What it Cost Me

Long before Gay Pride flags and Black Lives Matter signs, I knew what it felt like to be part of a tolerant and socially liberal family.  I don’t recall my parents ever sitting us down for a formal conversation about the matter—they didn’t have to.  We simply knew it to be true. 

A while back, I asked my father if his own parents had been as open and accepting as he and my mother had been.

“They were old school,” he said with a nod.  “But they never had a bad word to say about anybody.  So however I was raised, it was the right way.”

My siblings and I grew up on K Street, one of four parallel dead-end streets in downtown Portland, Maine.  It was about as idyllic of a childhood as you could get.  The streets were lined with multilevel homes manicured to perfection, shiny wood-paneled station wagons lining the freshly paved driveways. 

There were at least twenty kids on K Street alone and we took turns wandering from house to house, ravaging each other’s impressively stocked pantries.  We played Pac-Man on our Nintendo’s and rode our bikes to 7-11 to buy Slurpees and penny candy, coming home just in time for a home cooked dinner.  Oh glorious 1980’s, how I miss you!

The house directly across the street from ours was owned by a pair of lesbian attorneys.  They weren’t just any lesbian attorneys—they were bad ass lesbian attorneys.  One of them was a deeply respected professor at the University of Maine School of Law.  The other was a highly sought after, nationally recognized lawyer who had been instrumental in the legalization of gay marriage in Massachusetts. 

My father, a man who had always revered academic and professional achievements, wouldn’t have been more impressed if Madonna and Micheal Jackson were living across the street.  In fact, the only thing that came between my father and his yardwork was when the two women were working in their own front yard, planting flowers or painting shutters.  He would ever so carefully lay his rake down on the ground and walk across the street, eager for the chance to talk to them. 

When he came back, he was excited, energized, and enthusiastic.  Not only were the lawyers brilliant and successful, but they were also changing the world for the better.  My father thought they were remarkable and was extremely proud to be their neighbor.

Dad wasn’t the only one in our family who was an ally of gay people.  When I was in middle school, my mother decided to go back to school and obtain a master’s degree in social work at the University of New England.  There were a handful of lesbians in her cohort and to say she was smitten would be an understatement. 

Before this program, my mother had little exposure to gay people.  But now that her eyes had been opened, she became deeply intrigued with her new circle of friends.  Her lesbian classmates were friendly and spoke openly about their lives.  Moreover, they were just like other women my mom knew—they were mothers, daughters, sisters, and friends.  The only thing different about them was that they preferred the romantic company of women over men (and they really, really liked the Indigo Girls).

And even before her love affair with the lesbians, my mother longed for more diversity in our family in a very genuine way.  She was constantly suggesting to my brother that it would be great if he was gay.  “Wouldn’t it be great, honey?” she asked sincerely. “Sure Mom,” he replied, always the agreeable one.  “But I’m not.”

My mother persisted.  “But what if you were gay and married someone from a different race!  Could you even imagine the diversity you could bring into this family?  It would be so wonderful!”

My poor brother, a nice guy but a total disappointment to his family.

But to my mother, her quest for diversity was more than just a passing phase.  When I asked her why she was so desperate for a gay child she said, “I just thought gay people were beautiful and different and I thought it would be an incredible experience for our family.”

And like in most families, the apple did not fall far from the tree.  In college, my brother majored in political science.  After graduation, he worked for multiple Democratic candidates, all on the left side of liberal.  Later, his private sector bosses would make generous donations to the Obama Campaign and other progressive political figures.  

My sister works in Human Resources at a progressive Biotech firm in Cambridge, Massachusetts and has placed a premium on diversity and inclusion in the workplace.  In addition, she contributes financially to every social justice cause you can think of (as well as paying for the first three rounds of drinks and the Uber ride home whenever we go out.  Thanks sis, I love you!).

Twelve years ago, when my husband and I were pursuing adoption, we looked at each other with genuine bewilderment when the adoption consultant asked us if we would be willing to adopt a biracial child.  “We’d prefer it,” we announced in unison.  (You can only imagine my mother’s excitement, hooray for diversity!)

And I should note that I was deeply proud of all of this.  I was proud that I had been raised by tolerant, liberal parents and I was proud of myself and my siblings for embracing the same values.  I knew people who discriminated against marginalized groups in society and it made me think less of them.  They were ignorant, unkind, and uneducated, I thought to myself knowingly, content with the knowledge that no one would ever think that about me.

Fast forward to several years ago when the issue of transgender children exploded into mainstream culture.  One day I hardly knew transgender children existed and the next the subject was dominating the media, particularly my social media feeds. Per usual and surprising to absolutely no one, there were multiple (i.e., completely polarized) opinions on the matter.

I remember settling into the couch one day and reading an article about a two-year-old who had been assigned male at birth but was living as a female.  Her parents were completely supportive of her transition and had dedicated their lives to raising awareness about transgender youth and the struggles they face. 

To say I was skeptical would be putting it mildly.  Two years old?  That’s ridiculous.  How could anyone know a thing like that at such a young age?  The two-year-olds I knew were still in diapers, stuffing their mouths with sand at the beach and eating batteries like it was their job.  There was no way in hell a toddler could know that sort of thing, I thought to myself with an air of smug superiority.

I carried this disbelieving, hypercritical attitude with me until one day I read a blog post which I will NEVER, EVER forget.  I’ve searched high and low for it but hard as I try, I cannot locate the original piece.  But it doesn’t matter, because that single piece of writing did what good writing has the capacity to do—it changed the way I thought about things.

The blog post was written by a young mother who had recently taken her two young kids (both assigned male at birth) bathing suit shopping at Target for an upcoming family vacation.  While she and her oldest son stood debating the merit of the Mario Bros swim trunks versus the Superman ones, she realized her youngest child had gone missing.

“Henry,” she cried as she anxiously raced through the store, “where are you?”  Those seconds felt like hours.  But when she finally found him, her sense of terror only grew.  There, standing in front of a rack full of bikinis and looking happier than he had in ages, was Henry. 

“Mommy,” he said excitedly as he held up a pink, sparkly number, “look what I found!”

The Mom started to panic.  While they hadn’t formally discussed gender transition, Henry had been wearing dresses and playing with dolls at home for ages.  But a bikini, to be worn at the beach? He would be so publicly exposed. 

It’s not that she didn’t want to support him.  In fact, it was just the opposite.  She wanted to support Henry more than she wanted to take her next breath.  But she was terrified of the ridicule and the bullying she was sure would ensue.

“I love it,” she said, forcing a smile onto her petrified face as she snuck into the shoe section and called her husband.  Answer the phone, she silently begged as it went to voicemail, answer the phone!  She called again and again and again until he finally answered.

“Henry wants to buy a bikini!” she said through tears.  “I don’t know what to do.  I don’t know what to do!”

Her husband paused just briefly before speaking clearly into the phone.  “Buy the bikini, Katie.  Just buy the damn bikini.”

At this, I burst into tears.  Oh my god, I thought to myself in horror.  That poor mother.  Her pain was so real.  Her love for her child was so strong, just like the love I had for my own children.  All she wanted to do was protect Henry, but it would be impossible in a world filled with judgmental, discriminatory assholes.    

Judgmental, discriminatory assholes—just like me.

And in that moment, I could not believe what a hypocritical, insincere, two-faced, asshole I had become.

Did I really think I knew something that these parents didn’t?  Did I really think I knew something that these kids didn’t?  Not only did I not have a transgender child, I only knew one person who did and we weren’t close.  And here I thought I had the right to judge?  Here I thought I knew best?

In my blog post A Love Letter to the Lady with the Double Chin, I discuss how we consistently engage in negative self-talk and focus on the traits we don’t like about ourselves.  But on the flip side, we often have positive ideals of ourselves that don’t hold up in real life. 

After all, I had always likened myself as some kind of queen of liberal thinking, as open and accepting as they come.  But as it turns out, I was being a condemnatory cretin, no better than the kind of people I was constantly complaining about.

From here, I decided to do some homework.  I looked into the hard, cold facts about LGBQT kids and found the following brutal truths:  LGBQT youth are more than FOUR times as likely to attempt suicide than their peers.  More than 1.8 million LGBTQ youth seriously consider suicide each year in the U.S. and at least one attempts suicide every 45 seconds.  Further, 59% of black transgender and nonbinary youth seriously contemplate suicide with more than 1 in 4 attempting suicide in the last year (1).

Combine this with the bullying, the isolation, the workplace discrimination, and the rejection (often from their own families) transgender youth will surely face in their lifetime and it’s impossible to dispute—their lives will be hard.

And here I was, making their hard lives that much harder.

So, I was forced to ask myself the following question:  What would it cost me to be on their side? What would it truly cost me to be an ally to not only transgender youth, but to all transgender people? 

What it cost me was the humbling realization that I was not the person I thought I was.   

And other than that, it cost me absolutely nothing.

After this realization, I vowed to do better, to be better, to be the kind of person I had always thought I was.  I read Becoming Nicole, a Pulitzer Prize winning memoir written about Nicole Maines, a transgender woman who, along with her twin brother, had been assigned male at birth.  Nicole’s fight for justice was deeply inspirational and humanized the topic in a deeply relatable and meaningful way.

When Nicole was as young as two years old, she began asking questions like “When do I get to be a girl?” and “When will my penis fall off?”.  Though Nicole’s mother was initially baffled, she set out on a journey to find answers and supported Nicole from the onset.  Her twin brother also accepted Nicole’s gender identity at a young age and was quoted as saying to their father, “Face it, Dad, you have a son and a daughter (2).”   

But even with the support of her family, Nicole faced intense discrimination, particularly while at school.

When she was in the fifth grade at Asa Adams Elementary School in Orono, Maine, the grandfather of a male student complained about her using the girl’s bathroom.  From that point on, Nicole was banned from using the girl’s bathroom and was forced to use the staff bathroom instead.  Her family filed a complaint against the school district but when they failed to respond, they filed a lawsuit against the district.  The case was ultimately heard at the Maine State Supreme Court in Bangor where Nicole was represented by the Gay and Lesbian Advocates and Defenders of Boston.  In June of 2014, the Maine Supreme Judicial Court ruled that barring transgender students from the school bathroom consistent with their gender identity is unlawful and violated the state’s Human Rights Act, the first such ruling by a state court.  Nicole and her family were later awarded $75,000 in damages (2).  Take that, Orono School District!

Since that time, Nicole has gone on to become a well-known writer and transgender activist.  In 2016, she gave a moving TED Talk titled Transgender: You’re Part of the Story, which has nearly 1.9 million views on www.ted.com alone.  In addition, she is an accomplished actress and quite fittingly had a starring role as a transgender superhero on the CW series Supergirl.

And while the State of Maine ruled in Nicole’s favor in 2014, at least nineteen states have recently passed laws banning or partially restricting gender-affirming care for minors.  For example, Oklahoma enacted Senate Bill 613 in May of this year; however, the state only began enforcing the law earlier this month.  As of Thursday, October 5th, transgender youth in Oklahoma no longer have access to surgery, hormone therapy, or puberty blocking medications until they reach the age of eighteen (3). 

Even more disturbing, transgender youth who are already receiving these treatments will be forced to wean off them over the next six months.   The law also makes it a felony for medical professionals to provide any of the above-mentioned services.  If caught, physicians and advanced practice providers could face hefty fines and even the loss of their medical licenses (3).    

With the increased risk of mental health disorders and suicide rates among the LGBTQ population, the consequences of these new laws have the potential to be not just devastating, but deadly.  Can you imagine having summoned the courage to undergo a gender transition only to have your entire identity taken away from you?  Can you imagine watching your child slip away into the body of someone they never felt comfortable being in the first place? 

These Gender-Affirming Care Bans are shameful and despicable, proving once again that the only thing these right-wing politicians care about is the preservation of their sanctimonious, propagandist, self-serving agendas.

So, in a world where people are so quick to call out others on their hypocrisies, I’ll ask you this:  Do you frequently examine your own thoughts, words, and actions and ask yourself if they line up with the type of person you think you are and with the type of person you really want to be? 

And if not, what are you going to do about it?

If you aren’t sure, I recommend this:  Ask yourself what it would really cost you to be the kind of person you want to be. 

It might cost you everything.  But there’s a very good chance it will cost you nothing at all.

Footnotes:

(1)         The Trevor Project; Facts About LGBTQ Youth Suicide.

(2)         Wikipedia; Nicole Maines.

(3)         AP News:  Federal judge in Oklahoma clears the way for a ban on medical care for transgender young people.