My Son
When my little girl came to me one day and said she didn’t like her long hair, I asked her why. She answered that it made her feel odd and she wanted to look more like my friend’s son. We went to get it cut, and the smile on my child’s face made my day.
It surprised me when a few years later, my little girl told me I had a son, and he’d been there in my arms all this time. He was nervous to let me know that the name I’d given him didn’t suit him anymore. This is what I said (minus the rambling and reassurances);
Names are like sweaters. For some, they are one-size-fits-all. As they grow, so does their sweater. It fits them all their lives. For others, the sweater fits when they’re given it. However, when they grow, the sweater stays small. It’s itchy and uncomfortable, so what kind of mom would I be if I didn’t take him to get a new sweater?
While I’m learning every day what being transgender means to my son and the world around him, I make an effort. And really, that’s all a parent can do.