“Mom can I borrow some of your clothes?”
“Mom does my hair look all right?”
“Mom do you have any shoes that would fit me?”
“Mom do these clothes look good together?”
These are some of the questions I have been asked over the years from not my daughter, but my teenage son.
When he was growing up I missed all the signs that my son could possibly be transgendered. Perhaps it’s because I am such an open person and always tried to encourage my kids to be who ever they wanted to be and to follow their dreams. I have never hid my trans friends from them. I wanted them to grow up accepting everyone and I believe I have accomplished that task. They thought nothing of coming home from school and finding me and a bunch of tgirls sitting in the living room gabbing. They were never embarrassed to invite their friends over were mine were there. Even when they were old enough to make choices for themselves, they had no problem going to Malls with my friends and me.
When my son was growing up, I quite often found my daughters dolls in his room. I always just assumed that my daughter must have been playing in there and left them there.
Sometimes I would find eye shadow in his room, but he was always so artistic and always used different materials to draw pictures I assumed he was using the eye shadow as some sort of paint. I found my clothes in his room sometimes too. I assumed the laundry was put away wrong. I have known about transgender people for years. How is it that I could miss such obvious signs? Is it because I am so supportive and it never would have mattered anyway?
When my son was still a toddler he used to love to sit next to me while I put on my make-up. He would stare at me in awe and quite often mimic the gestures of me putting on make-up with his fingers on his face. He got a hold of my lipstick when he was three. He didn’t just stop at his lips, his entire body was covered in lipstick.
It wasn’t until he was about 16 that I considered the fact he might be transgendered. He was always borrowing my clothes, not dresses or skirts, he preferred my pants and shirts.
He spent more time putting his make-up on in the morning and doing his hair then I did. I have never known anyone that could go through as much hair spray as him. He loved to make his long locks into big 8o’s hair. One time he came home from hanging with friends and he was dressed to the nines heels, stockings, and the works. I looked at him and said “You look pretty Princess, got tired of my clothes and borrowed someone else’s I see” He said to me “My gf thought it would be fun to dress me up and show me off at the library. How the heck do you walk in these heels without killing yourself? How on earth can chicks wear thongs? I can’t get these off fast enough.”
I sat and wondered that night. Could my son possibly be tg? Not to many teenage boys I know would go out dressed like that or wear the make-up and clothes he does every day. I always taught him to never be afraid to be himself. Then I wondered if I had any part of making him tg by surrounding himself with tg people most of his life. I wondered if it was my fault that he came home beat up all the time after being called “fag” because he chose to dress feminine. I realized you can’t make someone transgendered, its just the way they are born. I said my prayers and asked God to guide my son it what ever direction he found best for him and went to sleep.
My son is 19 now and still prefers girl’s clothes to boys. His clothes of choice are girl’s jeans and t-shirts. He still spends way more time getting ready then I do. He has had so much trouble finding a job because of the way he chooses to dress. He has finally found one in a night club. His favourite hang out is my favourite tg bar. His friends and girl friends all accept him. It makes no difference to me what he wears. I love him unconditionally.
I would never dream of using “he” when talking to any of my tg friends. It’s funny that I use “he” when talking about my son. He still likes to be addressed by his male name, Mike. Perhaps that’s why.
A mother’s love is unconditional. Who ever or what ever my children decide to be, decide to wear, decide to marry. I am there for them. I know that the world I have shown my children will be the world they one day show their children.