Will, on the other hand, stood comfortably looking at me stark naked as he was with a face like a question mark. “What??!?” he replied. Apparently he doesn’t channel “nakedness” like Hope and I do. He simply has no issues with it. And really, if we look at it, Will doesn’t have a lot of issues with anything. Quirky as he is, he is the most amiable, adaptable, intuitive, loving and supportive child I’ve every encountered. He is Hope’s biggest fan.

In all my work writing, speaking and advocating for gender diverse kids, I want to underscore the importance of siblings and validate their experiences. All too often siblings willingly step aside and let the occasional (or sometimes continual) drama of their gender diverse sibling’s life take over the family dynamic. Siblings have this beautiful capacity to understand on the most fundamental level and often selflessly act as loving buffers to the outside world. Can a parent get any luckier?

All too often I lay in bed ruminating that I’ve not given Will enough credit. His plate remains full most days. Let’s be honest, for the past three years he’s filled various roles for all of us: bodyguard, professional listener, motivational speaker, enlightened poet, personal assistant, master comedian, loving brother and a dream-come-true son. And he’s six.

Thank you Will. From the bottom of my heart. I may not say it enough but your quiet goodness inspires me every single day.

During an after-dinner conversation about my morning seeing His Holiness the Dalai Lama, the kids and I discussed one of the most importance aspects of Buddhism – compassion. He explained it so eloquently today. My only hope was to share a glimmer of what I learned as I sat in pure bliss. We talked about treating everyone with generosity and respect, from the homeless individual we see at the edge of the off ramp from the expressway to the President. One person shouldn’t get better treatment than the next. We are all just humans living in this existence.

Once I determined that the kids were right on track with our talk (not falling asleep or looking bored to tears) we moved on to the concept of ahimsa, non-violence. They got it right away. Don’t hurt people in our actions, even in our words or thoughts. In the midst of what I thought was a pretty dynamic conversation, Will asked if we were ever going to see Patrick and Carrie again. Abrupt halt. Pause. 

Backstory = Patrick is my cousin who does not understand or agree with Hope’s gender identification, particularly her transition. He hasn’t talked to me in over a year. The last I heard Carrie, his wife, read this blog and was offended. Definitely not my intention here – ever.

I have to mention; however, I don’t write this blog for my relatives or to have a conversation with my relatives or friends. I’d much rather my friends and family talk with me. I write this for the thousands of people out there who, like me, are coping with serious issues surrounding our children’s safety and well-being, our role as supportive, loving parents or issues related to gender identity. If I write/wrote about anything to do with my family or friends, it is because I am struggling with coming to terms with all the aspects of our lives, not theirs. Their involvement is not the focus, but rather just part of what we are coping with. It’s not the person, it’s the concept of what we are coping with. Does that make sense? I have no other agenda but to connect with others facing similar circumstances and to heal.

After reading hundreds of emails from readers, I recognize this as a common theme  among families handling issues surrounding gender diversity. Unfortunately dealing with and losing family and friends is one of the things we deal with when our kids present and transition. It rocks the boat, and some people may jump ship. Fact. That’s why I write what I write. Often I am getting so many emails asking the same questions or sharing the same concerns from across the globe that I’ll write a blog post sharing where we are with that issue or where we’ve been. I know that it isn’t just us facing these issues. It’s all of us in a sense. I only speak for me, but I am speaking to/with people like me, faced with similar situations. I make no apologies for that.

Ironically Patrick and Carrie are the people the kids went to in our wills. They were my “true blue friends” who I thought I could always rely on when the chips are down. The kind you call at 3 am for a favor and they don’t get angry. Now I wouldn’t quite say that my child’s gender identity qualifies as a “chips are down” sort of thing, but what we were/are going through was/is a transition in our lives where we needed/need all the genuine love and support we can get. Still. I never in a million years thought that Patrick would turn his back on me. The thought never entered my brain; we were so tight. But life has a way of throwing curve balls, of challenging our values, our belief systems, and shining a light on what is truly important. What we do is up to us.

But this story isn’t about them, it’s about us. So we are sitting at the dinner table as I try to explain that Uncle Patrick and Aunt Carrie are having “a hard time giving up Nick” as our therapist suggested. Will bursts out into tears.

“We’re never going to see them again?” he shrieked as he jumped into my arms, my little tough guy now so vulnerable and shaken. His hands drawn to his wet face in disbelief. Those enormous eyes looking to me for answers. I guess he was trying to holding out hope that whatever it was blew over and we’d be at their house the next weekend. In the beginning I’m sure I grasped at straws the same way, as silly as that sounds.

“I don’t know Honey,” I admitted, “We just don’t believe in the same things anymore…” I watched for her reaction across the table. Hope remained calm and steady in her chair though you could tell her mind quickly toyed with the idea of this whole thing being her fault. And what could I do? I explained that this is no one’s fault. We didn’t do anything wrong. They didn’t do anything wrong. We love Patrick and Carrie and their children just as much as we did before. We are still family with them even though we don’t see each other. We respect them and their belief systems, despite being different from our own. We reinforced that we’d never say anything bad against them. The fact is that we just don’t agree on how to live our lives. They want things to be like they were and we need to embrace living our lives honestly, no matter what. Funny how the start of this talk, the themes of compassion and non-violence, were exactly what brought this discussion to a close much later.

“I just miss them,” Will whispered as his tears stained the front of my shirt, his head moving up and down as he quietly sobbed.

“I miss them too Sweetie,” At that moment, there was nothing left to say.

After discussing the latest Exit Stage Left, my dinner companion commented that this person had a problem with showing up. And it dawned on me. That’s why I was so annoyed with the situation. It wasn’t because my feelings were hurt, it was overwhelming confusion mixed with frustration. And disappointment.

Since it struck such a chord with me I had to go deeper, investigate if this was something I seriously feared in myself. Lo and behold, it was. First stop – my reiki master for clarity (and boy did I get it!) then I sat in meditation for quite some time contemplating me, my life and my actions. Here’s what I know… I show up.

It might seem like a simple concept, but for me it’s beyond just sticking to your word or being loyal. It’s really being there, being present even when that’s not the easiest thing to do. I’m not saying that I’m perfect at it, but it’s my guiding light, my truest life lesson.

How do I show up every day for my children? Not just pass the time or dart from activity to activity mindlessly wasting the minutes and moments, but really show up for them emotionally, even spiritually? How do I show up for my family and friends? Better yet, how do I show up for me, my work, and the things I hold most near and dear to my heart? Am I actively participating in my life or am I taking the virtual ski lift to watch everyone else living? I’m showing up.

Granted, it’s not the easiest. There are days when I wish I could take the backseat, let anyone else shoulder the burden. Walk away. Step aside and allow whatever insurmountable hurdle to pass by without me having to dig in and do the dirty work.  But what happens then? If I don’t handle my problems now they’ll just be my problems later. Now or later, my choice.

I’m grateful for these little moments that shine a light on my default thoughts and actions. Slowly but surely I’m even changing some of my inner dialogue, the endless tape of messages played non-stop before I actively quiet my mind. Today I’m interrupting the barrage of “shoulds” that flood my consciousness and inserting my affirmation – I’m showing up. I’m open. I’m ready. And I’m here.

Take this morning… one sleepy child was in a huff that the other had (what appeared to be) more strawberry-banana smoothie in their little Lilly Pulitzer pink and green glass. Heaven forbid! Shoulders crunched, faces scrunched, eyes squinted. What time is it again? The lovey mojo of good morning kisses were long gone until I turned to iTunes to rescue us. Not even a song later I saw their postures loosen, smiles emerged and then, laughter graced my little kitchen. Saved, yet again, by the power of music. As the two pranced off, best friends once more, I stayed behind loading the dishwasher when this Tracy Chapman song came on and it hit me like a ton of bricks…

If you knew that you would die today,

Saw the face of God and love,

Would you change?
Would you change?

If you knew that love can break your heart
When you’re down so low you cannot fall
Would you change?
Would you change?

How bad, how good does it need to get?
How many losses? How much regret?
What chain reaction would cause an effect?
Makes you turn around,
Makes you try to explain,
Makes you forgive and forget,
Makes you change?
Makes you change?

If you knew that you would be alone,
Knowing right, being wrong,
Would you change?
Would you change?

If you knew that you would find a truth
That brings up pain that can’t be soothed
Would you change?
Would you change?

How bad, how good does it need to get?
How many losses? How much regret?
What chain reaction would cause an effect?
Makes you turn around,
Makes you try to explain,
Makes you forgive and forget,
Makes you change?
Makes you change?

Are you so upright you can’t be bent?
If it comes to blows are you so sure you won’t be crawling?
If not for the good, why risk falling?
Why risk falling?

If everything you think you know,
Makes your life unbearable,
Would you change?
Would you change?

If you’d broken every rule and vow,
And hard times come to bring you down,
Would you change?
Would you change?

If you knew that you would die today,
If you saw the face of God and love,
Would you change?
Would you change?
Would you change?
Would you change?

If you saw the face of God and love
If you saw the face of God and love
Would you change?
Would you change?

Last night I found myself reading into the wee hours, that’s my thing when I have too much on my mind, so I grabbed Deepak Chopra’s Power, Freedom & Grace to shine a light on what was happening in my life: finances, prickly relationships, school next year for the kids, things I wish I would have done, but didn’t have the courage to, words left unspoken. I felt like a top spiraling, but not the way you’d normally picture it quickly gliding in smooth circles, all strong and centered. No, this was the loopy, falling to one side, drunk-looking top that couldn’t decide whether to keep going or just plop over. I was flailing, so I cracked open the vessel that I hoped had an answer. It didn’t, but I got tired enough to put my thoughts to rest, at least for one night.

When I woke up my quandaries still plagued me, but in the backdrop like white noise as the kids barked at one another about breakfast and equality. Then, in my peaceful state of contemplating whether the Crate & Barrel eco-friendly bowl could actually unravel in the dishwasher like they cautioned, I began hearing the answers louder than the questions.

Every moment is another chance.

His hand rests on her flat stomach. His face glowing as he whispers words only she will ever hear. Words of joy that only two people who have a child together ever know. I can’t take my eyes off of them, their light shining into the waiting room where I sit waiting for my test, and my mind relaxes back in time.

“It’s a boy!” The words sounded like a symphony. Even though my money was on a girl, Ava or perhaps Bella, my heart leapt with the excitement of knowing. This first introduction.

“What is it?” was the first thing people said when we called after the appointment and I happily supplied the information. It’s true. I was one of those people who needed to know, and even gently berating friends who didn’t find out the sex of their baby. “I’m a planner!” I’d explain, so confidently. So quick. I was so young in so many ways. What did I know?

These days gender plays a much less relevant role in our lives, but because we opt to see both sides of the coin or so I thought until my son came home from a birthday party hell-bent that the pink horse birthday cake could only be a girl.

“How would we know that Sweetie?” I already saw the answer clear as day from the way he looked at me, so sly. Still, the exercise is so worth the time.

“She was pink Mom!” he replied without hesitation. Really??!!? My child still adhering to traditional gender stereotyping? All the discussions, education, summer camps and conferences? Really??!!? His sister is gender diverse for heaven’s sake! And he still believes that pink makes a girl? Tells us how strong our culture reinforces these “norms” or the fact that Will found a way to mess with me, really get my goat.

“Pink is just a color Darling,” I suggest calmly to my son’s definitive statement, “Anyone could wear pink or be pink for that matter. It doesn’t make you a boy or a girl.” By this time Hope strolls in and nods in agreement just like an older sister would. Will looks at both of us for a moment, shrugs his shoulders, a classic “Okay” move on his part, and moves on to the next fun thing.

I guess it took me this long to release the trap of the strict binary code on my brain, I could at last give him a bit more time. Still, I wonder if that couple will find out at twenty weeks or remain blissfully unaware.

Reminds me of a conversation I had last with a friend who told me he heard a PSA supporting the LGBT community earlier that day. “I watch a lot of TV,” he said, “but I’ve never heard anything like that before.” Times are changing. Hearts and minds are opening. With each story, each voice, the message finds a crack where it never reached before and therein lies the opportunity to grow and expand, and love.

Maybe I’m too hopeful? Maybe I need to see the silver lining so that my momentum doesn’t lose steam? Or maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what I’ve always dreamed about – a time when we can talk about gender diverse children and their families without shame or fear.

As I write I watch my gorgeous little child peacefully working on her schoolwork, pausing for a moment to grin at me as she finds I am staring a little too long. I can’t help it. I would move mountains for my the safety and well-being of my children. I will fight for her, and all kids who are diverse in their gender expression, so that they have an equal chance in this world. They deserve to experience life, with all of its ups and downs, the way any child could. Gender is just one part of the whole child.

“I love you,” I tell her when I look up and it’s she who is now looking right at me.

Read more: http://www.chicagonow.com/blogs/wee-windy-city/2011/01/be-who-you-are-a-book-with-a-message-for-all-of-us.html#ixzz1BKwdACAl

My heart sank. The mother of the 9-year-old victim spoke eloquently about how her daughter, born on 9/11, was brought into this world amidst tragedy and left this world in the same helpless circumstance. As I wiped the tears I could not hold back, my two little children played upstairs unaware of the hatred in this world.

From time to time I get a glimpse of that small mindedness here on this blog, my simple, safe space that I share with the world. Often the comments are so inappropriate that I do not post them, so I keep them hidden from you and me and them as if they never existed at all. But is that fair? I pocket the hate sometimes like an old receipt that I feel the irrational need to keep, but can’t seem to file away in the right place. So it lingers in a jacket that’s out of season left hanging in the closet. Forgotten, but there.

Here I’m on the cusp of being public for the first time to promote the book and I’m still not quite sure how to deal with hate? A friend’s voice whispers in my ear that compassion is the key. Easier said than done sometimes I think. In the past my knee jerk response to this conflict was fear, but I see how that doesn’t serve me. It doesn’t come close to satisfying what is present in my heart.

Last year a parent who was acting on the defensive (long story) threatened to out my daughter, who lives stealth. The mere mention of this sent me into a panic. Shaking, I sat at the kitchen table like a statue, unable to stop the rage and fear that pulsed through me like sparks flying off jumper cables. One part of me wanted to unleash my wrath, protect my child at any cost. Mama Bear was not happy. The other part of me wondered what I could do to defuse the situation. “How do I make this woman leave us alone?” I thought. I wanted to run away. Change our name and never look back. Looking back I recognize that her threats were out of my control. The only thing I was responsible for is my reaction to the situation.

Say the same scenario happens today, how do I react? How do I seize the opportunity for compassion and go there. Jump into the messy parts of misunderstanding and small mindedness and create a small space for love, for what it’s worth. Would it bridge the gap between she and I? Would she come to a greater understanding of my child’s diversity and I to a deeper knowledge of her fears? That’s yet to be seen.

We’ll never make sense of hatred, let’s face it. The only action I can control, especially when faced with tragedy like what happened in Arizona, is to muster up the courage to show compassion for all people, and teach my children to do the same.

Sure, our compliant smiles said “We are a totally normal family who doesn’t pose a threat to anyone… Really!” but the agent’s face twisted and turned as he went rifled through our paperwork, eyes darting from the details on the page to each one of us with a burning look of authority. Our smiles became forced and then it just plain hurt to maintain them. Still, we struggled with equal intensity to look like your typical, unassuming family who just wants to get through airport security without incident. Guessing from the way I felt like I was going to pass out, I think we were holding our breath, too.

“So little man, what’s your name?” said the agent, his eyes fixed so intensely on Will that I thought my son might catch fire.

Without hesitation, Will blankly replied, “Tony.”

Our heads snapped to glare at Will who was not smiling, mind you, but rather looking as bored as bored could be. Tony? Oh, Tony Stark… Iron Man. In that moment I forgot that Will had signed his schoolwork as Tony. Little writing samples, holiday ornaments and artwork all reflecting the wrong name, but now? Now when we are trying so hard to walk through this situation unscathed.

“Damn that Tony!” I thought, “He’s going to get us thrown into the scanners quicker than you could spell bomb scare.” The agents eyes scanned the paperwork, probably wondering if he should check an Amber Alert for this cute, missing Tony.

“This isn’t the person you should joke with,” Hope leaned into whisper, but it came out like a shout. Kind of like when my mom tries to talk in church. “This is serious.”

Under his breath a barely audible “Will” came out and I was sure we were sunk. Get ready for a cavity search and a discussion with the police. Now I didn’t give a second thought to Hope’s transgender status in a body scanner. That was nothing. In that moment I was way more concerned with how I’d convince the TSA that Will was not Tony. Isn’t that how life pulls a switcheroo on you? You prepare for one thing and end up dealing with another.

All of the sudden my paperwork was beneath my nose and an arm ushered us to the conveyor belt near the rest of the busy travelers. As I walked in disbelief I glanced back to the agent who had moved on to the next person like nothing ever happened. He let us go! I mouthed a “thank you” to the back of the agent’s head and closed my eyes as I removed my shoes and released my stagnant breath in a heavy sigh. Thank you.

Such a long lesson in patience my friends, but isn’t that the way life leads us where we need to go? Recently I met with a lovely reporter who interviewed me months ago about the book and commented that I seemed much more at ease now. I had to admit to her that I didn’t know how I’d feel when the book was released. Would I summon the courage necessary to charge forward and spread this powerful message? Would I feel exposed on some basic level and feel paralyzed to move forward? I didn’t know. I was still thinking.

On one hand I feel like a warrior, ready to talk, discuss and educate, even with those people who do not agree with our perspective. On the other hand I feel like it is a giant leap, especially when I try to keep our real names and identities unknown. I think most families with gender non-conforming kids, especially those that have transitioned may feel this way. Visibility vs. Invisibility. Ever since Hope’s transition and I started writing this blog I have stepped back in many aspects of my life. I needed to. I abandoned my former career, a certain level of notoriety and even some friends that made my social circle as wide open as I wanted. I went from being in the center to walking away. Gladly.

During this time I’ve done some serious soul-searching, seeking awareness, even enlightenment, as I open myself to every single thing that scares me. While keeping my children safe was my primary focus during the hiatus, I think I took the chance to get away myself, just to think. I look back at all those mornings on the beach this summer when I watched those two carefree souls frolicking and splashing. I know now that I was gearing up. I was charging the battery. Getting strong. All that together time made us closer than ever and we needed it, probably more than we’ll ever know. I needed to be quiet in my thoughts for some time to really feel through what it was that I was after. Define what I was called to do.

Now I sit on my living room couch gazing at wood in the hearth just begging for fire. I feel like that wood, ready for the spark. Ready to begin. I know what I’m after – to tell our story, to raise awareness, to make this world a better place for my children and all children. I’ve had my time to think and rest, and now I’m ready to get to work.