Er, surprise!

To my regular readers this is post out of chronological order. I'm just trying to fill in a few gaps in the saga.

Suddenly we have a girl, she's Janet now, she's on top of the world. She frolics in a skirt at home. Hand-me downs arrive from neighbors, from those who get it--from as far away as Maine. She cuts up t-shirts to make jackets, mini-skirts, you name it. This lovely girl is blossoming, except she's still L in school, ashamed to say her name. In her class we abbreviate to a gender neutral name, but it's not enough.

How do we make the public transition?

"Surprise!"

Logic says we do so over the summer, start the new school year as a girl. How about another school in the township, even a new town? Janet only arrived from China less than a year ago; she's had so many changes and she wants to keep her new school and her new friends (whether that will actually pan out we will wait and see.) We personally would like to see her switch schools, yet really that would only postpone things. More likely than not she would bump into classmates from sports anyway, and by middle school everyone will know.

She has made her decision though, she's staying put. The question remains--when to transition publicly? We've met with the school staff, they've been trained by TransYouth Family Allies. The teachers are amazingly supportive, although a few are still trying to wrap their minds around it. The administration is one hundred percent behind us. They think it would be better to transition in the spring; come fall and a new school year the gossip will have died down. I'm still not convinced but these things snowball. Many a parent of a transchild figures out that you give them an inch they take a mile. "Ready or not, here I come!" the kids shout.

Whether we like it or not it's a hand-out from her music teacher that sets it all in motion: for the concert boys must wear a button down shirt and khakis, girls must wear a skirt or dress. The principal calls me, he thinks Janet should transition so she doesn't have to go through the pain of appearing in the boys section of the chorus. I'm back-pedaling, "Pain shmain, we can wait, right? I'm not sure I'm ready." Janet is though.

On a Tuesday--a school holiday--a note comes home from the school saying their children will be educated about transgender children. Wednesday is the talk with the third grade from the guidance counselor (see I read the news today, oh boy.) Thursday, on concert day, I steel myself, preparing to handle comments, challenges, questions.

Normally when the principal walks on stage there is a continuing murmur in the audience as parents catch up with each other. He usually has to admonish them to quiet down two or three times, as well as between pieces when parents are leaning in to brag during solos, "That's my kid." The difference this night is that the murmur continues during the entire performance. After the concert I stand awkwardly in the hall surrounded by throngs of people. Nobody--nobody--challenges me, admonishes me, or even asks me questions. I guess they're too proper--they'll do it behind my back.