Sarah & Ian Hoffman

Building a culture of kindness. One book at a time.
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The Mother Company

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The Mother Company—dedicated to social and emotional learning for parents and kids—recently posted a two-part series on childhood gender expression. I was honored to be asked to contribute an essay for the first part of the series, about the first time Sam went to school in a dress.

The second part in the series, an interview with Gender Spectrum founder Stephanie Brill (author of The Transgender Child), did a fantastic job of articulating best practices for parents of gender-nonconforming and transgender kids.

As I read the readers’ comments on the series I felt how sad and angry I am that Sam has to do the work to change society, every time he comes up against one of the limits of “acceptable” gender expression. I hate it each and every time he has to tell another kid it’s okay for him to be in the boys’ bathroom, or put up with teasing by classmates over his long hair, or think about whether he will have a hard time at school for the color of his pencil case. I hate that my child has to push society’s boundaries, that he can’t just relax into the work that previous generations have done (as I do, as my daughter does). I wish that he could simply be himself, the way a girl in jeans heading out to soccer practice can just be herself.

But I also felt immensely proud. Sam may be doing incredibly  hard work just to be himself, but the extraordinary byproduct of his work is that he’s changing the world.

I imagine the first girls who wore pants to school. I imagine the first women who took “men’s” jobs. I imagine the first African Americans who didn’t toe the color line, and the first gay people who married. My son is one of these pioneers. He is paving the way for future pink boys to be who they are without ridicule. I wish that it was not so hard for him. But given that it is, I could not be a prouder mom.

 

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The Pink Wand

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I got the most awesome email (with an even awesomer attachment) the other day. It said:

From my darling child to yours, I send you a message of hope and love. My daughter wrote this to Sam with no prompting from me (I did part of the tree illustration, that’s it!) This story is what she “wants him to think about in scary times.” We have so much to learn from our kids.

The email contained a book that her daughter wrote for Sam. I read it and got all teary. And then I realized I wasn’t just moved but impressed. The book is sophisticated, smart, and sassy. It’s a well-plotted, lovingly illustrated, inspirational story about a boy who triumphs. And I’m going to share it with you here. But first, I’m going to share the author’s (pseudonymous) bio:

Ms. Alexis Taylor is seven-and-a-half years old and lives with her two moms in NYC. She is starting second grade this fall. She enjoys Harry Potter, chess, robotics, writing fiction, minor cat harassment, and playing with her 18-month-old sister.

After I read the book, I wrote Alexis’s mom back to say that I loved Alexis’s book, and that I loved, loved, loved Alexis. And she replied: “We love her too—she is her own brand of fabulous—a completely sparkly alpha-girl who takes no B.S. from anyone—with a sprinkling of super hero.” Isn’t that what we all aspire to be?

Alexis is an inspiration to me, an unseen force of goodness for Sam, and a blessing for the world.

So, without further ado, I present you with Ms. Alexis Taylor’s book, which I hope will be published ASAP by a huge mainstream publisher.

 

Thank you, thank you, thank you to the fabulous new emerging children’s book author, Ms. Alexis Taylor! Your story will change the world.

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Crazy Hair Day

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Today I dropped the kids off at camp, where Crazy Hair Day was in full swing. Some campers wore mismatched barrettes all over their heads; some had braids going every which way; others had colored their hair with rainbow stripes. Sam and Ruby had matching hairdos in their long hair: three braids down their back. Admittedly not that crazy, but they thought it was awesome.

As I signed the kids in for the day, a counselor complemented my “girls’” hair. I slipped in a “he” when I responded about Sam, and the counselor lobbed back a “she.” I find that when Sam meets new people, the long hair trumps any number of “hes” I can throw into the conversation. They just can’t see the he-ness in the way he looks.

Don't be alarmed. This is not one of my actual children.

When the counselor left I asked Sam if he minded that she thought he was a girl. Sam knew that I’d talked to the camp director about his gender expression before the start of the summer, specifically so that the counselors would be on the lookout for bullying, but clearly not every counselor knows he’s a boy. “I don’t mind at all!” he said. “Most people here think I’m a girl, except my main counselor and one kid in my group.” Worried that issues might come up—what if someone hassled him in the boys’ bathroom?—I asked Sam if he wanted me to tell the other counselors. “Nope,” he said, “it’s fine this way.”

On my way out, I mentioned the situation to the camp director. I asked if she felt it mattered if kids and counselors didn’t realize Sam’s a boy, and told her my concerns about the bathroom. She said she would mention it to the counselors, for safety, and added that there are other campers at camp this week who have similar gender issues. I didn’t even imagine that possibility! And then she said that later today, when the whole group meets, they will all talk about gender, and what to do—and not to do—when you see someone whose hair, or clothing colors, or bathroom choice, is not what you expect.

I am loving, loving, LOVING this camp director, this camp, and this Crazy Hair Day.

 

 

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