Raising Ryland

by Hillary Whittington

  Additionally, I highly recommend the documentary, “Trans,” which you can borrow from us or purchase at http://www.transthemovie.com/.

  We realize this is an incredibly long message, but the topic deserved an in-depth explanation for many reasons, the least of which is that we value and love you, in the same way we want you to value and love Ryland. Honestly, in the grand scheme of things, Ryland’s gender variance is just one of many attributes, one that will certainly challenge us, but teach us in ways we can only imagine right now. We are so lucky to have two, healthy and happy kids. Relative to the horrific things that other people have to endure with their children all over the world, this is nothing.

  Hillary & Jeff

  Chapter Nine

  Shaping the Future

  We send the letter out on January 25, 2013, ten days after Ryland’s haircut. That same day, we also call Ryland’s school and set up an urgent meeting with the principal and staff. The school environment will be one of the most crucial areas for us to try to establish a kind and loving foundation for our child.

  We gather in the conference room of Ryland’s school. Jeff stands by me as I tearfully tell the school officials that Ryland has gender dysphoria. “What that means,” I tell them, “is that Ryland is transgender.” Most of them listen with compassion in their faces, while it’s clear the principal, Mr. Kane, is processing how it will be necessary for the school to deal with it. I don’t give him any room to guess: one of the most pressing tasks, I tell them, is to take down the girl and boy bathroom signs in Ryland’s transitional kindergarten classroom. They agree to cover up the bathroom signs in Ryland’s class so that he isn’t singled out or reprimanded for still using the girls’ bathroom even though he’s a boy. The kids all know the girls’ bathroom from the boys’, and in 2013, there are no laws in place to guarantee that Ryland will be able to use the restroom of his choice. Most of his classmates still see him as a little girl—a tomboy—who prefers being with the boys. For now, as far as we can tell, Ryland isn’t quite confident enough to begin using the boys’ bathroom.

  In the meeting, Mrs. Sayers also speaks up and says she will begin referring to Ryland as “Ryland,” instead of “he” or “she.” “I’ll also just say a quick sentence or two to the class to explain that some kids have the brain of the opposite gender,” she says, “and that will be that.”

  I appreciate the support with which Mrs. Sayers is willing to navigate this huge change in a prekindergarten class. She seems to get that she has to be assertive, kind, and yet as low-key as possible when addressing this with the children. Kids are much smarter than we give them credit for. If she were to say nothing, they’d probably just go home with even more questions, and their confusion would lead to confusion among their parents, and all that would just make all this harder for Ryland.

  The meeting is very emotional and I let myself break into tears several times throughout, but by the end, Jeff and I are satisfied that the staff have all accepted the situation and agreed to deal with it as appropriately as possible. Before we leave, I give all of them a copy of the letter we wrote, along with Darlene’s contact information and a handout that Darlene gave us:

  I also get permission from Mrs. Sayers and Mr. Kane to hand out the worksheet, stapled to the letter, to the parents and caregivers of the children in Ryland’s class.

  At home, we begin to change Ryland’s bedroom to look more like a little boy’s bedroom. He and Brynley will still share a bedroom, but I’m going to have to get a little creative in blending their two styles.

  He is beyond excited when we walk into Target to choose a new comforter for his bed. “Mom, look! I want that one right there!” he says, pointing to the top shelf. We agree on a comforter with blue, brown, and green plaid, and we grab stuffed dinosaurs to set on his bed and figurines to decorate his side of the room.

  At home, when we place the last dinosaur figure on his shelf, Ryland lies on his bed and glances over to me, wearing a huge smile. His bedroom finally mirrors a room that a brother shares with his little sister, and he’s proud and content with his new sleeping quarters. For me, it’s a powerful experience that actually feels like a rebirth—we hadn’t touched much of the decoration in this room since we were adorning it for our little girl. This new change might actually allow us all to sleep a little more peacefully at night.

  With the aesthetics of the room complete, I go through his drawers, stacking all the girls’ clothes into a plastic storage bin for Brynley to wear one day. Maybe all the pink and ruffles will find some use in the next couple of years.

  We do all we can think of to begin to give Ryland the confidence that he’s now seen as a little boy. Not everything about the transition goes smoothly, though. I’m getting very little sleep, maybe three or four hours a night, as I feed Brynley and then lie awake pondering the mixed responses we’re getting from people who received our letter.

  Many are outstanding—both sides of our family are now completely on board, and a few of our neighbors and some of the parents of kids in Ryland’s class have written back to us and said that their kids love playing with Ryland, and they just want to clarify whether they should be using male pronouns now. We always thank them, and answer yes to this question. The mom of Ryland’s kindergarten “boyfriend” emails me to say that she’s trying to explain to her son that Ryland can’t be his girlfriend anymore, but Ryland can be his best friend now. “Brandon still wants to marry his best friend,” she says. “I thinks that’s so sweet, and we can just work on that later.” She asks me out for lunch so that we can really explain to our boys what this means for their friendship now. Another mom even tells me that she has a close friend who is very well known in the San Diego transgender community, if we ever need additional support.

  But some of the responses are very hurtful, with moms asking things like, “What if Ryland changes her mind when she’s older and wants to go back to being a girl?” One mom in our neighborhood has sipped wine with me while her son, who’s allergic to peanuts, had a playdate with Ryland in our home. When discussing her son’s allergy, she’d told me, “I wrote a letter to his teacher and requested that none of the children bring anything with nuts in their lunches—peanut butter, trail mix, nuts themselves—nothing. The school has to comply, and if anybody doesn’t like it, then who cares what they think?” she said.

  But after she hears about our letter regarding Ryland, at the park she flips her hair at me and says, “I don’t really get why you decided to bring a personal issue into your child’s school.” Isn’t the well-being of our children personal to us? I want to ask her. Isn’t that why there’s a school-wide nut ban where your son goes?! Instead, I’m so dumbfounded by her nerve that I say nothing.

  Others cite their interpretations of what the Bible says about sexuality—one mom invites me to lunch at Subway near the kids’ school, and then corners me when we’re seated in a booth with our sandwiches. “I suppose you’re wondering why I invited you here,” she says.

  Uncomfortable, and trying to adjust to all this new vulnerability that our letter has brought on, I tell her, “Yes, I guess I am.”

  “I have never known anyone gay or lesbian,” she says, “and I don’t know how you have raised your children . . . but my husband and I have raised our children to believe in the Lord.”

  Oh boy.

  “God created Adam and Eve—a man and a woman. Elizabeth came home from school yesterday and told me that Ryland is a boy now. I explained to Elizabeth that this is not possible—because God created men and women.”

  I begin to break down inside, fighting my hardest to hold in the tears. This woman has taken advantage of this opportunity to rip me apart because she’s afraid of what it means if life is not black-and-white, if to be a man or a woman is more complicated than the parts that God gives us. This is the world we live in, I tell myself. People are afraid to talk to their children, sometimes for fear they will put this “transgender thing” in their child’s head and tha
t the child will “catch it.” A child is only transgender if they are insistent, persistent, and consistent when they express their gender as being incongruent with their body parts. Many people, like Caitlyn Jenner, transition much later in life, and when this is the case, they almost always say that they knew since the time they were a child that they were the opposite gender on the inside. No transgender person has the same experience as another. And no parent of a transgender kid, or any kid, has my experience.

  I put down my sandwich and make a decision: I will not let anyone push me around, using God or anything as their excuse to judge my son or our family.

  “Funny you mention God,” I tell her. “I have spent my entire life being taught something similar, going to church, believing in the Bible. But tell me this: what would you do if your child said to you, ‘Why did God make me like this?’”

  She sits, silently, no expression on her face.

  I continue: “This has been an awful thing to go through, I assure you, and I don’t have all of the answers, but I do know that I have exhausted all the resources. This is my only option to save my child’s life and honestly, I never thought I would be in this position, but here I am. I am going to make the best of it. You tell me what I should do?!”

  Still, silence.

  The defense rests.

  I leave my sandwich and walk out. We have been through so much, and now my morals are being called into question? The family values that Jeff and I have are stronger than some families: We will love our children no matter what.

  I know that I haven’t convinced this woman that I’m not crazy, but at least she got a little piece of my stressful life. She has no idea that she—as a Christian—is causing my life—as a Christian—to be much more difficult than it needs to be. “Jesus loves everyone!” I want to scream. “And God doesn’t make mistakes!”

  Every morning for the next few weeks on my drive taking Ryland to school, I have to pull off to the side of the road to get sick. Each day, I panic that I’ll run into her again. It’s inevitable, but when the time comes, I hope there are enough other moms close by who will keep me engaged enough not to have to address her.

  After a few weeks, my cousin Melissa texts me. I hadn’t heard much from her after her response to our letter when all she replied was something along the lines of how Jeff and I have a tough road ahead, no matter which path we choose. I knew she was struggling with the change; she’d been raised even more conservatively than I was and she’s concerned about Ryland’s future, but her response was far less than I’d hoped for, given how close and unconditional our relationship has always been. With so much support and praise pouring in from all around us, it broke my heart to feel like I didn’t have the full support from someone whom I considered to be a sister. I knew that I needed to give her space, and I’m so happy when I see my phone displaying a text message from her. However, as I open the text, my heart sinks. My sadness turns to anger when I read what she’s stating: she would like to make Brynley the flowergirl in her wedding instead of Ryland. Then she signs off with an LOL.

  LOL? Whoa. Is that her attempt to keep this light? Trying to give her the chance to express her perspective, I reply, “What about Ryland?”

  She responds by telling me that she already has a ring bearer, and she intends to keep things the way they are.

  I’m dumbfounded. Angry. I know that Andrew comes from a family that has devout Christian morals, and I certainly know what it’s like to marry into a big, strong, loving family. Maybe she wants to avoid an uncomfortable situation at her wedding. Maybe this is even her way of trying to help Ryland. Still, that doesn’t make it any easier for me to accept that Ryland will no longer be a part of the most important day of her life. Ryland will be so crushed if I say, “Hey, Aunt Melissa is replacing you in the wedding because you are transitioning to a boy and she has no place for you anymore.” I’m not willing to tell Ryland that this is going on, for fear it will dim his shining new light. I’m so angry that anyone dare hurt him, especially Melissa. Out of frustration with texting about such a sensitive and serious matter, I pick up the phone and dial her. Immediately, I lose any ounce of composure I’ve been maintaining. I begin screaming and yelling, and with every word that flies from my mouth is the knowledge that I will regret this later. We hang up the phone, and I send her one final text: “I hope your wedding day goes well, but we will not be attending.” My heart sinks as I press SEND, but I feel as though I have no other choice. I have to protect my child and his feelings.

  This text will be the last mutual exchange of communication between Melissa and me for years to come.

  IN THE MIDDLE of all these big changes, Ryland gets a ruptured eardrum and runs a massive fever. I can’t help but wonder if this is his body’s way of manifesting the stress he’s experiencing under the surface during this transition in front of everyone he knows. We find a new pediatrician, an amazing woman, who promptly prescribes antibiotic drops. I know she’s the doctor I’ve been longing for when she immediately agrees to write an official doctor’s letter that states that Ryland is transgender. Her son has a friend in his eighth-grade class who’s a transgender girl. “My son thinks it’s no big deal!” she says. “The kids are all okay with it.”

  During this time, I feel as if we’re in survival mode—there’s so much coming at us that in an effort to keep from lashing out at Jeff in pain every time I sense judgment from someone, he and I begin to simply coexist and operate like business partners. We’re sticking together, and we never stop loving each other, but as individuals, we’re both going through so much turmoil that it’s difficult for both of us to think of the other person. I feel like I have a teammate, but I’m still so hurt that I know if I lean on him too heavily and he lets me down, it will be very hard on our relationship. Because he’s so often at work, it’s me who’s forced to deal with the day-to-day reactions we’re receiving, and Jeff relies on what I’m able to relay to him. However, he and I are deeply appreciative when the people with whom we surround ourselves reach out to tell us that they support us. The help we need always arrives just at the moment we need it most.

  To add to all the pressure, we’re invited to speak to the audiology students at the University of California, San Diego (UCSD) about Ryland’s experience with cochlear implants. I prepare my talk carefully for the students, trying to figure out how we can show video of Ryland’s progress with hearing and speech unless we explain why the footage from the beginning of Ryland’s life shows him as a little girl. Since his deaf diagnosis at age one, we’ve compiled multiple videos that document Ryland’s journey, and we’ve always been willing to share this with other families of deaf children and experts who work in a field related to audiology. But now, for the first time, we’re faced with an unusual challenge.

  “Hillary . . . you know we need to show these videos,” Jeff says, “but if we go in there and try to revert back to she for this entire presentation, it isn’t going to work.” I know he’s right. “You know what’s going to happen,” he says. “We’re going to slip up and use he. It’s going to make things very awkward for the audience, and besides . . . it doesn’t feel right to go back.”

  “I agree. What do you think?”

  “I think we have to address it. I think we have to tell them why we are going to be referring to Ryland as he. I thing we need to put it all out there, regardless of the reactions we may get.”

  I know that it’s going to open the door to a lot of questions, but I know he’s right. It needs to be done.

  We rework our speech, and as we stand before the students that day, we are extremely nervous. After the “thank you for having us here” opening, Jeff states to the class: “There is one thing that we’ve decided that we need to address and put out there, or we are going to add a lot of confusion to this speech,” he says. The class looks at him with some concern in their faces. My husband continues. “Over the course of the last couple years, we have been through a lot more with Ryland than jus
t his deaf diagnosis. We have also discovered that Ryland is also transgender.”

  My heart races. This is the first time we’ve ever opened up and come out in front of a large audience. As Jeff speaks, I scan the room for reactions. Surprisingly, we haven’t lost them yet.

  “You may find it odd that we are bringing this up,” he continues, “but because it is such a new transition for our family, you may hear us inadvertently and purposefully move between the he and she pronouns. We knew that if we didn’t say something to explain all this to you, we would cause some confusion. We want to make sure we stay on the topic today, but if any of you have questions on this part of our journey, we’d be more than happy to answer any questions at the end.”

  There’s a brief moment of silence and we quickly see an understanding and appreciation move over the audience. A few squirm in their seats, but I know for the most part, we are understood. It’s relieving, and empowering. For the first time, we have stood together and made our situation known. We know that we’re offering a gift to these students by presenting our personal struggles and accomplishments on Ryland’s hearing journey. We never realized we would also be receiving a “gift” from a student in the class that would further strengthen our ability to tell our story.