Years ago she chose a big, brown, straggly wig for her Hermione Grainger costume and adored it. (She wore it constantly afterwards. I’ve never seen a child with such a sweaty head or a bigger smile!) Back then Halloween was her ticket out. A way, not to hide, but to be 100% real among her friends and neighbors. Although she was presenting as a girl at home, she hadn’t made her social transition outside the house yet. Halloween became the first testing ground and she blossomed each time she put on the outfit.

Hindsight is 20/20, right? Read my blog excerpt from 2009 and you’ll see a different mom, a different writer. If you told me then that my child would socially transition to living as herself, a girl, months later I guess I would be pretty confused. I just wasn’t there yet and neither was she.

I’ll be honest, as I read the 2009 post I cringed a little, particularly because of the pronoun “he” now that we don’t refer to my daughter that way. I don’t even use “he” when I speak about my daughter in the past because she doesn’t. A couple of months ago I tried to use “he” for the pre-transition period and “she” for the post-transition for a public speaking gig and it didn’t work out. I flip-flopped and no one knew who the hell I was speaking about. Neither did I. By her definition, my daughter is who she is and I am inclined to take that lead. Until she asks for her history or pronoun be to be described otherwise, I am sticking with what she says.

It’s difficult to explain, these moments when the past collides with the present.I try to be gentle with myself when good intentions somehow resemble betrayal. How was I to know what the future would bring unless it all unfolded the way it did? I often remind myself that I can’t mind-read. My crystal ball seems to be on perpetual back order and I’m happy with that.

Thankfully, this Halloween was calm and peaceful. Hope chose a simple Princess costume and she didn’t give any thought to a wig. Her own ever-growing long locks looked more authentic to the costume than any wig ever could. This year felt like the first time she wasn’t preoccupied about putting on a disguise and was happy just being 100% real with everyone she knows.

As I perused Netflix it offered me it’s usual suggestions. “If you like Farewell My Concubine then you’ll like Blah Blah Blah…” I normally don’t pay attention. Just because I liked Life is Beautiful doesn’t mean I want to see everything about that era. I kept looking through the choices. That is until I saw the picture of Michael Bluth. Now that will get my attention. Nothing says hilarious like Arrested Development. I laugh like a small child when it’s on. I can’t explain it. Something tickles my fancy and I laugh out loud without abandon. (Everyone should have something like that, right?)

This time Netflix says “Since you like Arrested Development you’ll like Soap.” Well, yeah, I did like Soap, about a million years ago. We even affectionately called my mom Jessica Tate. Of course I’ll watch Soap. Funny show as memory serves.

Stay with me… remember that I was reaching 10 when this show aired so some things I “got” and some I did not. I also have to recognize that I am sure I didn’t see every episode. No Tivo. No DVR. Just you and the tv with a standing date. Go to a friend’s house and you miss the whole shebang. Get the flu and no dice. Being in grade school I think it’s logical to say that this tv show was not on the official agenda. I did; however, remember several parts, some of which scared me (demonic possession) and equally intrigued me (really clever humor).

When I downloaded the first couple episodes I was blown away. How did I not know that Billy Crystal played a transgender person? I always thought the character was gay. Researching later Wikipedia describes the character as gay too, even going so far as to say that several gay rights organizations were upset that Crystal was portrayed as wanting to have sex reassignment surgery. In the first few episodes the character (ze perhaps) was standing in hir mom’s clothes, with her wig, explaining that ze has always been a woman. Even recalling a shaving kit ze got when ze was four. Hir brother started shaving his face and ze started shaving hir legs.

My heart pulled when Crystal’s character was seriously (a rare moment) explaining that he was “just a person” to his step father who could not bear to even look at him. This was the 70′s folks. Why can’t we see something as progressive on network television today? Now granted, I only saw three episodes, but in that short time I saw something that is missing today and for that moment I was so proud. Funny that I was looking back in order to look forward.

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.

Halloween has always been good to us in a weird way. When Hope lived as a boy, it gave her the opportunity to dress up and feel like she wanted to. You could tell it was such a happy moment for her when she dressed up, her eyes beaming with pride and joy.

This year it felt different. Sure, it still had the fun and the merriment, but it lacked the desperation of past years. Now that she has transitioned, she doesn’t have to rely on Halloween to live life genuinely. The outfit doesn’t have to be “just right” and she didn’t feel the hesitation going out the front door, no matter how confident she felt inside the safety of our home. Yes, this year was different.

All week we finalized our costumes and talked about the Halloween party we attend every year. It was fun having a party to look forward to. The kids were excited to play with the other kids. I was excited to showcase my cheeky costume, ripped from the headlines. We laughed and giggled all week.

I guess I was carried away because I didn’t think of the fact that the hosts have not seen Hope since her transition and other families and kids from her past would be in attendance. When the thought struck me at how awkward this could be, I panicked. It felt like someone turned on the lights at 2am and everything looked drastically different.

Slowly I talked with Hope and Will, feeling like this was a conversation I should have had with them the moment we got the invitation. But I was in my glory, just living life and not over-thinking every single thing. Looks like that’s what gets me in the most trouble. I got angry with myself. No matter how much I explain the situation it’s going to sound like Hope’s transition is preventing us from going to the party. And it is.

Thankfully the kids dismissed the change in plans and saw the beauty of more trick-or-treating = more candy. Hope said she was secretly agonizing over the fact that people would be calling her by the wrong name and asking her questions that she didn’t quite know how to answer. Hope was relieved.

Will didn’t say a thing so I found him in a quiet moment and asked him if everything was okay. “I don’t think I can go to the party. I have a cough.” he said as if it was an apology just for me. Those big, brown eyes looking for validation. “Yes, it seems like you do have a cough. Maybe it’s best if we don’t give it to the other guests. Would you mind if we didn’t go to the party?” I whispered as I cuddled him in my arms so tight I thought he’d beg for air. “Better not. I don’t want to get my friends sick.”, the words were soft and warm. Tears filled the corners of my eyes as I nestled my head into his hair.

So often we focus on Hope, her feelings, her needs, her transition. And I have another child’s feelings to consider. Another child who has done an exceptional job of rolling with the punches and opening his heart so wide it could blanket this big city. Sometimes I wonder who the hero is in this story. Or if that role passes to each of us at some time or another. If that is the case, I’d say Will, only 3 years old, is the keeper of that title more often than not.

In moments of desperation he comes to you with a bear hug and an I Love You that could melt a dictator’s heart. His powerfulness delicately balanced by his extreme gentleness. To know him is to feel love. I can only thank the heavens that we were all given to each other.

When they reached the door, ready to go out trick-or-treating instead of the party, they turned back to give me kisses. This year was different alright. We might not need the costumes to feel good about ourselves anymore, but that doesn’t mean the fear is all gone. “You look beautiful Hope.” Will beamed as he looked at his sister with a mixture of love and pride and her smile extended from here to beyond.

Two years ago she told us that she felt like a girl inside. When it happened I was taken back. What did that mean? Did someone hurt her? Was someone filling her head with these ideas? I knew she had a close friend in preschool with a powerful personality and an extremely girlie-girl demeanor. Hope even confided that the girl asked her to wear girl’s clothes. (Now that doesn’t happen every day?!) Perhaps Hope is trying out how it feels to be a girl. Maybe she identifies with this little girl and wants to please her. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

From the very first time she confided in me that about feeling like a girl in a boy’s body, I embraced her. “Having a boy’s body doesn’t mean you can’t feel like a girl inside. Be who you are.” I would tell her again and again. Even though my husband and I embraced how she felt, nothing changed from an outsider’s perspective. She He was okay with wearing boys clothes. At home though, he’d knot these thin blankets together to make “hair” and wear long shirts and call them dresses. He was fine with the male pronoun, but often asked to be called by a girl’s name. At first it was Stephanie, then Hermione and then a couple others. His brother mainly called him the alternate names when they played. We never denied playing as a girl but we didn’t make any changes really for more than a year. Throughout that time, we always encouraged him to talk about his feelings and reminded him that we love him no matter what. Mostly it was the same… “I’m a girl inside.”

About a year after his declaration, he was drawing his self portrait as a girl. Living still fully as a boy, but with a girl’s self portrait, the changes drew attention from the private preschool my children attended. Thankfully we explained how we were handling his feelings and they supported us. But our friends and (some) family were very open minded and didn’t give a thought to a boy acting like a girl. (Some family wore blinders and chose to overlook “certain” behaviors.) “Going through a phase” was what I heard a lot. We, too, wondered when exploration turned to something more concrete. My husband and I agreed that we’d let him decide if and when that happened.

Slowly more girls clothes crept into the wardrobe. A shirt with pink trim became a staple. Some unisex (but more feminine looking) pants became instant favorites. She pleaded for pink sandals. All the time we talked about colors being for everyone. That there was no “boy colors” and “girl colors”, but that didn’t stop her from getting a dress when she wanted. Who was I to say that she couldn’t dress up and feel good about herself? At this point there was only “dressing up” at home.

In her heart this was the first opportunity to try on a girl’s clothes and a girl’s life. It was like she was Cinderella when she got home and could finally transform into everything she wished to be. By the time Halloween came around, she was thrilled to trick-or-treat as Harry Potter’s best friend, Hermione. More than acting like her favorite character, I think she did it to get the wig. At that point, things became crystal clear.

Each person has their own way of expressing themselves. My 5 year old son became possessed by Hermione Grainger about a year ago and started speaking with a very authoritative British voice in everyday life. He would quote her, dress like her and literally embody the character. He said he was a girl inside.

While the bossy voice only lasted for only a couple months (now he just uses it when he is “playing the character” as he explains), being a girl inside is something that he still talks about now and again when he feels like it. We choose to simply listen and support where he goes with it. We’re not oblivious… we had the discussion about the way his body was made, but does that determine who you are inside?

Does it matter that he likes to decorate himself? For Halloween he got the full wig and Hogwarts cloak and tie. He also asked Santa for a princess outfit (which Hermione prefers on more formal occasions). We aren’t afraid of him wearing these clothes. I believe it allows him to express himself and explore his imagination conjuring an intricate web of his own stories and characters. Who knows where this type of creativity could lead him?

Today he came to me and asked if we could cut his Hermione hair and I agreed. Very specific about the style (very Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone), I asked him if he realized that it would never grow back. His quizzical expression said it all. “It’s a wig Mom”, he politely informed me like an old soul gently reaching out to youth.

Not everyone likes this- I get that. This might not be a choice another parent would make and that is okay with us. This is our choice. It works for us. Nevertheless, some people who are close to us communicate a cautious warning (or two) as if wearing dress up clothes will make him scarred for life. While I appreciate the care they show for us, it doesn’t change the way we support him or allow him to navigate through his feelings. So what if he feels like a girl inside? So what if he likes to dress up and play characters?

We are proud of who he is inside and out. A sensitive, loving, funny, intelligent, ethical and dynamic individual who knows he can always come to his parents and tell them the truth. He knows from experience that we will remain open and listen without fear or anger. His feelings and thoughts have a safe haven in our loving outstretched arms and minds. That is enough for us.