Battling monsters
This morning I cried in the shower. My kids are afraid — and their fears are warranted. And while I can pack us up and move across the country, I can’t magically end transphobia (believe me—I’ve tried.).
My 6-year-old has been having nightmares about monsters. On the second day of these nightmares, I asked some curious questions, afraid that someone may have hurt her or that something bigger was going on. She told me the monsters coming for her at night were the bad people in Missouri. This was a phrase she had used before . . . “do you mean the Missouri government?” She did. My daughter was having nightmares that Republican legislators were coming into her room to hurt her.
“What if they come here?” she asked.
I assured her they have no power here.
“What if the people here are bad?”
I assured her that we moved here because they are good.
“What if they become bad?”
“Then we move again. I will always, always, always, always do everything I can to protect you and your sister.”
I broke. My child is having nightmares about the Missouri government. A kid should not have fears about her government . . . and yet, they forced us to move. Legislators have called me all sorts of names, have accused me of all sorts of horrible things simply because I have a transgender child. This isn’t okay. None of this is okay.
Yesterday afternoon I sent an email to the principal of our new school — “I need you to know that my older child is transgender. I need you to know that we moved here because our home state passed laws that made it unsafe for us to stay. I need you to know that my younger child is having nightmares.”
And I sent it along with all of my hopes that doing so would be safe, with all of the hopes that this would not begin a battle with the school in order to protect our child. . . because a safer state does not mean a lack of transphobia. I panicked. It is a lot sending the most vulnerable parts of yourself to a stranger, especially when that stranger is your child’s principal.
It is terrifying to know that one piece of information — one very small piece of who our child is — can change everything about the way people see her. My child (both of them) loves school. Her teachers cannot say enough good things about her. But none of that matters if someone thinks she is lying about who she is.
He asked to meet with me today. We quickly rearranged plans to make it possible. When I told my daughter, she said she didn’t want anyone to know, that she didn’t want me to tell the principal. She ran into her room and locked the door, not wanting to talk about it.
When she came out of her room, she said it was okay for the principal and her teacher to know, but admitted she was afraid “of bad people.”
I want my kids to have normal nerves about whether or not they will like their teacher, about whether or not they will have kids to play with at recess. My kids should not have to fear that their principal and teachers will not like them because of their gender.
Thankfully the principal was great. He assured us that the school abides by the new district motto that all are welcome, that everyone belongs.
And so I can breathe a little more deeply . . . until we need to have the same conversations over again when signing up for extracurricular activities.