This particular piece takes place in the fall of last year, just as Alex was starting kindergarten. At the time, we were about four months into Alex's social transition from male to female, so things were still pretty scary, new, and overwhelming for us as Alex's parents. Transition is tricky no matter what, but it felt even more frightening in our very small town...
I am sitting in my daughter's dance studio. It is her first official class at this studio, a ballet class.
Alex was enrolled in a different dance studio in town last year, back when Alex was still known as a boy. At the previous studio, Alex was not allowed to wear pink tights, or even black tights, in the Christmas ballet number, because according to the instructor: "That would never fly in this town." Alex was a very sad little boy in black leggings that year at the Christmas performance, wishing that he could wear pink tights like all of the little girls.
If tights were an issue, I really didn't have too much faith that Alex transitioning from male to female would go over that well. We decided to leave that dance studio.
It is another year, and we have decided to try again at a new dance studio, this time with Alex enrolled as female. I admit- it took some time for me to build up the courage to even think of enrolling Alex as a girl. What if people remembered us from when Alex was a boy? What would people say? Would someone "out" my child as transgender?
So I am sitting in this flimsy folding chair, shoved against the wall, seated next to several overprotective, overeager parents. Most of the other parents have dropped their kids off for this class, but here I sit as one of the helicopter moms. I am nervous for my trans* kid, and I want to be sure that she will be okay. The fluorescent lights seem overwhelmingly bright, the room feels small and claustrophobic, and my chair is uncomfortable. I begin to sweat, and I try to take a few deep breaths. I shrink back into my chair, and I think to myself, This is a mistake. What was I thinking? I shouldn't have signed Alex up for dance class again.
I am sitting in my daughter's dance studio. It is her first official class at this studio, a ballet class.
Alex was enrolled in a different dance studio in town last year, back when Alex was still known as a boy. At the previous studio, Alex was not allowed to wear pink tights, or even black tights, in the Christmas ballet number, because according to the instructor: "That would never fly in this town." Alex was a very sad little boy in black leggings that year at the Christmas performance, wishing that he could wear pink tights like all of the little girls.
If tights were an issue, I really didn't have too much faith that Alex transitioning from male to female would go over that well. We decided to leave that dance studio.
It is another year, and we have decided to try again at a new dance studio, this time with Alex enrolled as female. I admit- it took some time for me to build up the courage to even think of enrolling Alex as a girl. What if people remembered us from when Alex was a boy? What would people say? Would someone "out" my child as transgender?
So I am sitting in this flimsy folding chair, shoved against the wall, seated next to several overprotective, overeager parents. Most of the other parents have dropped their kids off for this class, but here I sit as one of the helicopter moms. I am nervous for my trans* kid, and I want to be sure that she will be okay. The fluorescent lights seem overwhelmingly bright, the room feels small and claustrophobic, and my chair is uncomfortable. I begin to sweat, and I try to take a few deep breaths. I shrink back into my chair, and I think to myself, This is a mistake. What was I thinking? I shouldn't have signed Alex up for dance class again.
I am here watching today,
not by choice, but because my daughter has a secret that she wants to keep
safe, and I need to reassure us both that her secret will remain a secret.
I look around the class, and I don't recognize any of the families. So far so good. Just then, a little girl walks into the class, late, and my heart sinks when I see her. Her name is Madison. I remember that Madison went to preschool with Alex. Her dad smiles at me with a nod of recognition as he takes his seat in one of the folding chairs, and my heart starts to pound a little faster. The "what-ifs" start streaming in my thoughts as I glance at this father and his daughter- what if the dad recognizes Alex as the little boy from preschool? What if Madison recognizes Alex? What if they say something, what if they "out" my kid, what if there is some confusion, what if there is recognition, or what if they use the wrong pronoun??
Oh, the anxiety, when your child has such a big, precious secret.
The ballet instructor, Amanda, has all of the students in front of her, sitting cross-legged on the dance floor. "Let's do introductions," she says, very sweetly. Alex, my transgender five year old girl, who now has long hair and pierced ears, introduces herself. I look at Madison, Alex's former preschool classmate, and I see that Madison has a quizzical look on her face. Uh-oh.
It is Madison's turn to introduce herself. After her introduction, my daughter remarks, "Oh! I know you! I went to preschool with you!" Oh no, I groan inwardly. Seriously?? And yet- Alex's recognition of her classmate is so sweet, and so very innocent.
Madison looks confused, and shakes her head, No, I don't know you. The teacher smiles awkwardly, the moment passes, and she moves on to the next child in the group. I breathe a sigh of relief, and I realize that I have been holding my breath throughout this entire exchange.
And then it hits me- Alex is not recognizable from the child she was before transitioning to female. Prior to transition, Alex the boy had become very withdrawn, depressed, and was almost completely anti-social at school, unless he managed to put on a princess dress from the dress-up area (then he would play with the little girls in his class). Alex the boy had a shaved head like his dad. And Alex the boy was always dressed in superhero t-shirts (that we pretty much made him wear, except for at home).
Yet, here in the dance studio, in the place of that sad little boy, sits a little girl- and a happy little girl at that. This Alex has long blonde hair, the buzz cut grown out past her shoulders. This Alex has pierced ears, real earrings, sparkling diamond studs. And this Alex has given away all of her superhero t-shirts, and is wearing a pink leotard and a sparkling ballet skirt, with pink ballet shoes.
She even has the pink tights to match.
I smile, looking at my vibrant, thriving, dancing little girl. There really is no comparison, from the sad little boy from a year ago, to the little girl that sits before me now.
Alex has truly been transformed.
I was able to sit a little taller that day in the dance studio, as Alex's mom. My daughter's transition was so convincing, and so obviously fitting, that not even her former classmate was able to recognize Alex as the little boy that she had spent two years with in preschool. The folding chair began to feel a little more sturdy, the fluorescent lights weren't quite so overwhelming, and the studio felt a little bit more open. Maybe we will be okay, after all.
As I started the process of letting go of my fear, I realized that I was beginning to transform as well. I was becoming a little more sturdy, a little less fearful and overwhelmed, and my heart and mind were beginning to open.
My brave little girl was teaching me to be brave, just like her.
I look around the class, and I don't recognize any of the families. So far so good. Just then, a little girl walks into the class, late, and my heart sinks when I see her. Her name is Madison. I remember that Madison went to preschool with Alex. Her dad smiles at me with a nod of recognition as he takes his seat in one of the folding chairs, and my heart starts to pound a little faster. The "what-ifs" start streaming in my thoughts as I glance at this father and his daughter- what if the dad recognizes Alex as the little boy from preschool? What if Madison recognizes Alex? What if they say something, what if they "out" my kid, what if there is some confusion, what if there is recognition, or what if they use the wrong pronoun??
Oh, the anxiety, when your child has such a big, precious secret.
The ballet instructor, Amanda, has all of the students in front of her, sitting cross-legged on the dance floor. "Let's do introductions," she says, very sweetly. Alex, my transgender five year old girl, who now has long hair and pierced ears, introduces herself. I look at Madison, Alex's former preschool classmate, and I see that Madison has a quizzical look on her face. Uh-oh.
It is Madison's turn to introduce herself. After her introduction, my daughter remarks, "Oh! I know you! I went to preschool with you!" Oh no, I groan inwardly. Seriously?? And yet- Alex's recognition of her classmate is so sweet, and so very innocent.
Madison looks confused, and shakes her head, No, I don't know you. The teacher smiles awkwardly, the moment passes, and she moves on to the next child in the group. I breathe a sigh of relief, and I realize that I have been holding my breath throughout this entire exchange.
And then it hits me- Alex is not recognizable from the child she was before transitioning to female. Prior to transition, Alex the boy had become very withdrawn, depressed, and was almost completely anti-social at school, unless he managed to put on a princess dress from the dress-up area (then he would play with the little girls in his class). Alex the boy had a shaved head like his dad. And Alex the boy was always dressed in superhero t-shirts (that we pretty much made him wear, except for at home).
Yet, here in the dance studio, in the place of that sad little boy, sits a little girl- and a happy little girl at that. This Alex has long blonde hair, the buzz cut grown out past her shoulders. This Alex has pierced ears, real earrings, sparkling diamond studs. And this Alex has given away all of her superhero t-shirts, and is wearing a pink leotard and a sparkling ballet skirt, with pink ballet shoes.
She even has the pink tights to match.
I smile, looking at my vibrant, thriving, dancing little girl. There really is no comparison, from the sad little boy from a year ago, to the little girl that sits before me now.
Alex has truly been transformed.
I was able to sit a little taller that day in the dance studio, as Alex's mom. My daughter's transition was so convincing, and so obviously fitting, that not even her former classmate was able to recognize Alex as the little boy that she had spent two years with in preschool. The folding chair began to feel a little more sturdy, the fluorescent lights weren't quite so overwhelming, and the studio felt a little bit more open. Maybe we will be okay, after all.
As I started the process of letting go of my fear, I realized that I was beginning to transform as well. I was becoming a little more sturdy, a little less fearful and overwhelmed, and my heart and mind were beginning to open.
My brave little girl was teaching me to be brave, just like her.
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