I was parenting a daughter without knowing it

I feel very grateful to share this short essay by a mum of a trans child. I think so many of us will relate to it. The piece is anonymous. I hope that it inspires you to think about what you can do to make the world safer for trans children and adults. Think about what you can do, then do it every chance you get. Arohanui, Emily

On the stories we tell our children 

"How do you know?" he asked, "that your sister's story is not true?”

...

"Logic!" said the Professor half to himself. "Why don't they teach logic at these schools? There are only three possibilities. Either your sister is telling lies, or she is mad, or she is telling the truth. You know she doesn't tell lies and it is obvious that she is not mad. For the moment then and unless any further evidence turns up, we must assume that she is telling the truth.”

(CS Lewis, The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe)

I'm reading my daughter the Pages and Co series. When I started reading it to her, I thought she was my son. 

She's ten years old, and ever since she was a baby, she has seemed like an exceptionally pure soul. 

One of my fondest parenting memories is taking her to a guinea pig show when she was five. It was during Covid and everyone was masked, but you didn't need to see her face to tell how much she was smiling at getting to hold real live guinea pigs. She was so gentle. None of the guinea pigs were skittish with her, they knew she'd keep them safe.

Age three or maybe four, she was invited to a fairy-themed birthday party, and was thrilled to wear a tutu and monarch butterfly wings.

As a tiny child, she had a collection of small objects, including a walnut in its shell and various other treasures the right size for a toddler's palm. She called them “my littles”, and the walnut was “baby totonut”. She took the walnut everywhere with her for weeks. 

Further back, because parents remember backwards. When she learned to crawl, she would often crawl over to me if I was sitting on the ground playing with her big brother and gently touch my face to get my attention.

I thought I had an unusually sensitive and creative little boy. I thought he was funny, gregarious, and confident; and would grow up into a man I would be very proud of. I'm adjusting to the idea that I was parenting a daughter without knowing it. 

The latest census data shows there are just over 10,000 trans men and women in New Zealand. It's a tiny, tiny proportion of the population. For many parents of trans kids, the first trans person they ever meet will be their own child. You'd be forgiven for thinking it must be more common than that, given it's a hot-button issue. But it's not. It's vanishingly rare. My daughter has never met any trans adults at all, or any older trans girls. 

I'm in awe of her bravery, her self-possession and her resolve these past few weeks since she mustered up the courage to tell us she's a girl. I'm humbled by her trust in us. 

I wanted the world to go gently on my little boy, who met it with such innocence and hope and delight. How much more so for this little girl who has no real understanding yet that there could be a very hard road ahead. I want to cocoon her in all the goodness I can muster. I tell her in bed at night, snuggling close, to imagine that my love is like an invisible korowai she can carry with her all the time, wrap herself up in, whenever she needs it. 

I desperately want to delay the point at which she finds out about the virulent anti-trans attitudes out there in the wide world. I want her to be able to be a little girl for a while, because she hasn't had a chance to do that yet. 

If CS Lewis were alive today, he'd probably be in cahoots with JK Rowling on trans issues, wouldn't he? I mean, realistically... 

But a story can have a life of its own. Sometimes wise or noble ideas emerge from a narrative in rarefied form. And those are the bits of the stories that shape the readers, and perhaps even become part of the narrative of our world - ideas that were expressed just the right way to feel like they're somehow in the ether. 

So many books feature kids telling their adults something true and important, only to be met with disbelief. Those stories come up again and again and again. I think the point here is to affirm that childhood is a time of discovery, and that our children will teach us as much as we teach them. That their worlds may be bigger than ours, or different. That we don't get to control their narratives of their own lives. It's a reminder to the adults to listen carefully.

"My dear young lady," said the Professor, suddenly looking up with a very sharp expression at both of them, "there is one plan which no one has yet suggested and which is well worth trying."

"What's that?" said Susan.

"We might all try minding our own business," said he. And that was the end of that conversation.

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