Claus, because there is just something about the whole custom – the build up that is perpetuated by all in attendance at the candle-blowing-out ceremony – that makes it seem so authentic.

“Make a wish but don’t tell anyone or it won’t come true,” you are reminded by parents, friends, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins who are circled around you and your cake full of brightly lit candles… as if you would forget.  With so many believers it just HAS to be real we tell ourselves, which is what makes it an even more eagerly awaited annual event for young and old alike.

Last week we celebrated Sam’s 15^th birthday.  Now I love birthday’s just as much as anyone else, especially, as I grow older, when they are somebody else’s.  But for the last seven years I have had a heavy heart when I watch Sam extinguish his candles.  You see, Sam broke that all-important rule (you know, the one with the confidentiality clause) when he was eight years-old and told me what his wish was, the same wish, as it turns out, that he has had ever since he can remember.

“Do you want to know what I wished for mom?” he asked.

“Well I don’t know Sam.  If you tell me then it might not come true,” I said, trying to protect the folklore.

“I’m not worried about that,” he said confidently, “…because I have wished for the same thing since I was three and it still hasn’t come true,” he confided.

My heart sinks.

“Every year when I blow out my birthday candles I wish that I could be the boy I know I am,” Sam shared, in his usual matter-of-fact, age 8-going-on-48 manner.

His words feel like a sucker punch to the gut.

My mind flashes back to the last several birthday celebrations starting when Sam turned three, reflecting on small details at a dizzying pace about the cakes – from Blues Clues and zoo animals to baseball themes – and the people invited to celebrate the special day.  Amidst all of the balloon filled, crepe paper decorated festivities I never would have guessed my child was making a wish, not for something that could be purchased at the local toy store like most kids would do, but rather for something that would bring him inner peace.  That realization was almost more than I could bear.

Every birthday since then I have wondered what Sam was wishing for as he exhaled a deep breath strategically aimed at those candles.  At the exact same moment I make my own private wish that he is on his way to finding happiness and self acceptance.   And together as a family we continue down that road less traveled I have mentioned before, the one that sometimes seems way too long and filled with all too many detours, each of us motivated only by the fact that somewhere up ahead is his birthday wish come true.

I apologize for the delay in posting…it has taken me longer than I thought to sort through the 102 letters, emails and cards we received in response to our letter, trying to decide which ones to share.

Yes, you read that right…over 100 people took the time to respond, and that is not counting the phone calls we received!  Once again we found ourselves overwhelmed by the kindness and compassion of others – not just from close family and friends but also acquaintances who reached out to offer their support.  Following is just a sampling of the heartfelt messages we received…

From a rough and tumble woman with a heart of gold…“We admire your honesty and courage and wish your family the best in whatever anyone does, just as you would to us!”

From the sister I never had…“If first we are not true to ourselves then we cannot be true to anyone.  I admire your wisdom and courage at such a young age.”

From a woman who works three jobs to support her family…“Everything is going to get better and better for Sam.  He’s on his way to find true happiness and that’s all we ever want for our kids.  Hang in there.”

From a favorite 7^th grade science teacher and his wife…“Thank you for inviting us to know and understand your situation.  We are honored you asked for our support and offer it up 100%.  It can’t be an easy path you are on, but we admire your courage and wish you all a sense of community and support.  We feel certain you will be a fine young man.”

From a co-worker of mine…“Thank you Sam, for having the courage to enlighten us.”

From neighbors with young children who even had their 5 year-old sign his name on the card they sent to us…“Your courage and strength are a shining example to us all.”

From a school principal…“I am in awe of all of you and the strength and courage you have to acknowledge Sam’s journey and for you, Sam, to walk it.  I’ve known too many people who don’t feel they are allowed to truly be who they are until much later in life, and with that delay, much more pain comes.  So, we will celebrate YOU, support you, care for you and step aside as you march on to greatness.”

From a family who took the time to hand deliver a card that contained this message…“Some people spend a lifetime trying to figure themselves out.  Some succeed but most don’t!  But you Sam – you get it!  You are a hero to many!

From a teacher of Sam’s younger sister (she sent this message in a card that was addressed to ‘Samuel,’ which had extra special meaning because it was one of the first pieces of mail he received that used his new legal name)…“Dear Sam, thank you for sharing your letter with me.  I want to let you know how proud and supportive I am of you.  You are an amazing boy!  You are a terrific role model for who a transgender person is – smart, loving, talented and strong.  I am excited to watch you grow on this great journey.  I will always be here for you.”

From a mom…“I have admired Sam for as long as I can remember – he always played the best softball game, yet was quickest to congratulate everyone else on their ‘good game.’ Know that we will do our best to support Sam and will encourage our girls to be accepting, kind and caring towards him.”

From a woman who works as a lunch lady in Atlanta, Georgia…“I just want you to know how proud I am of Sam.  He is making such a brave statement, not because he has to but because that is what is best for him.  No sense in hiding it, no point in keeping skeletons in the closet, just be who you are! 

So many kids that come through my lunch line are at the age that they don’t know where they want to go, who they want to be, where they even came from or what day it is. Sam is so way ahead of them and will be just fine!  I know kids can be cruel to each other, I see that in my lunch line.  But be tough, don’t get into fights, stand tall and be smart.”

From our beloved Aunt Sandy…“We whole-heartedly support Sam and wish him the best life has to offer. Sam is already a good person, and with the support of his family and friends, he will find happiness, we have no doubt.”

From a dad…“I just wanted to drop you a note to let you know how brave and important we thought your letter was, and to let you know that Sam has and will always have the unwavering support of our family.

From a pediatrician…“I am bursting with pride to know you – and I shed tears of joy, and empathy, indeed, in reading and re-reading your letter that arrived today!  May you and your family keep changing this world of ours for the better.” 

From a dear friend and walking buddy who probably could also be considered my therapist considering the feelings she has helped me sort out on those long treks around our local lake…“We just got your letter and thought it was great.  I had my girls all read it.  I have never said much to them about Sam.  They could not have had less of a reaction.  That is who he is and they got it.  Let’s hope most people have the same view.”

I mentioned in my inaugural post that there have been so many times while traveling this crazy road that our beliefs have been challenged and our courage tested.  This would be one of those times.  In our wildest dreams we never would have imagined (nor expected) the outpouring of love and acceptance that was showered upon our family as a result of that letter.  Some of the messages you just read were excerpts from longer letters – some appeared just as they were written – one or two lines conveying all that needed to be said.   Sent by people from all walks of life, the common thread within those notes was that they all offered unconditional support to our family and most importantly to Sam, and for that we will remain eternally grateful.

This week marks an important anniversary for our family.  It was just one year ago that we mailed ‘the letter,’ which we wrote to tell friends and family about Sam.  The letter was a long time in coming and much needed for many reasons, but mostly because as Sam continued to move toward living his life as a male, people were genuinely confused.  They did not want to embarrass him by making assumptions but we found that if not specifically told, people would continue to use female pronouns, ask how our girls were, or use his birth name of Samantha.  Of course that was to be understood – we would have done the same thing if we were in their shoes.

The letter was actually written three months prior to its mailing.  I am not really sure why it sat parked in my computer for so long; I suppose if I were to be completely honest with myself it was because I needed the time to mentally prepare for what I thought would be the backlash of its distribution.

I could not have been more wrong.

We printed 150 copies and made a family event out of preparing them for distribution.  Sam and his younger sister were responsible for stamps and return labels, my husband was the official envelope stuffer, and I, working from a well-worn family address book that was the keeper of our contacts over the last 20 years, was in charge of addressing the envelopes.  As I wrote each name I found myself envisioning the face of the recipients as they read our news.  Would they be surprised?  Would they snicker and pick up the phone to gossip with friends or family we had in common?  Would they disapprove of the news, dubbing us another set of new-age parents indulging their child?  Or, (fingers and toes crossed) would they read it with love and acceptance?  With every name I would either feel an instant sense of relief, knowing they were people who would understand and support our family, or I would experience a sharp pain in my stomach that came from the worry that this might be the last correspondence we have, should they not be able to accept our news.

Armed with the letters I headed to the local post office.   Entering the drive-thru I rolled down the window, only to be greeted with a blast of hot, humid August air, which caused me to begin to sweat.  In hindsight I am sure I was already uncomfortably warm knowing the repercussions (or so I thought) of what I was about to do.  Holding the stack just inside the lip of the drop slot, I checked the pick-up times – not that it mattered, it was just a force of habit – and told myself to drop them inside.  It was at this point that I froze.

Go ahead, drop them in.

No, don’t.

Did you hear me?  I said…Drop. Them. In.

No, wait a minute, are you sure you want to do this?

And so it went for what seemed like hours, the struggle between my right mind and my internal devil’s advocate arguing back and forth as the envelopes remained tightly grasped in my sweaty hand, teetering half way in the drop slot.  The honk of a horn behind me broke up the fight but instead of letting go, I quickly pulled the letters back inside my car and drove around the drive-thru circle again for another try.

Yes, I am ashamed to admit, I really did.

This time I was ready for the internal fight that ensued and was prepared to do what was right…force myself to mail those letters, which I did.  But the instant I heard them land inside the metal box with what seemed like an amplified THUD, my heart sank and my mind began to race. How could I retrieve them?  Think.  Think.  Think.  Could I use a golf club that I had in my car to pry open the back door of that mailbox?  Was it a felony or just a misdemeanor to tamper with U.S. Mail?  Surely if I were caught the postman would understand my dilemma, right?  But being a rule following, law abiding citizen to a fault, I drove home resigned to the fact that within 24 to 48 hours, what had once been a family secret would now be public knowledge, and there was nothing more I could do about it.

August  2010 

Dear Friends and Family,

For the last ten years we have been dealing with the fact that our firstborn child Sam is transgender.   Put in the most simple of terms, Sam’s mind and biology do not match.  Sam has identified as being male since early childhood and recently has begun living his life as one.  As part of this process, his name was legally changed from Samantha Carole to Samuel David.   As you can see from this letter, we use male pronouns when referring to Sam and encourage you to do the same.  For those of you who might be wondering if this is just a phase, as we did, we assure you that what Sam is experiencing is very real, and is not how anyone would choose to live their life.

We never thought we would be on this path, but prefer to focus on the positives – Sam is an incredible human being who is wise and talented beyond his years – an accomplished saxophone player, skier and student, as well as a loving child and faithful friend – and the one constant among all of these attributes is that gender does not matter.  We have come to view this experience as a challenge to be embraced and one that we can all learn some of life’s most important lessons from –  that different is okay, that it is what’s inside that counts, and that we are all deserving of love.  Sam is still the same person you have always known – that will never change, but we are hoping that by sharing our story with you, we can help to change some of the stigma surrounding transgender people.  

While our family does not seek your sympathy, we would greatly appreciate your empathy as we support Sam on his journey to find happiness.  This has not, nor will be the easiest of roads to travel for our family, but we believe that with compassion and tolerance, we can show Sam and people like him that gender does not define the person.

Our best,

Sam’s Family

I mentioned earlier that I could not have been more wrong about how people would take our news.  In my next post I will share some of the responses we received, from friends and family alike.  I think you might be surprised at what you read.

Once we faced that heart-wrenching ah-ha moment when Sam was just 8 years-old       (XX vs. XY blog post, dated July 9) we quickly agreed that we needed professional help. Not knowing where to begin, I dove head first into the Internet and quickly became lost, confused, and scared out of my mind.  A cursory search of the term ‘transgender’ yielded a swift education on the subject…none of the information being what I would call happy news.  Weeding through hundreds of websites I quickly learned that the cause was unknown, that it was relatively rare (no direct studies on the prevalence have been done, however several clinical papers published in the past 20 years provide estimates ranging from 1:7,400 to 1:42,000 in males and 1:30,040 to 1:104,000 in females^), and that a large number of transgender people suffer from depression, substance abuse and eventually succumb to suicide.  It was at that point our family began to circle the wagons, vowing to do whatever we could to help Sam avoid those tragic side effects.

During that first search of the Internet I also learned that the official diagnostic term used by the American Psychiatric Association is ‘gender dysphoria,’ and it is that term, as ugly as it sounded, I thought I needed to use when I contacted a local child psychologist’s office to make our first appointment.

“Children’s Mental Health…how may I direct your call?”

“Ummmm, yeeeeees,” I sputtered as I tried to deliver my rehearsed line for the receptionist, in a tense voice I did not recognize.  “I have a child that has (long pause) I mean, we think might be suffering (longer pause) oh, I guess I wouldn’t call it suffering…but we just don’t know (longest pause)…”

UGGGG!  This was NOT what I had just practiced for the last hour!   Stop it, I scolded myself…what is wrong with you?  Just tell her what you need.

“Let me start again,” I said with an apologetic tone.  “I have a child that has gender dlkskdlfjoiewj,” I mumbled, my mouth refusing to say the derogatory word ‘dysphoria.’

“Excuse me, what did you just say, I am having a hard time understanding you,” the receptionist said, completely unemotional.

Of course you can’t understand me, I thought.  I can’t even understand myself.

“I have a child that we think has gender dysphoria,” I finally managed to spit out with a wince in my voice and at the speed of a Sotheby’s auctioneer taking bids on the sale of a much sought after item.  “Is there someone I can talk to about this in your practice?”

And so began our ascent to find answers to the million and one questions we had about what Sam was facing.  The first child psychologist we worked with will always have a special place in our hearts.  While not experienced with gender variant kids (ah, gender ‘variant’ now that is a much better term than ‘dysphoria’) she did her best to help us help Sam.  We would have been happy to continue seeing her, however the day came within just a few months when she gently explained that to provide Sam with the best possible care, we really needed to see someone who had experience in this area.  As luck would have it (please note this is one of the few times I will use the word ‘luck’ with this subject matter, but it seems appropriate here) we live near a major metropolitan health center, which is one of the few places in the nation that has a well established human sexuality program that includes professionals dedicated to gender variant children.  And so that is where we found ourselves, still uncomfortable with the vast unknown laying before us, but prepared to do whatever we needed to ensure Sam’s well being.

We took that first, very difficult step…difficult because it meant we were no longer living in a state of denial, which can actually be quite a comfortable place if you fear the face of reality lurking just around the corner.  But just like any first step, it signified a new beginning, a step forward toward what we hoped to be a happy ending.

Source Credit:

^ Transgender Mental Health, “The Prevalence of Transgenderism” http://tgmentalhealth.com/2010/03/31/the-prevalence-of-transgenderism/

I have perfect hindsight.  In fact I am fairly certain it is 20/20, given my ability to look back on Sam’s early childhood and be able to tell you exactly what was going on. Upon reflection, I recognize many of Sam’s actions and behaviors pointing smack-dab in the transgender direction.  Nothing specifically causing alarm, but taken in totality, an undeniable pattern emerges.  As you continue to read this post, it is important to remember two things: that gender has a broad spectrum and that no two experiences are the same. With that in mind, I share a few more anecdotes of what our family has encountered, pieces of our story that only recently came into focus, as we look back to help others go forward.

Mirror Mirror On the Wall:  I have never seen a child any less interested in looking at their reflection than Sam.  Throughout the years I would have him try on outfits and then say, as most moms do, “…oh, that is so cute on you – go look at yourself in the mirror.”  Inevitably what would follow was his standard response, “No thanks,” which was never forlorn, just not at all interested (or so I thought at the time).  In hindsight, I am sure it was because he loathed the girl staring back at him in the mirror (the one I had so proudly dressed in pink from head-to-toe … from the iridescent headband adorned with poppy flowers that matched the velvet dress, which complimented the white patent leather Mary Jane shoes).    In his mind she didn’t exist and even if she did, he sure as hell wasn’t interested in looking at her.

Say Cheese:  Pictures were just like mirrors for Sam; they captured an image that was as foreign to him as if I had superimposed a three-headed monster into a family photo where he had been standing.  Truth be told, I imagine he would have much preferred to see a monster in his spot, rather than an image of a girl captured for posterity.  Whenever we took pictures he would deliberately ruin them by smiling with a forced Cheshire cat grin, which he knew I hated.  Another tried-and-true tactic he employed without remorse was to look away the second he saw my index finger hit the shutter release thereby reducing my shot to an awkward family photo that had no chance of seeing the light of day in a frame on the fireplace mantel, let alone the inside of a photo album.

Penis Envy, For Real:  I suppose Freud would roll over in his grave if he knew I was offering a twist on his famous theory but here I go anyway.  When Sam was three, she would try to sneak-a-peak of any penis within a one-mile radius. We even had a name for it – Penis Patrol – and joked that we most certainly needed to keep an eye on her when she became a teenager, if this was the way she was already behaving as a child.  Sam did not discriminate when it came to being on Penis Patrol– young, old, acquaintances and family it didn’t matter, the fascination was there and being discreet was never a concern.  And so we would laugh and make light of the situation with our friends, who shared our sense of humor and lack of concern for this atypical toddler behavior.  Eleven years later, I am sure that behavior was true penis envy – not Freud’s version – I mean literally she was envious of the boys because Sam’s mind was telling her that she was supposed to have one of those too, but unfortunately it was missing.

So many things make sense now to my husband and me. Alas the major downfall of having 20/20 hindsight is the regret that comes with it.  If I knew then what I know now, would I have done anything differently?  Who knows.  But I would like to think I would have been more accepting from the get-go had I known.  So I dedicate this blog post to all the parents who might be wondering about their own kids and where they land on that gender spectrum.  I gladly share glimpses of our family’s experience so that your sight can be 20/20 from the beginning.