Over the course of the next year, when I saw the boys after they’d filmed an episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians, they might give me some general news of their father. But I still did not have any direct contact with Bruce by this point in time. My primary concern continued to be my sons and the benefit to them of their fledgling relationship with their dad. It had been decades since my divorce from Bruce, and I was quite happy to love Bruce and wish him well from a distance.
In 2013, Bruce and Kris publicly separated, and the boys began seeing much more of him, I suppose because he was by himself, and it was probably lonesome. During these more frequent visits, they were able to start becoming a little better acquainted with their father, in private, without the cameras rolling. And then, just as they were getting to know Bruce Jenner as their dad, finally, after all these years, he had his own announcement for them. He apparently sat all his children down individually and told them of his issue, then declared, “I’m going to go through the transition.”
Now, of course, they already knew about Bruce’s gender dysphoria, and had been afforded plenty of time to come to terms with it, but I can’t help but think this was still another loss for them, as I well knew from my own experience thirty years earlier. Just as they got their father, Bruce, back, he went away again to become Caitlyn. It was as if they had lost their father twice. I do believe Caitlyn has the same spirit as Bruce, and is essentially the same person, but the transition can’t have been without some emotional adjustment for the boys. I know it’s been an emotional process for me, even all of these years after I first prepared myself for this eventuality.
I have to admit that I was nervous on Caitlyn’s behalf when she made her public debut. I knew times had changed immensely since Bruce first made his confession to me, but I didn’t know what the popular reception would be. And I didn’t want Caitlyn to have any reason to feel hurt, or ashamed, or scared.
I have been gratefully astonished at the level of acceptance people have shown toward Caitlyn. I know there are those who don’t understand. I recognize that gender transition is not an easy road for anyone involved. I have found in my life experience that we need not fully understand something to accept it. Life itself is, after all, a mystery. Caitlyn and I have both agreed since she went public that, had she continued with her transition that she started thirty years ago, there would not have been nearly the same level of understanding and acceptance that has been afforded her today. I believe that Caitlyn is sincere in her efforts to try to make good use of the platform she has been given by creating a positive difference in the world, particularly for those disenfranchised souls in pain. God knows she was one of them for the better part of her life.
I have already described in pretty good detail what a fantastic guy I found Bruce Jenner to be when I was married to him. Now I am getting to know Caitlyn Jenner. Before Bruce announced his plans to transition, I had the occasion to be in his company at Brody’s thirtieth birthday party, and again at Casey’s daughter’s birthday party. Better late than never. We had a chance to visit and catch up a little.
Caitlyn then called me just after the Diane Sawyer interview when I wrote a piece for the Huffington Post. Caitlyn had not read my article but took issue with it to a degree.
The Huffington Post had agreed to publish the article with my firm directive they do so only after Bruce had publicly made his declaration about his experience of transitioning. I would have never presumed to tell his story; I believe his truth is his to tell, but his truth had a lifelong impact on my own truth, and that of my children. My story is mine to tell as well.
My primary intention in writing that article was to soften Caitlyn’s startling revelation and hopefully help others to understand and accept the new Bruce. I knew some people would think Bruce’s announcement was all just a publicity stunt for TV ratings, but I wanted to help her with the credibility of her story. I was still trying to protect her, but in another way now. I truly wanted Caitlyn to be understood and accepted.
Caitlyn seems so much happier and freer in her feminine self than she was toward the end of the time I knew her as Bruce. Caitlyn seems to derive extreme pleasure in trying out new fashions, makeup, and all the innocent distractions a young girl coming into her own might experience.
And of course, the perfect family for the job has schooled her in hair and makeup. And if those were her role models, she’s emerged as the ultimate example of all they inspired her to emulate and be. I do believe that Caitlyn has imaged herself according to the Kardashian ideal of womanhood, where everything is gorgeous and glam-squad groomed. And while this metamorphosis makes perfect sense to me, I do think it will be interesting to see who Caitlyn becomes as she matures into her own, unique version of that model. A newly transgendered person is sometimes described as being in the “pink cloud,” and I believe it might be accurate to say that Caitlyn is in that “pink cloud” at the moment. Brandon, in his sage wisdom, summed up her growth process well.
“Mom, it’s like dad is an adolescent girl,” he said. “Her body is changing into a woman’s, just like an adolescent girl would start to get hormonal and grow breasts and experience every change that comes and goes with that adolescence.”
I thought it was a great description of the changes that Caitlyn has been going through. Since then, I have heard, but not yet gotten used to, “Dad,” “She,” and “Her,” used in the same sentence in reference to the same person. Recently I was at Brandon and his wife, Leah’s, house to babysit, and Brandon came into the kitchen.
“Mom, Dad just called and said she was going to stop by,” he announced. “She should be here in about five minutes. I just wanted to let you know.”
I find that, with each day that passes, these jarring pronoun inconsistencies are becoming less noticeable to me, even reaching the point where they’re becoming the new normal.
In much the same way, I’ve found that time can heal even that which seemed irreparably marred. It certainly has done wonders for my relationship with David.
About a year into David’s fourth marriage, to Yolanda Hadid, one of the “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills,” he called me to ask if he could stop by my house and talk for a few minutes.
“Of course,” I said.
As we settled onto my sofa in the old familiar TV room, he asked me about our relationship in years past. He wanted to know if he had inexplicably disappeared during our marriage a few times.
“How many times did I just take off and leave like that?” David asked. “Four or five?”
I had to laugh.
“David, try nineteen or twenty times in the nearly twenty years you and I were together,” I answered honestly.
“Wow, that’s really terrible,” David said contritely. “I’m really sorry. That’s awful. That must have been very hurtful for you.”
“Yes, it was extremely damaging,” I said. “But you need to know, as much as I appreciate your apology, David, I already forgave you a long time ago.”
And I truly had forgiven David, just as I hope he had learned to forgive me for any part I played in the destruction of our relationship, or any time I had ever hurt him.
In more recent years, I could not be happier, not only with where he and I are at, but also with the generous overtures David has been inspired to make toward the boys. Not long after his fourth divorce became public, he called Brandon and Brody and asked if he could take them out to lunch.
“I just want you to know that your mom and I are on really good terms,” he said. “When you go through a divorce, things are tough for a time, but we’re really good friends now. And if you need me, I just want you to know, I’m here. Since I did live with you for all of your formative years.”
I appreciated this gesture from David, and especially when he backed up the offer by being true to his word. Brandon has been working on a new record, and it’s really accomplished. Brandon played some of an early recording for David.
“Oh, man, this is beautiful
,” David said. “Let me write some strings for that song.”
Like any parent, I appreciate anyone who’s good to my kids. And in this particular circumstance, David’s generosity has extra poignancy for me.
In the spring, I decided to travel to Phoenix for Muhammad Ali’s Celebrity Fight Night charity event. As I was well aware, David volunteers his time to do the music for this evening special every year, but I’d been busy in the days before my trip and didn’t get the chance to text him. The event is a two-night charity event, and before the first night I ran into David in the lobby. He offered me a ticket for the first night as well.
While the main event on Saturday night is a huge extravaganza, this was a much more intimate happening in a smaller ballroom. When I walked in around nine o’clock, they were about to get the show started, and David was standing onstage with Larry King and Larry’s wife, Shawn. Larry asked David a question, which I couldn’t hear, but I did hear David’s response: “Well, I don’t know about that, but I’ve been in a few bad marriages.”
Those audience members who could see me and knew who I was started to laugh.
“Ahem, I’m right here,” I said to David. “I can hear you.”
“Oh my God, there’s, there’s …” David said, pointing at me.
David and I knew many of these people from the years David had coordinated the music at this event, and I’d attended as his wife. The place went crazy with laughter.
“There’s my ex-wife now,” David said. “Come over here, Linda.”
I joined Larry and David where they were standing together, and the spotlight landed on me just as Larry turned to me with the microphone.
“So, Linda, why did you leave David?” he asked.
“Well …” I said, followed by a dramatic pause. I couldn’t help but think of their unpleasant exchange years prior, and how time can heal hurt feelings.
David made a face that showed he knew exactly why I’d left him.
Everybody laughed even harder, and I let the hilarity die down before I responded.
“David’s a great guy, Larry,” I said.
“I know he’s a great guy,” Larry said. “So why’d you leave him?”
“Well, you’ll just have to read about it in my book,” I said.
David looked as if I’d just ordered him to walk the plank, then laughed along with everyone else.
After that, I took my seat and David led the wonderful musical program, as always. But all people could talk about for the rest of the weekend was the moment when I’d walked in on his complaint about his bad marriages and we’d mined the opportunity for comedic gold. I was happy for the moment because of what it meant for David and me, and how far we’d come in our healing process. It really felt like the good old days, when we’d entertained our friends by telling jokes at parties. Only now, with no cause for enmity, and only affection between us, the good cheer onstage was no show.
David feels like extended family to me now, and I feel pretty much the same way about Caitlyn. It’s also the same deep emotionality that allows me to speak so fondly about Elvis after all these years. The romantic love we shared may have transmuted into a different kind of love, but the love’s still there. David’s like my brother. And Caitlyn, well, I guess she’s more like my sister now. And I feel grateful to have connections with both of them, especially for the sake of my sons. The fact that both of my ex-husbands are still occasionally in my life—and I have no doubt that Elvis would be, too, if he were still alive—tells me that I might be doing something right, and that my former partners are good souls with their hearts in the right place, and that I chose my partners wisely after all.
As do the many moments in which my life keeps circling back on itself, with all of its unique chapters linking together in new and surprising ways, I’ve been gratified by how warmly the Elvis fan community has continued to embrace me and consider me one of their own. I have begun to try to accept every invitation I can to take part in events around the world. I happened to be in Vienna for an Elvis cruise with my brother, Sam, my sister-in-law, Louise, and my niece Jennifer. We arrived in Vienna early, only to discover that Josh Groban was in town, performing at the Vienna Opera House.
We all attended his show as his guests, during which he made me feel like a proud mama by singing, “To Where You Are.” As a means of introducing the song, he said, “There’s someone in the audience I’d like to acknowledge tonight. Linda Thompson, would you please stand?”
I felt so validated as I stood up and received his acknowledgment and the audience’s applause, not because of the attention itself, of course, but because it points to evidence of what I’ve been seeking my whole life, to live in a way that, in the final analysis, has made even a modicum of difference to others. When I look on the walls of my office and see some of the gold records for songs I’ve written hanging there, I don’t think of the record sales they represent. I think of having done something that’s hopefully made a difference in people’s lives, when they’ve played those songs at their weddings, or have been inspired to carry on, or had a broken heart soothed by listening. Having put my poetry out into the world in the form of my lyrics gives me the same feeling of continuity and connectivity that I get when I consider the fact that my sons, and their children, will live beyond my time in this world.
And nothing is a better example for me of all that I’ve tried to accomplish in my life than the fact that my family—in all of its unique loveliness—continues to gather at my home for the major holidays each year.
In the days leading up to Thanksgiving in 2015, I contacted my boys, as well as Chrystie, and Casey, and Burt, and let them know they were invited over for dinner, as always. Once again, Brandon and Brody had a few friends with nowhere else to go, and so I made sure they knew they were welcome, too, as I’ve always had a policy of accepting everyone at my table.
When Brandon called me, I assumed it was to finalize some detail about the menu or arrival times. But he surprised me with the purpose of his call.
“Mom, Dad wants to know if she’s invited,” he said.
“Of course,” I said. “Of course she can come. I thought she was out of town on her trans-road trip. Otherwise, I would have asked her myself. She’s always invited.” Caitlyn had been to my house one other time that August for a birthday celebration for Brody. That was the first time I had seen the new version of her feminine self.
We’re all there for Caitlyn now, just as we’ve all been there for each other all along. I never would have predicted that my family unit would look quite like this someday. Of course, it’s not without its thorns. We all share a great deal of history, not all of it easy or pleasant. But this is the true family of my heart, which means being honest about both the dark and light.
When Caitlyn arrived at my house on Thanksgiving, she was wearing a red silk blouse with black pants. I happened to have on a red cashmere sweater with black tights. When we saw each other, we paused for a portentous beat before breaking into laughter.
“Did you get the dress memo or something?” I said. “What were we thinking?”
“Well, it is almost Christmas, you know,” Caitlyn said.
Having everyone there, around my table, sharing food and laughs and stories of their day made me feel like everything had turned out as it was supposed to in the end. If I’m honest, though, and I am making every effort to be perfectly honest at all times, I sometimes find it surreal to look into the perfectly made-up, beautiful brown eyes of Caitlyn, while remembering the phenomenally masculine, gorgeous man I married years ago, and who fathered my two sons. That admission is just me being real. I completely accept, respect, and support Caitlyn, but I must admit, I sometimes miss Bruce. However, I’ve seen more of Caitlyn in recent months than I ever saw of Bruce over all those many years when he chose not to be connected to the boys, or to me. And so maybe it was really Bruce who had become the stranger, and it’s Caitlyn who feels almost more familiar than Bruce did at the end.
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br /> I am probably like many honest people out there who are willing to admit that they miss the Bruce Jenner on the Wheaties box, the one who crossed the finish line of the 1976 Olympics as the world’s greatest athlete and served in our culture for a time as the epitome of manhood. Millions learned to embrace Bruce in their hearts and minds as the perfect specimen of athleticism and boyish good looks housed in the body of a Greek god, albeit one that was secretly a prison for Caitlyn for those many years. You have to give her credit—Caitlyn, as Bruce Jenner, did that manhood thing proud. SHE was the best HE could possibly be.
“When you think about it, you were the ultimate man,” I’ve had occasion to tell her recently. “You conquered manhood. You kicked manhood’s ass. You were the greatest athlete in the world. You were a six-foot-two, muscular, gorgeous guy that women loved and men wanted to be. You conquered that. You did that. Against all of your internal input about who you were. And now you’re working on being the best woman you can be.”
After having harbored Caitlyn’s secret, and feeling in my heart and mind that I have protected her through these years, I can now breathe a little easier, knowing she has found the strength and the courage to fulfill her dream. She can finally realize her need to be who she authentically is, who she feels she was born to be. That takes tremendous courage. For that I commend her.
Caitlyn has already “gone through the fire,” suffering unfathomable discomfort and pain, held prisoner in her own flesh. It is certainly not our place to judge her or others who may feel trapped, ostracized, or alone. As relieved and happy as I am for Caitlyn, I know that her journey is not over. And her battle is not won. I can see she’s trying to fight for other people now in whatever ways she can, and I know her attempts have had their rocky moments.
“You know, when I was a little kid, I didn’t know my dad very well,” Brandon said to me not long ago. “I didn’t really know him, but people would go, ‘Oh, Brandon Jenner, are you related to Bruce Jenner?’ ‘Yes, that’s my dad,’ I always said. I was always so proud of the Jenner name because people would see the Olympic hero and the American icon associated with the name. I still want to be proud of our name, only now, as the son of someone who is a trailblazer for the transgender world, to inspire compassion and understanding and tolerance. Someone that can be an example of all of that.”
A Little Thing Called Life Page 41