Truth Table

"Love is that condition in which the happiness

 of another person is essential to your own."

[Robert Heinlein]

It's been months now for me, so it's reached the point of matter-of-factually in my every day now, to where the notion that I have a transgender child feels like "old news".  Even the word "transgender" has started to feel old.  I have a son.  Simple.

I tried to tell a coworker earlier, only to find out I'd already told her.  I tried to tell another, only to find out she'd figured it out herself after I'd forgotten to tell her some time ago - and given her a ride home with my child in the back seat with her a few weeks ago - and she'd long ago noticed the change in name when I was speaking.  She was just too shy to ask, but figured she knew what she needed and what else was there to say, really?  Her reaction to my bringing it up today was to remind me that the offer to lend me DVDs of those movies he liked was still open.

So obviously I've reached the point where I'm now losing track of who I have or haven't told.  So I'm just putting this out here, now, today, and post it on Facebook (something I don't normally do with my blog), because then I can say "I've told everyone, haven't I?"  I know I have two close friends who are specifically not on Facebook; I told them months ago.

Between February and today, as I've rolled out this little tidbit of information to an ever-expanding circle of people in my life: siblings, friends, acquaintances, coworkers, and so on, I've met with mixed reactions, but not the mixed reactions I expected.  As I said to a friend today, 'I expected the reactions to range from neutral to bad.  I didn't think there was such a thing as a good reaction until I was met with one.  I was wrong:  the reactions have ranged from neutral to good.'  From people I've share this with so far,  I've received a lot of positive, supportive reactions from people I've told (and I'm thankful for it).

As for my own reaction, I processed it very quickly.  I was very ignorant at first.  I have no problem admitting this.  I had to learn a lot and I had to learn it quickly.  I'm still learning.  There is so, so much.  As I started breaking the news to the people around me, I often said something to the effect of 'You have a hundred questions, I'm sure.  I only have the answers to about half those myself, and I have an even bigger pile.' 

People sometimes remark to me that I was "quick to get on board".  I am sometimes commended for how easily being supportive of this change came to me.  Yes, I was quick to "get on board".  Yes, I was quick to be supportive.  I rolled with it.  Absolutely I did.

And don't get me wrong:  I've met a lot of great moms and dads, and all of us have struggled with it, in different ways and at different paces.  I'm not condemning anyone for "not coming to it quicker". 

But I've not spoken much to the specifics of how I got "on board" as quickly as I did, and I was asked the other day if I could offer any advice to a woman whose husband was having a hard time coming to terms with the idea of his son possibly being a daughter instead.

I provided a shorter version then of what I'm about to put here.

I've spoken with several other parents of transgender (or non-binary, or fluid - the world is full of all sorts of fascinating possibilities when you let it be), and I've heard their stories of acceptance for their children.  But sadly, in some cases, I have heard stories of spouses who have been less than accepting.  I don't just mean those who struggle with it; that's understandable.  I mean those who simply reject the idea, who stand steadfast against it, and who refuse to allow their child to be their authentic self.

I've been commended for being a "good parent" about it sometimes, and I still have a hard time accepting that compliment.  At first, before hearing some of those stories, I outright rejected it.  I don't feel my reaction was special or worthy of consideration; I feel my reaction was correct.  I am dismayed every single time I hear a story of someone getting it wrong, when the answer to me seemed so obvious so quickly.

I am a risk-averse person.  Even setting aside the idea of parent - when everyone becomes (or should become) somewhat risk-averse - I've always been someone who calculates almost every move and considers carefully the short and long-term implications.  Yes, I'm horrible when it comes to spontaneity.  Some might argue it makes me boring.  I don't care.  This is me.  I'm a thinker.  It's what I do.  I can't stop.

I have worked with various forms of testing for years, because it comes naturally to me as someone skeptical, someone risk-averse, to analyze every situation for all the possible outcomes.  I do it every day.  I do it to the point it annoys people around me (and I know this, polite as you all are, and I appreciate your patience with me, especially Liza-Ann's, who is now getting it from both directions as the child has started picking up some of my bad habits).  This is how my brain is wired.

More specifically, when faced with choices of possible approaches, my brain tends to break decisions down into Truth Tables.  Decisions aren't always binary, granted, but many of the simpler things are and many of the bigger things are.

It's not that emotion doesn't play a role.  It's not that I'm not a compassionate person or a caring person.  I'd like to believe I am very much those things.

And when it comes to raising a child, I'd also already established before he even came out to us my feelings that "I am the bow, not the arrow."  It's not my life to live; it's his.  I can not and will not live vicariously through him.

But setting all that aside for a moment, my solutions-oriented, over-analytical, puzzle-solving, cold, calculating mind began constructing the truth table in my head:  Options "accept it and be supportive" vs. "resist - stay the course" would go on one axis, and "it's just a phase" vs. "real and lasting" on the other.  And I knew immediately the things that I would need to put at the intersection where "resist - stay the course" meets "real and lasting":  lifelong resentment, anxiety, depression... much higher than normal probability of suicide.

That's as far as I got.

In my mind, I didn't need to finish the table.  This is why I considered it a correct decision, and not a particularly difficult one.  This is why I have a hard time at the idea of someone commending me for making it.  Quite simply, the thought in my head read:

I'd rather have a live boy than a dead girl.

Yup.

Harsh, isn't it?

That's what echoed in my head.

That's probably a hard sentence to read.  It was a hard one to type.  It was truly horrifying to hear it in my own head many moons ago, and to hear it echoing there today as I bring myself to write about it.  But if it makes you think, if it gives you pause, if it drives home the gravity of the situation we're talking about here, then I'm very glad I wrote it.

Even when you do take the time to dig down and fill out the table, even if you carefully weigh all your options, there is nothing that can possibly justify that risk.  Don't want to have to buy a whole new wardrobe?  It's only money; you'll manage.  Don't know how so-and-so will feel about it?  Not as important as how your child feels about it.  You'll be embarrassed if it's only a phase and you have to explain it again later?  Fuck your pride.

Nothing justifies that risk.  That risk can lead to an irreversible result.  You can change back the clothes and the hair.  You can make a second round of announcements and redo the paperwork for the name change.  You can't undo the depression and anxiety.  And you certainly can't dig the child back up and breathe life back into them.

I have a really, really cool kid.  My kid is freakin' awesome!  Smart, clever, funny, polite, kind, compassionate... cool...  none of which have anything to do with genitalia.  And all I want for that child, that incredibly impressive specimen of humanity, is to flourish, and to be happy.

How could I ever, in a million years, do anything to jeopardize that?

Not complicated.  Obvious.

Love.

So if you're someone who didn't know until now:  for reasons of privacy and safety, we feel it's been important to us to share at a certain pace and in certain ways.  I hope you can understand and appreciate that.

If you're someone who has questions, I have some answers, but I still figure I only have half of them at best.  Shoot me an Email.  Maybe we can do tea/coffee sometime.  I'm happy to talk about it.  I enjoy talking about my kid.  He's really cool.  Did I mention that?

If you're someone whose reaction on learning this to think 'Oh, I don't know if I believe in/approve of this whole transgender thing!' then do yourself this favor:  stop reading my blog, and if you have me on Facebook, you should probably remove me there as well.  Because if you try to have that conversation with me - it will not end well for you, I promise.  I have too much riding on this to lose.  This post isn't remotely an apology of any sort.  This post isn't me timidly telling the world something squeamish.  This post isn't a plea.

This post is my unabashed declaration:

See Dan here?  Yeah, he's my kid.  He's with me.  

I'm with him.

Always.

With thanks to all those who have and who continue to support us through our wonderful and peculiar journey,

Patrick