Still the Same Kid

"Um, Mom?" she said in a quavering voice.

I looked up from my cooking magazine to find my 15 year old daughter shifting from one leg to another like she needed to pee, gnawing on the fingernails that hadn't grown past the quick since she was born. Her face was somewhat green. I wondered if she was catching the flu. "Are you feeling ok honey? Do you need some Tylenol or something? You look green and like you need to pee."

She grimaced slightly and said, "No, I need to tell you something."

At this point, multiple thoughts raced through my head. Was she pregnant? Did she fail a test at school? Did she break a neighbor’s window? Eat all the ice cream? Perhaps she was running off to join the circus? I tilted my head to the side and just said "ok." We had a pretty open, trusting relationship, and I couldn't imagine why she was so worried.

In a rush it all came out, "Mom I'm bisexual." Then she just stood perfectly still, holding her breath like a deer frozen in the headlights of a car.

I stood up, I hugged her and I told her I loved her. I was so proud of her courage, and so touched that she trusted me enough to share that part of her life with me. I was not really surprised, because she had always seemed to find other females attractive. If anything, I wondered if she was kidding herself about being bi, when she was actually a lesbian. It did not matter to me, though. My opinion of her did not change.

She was still the kid who loved macaroni and cheese, and who danced around the house all the time. She loved art and music and hated my sense of fashion. ("Are you seriously wearing that to work? You know that doesn't match, right?") I chuckle even now, remembering how many ugly, mismatched outfits she saved my co-workers from having to endure. This beautiful, talented, compassionate, sensitive soul was entrusted to my care in this life. Who was I to judge who she loved or what she did with her genitals? She was - and is - a bright and capable human being. That doesn't change based on her sexual preference.

After she came out, I began to do more research on the LGBTQ+ community, and spent some time getting to know a few of her friends from the Gay Student Alliance (GSA) at her school. I learned that LGBTQ+ kids are much more likely to commit suicide than their straight counterparts, and they are also more likely to run away from home and live on the street. I took that information like a glass of ice water thrown in my face. It has always been important to me to support my kids no matter what, but seeing what the LGBTQ+ community is up against was really sobering.

One night, the GSA gave a presentation at the local library on transgender issues. Following the meeting, some of the kids’ parents came to pick them up. They were either not able or not interested in attending the meeting. The curses and hate those parents slung at some of those kids was disgusting; I would never say some of those things to my worst enemy, let alone to my own flesh and blood. One child kept screaming, “I’m Theo, I’m Theo” and their mother was coldly hissing “Annika, get in the car NOW.” Theo was doubled over, as though punched in the gut, crying. Every molecule within me wanted to get involved and take Theo home with us. Yet this was an issue between a parent and their minor child. Somebody called the police.

I was up all night, worrying about Theo and wondering what would happen to him. I asked my daughter about him, and she said Theo had gone to live with a relative in another city and was no longer going to her school. Honestly, the memory of that night haunts me and I pray that Theo is ok wherever he is.

I worry about all the Theo’s out there… is anyone watching over them? Is anyone hugging them and making sure they have food and a roof over their heads? Is anyone telling them they are wanted and loved, as they are?

At the time, I comforted myself that my child was not transgender, and I didn’t have to worry about that. It seems like so many people are accepting of gay and lesbian couples these days; it almost felt pedestrian to me. At least I didn’t have to worry about my child being transgender, with all the bullying and hatred that comes with being part of that community.

Well, at least I thought I didn’t.

It was about a year after my daughter told me she was bisexual that she came out as non-binary and pansexual. I asked her if that meant she was attracted to rocks. Yeah, that went over like a ton of, well, rocks. After I scraped her off the ceiling, I told her I was just teasing her; things were so serious and I was just being my normal, goofy self.

She explained that she was no longer a “she.” Non-binary meant that she was neither fully female nor fully male. She was both. Being non-binary meant she was part of the transgender community. Her pronouns were now “they, them, theirs” not “she, her, hers.” I admit I still struggle sometimes to call my child “them,” but I do the best I can. My child also decided to change their name from Emily to Bo. We had a celebration back in April when we went to the courthouse to witness the official, legal proceeding. I now have no daughter named Emily.

This has probably been the hardest thing for me to accept. If she was a lesbian, and her name was Emily, she would still be female and still my daughter. Now, I no longer have that.

But I choose to focus on what I do have rather than what I have lost. How lucky I am to have a beautiful, talented, courageous child, who is true to themselves, who stands up against inequality and yearns to make the world a better place. Sexuality and gender are frosting; it’s the person underneath that really matters.