“Beloved,” he addresses us, “I had a different ending for the remainder of this sermon, but the events of the past few days just changed it and provided such a powerfully shared experience of joy that I want to share it with you now.”
He talks about a pastor in Pennsylvania, Rev. Frank Schaefer. Rev. Schaefer, whose son had struggled with homosexuality for the past decade, to the point of being suicidal.
The thought pierces my heart.
But eventually, the boy came to terms with his sexual orientation and even met a partner with whom he fell deeply in love. Rev. Schaefer agreed to perform the wedding ceremony between his son and his partner, and subsequently, the church removed his orders so that he could no longer serve the Methodist Church in Pennsylvania.
But, Pastor Eric says, the bishop of the Methodist Church of California—a woman—has offered Rev. Schaefer a job here in our state.
“Let me tell you why it’s so very personal for me,” Pastor Eric says. “Because my own father was a gay man.”
The church remains silent and completely still. Pastor Eric continues.
Eric’s father divorced his mother when Eric was eleven years old. His father was proud to hold a high-ranking position on the admiral staff of the U.S. Navy, but eventually was forced to leave his career because of his sexuality.
Eric learned about his father’s orientation when he was in his twenties, but he always felt that it wasn’t a topic that he was allowed to discuss—it was a huge source of pain and guilt for him. Eric’s parents remained good friends, and when his mother was diagnosed with cancer at the age of forty-four, Eric’s father remained present to help her. For eight years she struggled to fight the cancer, and when her health deteriorated further, Eric’s father offered to move back into the home they’d shared to care for her. Out of concern, she laughingly suggested that they would need to get remarried so the neighbors wouldn’t talk, and in his love for her, Eric’s father agreed. He swept her off to the courthouse to make it official.
In the following six weeks, they traveled through Europe together. Shortly after they returned home, Eric’s mother passed away with her beloved friend and their children at her side.
Eric tells us that he has a strong sense of pride in his father’s display of unconditional love, and when he died in 2011, Eric finally felt it was his story to share. For a long time he’d suffered silently and very personally when he witnessed the inequality in our world. He feels now is his time to step forward and speak up for those who are persecuted for whom they love and who they are.
As I take all this in, I watch the two dads sitting in front of me. The whole scene is so surreal.
“The United Methodist Church, which we market as open and accepting and affirming, had acted in opposition to our own stated values,” Pastor Eric says. “This demonstration of institutional hypocrisy has been reported all over the national media this week. It was a difficult week for my colleagues and for me.
“Then, yesterday morning I woke up to find a letter from our bishop, Minerva Carcaño, published on the Internet.”
He reads an excerpt of Bishop Carcaño’s letter, in which she announces that she has invited Rev. Frank Schaefer to leave Pennsylvania and come and work in California. He continues.
“All God’s children—”
Here, Pastor Eric chokes up with tears. The congregation echoes his emotion with our silence, before a few seconds later, when he finds his words again and continues reading Bishop Carcaño’s words. “All God’s children are of sacred worth and welcomed into the embrace of God’s grace.”
There’s an uproar of clapping inside our church.
As soon as the service is over, I rush back to the persimmon basket. Soon the two gay fathers take their posts next to it.
“We have fruit trees,” Jim says, as though he could read my mind, wondering why they were extending their generosity. “It’s nice to offer our surplus to the congregation.”
“My dad loves persimmon cookies,” I tell him. “My name is Hillary. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
“I’m Jim. This is my husband, Chris.”
“What did you guys think of the church sermon today?”
Jim looks at me, wondering which response I’m looking for.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “Eric is a good friend of ours and my son is transgender. We’re safe.”
The conversation continues. Not only do we determine that we’re neighbors, but their son is Ryland’s age and goes to Ryland’s school, and their daughter is Brynley’s age and attends Brynley’s school.
We exchange phone numbers and depart. Within a couple of weeks they invite us to their beautiful home, entertaining us by their swimming pool surrounded by wicker furniture and palm trees. Months later, during their daughter’s princess birthday party, Ryland runs around with their son and Brynley lines up with their adorable little girl to have their faces painted by the surprise guest: a Disney princess.
Chapter Sixteen
Transgender Day of Empowerment
Early 2014 is a far cry from the previous year, when life in our family was, as Jeff so lovingly referred to it, Hellville. Just months ago, he and I were on the rocks; he hated his job at the fire department; and we had an infant daughter moving at bullet speed and a son who was midway through transitioning between genders. I remember one particular night in April 2013 when I planned taking Ryland to a Trans Day of Empowerment event at the San Diego LGBT Center. For weeks I’d been looking forward to the event in hopes it would make both Ryland and me feel proud of all he was accomplishing for himself in his process, but I knew Jeff wouldn’t want to go. He was still only freshly on board with Ryland’s transition, not embracing it quite as fully as I was just yet.
I knew, deep down, that this event was important for Ryland. I wanted him to see there were others like him—adults who’d made their transitions and who were now living confidently and successfully. But when the night of the event came, Jeff and I weren’t exactly getting along. “I’m going to the event at the center,” I told him. “Did you want to come?”
“Nah,” he said. “I’m probably just gonna stay home. I have stuff to do.”
I knew he wanted me to stay home, too, but I needed to go. Ryland came into the kitchen and with that sweet, curious tone, he said, “Mom, where are you going?”
“There’s a meeting at the center that celebrates transgender people—”
“Can I go? Can I go?!”
“Ask your father. It’s okay with me.” I could tell Jeff wasn’t thrilled with me, but he agreed. Quickly we got ready—Ryland in a shirt, tie, and fedora. He looked very dapper, and he knew it. In a rush, the two of us shuffled out the door, headed for Hillcrest, less than twenty minutes away.
I will never forget what we experienced when we arrived. It was only a few weeks into Ry’s new life as a boy, and he was pretty fired up about his new identity. I was still a little confused about how exactly to find the LGBT Center in San Diego, as Jeff is usually the one who drives us there. We got a bit lost, but I was excited and so was Ryland.
We arrived late and I had a hard time parking. After we circled the neighborhood a few times, we found a spot and hurried to the event, crossing the busy intersection in Hillcrest.
I felt very proud but extremely nervous when we walked into the huge auditorium packed with three hundred people. As I eyed the audience for a place to sit, I noticed people looking at Ryland—he always gets a lot of attention when he wears his shirt and tie, first because people are curious about the devices they see around his ears, and then because it registers with them what an adorable kid he is. (I know I’m biased, but many people tell us regularly how gorgeous our son is.) I continued scanning the crowd and took note of so many beautiful, happy faces. Everyone was very colorful, and I was excited for Ryland and me to get to meet some of the people in the room.
Then I met eyes with Connor, one of the founders and leaders of the Transforming Family support group that we’
d been attending. Connor is a giver, a lover, an activist, and someone who genuinely cares about others. He transitioned to a man later in life, has three children, and is divorced. He’s given his life to help other trans people, and he’s someone I feel very fortunate for our family to know. As Ryland and I looked around for a seat, Connor rushed over to us and gave both Ryland and me a hug. We made our way farther into the audience, and I had mixed emotions about our seating arrangements—with Ryland, it’s always tricky. We always need to sit in the front, very front and center, so he can hear. Yet, because he’s still so little, he usually has to pee or gets hungry during a presentation. At that particular event, we ended up sitting pretty far from the speaker since we were so late and I didn’t want to make a scene trying to find a seat toward the front.
I remember looking around and, naturally, being curious about who in the audience was trans and who was not. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ryland doing the same. He’s usually pretty good about not staring, but that night he was definitely studying the crowd. People were checking us out, too, not just because Ryland is adorable, but probably because they were curious if he was transgender and what exactly the devices on his head were.
But I feel like the people around us stared more after the trans people were asked to stand and he stood proudly on the chair as I held his legs so he wouldn’t wobble and fall. It made me feel so proud to see him beaming from ear to ear, as he looked around at the older trans folks in the auditorium like him. He was by far the youngest member of the community at that point, and everyone in the room seemed to marvel at this new member of their population from the San Diego area.
I wanted people to stare. I was proud of my son. I felt like we had done the right thing—he was so happy to be there in that moment. He looked around the room with a huge smile and straight posture, taking in every moment of support and love as the crowd clapped. Then he sat down and listened vigilantly to the presenter.
At one point, I turned a little self-conscious because Ryland kept asking me what the speaker was saying, so I would have to listen and whisper in his ear at the same time, much like an interpreter. I had to use my ears and voice, so I didn’t let him miss anything. Looking back, I wish I had scooped him up and taken him to the front, but I was still a bit timid since we were new to this scene.
The highlight of the evening came when a very attractive trans man named TJ stood to speak and presented a slide show of photos from his past. Ryland grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear: “Mom, can I get up and share my story next year?”
I was a little taken aback, given the fact that he was only five. I knew we had a year until this event would come back around, but the words my five-year-old uttered still made me one of the happiest moms around. He was beginning to feel proud of who he was, and he wanted to share it with others.
NEARLY A YEAR later, a few weeks before Ryland is planning to speak at the 2014 Transgender Day of Empowerment, I run into Connor at a transgender workshop and finally learn the birth certificate change process—something I have needed to do for a while. “Listen, Hillary,” Connor says, “there will only be time for Ryland to speak for a few minutes, and there won’t be enough time to show the video.”
“Oh, you’re kidding . . .” I’m disappointed, but I understand, and I don’t want to push the subject. Connor has been so gracious and supportive of us throughout Ryland’s transition . . . but I know how compelled Ryland has felt to share his story.
A few days later, I’m getting Ryland and Brynley ready for bed. “Get your pajamas on, you two. Let’s pick out books for bed.”
“Do we have to, Mom?”
“Yes, Ry. And you need to start thinking about what you want to say for the Trans Day of Empowerment. Do you want me to help you?”
“No, I got it. I’ll write my speech. We’re going to show my video too, right?”
“Honey,” I tell him, “Connor said they don’t really have time for the video—they have a lot planned that night.”
Ryland tilts his head with the signature look he has when trying to understand something—a quizzical kind of concern. It’s irresistible. “Why can’t I play the video?” he asks.
“Because Connor said, Ry. We have to respect their plans.”
He runs for the kitchen. “I’m going to call him right now and ask again!” When he comes back to his bedroom, he’s holding my iPad. I dress Brynley for bed while Ryland uses his finger to swipe my iPad open and type in the four-digit passcode. Then he finds the FaceTime icon and presses it. He asks me, “How do you spell ‘Connor’?”
“Ryland! He already told me no. Do you think it would be very nice if you go around me and ask him again? He’s going to think I put you up to this.”
There’s another part of me, though, that’s proud of him for taking action with such determination, and I want to see where this whole thing will go. Amazingly, Connor answers his FaceTime request. Brynley busies herself with a doll while I stand in the doorway to watch how this all unfolds. When Connor sees Ryland staring back at him on the screen, he seems to put this all together.
“Hi, Ryland! How’s it going?” Connor asks, always jovial when he’s speaking to Ry.
“Hi, Connor. I’m good, but I was just wondering: could I play my video at my speech?”
“Is that what you want to do, Ry?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Well . . . okay . . . but, can your mom shorten the video a little bit? Maybe by a couple of minutes?”
“Mom.” Ryland looks over toward Brynley’s crib, from where I’m now watching this all unfold. “Connor wants to know if you can make the video a little shorter. Can you?”
“Sure, I can shorten it. Connor” I tell him, positioning myself behind Ryland on the screen. “I just want you to know that I did not put Ryland up to this!”
Connor chuckles. “Hi, Hillary.”
After not more than a few seconds of figuring out the arrangements, Ryland has said his thank you and good-bye. He climbs into bed, content with himself.
My five-year-old son just maneuvered his way to get what he wants. That night, when Jeff and I talk about it, he asks me what I really expect will come of this.
“I know that the video will be well received in this setting,” I tell him. Ryland is taking charge, and he’s very pleased with himself. After all of his struggle and pain, his confidence has been growing daily. How can we stop this growing love that he’s feeling for himself? It’s a beautiful thing for anyone to witness . . . especially his mother.
I want to see my little advocate take charge of his story, but on the other hand, I don’t know if he really understands that this will mean that he’s “out”—and very, very publicly so. I look to Jeff’s judgment.
“If he’s ready for his voice to be heard, then I am, too,” Jeff says. “He’s a smart kid, Hill. We have to trust him.”
The night of the event, April 26, 2014, Ryland has his own fan club at the San Diego LGBT Center. Among the standing-room-only audience are my parents, Jeff’s parents, both his brothers, Scott and Jay, and Macie and Kevin. I’m also caught completely off guard when I glance across the room and spot two more familiar faces: Jeff’s former fire chief and his girlfriend. Their presence is a huge and unexpected statement of support for our family. I see Jeff’s chest puff up just a bit more with an increased conviction. He puts his arm around me and the other around Ryland. My husband is proud of our family. In this moment, he knows that he did the right thing, and he will never look back.
Connor seeks us out and briefs us on the fact that also in the crowd of three hundred people is the famous Nicole Murray-Ramirez, a longtime LGBT activist who knew Harvey Milk (the first openly gay person to hold political office in California, assassinated along with San Francisco mayor George Moscone in 1978) and created the annual Harvey Milk Diversity Breakfast event in San Diego, which is held each May. California Assembly Speaker Toni Atkins is also here to receive an award, which Todd Gloria, the Sa
n Diego City Council president, will present.
After Ryland gives his short speech, they play his video, and there’s not a dry eye in the house. When it’s over, Ryland receives a standing ovation and his smile is bigger than I have ever seen it.
Connor calls me the next day. “Hillary,” he says, “we have quite a few people from last night requesting a link for Ryland’s video. It seems like people want to share it. Would you be willing to send it?”
“I don’t think we’re ready for that yet, Connor. I’m afraid it will spread like wildfire.” Jeff and I have discussed every aspect of Ryland’s having spoken at the event. Along with the notoriety that Ryland receives may come some risks to his safety. A while back, when I was speaking to Sarah Tyler during one of our nighttime phone calls, she mentioned that after she and her family appeared on television, they received hate mail and some threats. It was an important reality: there are individuals who hate transgender people. For every person whom our son has inspired to embrace what it’s like to be transgender, there are still many people who aren’t empathetic to his story and who don’t understand this issue. There are also others, with strange interests and even some fetishes. It scares me to know that anyone can pay money for a people-search website to find out where we live or what our telephone number is. Before our story gets out anywhere, Jeff and I have to address this. Equality is important to us, but Ryland’s safety is the biggest priority.
However, I listen to Connor as he continues. “Well, Nicole Murray-Ramirez and Todd Gloria really loved the video,” he says, “and I believe Nicole wants to honor Ryland with an award at the Harvey Milk Breakfast next month. Would you be willing to play it at the event when Ry is given the award?”
“Wow . . . Connor, I think so, but let me just run this all by Jeff. Okay?”
“Of course.”
Shortly after, we leave on our annual family trip to Hawaii with Jeff’s family. While the kids are swimming and playing in the sand with their grandparents and uncles, I’m stressing out. I have a very strong feeling that things are about to get chaotic with Ryland now being seen by the LGBT community and its leaders. He is one of the first, and youngest, transgender children to stand up before them and share his story.
Raising Ryland Page 19