Tuesday, February 28, 2017

The Twice-Given Gift

I remember waking up with excitement the morning after my daughter M’s birth. The feeling was the same as the one I’d had back in my childhood, when my parents had bought me a “surprise” – a book, a stuffed animal, or some small toy – and slipped it under my pillow. I couldn’t wait to see her. But hospital’s day nursery wasn’t open yet. In the meantime, a friend’s wife came in to visit: they had a daughter, too, and we chattered away about how much fun girls were to buy for, how you could do so much more with them, etc., etc.

And it was fun. I’d always liked kids, but I’d never realized how fascinating babies could be. I watched M. discover her own shadow, delight in the family cats, and sit spell-bound in the tub, watching the bubbles I blew for her. We had our own rituals and, once she learned to talk, our own catch-phrases, too…the most important one being right before she went to bed. “I like you, and I love you,” I’d tell her.

“I like you, and I love you,” M. would sing back.

My husband Tim died in a car accident when M. was just three-and-a-half-years-old. Family and friends did what they could to help. But, at the end of the day, it was the two of us. We watched movies, did board games and puzzles, went trick-or-treating together, and had picnics on an old quilt in the driveway on Sundays. She pulled me out of my comfort zone: I found myself volunteering at her grammar school; putting together a couple badge-worthy programs for her Brownie troop; playing miniature golf with her; and trying to help her learn how to ride a bike. This last one was especially tricky because I’d never been taught to ride one myself. So I just walked alongside her, holding onto the handle bars and doing my best to keep her upright.

At the end of 7th grade, M. began talking about being bisexual. I was surprised – I’d seen no indication at that point that she was attracted to other girls – but I figured it would all sort itself out somehow.

Only some things, I was to learn, don’t sort themselves out nice and neatly. Her confusion was deeper than I’d realized, and it was about a lot more than orientation. It merged with what a psychiatrist told me was “a low-grade depression” over the father she couldn’t remember, creating an emotional firestorm that I didn’t think we’d ever come out of. She cut herself, had suicidal thoughts, and once even tried to run away. There were emergency-room trips, hospitalizations, outpatient therapy, and a slow, often painful re-building of our relationship.

We got it back, though – enough so that when M. told me she thought that she was “full-on lesbian,” I accepted it unhesitatingly. After all, I had family members and friends who were gay, so it wasn’t such a big adjustment. Her girlfriends came over, and we talked about what was happening in her various relationships.

But by her sophomore year of high school, there was a new bend in the road: M. had come to understand that the issue was not one of orientation but of gender. That she was a male trapped in a female body. M. began dressing as a boy and calling herself/himself Zeke.

This was a harder issue for me to deal with but not for the reasons you’d think. There had been a lot of loss in my life already, and all I could think was that I was going to lose the daughter who had been my joy and comfort since Tim’s death. Selfish but true.

A woman said to me, “You have been given as great gift. You had the privilege of having a daughter for many years, and now you have the privilege of having a son.” She was right, of course – my brain realized it the moment she spoke. But hearts take a lot longer to catch up.

Oddly enough, it was Zeke who found the words I needed. They had been written by a father whose daughter, like mine, had realized that nature had made a mistake. “I find that I am not ready to give up the little girl that I loved so much,” this unknown man had written. “She is special to me – I love her and don’t want her to go, even though I know I must. In a way, this is like a death and a birth in the family at the same time. Allow me to mourn the loss of my daughter and, I assure you, I will rejoice at the birth of my new son.”

I sat in on a support group for parents with trans children: mostly, I just listened, but it helped knowing that there were other parents wrestling with the same issues. I went to some of the counseling sessions that Zeke had with his therapist, who was transgender herself, only MTF (male-to-female), and read some of the articles she gave him. And slowly, I came to understand how much Zeke needed to do this.

Then came the surgeries. I went out to Arizona with him for one of them, and we stayed at a condo not far from the hospital. A couple of nights after the operation, Zeke called me into his bedroom. Would I feel weird, he asked, checking the surgery site to see if everything looked O.K.?

I gave a mental shrug. “No,” I replied. “After all, if you had been born in a male body, I would’ve seen it by now.”

That was when my heart and I finally got where we needed to go. I had a son, and he needed looking after. Heart and I were good with that.

In a later episode of “Merlin” – a brilliant re-imagining of the Arthurian legend, courtesy of the BBC – the Great Dragon, who has mentored the young warlock, says, “From the moment I met you, I saw something that was invisible. Now it is there for all to see.” I feel that way about Zeke, and it has nothing to do with his change from female to male. He is living his truth and doing what he can to help others in the trans community live theirs. And, as Albert Schweitzer once said, “[t]he one essential thing is that we have light in ourselves. Our strivings will be recognized by others, and when people have light in themselves, it will shine out from them.”

Zeke has that light. I like him, and I love him, and I still have much to learn from him.


Bernadette said...


Susan Scott said...

Thank you for sharing yours and Zeke's powerful story, TJ. And also for showing how events or a conversation in your instance of the woman saying of how Zeke's being was a double blessing. And the unknown man saying of the necessity for mourning, then rejoicing. And then Zeke saying to you please check - and your response. The heart does take time to catch up - it knows its rhythms best.

The quote by Albert Schweitzer is so true - thank you again.

T. J. Banks said...

Thank you, Bernadette and Susan. This has been one incredible journey with Zeke, and I keep learning all the time...mostly that there are so many more sides to the prism than I ever dreamed of. Sometimes having your eyes open hurts terribly. This, however, has been a blessing.

lalaland said...

<3 <3 <3 Wonderfully lived, felt, and written.

Carol Child said...

Ditto all of what Susan says, T.J. I gave birth to a little girl who I love so much and never want to give up -- she's 50 now and has two little girls of her own. So, knowing you and your relationship with Zeke, I often wondered how I would react were I in your situation. I'm not saying this right because it's hard to find the right words, the right thought. But, as the woman said, you've been given a double gift, and quite clearly you have tremendous inner strength, inner power and great wisdom. Thank you to Zeke for staying true to himself. Thank you for graciously sharing your and Zeke's story. It is a story that needs to be told and heard, indeed timely in our new and unexpected xenophobic era here in the U.S.

T. J. Banks said...

Thank you, laland and Carol. One of the reasons that I finally wrote about it all was that I think we all really do need a refresher course in understanding and respecting diversity. We cannot let the hatemongers win.

Gwynn Rogers said...

T.J. thank you for sharing this incredible story with us. I SO want to give you a BIG HUG! You are the type of parent and person I respect. Yes, losing a daughter, but gaining a wonderful son was a hard transition, BUT YOU DID IT! You deserve SO MUCH CREDIT. As you know, my brother was Gay and my parents NEVER accepted him for who he was. You are a BLESSING to Zeke, and I'm sure Zeke is a blessing to you... Hey, you gained TWO for the price of one.

Monday night, on THE VOICE, one woman's story was about being a Lesbian. Her dad was a minister. Her parents kicked her out of the family and have had no contact with her for close to 10 years, which is close to half of her life. They lost an intelligent and creative daughter, because they could not accept that sometimes biology gets creative on us.

You are a WINNER!! You and Zeke are BLESSED to have one another... THANK YOU for working to understand and love your child. I hope your story is read by millions of people so they can see what love and integrity truly look like. I wish there were more WONDERFUL people like you out in the world. BIG LOVE and HUGS from a far!

Havah Goldin said...

This is beautiful Tammy. We are so happy to have you all in our lives.

Havah and Chris

T. J. Banks said...

Thanks, Gwynn. Disowning Zeke was never an option. Even as I was struggling to understand what he was going through, I could never have thrown away my child. He is, as I've told him, frequently, a limited edition and worth quite a lot to me and to everyone who knows him.

T. J. Banks said...

Thanks, Havah. We're glad that you & Chris are a part of our lives, too -- you both have helped Zeke in so many ways.

Sally Bahner said...

I read your words on the heels of watching "When We Rise," which had me sobbing. While I was aware of LGTBQ struggles (superficially, as it turns out), your story makes the experience personal... knowing someone who has been through it. Zeke is fortunate to have you as his mom.

T. J. Banks said...

Thanks, Sally. It has been an interesting journey, and it has taken me awhile to understand what this has meant for Zeke.

T. J. Banks said...

A shout...or a whisper..out to lalaland. Just realized that I mistyped your name. My apologies -- typing and I have an uneasy relationship!