G’s lesson: A journey f om


ignorance to advocacy Alison Yocom


My son was nine years old when I learned


he* might be transgender. He, of course, had known for much longer, but lacked the vocabulary to share what he was feeling, other than to say, with great conviction and over many years, “I am a boy”. When he was three, four and fi ve, this


utterance was met with amusement from me and my ex-husband. We thought he was a tomboy and that his desires to be like his older brother were adorable manifestations of a young, curious mind learning about his world. Never did we consider our beautiful little G was attempting to tell us a truth held so fi rmly inside of him. As a parent, my reaction to G at this age went something like this: “Honey, you can be whatever you want to


be in life and can do anything that boys or girls do. You can wear the clothes you want to wear. You can choose your hair style. But you’re not a boy. You were born a girl, and being a girl is awesome! I was a tomboy when I was your age too.” G generally accepted what we said as he


continued to grow, making modifi cations to his vocabulary and using the word tomboy to describe himself to others. I remember when he was in fi rst grade, he came home telling me he’d have to let his hair grow out, because everyone was confused that he was a boy instead of a tomboy. He told me that, to stop the arguing about it amongst his classmates, he would sacrifi ce his preferred short cut, the very haircut that inspired a happy declaration after coming home from the barber shop, “Now you can call me John!” in order to end the confusion at school. Inside, I was a little grateful, because it would cease my endless corrections of strangers assuming G was male. Looking back on this time, I recall the smile G always had on his face when, for a minute, he was seen as a little boy out in the world. At age seven, my happy child turned inside


himself. This was the start of the challenging time in our house. G had two settings: withdrawn or raging. G had tantrums so fi erce, we were given the phone number of a local crisis hotline to come to help if he became too violent. I was terrifi ed, sifting through all of the reasons why this kid could


Context 155, February 2018


be so unhappy. G saw two therapists over this time and was put on medication for depression. He was tested and the results were not good. Diagnoses such as ADHD, anxiety, oppositional defi ance disorder, mood disorder and more were cast upon this once happy kid. Two years went by. G at age nine was not any happier than G at age seven. But something was changing. It started with his hair. The child who grew his hair long to stop the debate about his gender in school, now wanted to chop it off again. And he was pretty specifi c about what kind of cut he wanted. G explained it like this. “I need my hair cut above my ears, because if it’s longer it tickles my ears and I don’t like it. We should only look at boy styles because they have their hair above their ears.” And so hairs were cut. And G beamed. Then, during back-to-school shopping, G


approached me looking wary. He had two packs of underwear in his hands. Both had the same monkey design on them. One was intended for boys and the other for girls. G explained to me that it would be okay for him to have the boy pack since it was so much like the girl pack. He begged. And so I bought them. But my brain was fi ring away, wondering why this underwear was so important to G. In my mind, underwear seemed so personal. What did this mean? I mentioned the underwear event to his therapist and, the following week, she had a book for me to read: The Transgender Child by Stephanie Brill. I read every page that day, and it was


revolutionary. This child, who lived in my home and in my heart, who fi rst made a declaration of self at age three, might actually be a boy. And, somehow, I had never really heard him. You see, I had no idea kids could be transgender. I was very supportive of the LGBT community, but I never considered the T in the acronym. And I certainly didn’t think children were able to understand a complex concept such as gender. Examining that statement now, it seems silly. Gender isn’t that complicated. It’s personal and it is part of one’s sense of self. I’ve always known I was female. Always. Sure, I’m masculine in


dress, interests and manner, but I’m a woman. G knew too. He told me over and over in so many diff erent ways. It was time to get to work. I read the few


books available on transgender youth. This was right before the great gender awakening in our country (not true, rephrase – the awakening from the perspective of cisgender folks) so resources were limited. I found clips of a young Jazz Jennings on YouTube. I sought out support groups online, and we made an appointment with the only program in our city accepting gender-questioning youth as young as ours. All this time, though, I was afraid to


approach the topic with G. “What if asking G if he’s transgender actually plants the idea in his head?” I thought, my uneducated brain still muddled. But it was clear that G, desperately unhappy, needed to know about what I had been learning. Here’s how the conversation went: Me: “Did you know that there are some kids who are born and everyone thinks that they are a girl because they have a vagina, but in their heads and in their hearts they are a boy?” G: “Like me??!!” he says, with huge eyes of disbelief. Me: “Yes, like you,” I say with my heart beating hard and determined. G: “So I can be George??!!” Me: “Of course you can be George!” I say, bewildered that he had a name I’d never heard. And that was that. Fourth grade was an epic year for George.


At school conferences, we discovered he had been putting both his birth name and the name George on his schoolwork the entire year. Revelation. He enrolled in the local boys’ gymnastics class and glowed when he was treated as just another boy. And, with his parents’ help and support, George revealed his true self to family and friends. That kid was met with love from just about everyone, which is a privilege that is uncommon for too many transgender people. Over time, most of George’s worrisome behaviours disappeared and, that spring, I tossed the crisis-hotline number in the garbage.


23


G’s lesson: A journey from ignorance to advocacy


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