"Which one is your son?" he asked.
I smiled and turned to my friend. "He wants to know which one is my son."
We laughed and I turned back to the stranger, pointing out my son, who sat across the room. "There. The one in the pink dress and braids."
I braced myself for the backlash.
He squinted, finding my son. "Wow. What an awesome kid!"
I let out the breathe I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Phew! Confrontation averted. My son saw us smiling and looking at him. TK waved enthusiastically, his multitude of tiny braids shaking down his back.
I was asked recently if I could remember when "all this" started. When did you first notice your son was...different? Well, that depends. When did we first become aware that he felt different, or when did he actually start feeling it? Because the answers are years apart. He has only changed his clothing recently. But, if I really think about it, the signs have been there all along. When he learned to talk at 3, he insisted he was a girl. Assuming he was just having vocabulary issues, I corrected him until he gave in. During a bath a year or two ago, he told Daddy that he wished he could switch between boy and girl. And of course, there's his penchant for nail polish, long hair, and running around the playground in the midst of a pack of girls. It doesn't really matter how long he has been like this, all that matters is that he's allowed to explore it to the fullest. As long as TK's allowed to be whoever he is, I can hope it makes up for years of us blindly brushing all the signs away.
You see, the thing with my son is that everyone wants to put him in a box. There is no box. He is simply himself. While he technically fits under the transgender umbrella, he hasn't yet figured out where on the spectrum he fits. It's been hard enough to wrap my own head around that without showing my frustration, I'm always shocked when a perfect stranger can. I'm even more shocked when loved ones can't.
TK is a girl today. Maybe because he got a new skirt last night, and wants to wear it. Maybe for another reason he can't put his finger on. Yesterday he was a boy. Actually, he's been a boy for the better part of a week now. That is common with TK, though. He switches back and forth, sometimes in the same day. Some days, he'll even mix it up. Boy's shorts, girl shirt, girl shoes. He says he feels different on different days. Who doesn't? The frustrating thing for him, is that with waist-length hair and the most cherubic freckled cheeks, people assume he is a girl every day-no matter what he's wearing.
It is undeniable that on the girl days, he is happier. He has more energy, more pride in his appearance. He wants to spin and jump, to run and laugh. He exudes an obvious sense of self-love and peace in his own skin. On the boy days, TK is prone to a trembling chin and a few solitary tears sliding down his cheeks if you confront him on anything. He is more likely to want to cuddle, and needs more positive reinforcement. He'll ask those childlike questions. "Do you love me the most? Do you love me more than the boys?" He'll fight more with his brothers, he'll lock himself in his room and put a sign on the door. "KITTIES ONLY!" He'll build Legos for hours in there, alone. Then come out in just his Hello Kitty underwear, with a huge grin on his face and the most heartfelt hug. "I love you, Mommy! Want to see what I built?"
It's taken me months to make the connection between dresses and carefree behavior, and boy clothes and sadness. Yet, I refuse to push him in either direction in the morning. I want him to wear what he wants to wear, what makes him feel comfortable. Until he figures out what I have about his moods, I will stand by him. I will cuddle him on boy days and dance with him on girl days. I will go to bat for him in Target when an old woman says how cute "she" is as he stands there, frustrated, in camo shorts and a Spongebob tee. I will fight the bully moms at his school when they flash disapproving looks across the playground as he skips across the blacktop in his Hello Kitty dress. I will expose him to kids just like him, to adults who have made this same transition, and to the LGBT community that rallies around him. I will stand between him and the people who are afraid of what they can't understand; I will stand up for him when those people have the poor taste to actually verbalize their fear. I will go with him to counseling, and TG playgroups, and the girl's section at Old Navy. I will paint his nails, braid his hair, and make him that rainbow tutu he wants. And if the day comes where he chooses a box, boy or girl, I will celebrate with him. Because figuring out who you are is not usually something that is so difficult, and it certainly isn't something that most 8 year old boys have to worry about.
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