Two steps forward, one step back

We are in a process of having to regroup.  The group of kids that has DJ feeling so alienated are likely to be in at least half of all her classes because they too are in the advanced placement classes.  We're in a small town with a relatively small high school, and the advanced placement kids are an even smaller group, which makes it very likely that DJ will have many of them in her academic classes.  We're going to have scramble to get her through the rest of this semester and then come up with a game plan for next semester.

We're learning how difficult many social situations actually are for DJ.  She has painted a pretty, if inaccurate, picture of what her school days have been like, up until now.  Now we know that in reality, roughly half of every day is a struggle as she is forced to face a group of kids who, for the most part, ignore her.  I can imagine some folks would say we should force her to face them, because she's going to have to get used to it.  Bull$- - -, is my response.  She's vulnerable as hell right now.  We'll make her get back in the saddle but not while she's still injured.  Once she's healed, we'll hoist her up onto the back of the horse that threw her, but not yet.

I'm reading The Social Animal by David Brooks.  The chapter I am currently in talks about "culture."  American culture is markedly different from  Asian cultures, or Mexican cultures.  In some ways better and in others, worse.  One hallmark of American culture is INDEPENDENCE-a valuable trait, certainly.    But true independence is practically non-existant in this world.  Almost nothing of importance is accomplished truly by oneself.  We have elevated independence to a ridiculous pedestal so that a person is looked on as weak if they need help or must take a step backward to regroup.

INTERDEPENDENCE- a much better word and one that is considerably more accurate in describing the reality of most people's lives, the reality of successful business ventures, the reality of any important accomplishment that has ever taken place in human reality, in my opinion.  In fact, I recall a conversation between my Uncle, who we'll call Boatman and his daughter, my cousin, where she stated that she didn't want to marry because she didn't want to be "dependent" on her spouse.  Uncle Boatman explained that a good marriage doesn't foster dependence but rather interdependence so that each partner enhances the other, and supports the spouse when needed, without robbing the other person of his or her autonomy.

The truth is we need each other because this world is a brutal place.  Physical survival is not the same challenge in many parts of the world as it was 10,000 years ago, but social and emotional survival will continue to be a challenge for all of us.  Whatever helps DJ get past this hurdle is what we will do. We will not discourage her from taking a step backward to get her bearings again. We will not make her feel weak because she needs some help.  We will applaud her courage in asking for help.

She's cacoon-ing right now.  She needs to be in the shelter of home. DJ has plenty of school assignments to keep her busy and as always, she's composing music.  We will encourage her to take steps forward in braving the outside world again, and soon.  Sometimes we take one step forward and two steps back; other days, we manage to take two steps forward and only step back.  Either way, we get there. Bulldog and I love our girl.  Right now, all we care about is that she knows she's safe at home.  We'll worry about the rest of the world next week.

They are the broken ones

Do any of you watch the TV show, "Glee?"  Admittedly, both Bulldog and I watch with DJ.  Many weeks that show annoys the holy crap out of me, particularly the petite dark haired girl with the beautiful voice because she always looks like she's constipated.  But, once again, my attention deficit disorder has intervened and caused me to digress.

Santana, a cheerleader on "Glee" is a lesbian who was outed at school.  She is forced, therefore, to come out to her parents and grandmother.  Her parents accept her, but her grandmother flat out rejects her and basically kicks her granddaughter out.  The actress that portrayed the non-accepting grandmother was quite convincing.  I could almost imagine having to personally face a person like that, and I could imagine the humiliation and pain of being subject to that kind of rejection. And then, this afternoon, I found a wonderful comment from one of my blog followers who commented on her own lack of support from family.  I ached for her.

Add to that, my own fragile feeling in light of recent events in DJ's world, and I felt defeated.  And please, it's not even my own personal pain we're talking about here.  Yeah, I'm DJ's mom, and that's about as close as a person is going to get to being in another person's shoes, but who am I to talk about my pain?  Because, seriously, you folks who must live with being "different" are truly the tough people. I don't know how you do it, I really don't.  But can I say I admire the hell out of each and every one of you? You may not choose to be born this way perhaps, (none of us gets to choose that) but you do choose to be who you truly are, who you were created and meant to be, in spite of potential and actual rejection you face.

With DJ's recent setback, I am reminded again how limited so many of us are.  And how important it is for me, as DJ's mom to remind her that rejection she faces is NOT about her limitations or undesirability as a person, but is about the limitations of the person who rejects her for being who she is.  Why is it when a person publicly mistreats us that we feel like idiots?  How can the limited person make the object of their ridicule feel like she is the flawed one, when the reverse is so clearly true?

I had to share with DJ my own moments of being ridiculed.  I had to share with her the deep pain I felt when others verbally assaulted me: how it made me feel, initially, like I deserved it;  how I wanted to change myself to avoid a repeat of the ridicule.  And how crucial it is to dig in and hang onto the truth that you are not deserving of someone else's meanness and insensitivity. Bulldog and I couldn't let her continue to think that if she were just prettier, or thinner that they would actually treat her differently.  We have to let our kids know that no amount of changing ourselves will make the other people nicer, or make them accept us because, to borrow Bulldog's words, "they are the ones who are broken, not you."

These people who don't accept and who mistreat others-they are the broken ones.  Do not let them break you in the process.  Keep on keeping on.

How to make the horse drink the water

We've had a bit of a setback with DJ.  It's gut wrenching.  I don't know what happened, something at school, from the little she has conveyed.  She has not been herself in weeks and has lost a scary amount of weight in a very short time.

Why can't she talk about it?  This aspect of her personality-difficulty sharing feelings with others- could be the biggest obstacle of her life.  Being transgender is a pretty big challenge in this non-accepting world, but if you can talk about how you feel, you can work through it.  If you can't, you may pay for it in the end either through depression, isolation, feelings of despair, inability to eat, cutting, sadness, feeling suicidal, or the worst case scenario, acting on those suicidal feelings.

I want to blame myself, as most mothers might were they in my shoes.  Why didn't I catch that she wasn't eating well?  Why didn't I act when I saw she was moody?  Well,  I did catch both of them, but accepted her explanations.  "I'm full" or "my stomach is upset" were her explanations when I asked why she was eating only half of her dinner.  And since DJ just started two new medications both of which could lead to tiredness and one of which to moodiness, we chalked it up to that, as did she, when we asked.

I have to lay most of the responsibility for this at DJ's feet, unfortunately.  We have discussed the importance of talking about her feelings of loss, sadness, isolation that are bound to be a by-product of her coming out, especially in light of the fact that she lost the circle of friends that had been an integral part of her life since she was about seven years of age.  We asked questions about the friends, and she told us what she thought we wanted to hear.  And truthfully, I'm not even certain that something about this loss is the precipitating event that has led to her recent setback because she ain't tellin'.

Then, I go back to blaming myself.  Did we ask our questions the wrong way? Did we not ask frequently enough?  Did our reactions to her responses somehow serve to prohibit her from sharing more with us?

And in true pendulum fashion, I swing back the other way again:  We tried to stay in touch with how she's doing.  We met with her therapist and shared our concerns, chief among them, our suspicion that DJ was acting more ok than she really was.  But it's true, you can lead a horse to water, and you CANNOT make the horse drink.

The next and crucial step is to get DJ to see the graveness of her mistake in withholding her feelings.  And to make her understand the importance of trusting her therapist, or us, or a trusted adult with her feelings.  Otherwise, I am terrified of a domino effect that we won't be able to stop.

Please send prayers and thoughts of support our way.  We all need them, especially DJ.

How many suitcases are you carrying?

Bulldog and I had a big heart to heart today.  I simultaneously love and hate heart to heart discussions.  They are gut wrenching if you do it right because you are forced to look at yourself and see how your faults and goof-ups have hurt someone else.  Plus, you have to go coal mining for your own hurts that may be buried deep below a layer of impressive bedrock that under normal circumstances  only a few tons of dynamite can breach.

Like so many other people, the seeds of discontent are sown long before we met or joined our lives with our spouses or significant others.  We are all the products of our upbringings and our pasts, regardless of how much we may want to believe otherwise.

I remember a guy I knew in rookie school years ago, whose name was actually Leif Ericson.  I kid you not when I say his brothers' names were Eric and Thor.  His parents either had an incredible sense of humor or were inordinately proud of their Nordic heritage, in spite of being at least a few generations removed from that part of the world.  I'm rambling...Anyway, Leif informed me that he didn't like dating women with "baggage." Good luck with that because all of us are carrying baggage-some may be lucky to tote a carry on, and others are stuck with steamer trunks, like only the wealthy on the "Titanic" would own because they paid someone else to carry them.

Granted, some of us want to clutch our baggage and wear it like a shield.  Maybe we think it will protect us from further hurt.  Some of us pretend that the baggage doesn't exist, in spite of the fact that our shins are black and blue from repeatedly having the allegedly non-existant baggage knocking us about every time we attempt to take a step forward in our lives.  Naturally, it would be better to acknowledge the existence of our baggage while simultaneously not wearing it like a freaking medal, but that is a tough act of balancing.  Yet, if we don't find a way to do this, we may inadvertently ruin our own chances of happiness and pass our baggage on to our children.  My children hope to inherit money and some of my belongings, but I am certain a complete set of matched emotions wrapped in soft-sided exteriors with hidden zippers is not what they had in mind even if it does have wheels and a handle.  Just because it's equipped with handy tools to tote the thing doesn't mean they want my luggage to haul around, if they can avoid it.

OK, in some cases, it's already too late.  I've given my kids some baggage already.  Hopefully, it's just enough to contain their deodorant, soap and a toothbrush and nothing more.  But, now that I am completely aware of my propensity to drag around my baggage and that I may be contributing to the size of their baggage, maybe I can limit my future contributions to their load.

For instance,  accepting my kids as they are is a great start.  Realizing that we are not extensions of each other and that we are wholly separate from each other is integral.  When my child says that his birth certificate is wrong and we must stop saying, "him" and start saying, "her" I must respect that.  If she is wholly separate from me, then her feelings about herself are no reflection on me whatsoever;  my refusal to accept her feelings, however, is.  If it turns out that she didn't understand herself well, and by some strange reason, decides to go back to the original "him," it is STILL no reflection on me that I honored the first request.  It's not as if I was a fool to respect his wishes, or as if I failed because I did so.

Sometimes, the best way to let a person find out if they are making a mistake, or are tripping on the most profound truth of their life is to let them take the risk.  As parents, we often add to our kids' baggage by not letting them do that.  We either want to protect them from failure, or disappointment, or what we deem "reality." Rather, let us give them the tools to pick themselves up when they fail.  Not if they fail, because they will fail at something.  So, rather than make them feel like failures to adequately prepare them for life (a perspective I think of as crap) or not letting them ever fail, why not, instead of giving them luggage, give them a luggage CART by letting them risk rejection, failure, small measures of ridicule or disappointment, so that they can learn important lessons about themselves. Lessons like, it doesn't matter if I get knocked down 5 times as long as I stand up 6 times.  Or, finding out that the closing of a door may be the only way we find the fabulous opportunity waiting behind the stunning bay window.

But our best bet of not significantly adding to our child's baggage, in this author's humble opinion, is to really see our children as wholly separate from ourselves.  We often want to project ourselves onto them.  Many times, we do this out of love, but when inappropriately applied, love can act as a tourniquet.  Maybe it's because it's not truly love to begin with-it's our refusal to accept that the person in front of us is not us but merely came from us.  The degree of how different from us they are can and will vary
W I D E L Y from family to family and from child to child.  If our child is goth, it doesn't necessarily mean a thing about us as parents.  If your child is gay, you did not fail in some way.  If your child was born in the wrong body, you accepting their information is not a reflection of you as being overly permissive, or immoral, or anything like that.

In my line of work, we sometimes cross paths with people who are drug seekers because they are addicts.  Usually, people seek pain meds because they truly are in pain and need them.  Sometimes, as in the case of addicts, they are giving us a convincing story so that we will give them morphine.  Many of my peers consider themselves fools if a patient tricks them into giving pain meds and finding out later that they are what we call "frequent flyers" and are well known addicts by the staff in the emergency room.  But if I believe a patient's story and all other indicators seem to point to the truth of her declaration, and later it turns out to not be true, for whatever reason, I am not the idiot.  I simply believed the person.  Whether or not the person was truthful, or misinformed, or flat out lying is not the point.  My acceptance, or lack thereof  is solely a reflection of me.  Whether or not the person deserves my acceptance is not a reflection of me AND is a slippery slope to making an arrogant assumption. And an even more arrogant assumption is thinking that we know the person better than they know themselves.

"It's just a phase" or "She's just trying to get attention" or "He's confused and doesn't know what he wants"-how do we really know we're right?   And in the case of our kids, if we're wrong about our assumptions about them, that can lead to some pretty deep hurt.....and baggage.

Lately, DJ's hair and make-up and music are becoming less and less to my taste.  I can hope that it's just a phase, but she might end up thinking a mohawk that stands ten inches off the top of her head is a great look for her, even when she's 30.  Lordy, I hope not, but if she does, she's not me.  Her decision to look like a 1980's throw-back truly is not a reflection of me.  Granted, while I may not want to be seen with her, I won't give in to that.  Because really, why wouldn't I want to be seen with her?  Because I would be worried what other people will think....of me.  I might SAY I'm worried what they think of her, but only because I'm seeing her as an extension of me.  Which she isn't.

So, let's do ourselves, and our kids, and the world for that matter, a big favor.  Let us admit to having our own baggage, first.  Next, let us recognize that our baggage can cause us to contribute to our childrens' baggage.  After that, let us accept that we and our children are separate from each other.  Once we get that down, accepting is pretty easy.  You're you.  I'm me.  I can and will love you no matter how different from me you are.  Period.  Isn't that what we all want?  I know I do.

Thanksgiving Top 10, not in any specific order

1. I am thankful that DJ turned out to be the daughter I always wanted.

2. I am thankful that DJ's brothers love her as much as ever so that my three kids remain as tightly bound to each other as ever.

3.  I am thankful that my two sons are the kind of young men who take courses like "Women's Studies" in college, aren't afraid of telling their mother they miss her, and choose strong, independent women to love.

4.  I am thankful for DJ's exuberance and mild manner.

5.  I am thankful that Bulldog is both a "promise keeper" and the kind of man who believes that even at 49 he can continue to grow to be a "strong, mighty oak."

6.  I am thankful that in spite of many people abusing the heck out of the 911 system, that because of the job I'm in, I am afforded the opportunity to cross paths with people at their worst moments and witness how, in spite of their obvious hardship, that love can truly conquer all.

7.  I am thankful that this old body can still DO my job, even if it's just barely.

8.  I am thankful to live in a country where I am free to write what I think, believe, and feel, and not fear persecution, prosecution, torture or death for my writings, my thoughts, or my beliefs; I am also thankful for the sacrifices of men and women who, in the past and present, continue to ensure my freedoms.

9.  I am thankful to find that in spite of there being an incredible number of mean people in the world, that their are more than enough lovely people whose goodness outshines their darkness.

10.  I am thankful for the invisible safety net which cradles me and mine and is comprised of family, friends, coworkers, blog readers, therapists, doctors, teachers, guidance counselors and pets.

Fixing my CNN mistake

 Faithful followers, it seems that the Anderson Cooper/CNN special on transgender kids was shown in the afternoon of the day that I presented the information.  So sorry about the goof-up so I will pass the buck and say it's all Flying Pig's fault!!  ha ha.

If you would like to get a good glimpse of it, however, go to the link below where you will be introduced to a sweet little girl who is explaining the inner workings of her doll house. She is charming and every bit the little girl she knows she is, regardless of what her original birth certificate says.

Apparently, a documentary movie, "Trans" is in the works and is set to be released in 2012.

http://www.andersoncooper.com/2011/11/15/trans-documentary/#ixzz1dwG1HDX4

Does your kid make you speak Yiddish?

Little Miss Thing, aka DJ, is quite full of herself of late.  She must always get the last word in, no matter the discussion.  She's so certain she is right and we are overreacting.  Darn teenagers....so blessed big for their britches.

She is in her junior year in high school and in America, that is a big year to finish getting your standardized testing done, adding extracurricular activities and memberships to important organizations to your resume.  In short, since most college applications are submitted either the fall or winter of one's senior year, the junior year is one of the last opportunities to really shine so that colleges will accept you and hopefully offer you money to attend their school.

DJ is a musical artist, or shall I say AR-TEEST, emphasis on the last syllable since she's a bit hoity toity about this endeavor.  I don't mean to say she is arrogant about her abilities, because that is not the case.  But she does subscribe to the notion that the arts are of more importance than your typical academics comprised of the histories, the maths and the dreaded english classes.  Luckily, DJ has a gifted brain.  She can hear a lecture and commit the details to memory.  Were this not the case, and she actually had to refresh with what the rest of us call studying, she would fail most of her classes, abominably.  And this quality lends itself well to standardized tests so she knocks the ball out of the park on those too.

Have I ever mentioned she is a genetic anomaly?  And I don't mean because she's transgender but because her intellect is NOT a result of any genetic contributions from either side of the family.  Well, that's not true:  Flying Pig and DJ's aunt in England, who we'll call Apple because she's the only normal fruit from two generations of her family tree, are both exceptionally bright women.  But neither of these women were direct contributors to DJ's specific DNA chain, so I have no idea where she gets her abilities.  But I digress....

In addition to being remarkable at academics, she is quite gifted musically.  Both her birth father and I can lay claim to some of that, with his contribution being more important than mine, genetically speaking.  Anyway, when she came out to us, she demonstrated this remarkable ability to compose music for orchestras.  She had no training in this area other than some guitar and drum lessons and a Music for Dummies book I purchased for her.  Nonetheless, when she blossomed as a young woman, so too did her music ability blossom.  Since then, she has composed various sonatas, symphonies and the like and she has branched out into pop music too to include techno, horror of horrors.  But she enjoys it and has posted some of her stuff on YouTube.  The folks in Spain love her apparently.

AND she has set her sights on attending the Juilliard School of the Arts in New York City, a world renowned institution.  As such, it is incredibly difficult to get into this school.  An applicant's talents must be incredible, needless to say.  And I imagined that her grades would need to be equally phenomenal.  That is not the case, entirely, apparently.  When DJ researched Juilliard with a guidance counselor at school, there was less emphasis placed on grade point average at Juilliard than at other universities where the emphasis is more on academics and where talent is secondary.

She triumphantly informed me of this recently.  AS IF knowing this, I would allow her to spend less time on her academics so she could spend more time creating, writing, playing and recording her music.  Ummmm, I don't think so.

Then, two nights ago, when DJ was inducted  in to the National Honor Society (high five for DJ) DJ poo-poo'ed the whole thing initially.  She wanted to dress in her edgy fashion for the ceremony complete with leggings and Chuck Taylor sneakers under her dress.  When I explained to her that this is a ceremony that should be afforded the respect and dignity of proper attire she responded with her typical air of dismissiveness.

"People my age don't really care about things like that," the lovely DJ tells me.

"Yeah, well, people my age are the ones who let you into college and the honor society and we do care about things like that," I retorted.

Then, later in the evening, she said something about the National Honor Society certificate being "just a piece of paper."  Her artistic thumbing her nose at convention kind of rubbed me the wrong way, so in front of her I said to Bulldog, (already knowing the answer, because any good attorney will tell you to never ask a question to which you don't already know the answer) "Were you in the Honor Society?"

"No, I wasn't. I didn't have the grades."

"Neither was I and I wanted to be," at which point I turn to DJ and explain to her that it is insulting to both the NHS, and to those who can't be in it, to dismiss membership and the paper that certifies membership as "just a piece of paper."  Somehow, we got through to her.

Maybe she's just trying on this persona like she tries on her other more edgy outfits just so she can find out if she likes it or not.  Maybe she'll discard this know-it-all, I'm-too-artistic-to-be-bothered-with-these-bourgois-academic-concerns like she outgrew her love of super flowery attire.  In the meantime, I wish she would just do her freakin' homework and clean her bathroom without my having to nag.  Then I remind myself, "Be patient, she'll only be a teenager for another three and a half years."  Oy Vey!