Part II: Luke

[Contributing Writer, Ruthie / @ruthiepizzle]

Luke arrived at school with a surfer boy hair cut – shaved on the side with a little length on the top. It was cool. He wore basketball shorts and a Nike shirt and Vans. He tried so hard to look like a boy and he did. His close friends at school were godsends. They stuck by Luke and when children asked, “Alice, why did you cut your hair?! Why are you wearing that?! You look like a boy!” they responded, “Her name is Luke now and she’s a boy.”

Pronouns are hard.

I didn’t just throw him to the wolves. I’ve learned something in my thirteen years of parenting: adults can be much more cruel, much less understanding and so much more judgmental than children. I knew, as Luke’s mama, I had to advocate for him through the adults in his life and that it wouldn’t be easy. It would be a long road and I (thought I) was ready.

I approached Luke’s teacher and his principal and asked if I could read the book “I am Jazz” (an incredible book by Jazz Jennings about her life as a transgender child) to the 2nd grade classes. His teacher thought it was a great idea. Of course I knew Luke better than anyone else and would be able to explain the change in a way they would understand. In the middle of the meeting with the school psychologist, his teacher and the principal (all of whom were incredibly supportive), the other 2nd grade teacher came in. She had caught wind of what was going to ‘go down.’

Paraphrased... “I’m sorry, but I’m just freaking out right now. I don’t think I can have you speak to my class about this without the parents having the option of their kids listening or not. I can only imagine with the Facebook page will look like and do you know who has to deal with that? I do. I just can’t let you do this without a permission slip.”

I was floored. Absolutely, completely, devastatingly, FLOORED.

“What? This is my child. This is the biggest change of his life and his classmates need to know what’s going on. Alice is no longer Alice. He’s Luke.” I cried. Right in the meeting I cried. I yelled. I couldn’t believe that this public school teacher in Washington State was more willing to let my child fend for himself, explain his transition to his confused peers ON HIS OWN, and answer awkward questions about bathrooms and body parts, more than she was willing to protect a child in her care, ensure he was healthy and safe and happy and accepted. I worried what some of these children would learn from their parents.

For reference, we were living in a small Republican community at the time. I would guess that the majority of the population voted for Trump (you can check his track record with the trans community), were more conservative in their beliefs and were afraid of major change.

“What do I do when my kids go home and tell their parents they learned about transgender?” She said the word like it was the scariest, most vial of curse words.

“I won’t use that word. I don’t have to explain Luke and his character and his friendship and his spirit and his choices by using that word (although it would have been helpful). There’s more to talk about than that.”

It was decided then that the principal would talk to the superintendent. Later that day I received a call asking to meet. The superintendent had spoken with their attorneys and it was decided that I couldn’t speak to the classes because having parents teach things that aren’t formally in the curriculum could pose an issue legally.

Again, I was floored.

Luke’s teacher read the book and explained Luke’s situation as well as she could and I will forever love her for it.

The other 2nd grade teacher refused.

When Luke’s name change party came around, a month or so after his initial transition, after he legally had his name changed from Alice to Lucian, we invited all 2nd graders. The invitation was adorable and innocent and guess what, didn’t use the word transgender. Luke’s classmates all got them hand delivered but it was a different story for the other class. The teacher wouldn’t pass them out unless they were in envelopes (they were postcards) and didn’t have time to do it herself. The principal, a lovely man, put them in envelopes on his own time. But she wasn’t done protesting yet. On the class Facebook page she posted a warning to parents that looked similar to this:

Your child is bringing home an invitation to a party. It’s in a white envelope and they were told to give it to you before opening. I just wanted to give you a heads up.

I got texts from parents I knew in the other class who were basically asking why this was such a weird and secret thing and why the teacher wasn’t letting the kids know about it. I told them it wasn’t my decision at all. They laughed. They thought it was ridiculous. Other parents, though, were thankful.

Ouch.

I wish I could remember how many parents and how many families turned on us that Spring. How many parents I’d seen in the store who would pretend not to see us, ones who were friendly and outgoing before “all this.” Playdates that had happened in the past were denied. Kids weren’t allowed to attend swim parties that Luke attended because he wouldn’t be wearing a shirt and, “Ewww.” My heart broke and I felt like I had failed Luke as a mom.

I wanted to make it all easy. I wanted everyone to see Luke for who he is, for his sweet soul, his loyalty to friends, the way he makes people feel. I wanted so desperately for his friends and our friends to love Luke just as they had loved Alice because everyone loved Alice – the sweetest of sweet.

His name change party was beautiful and it was at that skatepark on that Saturday afternoon where we learned who our true friends were, the ones who loved us enough to publicly say, “I support this child and I support you as a family.”

On the flip side, people who I thought were our best friends didn’t come. Families who had supported us through illness and new babies and surgeries and birthdays and celebrations chose Luke’s name change party as the limit to their support. I have never felt more betrayed, more hurt, or as sad as I did that week.

Something really great came out of it, too. New people came into our lives. They were people who I had known, of course, but who embraced us and loved us and let us know it over and over and over.

Change is hard, no doubt. It’s hard for the people in the depth of the change and, as I’ve learned, it’s hard for people who really aren’t affected by it at all. Trying to make everyone comfortable as change is happening is impossible, that’s a fact. Our family has had to learn to let go. We’ve had to learn to smile when horrific things are said to us, keep walking when people try to make us stop, share our truth when it’s trying to be hidden, and look at everyone with fresh eyes.

As a mom, I’ve learned this: I will do anything for my children. I will lose friendships and learn to be okay with that, I’ll stand up to authority, challenge unjust rules, ‘out’ transphobic and hateful people, voice my truth unapologetically and advocate for kindness. And through all this, I’ll lose a lot. My reputation will change. My social circles will shift.

One thing, though, is for sure: my kids will be safe. They will be happy. And the second that changes, I’ll start all over again.