The two baskets that cradled the photos of my kids in their very early years have literally been shoved in the closet. I could barely see them when I glanced through the out-of-season section of my closet, but I’d quickly turn away when I did. The last physical contact I had with the baskets was when I packed away the school photos of Hope before she transitioned. At her request I’d taken down her picture down from the foyer, stuffed a new one inside the frame and banished the beautiful photo to “The Baskets”.

Once it was all tucked away I melted to the floor in a heap, sobbing as if she’d just been torn from my arms, never to be seen again. My head knew this to be true. My child was safe, happier than ever and always mine; however, my heart needed more time letting go of that moment frozen in time when my child was just living like any other boy. Free from people’s judgment and ridicule. Free to see the family and friends who have since let us go. Free from the manipulations of life that some gender non-conforming children endure: searching high and low for a discreet clothes for school, swimming and ballet, growing out your hair, seeing acquaintances on the street that call you the wrong name and then stare at your new curls and dress, being called the wrong name by just about every medical professional, wondering why your grandmother or your uncle or your old best friend just doesn’t call anymore, defending yourself and your identity on a regular basis when all you want to do is just be a kid.

Sure, life was admittedly easier, but “he” wasn’t free, was he? Inside she was trapped. Lost. Silenced. Who wants that for their child? My head knows this. My heart still aches when I see pictures. It’s my Achilles heel. Knowing this, I am going to give myself a little more time to just be with the fact that it hurts me. It’s not that I don’t fully accept my child. I do. It’s not that pictures mean more to me. They don’t. This is painful for me and that just is the way it is.

Shortly after I unearthed the baskets, my sister reached out to me. She knew what this activity would do to me. Pain rippling like the tide. Always insightful, she shared a little revelation that “this little boy existed” and we have the opportunity to honor that. Not toss it away. I don’t have to run from the tender memories of holding my child in my arms, dressing him up, whispering his old name in his ear or the shear joy I felt knowing I had a beautiful, healthy son. Those memories do not have to be my enemy, unless I see them that way. Unless I fear the power of my emotion behind those memories. My emotions are love. Pure love.

How do we live each day? How do we love?

A few days ago my father-in-law passed away after a painful and heroic battle with lung cancer. He never complained once. He never felt sorry for himself. He never gave up his fight to live even when his body didn’t agree. His life, and death, is a pure example of determination and optimism.

Despite so many life altering and tragic obstacles that would have debilitated most of us, he chose to consistently see the bright side of life and the people around him. I think of that so often.

My kids were lucky to have him in their lives. When Hope transitioned he stayed the same grandfather he’d always been- loving, playful, fun. Even though he was a pretty conservative guy with a traditional history he kept showing his love for my daughter and my son equally. Kept showing everyone how proud he was of them. I was always so touched by him. I loved him dearly.

Unknowingly he filled an aching void in my heart created when my father passed away when I was a child. He comforted me in a way that I could never quite say thank you enough. I am a better person for knowing and loving my father-in-law and having the chance to call him Dad, if only for a short time.

If there was a ever a handbook for successful living, Oh, The Places You’ll Go is it. It’s inspiring, realistic, supportive, logical, brave, cautionary and compassionate.

Whenever I find myself in one of those slumps where I can’t seem to catch a breath or think a clear thought, Dr. Seuss’s words fill my brain with a sing-song like compliment. Clearly, they speak to me.

I found myself like that tonight. So many life changing decisions to be made. Anger at the base of my throat itching to be released. Worry strapping an anchor to my heart as if the storm was coming in and it needed a safe harbor. Sadness watering the corners of my eyelids as I blink repeatedly. “Do you dare stay out? Do you dare go in?”

At lunch this afternoon some friends and I had a discussion about living stealth. “Think of how hard it is for an adult,” a friend commented. I nodded in agreement (and I do agree), but almost immediately my words snapped my head backwards with a force, “If it were just me living stealth I could know enough to choose when to walk away, when to stand up for myself and when to run. My 6 year old doesn’t have that option.” My voice cracked a little as if the weight of my emotions was lurking somewhere behind it.

Parenting a child who has any special needs of any kind means that you go the extra mile. You research a little more. Read a few (dozen) more books. Join a group or five to keep talking and learning. Learn to breathe with your heart outside of your body at all times. Abandon the construct in your mind of what you thought life would look like. Dismantle your ego day after day. Expand your capacity to love greater than you thought humanly possible. Swell with pride at your child’s smile knowing that nothing matters more than giving this child every chance at a good life.

“And remember that life is a great balancing act.” Yes, it is. So here’s a recap of the best pep talk in history- from me to you.

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look ‘em over with care.
About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you’re too smart to go down any not-so-good street.

And you may not find any
you’ll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you’ll head straight out of town.

It’s opener there
in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen,
don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along.
You’ll start happening too.

OH!
THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!

You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed.
You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you’ll be the best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’ t
Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so
but, sadly, it’s true
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.

You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump,
you’re not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked.
A place you could sprain both you elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right…
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a sting of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

NO!
That’s not for you!

Somehow you’ll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You’ll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

With banner flip-flapping,
once more you’ll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. there are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t.
Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times
you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win
’cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you’ll be quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance
you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go
though the weather be foul
On you will go
though your enemies prowl
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike
and I know you’ll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life’s
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3 / 4 percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU’LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

So…
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O’Shea,
you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

Dr. Seuss

To retrieve this mystical keepsake I had to venture into the dungeon. This isn’t a metaphor for the dark, creepy places of my past. This WAS the dark, creepy place of my past, otherwise known as the only place I could escape the relentless heat of my parent’s dry cleaning plant where we all worked Monday through Saturday. The dungeon where I spent my childhood.

In the past I’d been forced to climb inside this lifeless gray tomb as an adult. Mom always feared that the pit would overflow and the decades old discards would be floating. (Notice how everything even sounds creepy… the pit)

The first door led to a cave that housed my Dad’s office, a space that only the Munsters could enjoy. A single hanging light bulb sprinkled light across the dusty rust streaked floor. It smelled like the inside of a sewer pipe. Like second nature I threw my hand out in front of me frantically waving for the feel of the string on my fingertips and quickly yanked the cord for more light. Where is it?

Without fear (or a care in the world) I went straight to the back table littered with what appeared to be all the contents of the bookcase from my bedroom in the 70′s. Joke book, metal Jay’s potato chip can filled with musty old crayons, worn out Dr. Seuss books… where was it?

I didn’t even flinch as in years past when I went to this space that once doubled as a morbid art gallery of my mother’s Emmett Kelly clown paintings. Funny, not a single painting survived the ravages of the freeloading renters of the apartments on the second floor. Decades of singles and families who did and housed whoknowswhat down there. I shudder to think.

If it wasn’t there it had to be in the next space. There were two, you see, two little cells with battered screen doors caked with dirt that should have been somewhere in a filthy Mayberry, not the depths of hell. And between the two coffins was a void where I was sure all evil lived, breathed and waited for me. (Later I found out it was the staircase that led to the two rental spaces above. I was told this by a reliable source, but I never believed it.) Nevertheless, I hurried through glancing here and there for exactly what I was looking for, stopping now and again to notice how it oddly resembled the basement in Silence of the Lambs. How had I not noticed that before? Why, yes. I chuckled and wiped the dirt from my running nose with the back of my cold hand.

Back to business. I had a job to do, and by golly, I was going to finish it. I found every other disturbing thing on this planet: just the head of a dirty, old doll with its eyes rolled back into its head (bonnet and all), a ratty kangaroo with a broken neck (baby still clinging to it’s sagging pouch), the old ballet doll whose mangled legs could never perform another plie- ever. All this tragic crap and no helmet.

In that moment I felt like all I needed was my equestrian riding helmet that saved my life almost 30 years earlier. My pummeled and bruised helmet to whisper all the little answers sweetly in my ear. I wanted my helmet.

Why? Maybe to prove that I might not be invincible, but I’m not easy to kill anyway. Maybe to remember that vanity planned to take my life long before sound judgement fought to save it. Maybe to realize that I was once just a child. Simple. Vulnerable. Defiant. Naive. Headstrong, yet compliant. And now?

Now I’m on the other side of the fence watching as my child races on a wild beast away from me and out into the world. Her face determined yet anxious, like something wonderful is right around the corner. Her tiny hands steady and strong like she’s practiced this a million times in her head and now… it’s time for the ride.

Instead of going on the attack, I tried something new. I took a moment to find out where this anger is coming from. Feeling left out, I guess. Both my feeling of being left high & dry and the fear that because my daughter is trans that she’ll be left out just the same. Maybe the fear that they really don’t accept us. That they wouldn’t really go to bat for us if they can’t handle a simple birthday party. Abandonment has a special hold on me at times and floods my judgment with instant panic. So breathe, Jen, breathe.

Maybe, just maybe, this isn’t just about me or my child. Maybe this person needs some extra time and can’t say so. Maybe some of the people at the party disagree with Hope’s transition or simply can’t understand. It wasn’t long ago that these friends finally came around to even seeing us and now a big party could feel a little daunting. Perhaps this is her way of protecting Hope? Can I be a little patient? Can I be big enough to put the shoe on the other foot and see from a different perspective? If my child came to me with the same issue, how would I suggest they handle it? Can I practice what I preach?

Sure, I want things to go on like normal because that’s how life feels. Still, I have to honor where people are at and what they can and can’t accept at this time. Truth be told, I know in my heart that attending the party isn’t in the cards for us. No matter what excuse is used or how it is communicated, it isn’t meant to be- plain and simple.

Then I heard my name called- Grasshopper. It never flowed. It just kind of haphazardly leapt from the mouth. Who ever wanted to hug a grasshopper anyway? Better yet, who wanted to look like one! Grasshopper? Images of long, slimy creatures with sharp, beady eyes invaded my mind and I could never make sense of it. Why? “You had such long arms and legs when you were little Jenny.” my mom ALWAYS recalls. Really??!!? Figuring on that logic I could have easily been a Stringbean. Same image, better sound. No one ever wanted to squish a stringbean. The same notwithstanding for my little nickname.

Long after my father passed away in 1981 my mother would lovingly reminisce about my hideous nickname and I would shudder. Why did he do that? Was I that unlovable? This was my mindset until last week. I am not kidding. Last week. I was thinking about my dad and went looking for an image of a grasshopper for my office. Literally I could not find a single picture that wasn’t visually repulsive. I even entertained the idea of painting a prettier version of one, but still couldn’t find an acceptable image. Then I tried a different search engine and found a clip of Kung Fu on YouTube where the Master meets his new protege. It caught my attention.

I watched a but of the 70′s classic with my mouth hanging open. The young kid was called Grasshopper by his Master? Did I know this? In the clip the child feels sorry for the Master who can’t see; however, Master Po quickly shows him that he is not at a disadvantage. His hearing and his reflexes are extremely sharp.

Master Po: Do you hear the grasshopper which is at your feet?

Caine: Old Man, how is it that you hear these things?

Master Po: Young Man, how is it that you do not?

I sat back in my chair bewildered with the implications. This aired right at the same time I got my nickname… did he see me as his apprentice? His student of life? Was he trying to symbolize the mentor relationship we had outside of being my parent? Looking back we were always together. My mom and my sister were like two peas in a pod so when the four of us split to do something or go somewhere it was a given that I was by my father’s side. And I was constantly watching him. Trying all those years to earn his love and acceptance.

I thought I had that horrible nickname because he didn’t embrace me and yet, I’ve come to realize the opposite was true. How did I miss that? I was so stuck in my old, rigid, self loathing mindset that I couldn’t entertain any other possibility. I remember him saying that when I grew up I could become a lawyer and he would get his law degree too and we could have a firm together- father and daughter. Mentor and understudy. It was there in so many ways all these years. Only after I started to give a little love to myself could I remove my blinders and see that I was loved all along.

Little did I know she would cry herself to sleep at night yanking on her hair. I didn’t know. Even now as her hair is starting to resemble a style she likes I still beat myself up about giving her that crew cut. And I shouldn’t. To be able to move forward I need to forgive myself for the haircut and for everything that I didn’t do right. I need to let it go.

Last night I read The Mastery of Love and it encouraged me to rethink my old programming and start to forgive. I never meant to hurt my child. That moment is gone and I need to let it go and forgive. She forgives me, so why don’t I?

Each day we heal a little more. A friend told me about a fabulous site where she bought her daughter’s cute little bob- www.wig.com. Now her daughter can fast forward to the haircut she has always dreamed of (and it didn’t break the bank!) Something as simple as that made me realize that each little step in life counts. We’ve made big strides and should be proud of where we are at right now. The next time I think of that haircut I will replace my sadness with forgiveness and give myself credit for moving on.

I think I’m 99.9% there.

I have seen a healer and she’s opened my mind. At first I shook my head when she told me my gift was bringing joy. I wanted to shout “I am not all fun and games. I am more than just a joke!” but she already knew that. Without my explanation she reassured me that I don’t need to be anyone other than me. I don’t need to put on an act. I can simply be and my true self is enough. A serious revelation for me.

Looking back I thought people just relied on me for humor. The hilarious story. The clever imitation. Back then when I was simply quiet or deep in thought people would look so disappointed and ask me what was wrong with me. “Where’s the sunshine?” The words just made me angry as if being funny was all I had going for me. I realize now that the reason this situation made me so infuriated is because I actually believed my fears all along. I thought that I would be lonely if I wasn’t laughing and it wasn’t true.

It’s hard to unlearn things, isn’t it? Each time my family fought when I was a kid I thought it was my job to make it right or better yet prevent it from happening at all. As if I was responsible for keeping everyone happy. If I could stay at the top of my game my dad wouldn’t get angry with my sister, my mom wouldn’t yell at my dad and I wouldn’t get in trouble. Like I could fix any of it. It was always such a relief to see everyone laughing. Maybe I thought that the good times would outweigh the bad at some point.

Today I realize that I can love all these different parts of myself: loving person, grateful mother, fierce advocate, clever humorist, playful little girl. All of this is me and I feel ready to shine my light without fear or hesitation. For once I will be sure to bring the joy back to me as I share it with others.

This season felt surrounded by acceptance. I have to admit I didn’t know what to expect when we decided to spend Christmas on the East Coast with my in-laws instead of celebrating with my family in the Midwest. At first it felt like we were hiding away from the members of my family that still don’t understand or accept Hope’s gender transition, but my feelings changed when I saw how excited my kids were about the switch.

Our family on the East Coast embraced Hope despite their rigid cultural background and even more strict gender roles. Still, they open their arms wide to accept us for exactly who we are- imperfect, fragile, different.

It felt like entering a witness protection program being there even though I noticed some signs of our past life here and there. One day I caught Hope running her finger along the top of a beautiful 8 x 10 picture frame that displayed a photo of her when she was a little boy. I stopped in the doorway wondering if she would ask for the picture to be taken down like she has at my mother’s house. She stopped, stared for a while and then just gracefully dropped her finger to her side and skipped away. I wiped the tears that trailed down my cheek and slid along my neck.

Only once during our visit did we sit in the same room as these pictures and ironically the subject of conversation turned to the long line of family members that have the same name. The tradition of their family is for the first born boy to have his grandfather’s name so that the family name is preserved throughout history. I watched my father-in-law’s face as he talked about the names so proud and yet so soft. It seemed like any other conversation and then drifted into another and another. No one mentioned the fact that Hope is actually her grandfather’s namesake, legally reflecting his name on her birth certificate, but I felt it hover above us and then drift off like a candle that had been blown out.

Even after we returned home, I longed for the security we have there. The feeling I have searched for my entire life. This year I didn’t get a single wrapped gift, but I did get the best present I have ever received.

Struggling not to lose that warm, snuggly feeling that assures me that I WILL fall back asleep, I soothe my worried mind by telling myself that my choices brought me to this beautiful place in my life so they must have all been part of a larger destiny, a grand plan. Telling myself over and over again that I needn’t beat myself up did not make me any less sleepy. If anything, it made me more focused.

As I settled back in my bed, shifting into the “sure thing” sleeping position, I thought about the last scene in the movie Harold & Maude where that fantastic song by Cat Stevens plays in the background. Maude takes her sleeping pills, as planned and says goodbye on her birthday. Trouble, oh trouble set me free, I have seen your face and it’s too much for me today… Harold realizes what she has done and calls for help… I’m beat, I’m torn, Shattered and tossed and worn, too shocking to see, too shocking to see… Harold is faced with the truth and decides his next step… Trouble, oh trouble move from me, I have paid my debt so won’t you leave me in my misery… his black Jaguar flies off a cliff and he’s left standing.

I’m letting my burden sail just like that car speeding off the edge. Letting it go. Saying goodbye and dancing away.