Monday, June 3, 2013

This isn't hard...until it is



When I explain to people the reasons behind my stance on supporting Eli, I sometimes use a quote I borrowed from a guest on Oprah, a mother of transgender child. She said “I’d rather have an alive daughter than a dead son,”. It’s a nod to the increased suicide rates for transgender individuals who are forced to not only live one way when they feel another, but do so without support of their family.

I use that quote to demonstrate how deep the roots of my commitment to Eli are. But it is a lie. While it IS true that I would rather have an alive daughter than a dead son, saying so gives the impression that I made a desperate choice, that I was given an ultimatum in a dire situation with a dire outcome and that I was presented with a conditional “do this or else” scenario.

The idea that there was a choice to be made indicates or insinuates that there was a struggle in making a decision. That I had to wade my way through an emotional current to either support Eli and act as an ambassador for him or to squash and squelch that which speaks of his very essence and existence.

There wasn’t a choice. There wasn’t a struggle. I didn’t decide. I didn’t deliberate. I just followed his lead and followed my instincts and never thought there was anything wrong with him or what he is doing. I look at him and I see my baby. My child who will spend a lifetime swimming upstream. I see someone who will always need a life preserver and I sleep oh so well at night knowing that I am and will always be that life preserver for him.

People say, “This must be hard for you.” It isn’t hard for me to have a son that wants to be my daughter. Truly it isn’t. It isn’t hard for me to see my son wearing a dress and a pair of flowery sandals. It isn’t hard for me to accept him. What’s hard for me to accept is that other people find him hard to accept. That's what’s hard. That a person will see one thing and think another. That a person thinks my family is weird or damaged or even sick because a little kid feels something that this person has never felt before. And because they don’t understand it, they won’t accept it.  Now THAT’s what’s hard.

What's hard is when Eli comes home from camp and tells me that kids were laughing at him. And it’s hard when Ethan has to be his protector because I can’t always be there. And it’s hard to know that Ethan is only nine, yet has to do something that is hard for some adults to do – which is to stand up for that which is right, yet unpopular. It’s hard to send my kids into the fire and hope I’ve done enough to keep them from getting burned. But aren’t these struggles that all moms have? Even though the journeys differ, the struggles are still the same.

As  I spend the rest of the day nursing my aching heart, I will keep in mind that it is still a full heart. Full of the love I have for my kids. Full of the pride I have for both of them for living authentically and confidently. Full of the love I have for the friends and family that have put themselves in the midst of my battlefield and help me fight my fights. And I will smile as I listen to Eli and Ethan tell me about the fun parts of their day and the goodness they witnessed in others. And I will be comforted by the idea that I’m the only one crying, that they are smiling radiantly as ever.


4 comments:

cheryl said...

I have been quiet here as I have been reading the hundreds of comments everyone has written to Jen over the past few months. I have been quiet because I think this is a personal family issue,and we are all in the process of learning what this this is, what is means to their family, and most importantly, what it means for the future for Eli. This is hard, it is out of the ordinary, and it will effect their family in ways we don't know. When I am with Eli, he is Eli. Not the girl Eli, not the boy Eli, just sweet little Eli. My heart hurts that he has to face other children laughing at him or as he would put it - insulting him. These are hard lessons and hopefully he will make it through these hard lessons without too much pain. It's funny how most of the comments mention amazing. No one is amazing in this story - they are good parents and a good brother that want to see Eli have the best life! So my reason for speaking - it would be amazing if all parents taught their children the most important lesson - do not bully, do not laugh at someone who's different, do not insult or make fun of another child - and do not tolerate it from anyone else you see doing it. Do not be thinking, not my child - he or she has been taught better - well, it's someones child.... Teach them this if you don't teach them anything else! That is what would be amazing!

Shawn Dudukovich said...

It is amazing how far the world has come, and how far it still has to go. I grew up in a small community with a seriously scared closeted gay mother, who had to move out of state to protect her family and live the life she wanted to. And just last month, my husband and I were at a parent meeting at our kids new school where a pair of gay dads ran the school store and obviously were very well regarded by the community. Jen, with people like you leading the way, hopefully in the next generation you will see a shift for Eli and others like him similar to what I have seen for my mom, different doesn't have to mean wrong, bad, or shameful. It can mean interesting, special and delightful. Keep fighting the good fight - you and Adam are doing good!

pullthewool said...

I hate to think of you with an aching heart, so I temper my love of this post by saying, "not that part, not the part where you are hurting because of others' ignorance." But what I DO love about this post is the part where you acknowledge that it isn't out of desperation that you 'accept' Eli. I have never thought that from my vantage point. It has always seemed, and I'm glad to see you articulate it, that your commitment to Eli and your journey with him, is because you simply love him and this is who he is. You're not trying to change his essence any more than you would want to change his essence if he loved rugby. We obviously, as parents, try to teach our children our most important values (I'd say Jewish values, in our cases, but I think these particular Jewish values are universal)--love, respect, courtesy, kindness, compassion, strength, perseverance, integrity, self-respect, honor--and in that way, we set them up for making good choices in life, for doing good in the world. Character knows no gender, including when it involves feeling like you were born the wrong one. You and Adam are raising two children with great character. And I for one am glad that you are sharing your journey publicly--both because it helps others understand something they may never have had a direct, personal experience with and because it gives your friends and even some strangers an opportunity to offer you support and reassurance.

pullthewool said...

I hate to think of you with an aching heart, so I temper my love of this post by saying, "not that part, not the part where you are hurting because of others' ignorance." But what I DO love about this post is the part where you acknowledge that it isn't out of desperation that you 'accept' Eli. I have never thought that from my vantage point. It has always seemed, and I'm glad to see you articulate it, that your commitment to Eli and your journey with him, is because you simply love him and this is who he is. You're not trying to change his essence any more than you would want to change his essence if he loved rugby. We obviously, as parents, try to teach our children our most important values (I'd say Jewish values, in our cases, but I think these particular Jewish values are universal)--love, respect, courtesy, kindness, compassion, strength, perseverance, integrity, self-respect, honor--and in that way, we set them up for making good choices in life, for doing good in the world. Character knows no gender, including when it involves feeling like you were born the wrong one. You and Adam are raising two children with great character. And I for one am glad that you are sharing your journey publicly--both because it helps others understand something they may never have had a direct, personal experience with and because it gives your friends and even some strangers an opportunity to offer you support and reassurance.