My Son’s Graduation Skirt

Posted on June 22, 2012 by raisingmyrainbow

C.J.’s graduation from pre-kindergarten was overflowing with all of the pomp and circumstance that you’d expect to accompany the age-old right of passage marking the end of preschool (with its wait lists and tuition higher than a car payment) and the start of elementary school (with its nearly 2,000 students who span the ages of five to 12).

My two sons on graduation day.

C.J.’s last days of the school year were so themed that Walt Disney might have learned a thing or two.  The culmination was a Hawaiian-themed graduation ceremony featuring   a multi-song performance by the graduates, the crossing of the stage to accept diplomas and a potluck BBQ that offered no less than three different types of salad.

When C.J. learned that graduation was a themed event, he immediately threw himself into planning his outfit.  Duh.

He went searching through his dress-up bins looking for his grass skirt that I brought back from Hawaii last summer.  He couldn’t find it.  Maybe because it had morphed into a tangled, grassy mess with at least one piece of gum in it and it ended up in the trash.  Maybe.

“But I NEED a grass skirt for my Hawaii graduation.  I NEED to look like a hula girl,” C.J. informed me.

I, in turn, emailed Ms. Sensible to let her know that my son would be wearing at least some portion of a hula girl  get-up to the graduation ceremony.  We were going out of pre-k with a bang.

I let him look for the long-gone grass skirt for two days, because it kept him busy.  And because I would never admit to purging it.

Ms. Sensible replied to my hi-my-son-wants-to-wear-a-skirt-to-graduation email.  She let me know that a few of the girls in class planned on wearing grass skirts to graduation and that C.J. should feel free to do the same if he wanted to.

We set off to Party City to replace the lost/trashed/missing grass skirt.  As luck would have it, they were just setting up three aisles of luau party supplies that will remain intact until they are converted to the costume aisles for Halloween.

C.J. in between his two best girl friends.

C.J. had his pick of the litter.  There were grass skirts in a variety of colors: rainbow, pink, orange, green, brown, natural, blue and yellow.  I saw the rainbow colored skirt and knew that that would be the one C.J. would pick.  I’d stand there and let him go through the decision-making process.  He couldn’t decide and he couldn’t decide and he couldn’t decide.

“I thought you’d want the rainbow one for sure,” I said.

“I think I want the blue one,” he said after some more consideration.

I was speechless, C.J. has never, ever, picked a blue anything.  I was afraid he was picking it because, if he was going to wear a skirt for all of his classmates and their families to see he felt like it would be safer to wear a boy-colored one.

“Baby, it’s up to you if you want to wear a grass skirt or not.  It’s your choice.  And, you can pick any color you want,” I reminded him.

“I want the blue one.  I like the blue one.”

“Are you sure?  Once we buy it that’s it, no going back, no changing your mind,” I said.

“I’m sure.  I want the blue skirt.”

“Alright then, let’s go pay for it.”

We got home and he immediately put the skirt on.  He moved throughout the house all evening very carefully, so that he wouldn’t get his grass tangled.  Before he went to bed that night, he laid out his outfit for the next day’s graduation ceremony.  Light blue and cream plaid shirt, khaki shorts, brown sandals, blue and green grass skirt, rainbow lei and a fake corsage for each wrist — one blue and one red.  He put extra leave-in conditioner in his hair because he is convinced that the berry-smelling spray makes his hair grow longer and prettier faster.  He got in bed early and didn’t fall asleep until after 11 p.m.  Tomorrow he would be a graduate.

The next day, as we walked to his classroom, C.J. was beaming.  He was the only one wearing a grass skirt; none of the girls in class had — as they said they would — worn a grass skirt.  I was worried that C.J. would want to take his skirt off, that he wouldn’t want to be the only one in a grass skirt.  On the contrary, being the only one in a grass skirt and making his girl friends a little envious made him feel even more fabulous.  As far as he was concerned he was the star of the graduation.

“I like your hula-girl skirt, C.J.,” Molly said.  “My mom wouldn’t let me wear mine.  You’re lucky your mom let you wear yours.”

“I know,” C.J. said.

As I watched C.J. on the stage, I was one proud mama.

“Look at the little boy in the skirt!” a woman said behind me and I heard a few laughs.

C.J. getting his diploma.

Yep, that was my son, up on the stage in a skirt for the world to see singing “I’ll Be Going to Kindergarten Next Year” to the tune of “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain.”  People could laugh and point all they wanted.  I didn’t care.  Not today.

After the graduation ceremony, I was in line for the potluck lunch when Ms. Sensible approached me.

“I just wanted to say that it was a such a pleasure having C.J. in my class this year,” she said.

“Oh my gosh, are you kidding me?  I was going to thank you for being so amazing.  I know that we are high maintenance and you’ve never taught a kid like C.J. and you taught him with an open mind and an open heart and that’s all we ask for,” I gushed.

“Well, I really enjoyed C.J. He allowed me to learn something new, I love learning new things.  And, I’ve watched him grow so much emotionally, socially and academically.  I’m just really proud of him.  I hope you’ll stop by to visit me next year when he’s in kindergarten,” she said.

“For sure.  Of course,” I replied.

Kindergarten.  It’s 87 days away and I have no idea what C.J.’s next teacher will be like.  I hope that she’ll be a lot like Ms. Sensible, and Ms. Sunshine who came before her.

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My Son Wears Girl Pajamas

Posted on June 16, 2012 by raisingmyrainbow

Give C.J. a theme and he will run with it.  This week had him running for five days straight.

It was the last week of school and the Orange County Mommy Mafia was out in full force giving each day a theme and a party and a sense of panic that had me constantly feeling like I was forgetting some important detail.  They scuttled about campus in their Lululemon yoga pants, clutching their stainless steel commuter mugs filled with the organic coffee they picked up at Trader Joe’s over the weekend while they were loading up on supplies for the class ice cream social, board game mixer, pizza party, beach blanket BBQ, popcorn and movie mid-day madness and bubble blowing farewell ceremony.  I watched them all from the comfort of my dirty car, while wearing my work pants that give me a severe muffin top and drinking yesterday’s coffee that I had managed to burn when I reheated it in the microwave.

I remember when I was in school and there was only one celebration, it was called the final bell ringing, marking the start of summer.  That was the “Official Party,” the bell, it lasted five seconds.  How times have changed, I didn’t even have time to write a blog post this week because I was busy meeting the demands of The Mafia and trying to keep up with my two sons and the days’ many themes and parties so that I didn’t seem like a clueless, uncaring, uninvolved mom.

I have to admit, I burst out in insane laughter when one of the boys’ room mom sent an email reminding us that there was a party the next day and she still needed “multiple parents to supply wet toppings.  Squirtable chocolate?”

Excuse me?  I nearly showed my true colors.  Alas, I was able to control myself without replying to the entire class using the hashtags #roommomepicfail and #ivegotyourwettoppingsrighthere.

For C.J., Monday was pirate day.

“C.J., do you want to dress like a pirate for school today,” I asked.

“No, that’s not fun,” he said with a look of disappointment.

He wasn’t quite as glum hours later when I picked him up from school and he was wearing the awesome pirate hat that he made in class.  He customized his Jolly Roger, complete with rainbow wig and purple grill.

Another day that week was Sports Day.

“What do you want to wear for Sports Day?  You can wear your baseball uniform or your soccer uniform or….”

“I want to be a cheerleader!” C.J. interrupted.  “I already have my uniform, you know the pink one with glitter?”

Oh I knew which one he was talking about.  It was two sizes too small, ripped and stained.  Nana Grab Bags had worked her sewing magic on it a few times, but you can only do so much when working with a $15-dollar, imitation satin number.

“Baby, that uniform is too small and too worn out to wear to school,” I said honestly.  It was a tattered mess.

“Okaaaaaayyyyyy, I guess I’ll wear my baseball uniform,” he said lacking enthusiasm.  “When’s pajama day?”

“Friday.”

“That will be MY day.  I’m going to wear my Little Mermaid jammies to school,” he declared.

I looked at my husband.  Were we really going to let our son wear girl’s pajamas to school?  Considering he doesn’t own a pair of boy’s pajamas our options were limited or I needed to go shopping.  Not that I ever mind a good excuse to go shopping.

“Are you cool with him wearing girl pajamas to school?” I asked C.J.’s Dad later that night, away from the boys.

“Yeah, I don’t care.  School’s almost over,” he said.

“I agree.”

It has been a tough school year dealing with gender issues.  In a way we were waving our rainbow flag to mark the ending of a struggle.  Not defeat, just an end.

I emailed C.J.’s teacher Ms. Sensible to warn her that on Friday C.J. would be wearing his three-piece deluxe Little Mermaid pajamas that he had recently purchased on sale at the Disney Store to school.  Pants with fish-scale tail design, white top with Ariel on it and optional layered skirt, which C.J. has never considered optional; to him, it’s mandatory.

She replied the next day before noon letting me know that C.J. was welcome to wear anything that he was comfortable in..

I picked C.J. up from school.  He sat in his booster seat wearing his baseball uniform.

“Mommy, today Ms. Sensible told me that I could wear my Little Mermaid jammies to school for pajama day.  She said I could wear whatever makes me comfortable and that she’ll tell the kids not to make fun of me.  She said that people will like me no matter what,” he said.

“Ms. Sensible is right.  She’s a good teacher.”

“So, can I wear my Little Mermaid jammies to school tomorrow?”

“No, tomorrow is crazy hair day.”

“What!?!?!  I LOVE crazy hair day!!!!”

“That’s odd, you’ve never had a crazy hair day before,” I said smiling at C.J. in the rearview mirror as I drove.

“I know, but I know I’m just going to love it.”

C.J. won the award for craziest hair at crazy hair day.  Or so he told us, only for me to find out later that there was no award given.  My kid has a good imagination, or he’s a liar.

Finally it was Friday.  Finally it was pajama day.  C.J. had allowed me to wash his favorite Little Mermaid pajamas.  He put them on and then sprayed some of my Victoria’s Secret Body Mist on himself.  He.  Was.  Ready.

Then, we got to school and he didn’t want to get out of the car.

“What if somebody sees me?” he asked in worry.

“They’ll see your fabulous Little Mermaid pajamas,” I said.  “If you want to change, I have a pair of your brother’s old pajamas that you can wear instead.”

“No, I’m good.”

He sat quietly looking out of the window for a minute or two.  I could tell he was gathering his courage.  His little chest took a deep breath and he opened the car door.  He had made his own decision and I walked behind him to class.  I had his back every step of the way.

We got some looks, I’m not gonna lie.  But, I’m getting pretty oblivious to them.

Then his girl friend Isabella walked up to him.

“C.J., you look soooooo pretty in your Little Mermaid pajamas,” she said with admiration and a smile.

“Thank you,” C.J. said shyly.  It was the highlight of his day.

Ms. Sensible took the pajama’d kids into her classroom and sat them down.  She explained that it was pajama day and everybody was wearing what they were comfortable in, that people are comfortable in different kinds of pajamas and that’s okay.  She reminded them that teasing was not okay on pajama day or any other day.

As far as C.J. is concerned, pajama day was the best day of the school year and it set the stage for him to wear a hula girl outfit to the Hawaiian-themed pre-k graduation four days later.

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The Birds And The Bees and NPH

Posted on June 4, 2012 by raisingmyrainbow

“I know Modern Family is just a t.v. show, but on the show did Lily really come from Mitch and Cam?  I mean, was she born from them?” C.J.’s Brother asked as we drove to school one morning last week.

“No. They adopted her. People can have kids lots of different ways. When you make a baby from scratch you need a man and a woman,” I answered.

“Oh, cause I was wondering, cause Mitch and Cam don’t look Chinese.”

“On the show, Lily’s character isn’t from China, she’s from Vietnam, those are two totally different places,” I said. (Geography teacher + sex-ed teacher = me.)

C.J.’s brother has been curious about sex and babies lately. Not only have we been peppered with questions about “the birds and the bees,” but also about “the birds and the birds” and “the bees and the bees.”

“Please just tell me how babies get out of your belly,” he said seriously, tired of the game playing. “And, DON’T tell me they get out through the belly button!”

“The doctor or nurse or midwife helps the baby out,” I said, as I’ve been saying for a while now.

“But, WHERE do they help it come out of?”

“The vagina.”

“WHAT?!?!?! Gross! I thought it came out of the upper-leg area,” he said making a sour-face and smile at the same time.

Ahhhh, to be innocent and think that babies escape the uterus via the thigh.

For as long as he can remember C.J.’s Brother has known that families come in all shapes sizes and gender/sex makeups. But, now that he is thinking about logistics, families that he’s known forever are sparking questions. Take our Facebook friends who are two dads with an adopted daughter named after two famous Hepburns, where’d she come from? She was adopted. Okay.

Families through birth? Check. Families through adoption? Check. Families through surrogacy and egg/sperm donation? No check.

On Sunday night, Oprah’s Next Chapter featured an hour-long interview with Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka. They were talking about “the new nuclear family.” My hubby and I watched that night and sat down with C.J.’s Brother to watch it the next day to show him a family that is different than our own.

“I know them! That’s Neil and David!” he said with a gigantic smile when their images popped onto the scream. C.J.’s Brother attended the world premier of The Muppets movie as the guest of Uncle Uncle who was the guest of Neil and David. It was a defining day in C.J.’s Brother’s life. He went to Hollywood, he had the pleasure of seeing a “hobo” (as he likes to call the housing-challenged), he walked the green carpet, he met THE Muppets, he got to see a movie before any of his friends could have possibly seen it and the day ended with an all-dessert after-party.

Oprah showed a clip from Neil’s days on Doogie Howser, M.D.

“Look, that’s Neil when he was first on t.v.,” I said.

“Wow, that must have been in the sixties….like when they had the first 90210,” he said.

“It’s not that old. I watched it when I was in junior high.”

“That’s old.”

Whatever.

Neil and David gave Oprah a tour of their house. C.J.’s Brother asked if we could get a magic room with a secret door like Neil Patrick Harris has. I told him he could get one in his house when he grows up. He was disappointed. I disappoint my children at least once a day. Today it was due to magic room envy.

Then Neil and David’s twins, Harper and Gideon, appeared.

“Ahhhhh, they’re so cute!” C.J.’s Brother said, quickly getting over our lack of a magic room. “Are they adopted?”

“No,” I answered.

“One of them was pregnant?!” he said pointing to Neil and David.

“No, a lady helped them have their babies,” I explained.

“That was really nice of that lady,” C.J.’s Brother said.

“It sure was,” I replied honestly.

C.J.’s Brother lost interest in the show once the twins were whisked away for lunch and nap-time. I watched a few parts of the sit-down interview again, cause I liked them so much.

First, I liked to watch Neil and David give Oprah an “aha” moment. Viewers watched as Oprah realized, thanks to Neil and David’s family, that same-sex couples have to really plan out having children. There are no accidental pregnancies with same-sex couples; their children are totally thought out, yearned for, planned for and accepted so gratefully with endless amounts of love. Same-sex couple pregnancies are never unwanted, no mistakes, no surprises.

How many people can say that they have given Oprah Winfrey an aha moment?

http://www.oprah.com/common/omplayer_embed.html?article_id=37875

“What is your dream for your family?” Oprah asked them.

“I hope that we find ourselves in positions where they have the freedom to embrace whatever it is that they’re drawn to. I want to provide for them the opportunity for them to do whatever it is that they want,” Neil answered.

“Be their own person.” David added. “Because a lot of the time, we grow up thinking we should be something else. It’s so important that we tell these kids that they’re their own individual.”

The new nuclear family, has the same dream for their family that this mom has for her old traditional family. We didn’t come to be families in the same way, but we want the same things. And, to me, that’s all that matters. Thank you, thank you, thank you to Neil and David for being great people and parents…and, for being brave examples for my sons.

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We All Think We’re Right

Posted on May 31, 2012 by raisingmyrainbow

We all think we’re right.  I was reminded of that fact  yesterday as I watched a video that has gone viral of a toddler in church, wearing his Sunday best, gripping a microphone in his pudgy little hands and singing “Ain’t No Homos Gonna Make It To Heaven.”  Only a few seconds into his performance, the pews of parishioners started to cheer and applaud and I clicked the “X” on my computer screen.  I couldn’t watch a moment more.

That Video Boy’s parents think that they are raising their child right.  I’m sure they were proud of their sweater-vested tike as he sang a church solo up on stage.  My guess is that they were beaming with pride as out of his mouth tumbled words of hate, judgment and homophobia.

Whatever happened to “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world?”

The viral video was off of my screen, but not out of my mind.  I got up from my desk and indulged myself in a simple pleasure of the working mom: a walk to the overpriced, underwhelming deli in the lobby of the next office building to grab a sandwich to eat as I worked through lunch.

“I think that Video Boy’s parents are doing a shitty job of parenting,” I thought to myself.  Then, I realized that they’d think the exact same thing of our parenting of both of our sons…especially C.J.

To me, they are bad parents.  To them I am we are bad parents.  They are raising an LGBTQ hater and I’m raising an LGBTQ lover.  Tit for tat.  Agree to disagree.  One step forward, one step back.  I wonder…in this great big world…do our families cancel each other out?

I thought of something that I posted on my Facebook page recently.  It’s a quote that says “No child is born homophobic.”  True that.  No child is born full of hate.  Video Boy’s parents are making him homophobic.  They are feeding him hate for breakfast, especially on Sundays.

The equivalent in our family would be to pump ecclesiaphobia into our children; to instill in them a fear of church, organized religion or holy people.  I refuse to do it.  In our house hate will not breed hate and fear will not breed fear.  Sometimes it’s a daily struggle that goes against every urge in my sassy soul.

As I ate my chicken salad sandwich, I thought more about Video Boy and his family.  I read some of the comments about the video that people had left on my Facebook page and other comments found online.  Some people believe that it all docmented a form of child abuse.

Do I think it’s abuse?  No.  I do think that kids shouldn’t be forced or persuaded to make big statements about big topics that they can’t possibly understand, let alone develop an opinion on.

How much of our agenda can we push on our kids?

I’ve been accused of abusing C.J. because I let him slide all over the gender spectrum….and I (gasp) write about it!  But, I have never so much as encouraged either of my sons to take a stand, make a statement or advocate for my position on anything, unless they can understand it and can determine how they (not me) feel about it.

I do insist of my childen – as I do of the people who matter in our lives – that they have an open heart and an open mind.  Poor Video Boy is all closed up already.  Locked in his body with fear and hate.  God was not smiling down on Video Boy’s homophobia…his parents, the parishoners and the pastor are fools for thinking differently.

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Dresses as a Form of Punishment

Posted on May 22, 2012 by raisingmyrainbow

“Where are you two troublemakers off to?” C.J.’s Dad asked as C.J. and I strode between him and his beloved flat screen on our way outside to squeeze in some scooter time before sunset.

“We’re going to ride our scooters,” C.J. said over his shoulder as he continued out of the house.

“Dressed like that?” C.J.’s Dad asked me.

C.J. had just been upstairs playing dress up while I was putting laundry away. Earlier in the day he had been wearing his “Someday They’ll Make a Movie About Me” shirt from Old Navy and swim trunks.  Now, he was wearing a pink t-shirt dress with hearts on it and a Monster High barrette in his hair.

“Honey Badger don’t care!” I said to C.J.’s Dad.  It’s what we say to each other when we really mean that somebody doesn’t give an eff about something.

“People are going to think that he’s in trouble,” C.J.’s Dad said.

“Yeah, people are going to see him dressed like a girl and that’s the first thought that will come to mind,” I said in sarcasm and continued outside to mount my scooter.  I secretly love riding a Razor scooter; it makes me feel like such an extreme athlete.

We used to prefer that C.J. not go out of the house if he was wearing an article of girls’ clothing. We’d gently steer him towards indoor play or have him put on something more appropriate for “safety reasons.” We did so to save all of us from ridicule and judgment.

I’ve also always had this weird belief that if a sexual predator were to be roaming our streets, a little boy dressed as a little girl would tickle his fancy like no other, making our son the prime target for pedophiles.  These are the assumptions that I develop in my head that make perfect sense to me.  I assume that if a pedophile can score a seemingly confused gender nonconforming kid, they have some sort of bragging rights amongst their like-minded friends.  These, of course, are all just assumptions.  I’ve never associated with pedophiles, so I’ve never had anybody to either confirm or deny my allegations.

We’ve become more lenient, C.J. doesn’t desire to wear frilly things out of the house as much as he used to and our neighbors are used to seeing a fiery red-headed boy flit about in unusual costumes, nappy wigs and bare feet with pink toenails.

C.J.’s had strapped on his red helmet and took off on his purple scooter.  I was looking for the black scooter that I usually ride.

“I just remembered something!” C.J.’s Dad exclaimed entering the garage from the house.

“What?” I asked, moving bikes, balls and bubbles around in an attempt to locate my scooter.

“Whenever C.J. plays outside in girl clothes I’ve always worried that people will think that he is in trouble.  I know now why I feel that way.”

“Why?” I asked, stopping my scooter search to listen to my husband.

“When I was a little I knew this kid named Ben.  When he got in trouble or did something wrong or did bad at baseball practice, when he got home his dad would make him put on his sister’s clothes and ride her bike up and down the neighborhood.”

“Are you effing kidding me?!” I said, making sure that C.J. was out of earshot.

“No, one time in high school, Ben did something wrong and to punish him his dad made him put on his mom’s bra and panties and sit in a lawn chair in their front lawn.”

“Why have you never told me this before?!” I said in shock.

“I don’t know, I never really thought about it, but when I’ve seen C.J. playing out front in girl clothes I’ve always associated it with him being in trouble and being punished.  I assumed everybody was thinking that he did something wrong.”

“Oh, they are probably thinking lots of things, but not that!  What did you say to Ben about his father’s method of punishment?”

“I told him that it was weird and that my parents didn’t do that,” C.J.’s Dad said.

“What is wrong with people? That is so disturbing,” I said locating the scooter, though now I didn’t feel like riding it.

What if people thought that C.J.’s Dad and I were punishing C.J. by making him wear girl clothes outside of the house?

I watched my son as he hopped off of his scooter, picked several daisies from our neighbor’s yard and held them in his proud grip as he scooted to deliver them to me with a beaming smile on his popsicle-stained face.  He didn’t look like he was being punished.

I Googled Ben later that evening to see what became of him.  Ben is a professional athlete.  If Ben messes up at sports now does his dad still make him put on girls clothes and parade around for all to see?  I wonder.

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Baby Shower Sex Reveal

Posted on May 9, 2012 by raisingmyrainbow

I feel like a jaded, cynical old lady who should be chain smoking on a patio somewhere with cats milling about as I shake my head in amusement and disgust while I play solitaire and ignore the results of my years of missed appointments for pedicures and root touchups.  I’m 34 years old.  I’m too young to be this jaded and cynical.

Picture me at an uber-fancy baby shower in Orange County. It’s at a country club (because having a baby shower at a home is so pedestrian) and I’m in a corner by myself eating cake pops (because cupcakes are so 2010).  I’m one of the few ladies at the event who eats food, let alone carbs, so I basically can eat pops until I pop.

The mommy-to-be hasn’t announced the sex of her baby prior to the baby shower.  We were all lured there, in part, by “the thrill of being the first to know.”

“Gather round, girls,” the event’s hostess shouts, using her perfectly ombre-manicured hands to form a peachy-pink megaphone.  “It’s time for the big reveal.  We’re going to announce the baby’s gender now!”

A sea of shellacked sorority sisters squeal and shuffle to their seats.

“You can’t announce the gender, you don’t know the gender yet, you won’t know that for years and years.  You know the sex of the baby.  You’re announcing that your baby either has a penis or a vagina.  You have no idea what you could be in for as far as gender is concerned,” I think to myself as I stuff another cake pop into my mouth, stabbing the inside of mouth in the process.  Karma.

I’m the lone brunette, the lone eater, standing in the corner, growing into a crusty old broad.

“IT’S A BOY!!!!!” the mom-to-be and hostess shout simultaneously as they open the lid of an enormous box and helium-filled blue balloons float towards the ceiling signaling the high hopes they have for their boy, who they assume will grow into a man and a lover of women.

“IT HAS A PENIS!!!!!!” I think to myself as I picture helium-filled, penis-shaped balloons filling the room and bonking the classy, hopeful women in their heads as they rise erectly to the rafters.  I bet they haven’t even considered that it may be a boy on the outside who feels like a girl on the inside or a boy who is a lover of boys.

The blue balloons hang over the room decorated in yellow.  I try not to look up.

My life used to be that simple.  I used to think that a person’s sex and gender were one in the same.  I know better now.  Even growing up with a gay brother, a card-carrying member of the LGBTQ community, I didn’t fully comprehend the possible separation of sex and gender until C.J. came along and got all gender nonconforming on us.  I’ve learned that you don’t always get what you expect when you’re expecting.

I try to adjust my attitude.  I have to adjust my attitude.  For the majority of my friends, if their baby is boy he will like boy toys, the color blue, sports and the such.  I have to let them revel in their uneducated presumptions and be happy for them.  A baby is something to be happy about.  It’s part of my family’s process to not allow ourselves to get jaded and cynical.  We have to celebrate and support every person’s individual journey.  Sometimes you have to let go of your issues in order rejoice with and for someone else.  Let go of your issues, grab a cake pop and watch out for penis-shaped balloons.

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Open Letter to LGBTQ-phobic Pastor Sean Harris

Posted on May 1, 2012 by raisingmyrainbow

Homophobic North Carolina preacher Sean Norris recently gave a sermon in which he advocated physically assaulting gender variant toddlers.  Listen to it here.  This letter is my response to him.

Dear Pastor Harris,

Hi.  I’m C.J.’s Mom and boy would you hate me!  I have a little boy who likes “feminine” things and I’ve allowed him to do so.  I’ve even shared it with people on the internet.  But, not by taking pictures and posting them on YouTube, as you suggest — mostly because that’s not exactly how YouTube works, I think you have it confused with Facebook, but that’s not really the point I’m trying to get at anyway.

My point is my son is gender variant.  He’s a little boy who likes all things girly, like playing with dolls and wearing skirts.  My son started acting a little girlish at age two and a half and I didn’t, as you suggest, “squash that like a cockroach.”  He’s had childhood fantasies and I haven’t squashed them.  Why?  Because here’s the thing: I’m a Christian.  One who believes that God doesn’t make mistakes.  He made my son perfectly, by his own design.  God knew every hair on his precious little head before he was even born.  Before he started “acting like a female.”  I figure that God knew what he was doing when he created C.J. and that I was given C.J. as my child to love him, not change him.

My gay brother (yes, I have one of those in addition to my effeminate son!) and I grew up in a home where somewhere along the way religion became more about fear, rules and judgement than love, kindness and peace.  Your words remind me of that home.  When you say things like “Dads, when you see your little son dropping the limp wrist, you walk over there and crack that wrist” it makes my heart feel like a scared child again.  Aren’t fathers supposed to model their behaviors after the ultimate father?  Christ.  Would Christ crack his child’s wrist?

I have to believe that Christ wouldn’t tell one of his little boys to “man up” and then “give him a little punch.”  I haven’t read the part of the bible where Christ punched people.  Did I miss that part during my two years of theology courses in college?

So anyway, thank you for giving my husband and me permission to crack our son’s wrists, punch him and bully him in his own home.  We have chosen, instead, to love our son just as God created him and to allow him the freedom to flourish and thrive using the gifts God gave to him specifically.

Bless you,

C.J.’s Mom

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A Grandfather Worries About Gender Nonconforming Grandson

Posted on April 27, 2012 by raisingmyrainbow

In last week’s post you got to hear from Grandma Colorado as I started to explore the evolution of our family as we raise a gender nonconforming child, this week it’s Grandpa Colorado’s turn to speak/write.  Instead of Q&A style, Grandpa Colorado wanted to write about the things that are on his mind most when he thinks about C.J. and our family.                      

In Regards to C.J.

One of Grandpa Colorado's favorite fishing spots.

There is a truism in the statement “once a parent, always a parent.”  If I am to look at the circumstances leading up to becoming a traditional parent, I find many things come into play.  Find a partner.  Marry her.  When the time comes in which you both agree that you are ready for a child and you say “it’s time,” be ready for life’s little disappointments and surprises.

Failure to conceive this month and then the next month.  The false pregnancies, the painful miscarriages are devastating and take you to a corner in your mind with yourself.  But you find there is a plan…two months, then three, now you tell your parents and your friends as you enter four, now five and watch your wife’s body change and you deal as best you can with her incredibility fascinating and weird situation.  But always in the back of your mind as eight and now nine months approach you remember life’s little disappointments and surprises.  What if the baby is not healthy?  What will we do?

I have always tried to be a good father.  There wasn’t a manual handed to me when the unbelievable event occurred, so I decided to use my father as a sort of “reverse barometer.” When parenting my sons, there would be no slapping in the face, no hitting on the buttocks or legs with a stick that they had to cut from a tree in the backyard.  No shaking, no screaming, no slugging in the stomach and I would do my best not to have my sons fear me.  These were simple rules and I tried my best to uphold them, like I said, there wasn’t a manual.

I watched both my boys grow and experience life.  I was — and am still — proud of their academics, sports participation and social skills.  Their standards in school might have been a little difficult for them at times because their school was where I earned my living.  I taught for 33 years in secondary education and expected their studies and conduct toward teachers and coaches to be more than average at all times; a little pressure, I’m sure, but it was in MY manual.

The lake by Grandpa Colorado's house.

As my children continued in their formal education they found their soul mates; beautiful young ladies who shared their values, their hopes and their dreams together.  The marriages of my sons held such special anticipation.  Grandchildren…new boys, new girls, more family, we could hardly wait.  My wife and I have been blessed with grandchildren who get older and wiser each year and we are parents of parents.  Life is good.

There are times in which I am jealous and it doesn’t speak well of my character, but I strongly feel that if we never feel jealousy we can never experience love.  Nevertheless, I am jealous of the relationship my son and his wife (C.J.’s Mom and Dad) have with their children.  They are better parents than I ever was, way better.  They guide and allow, a concept that I never invoked.  Mine was control and approve.  The love and respect and the fun that their children have for them gives me pause.  Is there some way I can go back?

In my experience as a teacher and managing a class I tried to be aware of behaviors and be willing to correct inappropriate actions from some students directed toward others.  I hate bullies.  Long before I became 6’ 4” and 240 pounds I was bullied by individuals in grade school and couldn’t get away from them.  No complaint to a teacher brought me relief, it is still with me today at age 65… this time, I’m glad I can’t go back, I would be afraid of my actions.

Grandpa Colorado's new puppy.

In my classroom my method was simple.  When “jocks” or the socially “cool” or the wannabe “thugs” started to get the upper hand on some individual that targeted individual was sent to a counselor who, by prearrangement, kept him/her in the office for ten minutes “just checking their schedule” while I talked to my class and reminded them of life’s little disappointments.  Their future child might not look right, maybe not talk or walk right, or just not fit in.

“Worse still, your future child could be on the playground or in the classroom with bullies like YOU!  How dare you!” I’d say to my class.  In the past, leaders and followers have come to me and apologized for their behavior and have brought the victim into their circle.

Toward the end of my teaching career, I was seeing many examples of this bullying social behavior.  I saw more and more children taunted by their “friends;” bullied by individuals that morphed into groups; excluded from athletic groups, social groups and academic groups just because of that groups’ perception of what was correct, cool and normal.

Friedrich Nietzsche the German philosopher once commented that humans are the only animal that commits suicide.  It is chilling, but it is true.  Our young children listen at times to the wrong people with tragic consequences.  Their panic and sense of self worth at times pushes them to a place that is hard to imagine.  It breaks my heart that I find myself at times powerless to undo what some people have done.  I am saddened in my character in that I am now not recognizing the better angels in peoples’ souls but, instead, look for the evil in mankind instead of the good.

My panic and fear is that I can’t be that teacher or the parent for my grandchildren, but it is tempered by the love and support that is extended by their true parents.  We as a society have allowed this community of bullies and evil to flourish and we as a society have the power to stop it through education and voice.

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Q&A With Grandma Colorado

Posted on April 18, 2012 by raisingmyrainbow

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how our family has evolved since C.J. swished and flourished into our lives.  So, I decided to interview Grandma Colorado via email.  I hope her evolution is apparent to you.  She went from not knowing what a blog was to being one of Raising My Rainbow’s biggest fans.  She knows the blog’s frequent commenters by name.  She tells her friends about it when she is playing mahjong at the community center and while doing pilates at the rec center.   I’m proud of her evolution…

C.J.‘s Mom:  When did you first notice that something was different about C.J.?

Grandma Colorado:  When he was about three years old.

Mom:  What was different about him?

Grandma:  He always had a lego person or a stuffed animal and always wanted to have a conversation with you with your toy.  He would always say, “how are you today, what do you want to do today.”  He always wanted to be the girl.  I would say I’m the girl and he would say I could be a girl or a boy but he was definitely the girl in our conversation.

Mom:  Did you think it was a phase at first?

Grandma:  I thought he was very bright and just showing individuality.  He was always very independent.

Mom:  Did him playing with girl toys or dressing up like a girl ever bother you?

Grandma:  I thought it was unusual he wanted dolls only and girl toys.  I guess I thought he would outgrow it.  One of our friends had a neighbor boy who only played with the girls and loved the tea parties and such.  He is now married with four children and very happy.

One Christmas C.J. only received boy toys and he was devastated.  Our son said it was the worst Christmas ever because C.J. was so angry at Santa and didn’t get anything he wanted.  Our son said that would never happen again.  That really hit home with us.  You don’t want to deprive your children.  The toys don’t bother us.  The dressing up was a little harder to accept.  We worry more about how cruel other children can be.  I’m accepting of whatever my child or any other person wants to be.

Mom:  Do you or did you ever think we should make him conform?

Grandma:  C.J. will be whatever he will be.  I don’t think he has a choice.  I think you guys have done a wonderful job with C.J. and his brother.  We just want our children to be happy and well adjusted.

Mom:  Do you think he was born this way?  Is it his nature or his nurture?

Grandma:  I definitely think he was born this way.  I know many gay people who are happy and wonderful with lifetime partners.  I don’t think you would choose this lifestyle.  There are too many ignorant and cruel people out there.  I just worry about his safety and happiness.  Children can be so cruel.  You can see this already in C.J.‘s neighborhood.

Mom:  How has having a child like C.J. in the family changed you?

Grandma:  It has made be much more understanding and compassionate for children that don’t fit society’s mold.  I feel I have always been very compassionate, but now I am more vocal about it.  I stand up for the underdog.  Like I said before I have a child in my charity organization that is very gender nonconforming.  Now I always point out his pretty headbands and how unique and special he is.

Mom:  Do you feel like an unexpected advocate?

Grandma:  Most definitely.  I am so proud of you as parents and his big brother.  I feel Uncle Uncle has made a huge impact on my son over the years.  He has helped make him more sensitive and understanding.  My daughter-in-love has made a huge impact on our family and we are very blessed to have her in our family.

Mom:  What are your biggest fears for C.J., his brother and our family?

Grandma:  C.J. is a tiger, but a totally sensitive child.  I worry for everyone when he goes to school.  I don’t want C.J.’s spirit broken.  I want him to be able to stand up to the bullies.  I fear for his brother because he is so kind, gentle and an absolute sweetheart.  I don’t want him to have to change to protect his brother.  I see this happening though and I see no way to change this.  I see strong parents that are doing an incredible job.  They have a difficult situation, but C.J. couldn’t have better parents picked for this challenge.  Our family is there to back you four up.  We are all lions circling our cubs.

Mom:  How were things for LGBTQ kids when you were working at the local high school?

Grandma:  The kids pretty well accepted them.  I had an aide named B. who, as a senior, was fine and his family had finally accepted his sexuality.  But, in his sophomore year he attempted suicide.  As he tells it, it was a lame attempt, more of a plea to get his family to accept him as he was.  Apparently it worked because his father was very accepting then and just glad he was alive.

At the other school I transferred to,  they had a large gay and lesbian group.  They had meetings on campus and were very open about it.  I think kids have become more accepting of it and not afraid.  At least in the high school level.

Mom:  How do you think you would have parented a child like CJ?

Grandma:  Certainly not as well as you have.  I think I would have been very confused.  I probably would have blamed it on myself for my child being like this.  I would have wondered what I had done wrong.  It would have taken a while to accept.  But, then you become supportive and just hope your child is not bullied and hurt along the way.

Mom:  What do you think C.J. will be when he grows up?

Grandma:  An artist, architect or engineer.  He is so exacting and a perfectionist when he colors and draws.  I am expecting great things from him.  He is so dramatic and artistic he could be in theater also.

Mom:  What’s your favorite thing to do with C.J.?

Grandma:  Run around and chase and scare him, draw with chalk, color, read to him, play dolls and hike (he has great stamina!).

Mom:  Anything else you want my blog readers to know?

Grandma:  In closing, I feel like my son and daughter-in-law have done a wonderful job with both of their children.  They are lucky to have Uncle Uncle who can share and prepare them for what he has gone through.  They have a supportive family that wants to love, share, help

and see their family grow to their highest potential for each individual.  We fear for the ignorant people out there who are terrified of anything different.  We have two beautiful and totally unique grandchildren.  We want their safety, happiness and them to be whatever they want to be.

Love & Blessings,

Grandma Colorado

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Sing Sow!

Posted on April 12, 2012 by raisingmyrainbow

Setting: Chinese Food Restaurant, Friday Night, Orange County, Calif.

“That guy is FAT! And HAPPY! I like his skirt!” C.J. said pointing to the restaurant’s statue of Buddha that was as tall as he is. C.J. put his arm around Buddha like they were best buddies George Clooney and Brad Pitt goofing for photographers on the red carpet. I gave C.J. a look and he backed away from Buddha. A lady in the waiting area giggled.  C.J. shot her a knowing smile as if to say, “yeah lady, you know what’s up.”

(Two minutes later)

“C.J., sit down and stop touching your Mom’s earrings, please,” C.J.’s Dad said from across the table as he perused the menu.

(Two minutes later)

“C.J., get out from under the table and sit down. Fine, get Abby Cadabby off of the floor and then sit down,” said C.J’s Dad.

(Two minutes later)

“C.J. put your lip gloss back in your purse and sit down,” C.J.’s Dad said.

(Two minutes later)

“C.J., just stay out of your purse, please, and sit down,” C.J.’s Dad said.

The server approached our table to take our drink order.

“Do you have lemonade?” C.J. asked. “Ohhhhhh, pink lemonade? Dat’s my favorite because pink is my favorite color. I’ll have dat.”

“I’ll have a Tsingsao beer, please,” said C.J.’s Dad.

“Yes. Tsingsao,” the Chinese server said in his heavily affected broken English.

“SING SOW!” C.J. said in his best Chinese, five-year-old affected English.

“For God’s sake, get your son under control!” C.J.’s Dad said to me, his Irish eyes smiling and his fair-skinned face turning red.

“SING SOW!” C.J. said out loud again, liking the sound of it.

“It’s like being with a drunk, 21-year-old girl 24/7,” C.J.’s Dad whispered across the table to me.  I had to agree. Sometimes that’s exactly what it’s like.

This is the outfit that C.J. put together for our "Hot Date."

C.J. was a little hyper and out of sorts that night, but it was due to excitement, I can promise you that. His brother was at a sleepover, so C.J. had us all to himself. Instead of staying home to eat, we told C.J. that the three of us would go out on a date.

“A HOT date?!” he asked as we were at home deciding where to eat. I should have known then the kind of mood he was in and considered staying home.

When my hubby and I have a date night he always tells the boys that he is taking mommy out on a “hot date,” so, naturally, C.J. expected that our date night would be nothing short of hot. We let him pick the restaurant. “Chinese!” It’s his favorite.

The combination of not having to share our attention with his brother, being out on a “Hot Date” and getting to pick the restaurant, had him intoxicated with joy and power. A lethal combo when it comes to kids. In his mind, the night was young and it could go anywhere, it was full of potential. Perhaps he’d get to eat more than one fortune cookie, maybe we’d stay out late and miss bath time, maybe we’d forget to make him brush his teeth. The night was drunk on Tsingsao beer with possibilities.

C.J. slid out of his seat while his father and I were discussing our days. He stood next to our booth in the aisle, put his hands on his hips and proceeded to drop it like it’s hot. The kids at the next booth laughed. My husband’s face flushed and I bit my lips to stop giggles from making a necessary exit.

“Seriously woman, get control of your son!” C.J.’s Dad said to me. Guilty as charged. Sometimes I let C.J. hold on a little too tightly to his confidence and bravado because I feel like he needs it or will need it when dealing with haters in life. You need those two things (among other things) when you are growing up gender nonconforming and are among the youngest members of the LGBTQ community. But, I also don’t want my child to be poorly behaved. We are working on finding a balance.

“C.J. baby, we don’t drop it like it’s hot in restaurants,” I said with a smile as I pulled him into the booth and gave him a hug. His dad glared at both of us and, then, smiled.

Two Easter baskets for two boys. Which one is C.J.'s? Hope you had a nice Easter!

We got quiet as we waited for our food to arrive and hoped C.J. would pull it together long enough for us eat, pay and leave (our version of Eat, Pray, Love).

“SING SOW!” It came out of nowhere. C.J.’s Dad shot me a look and I stifled a giggle. Now I was feeling drunk and all I was sipping on was my good friend Arnold Palmer.

C.J.’s Dad started talking about a case he was dealing with at work and was explaining how he arrested a guy.

“Oh no you didn’t girlfriend!” C.J. said loudly with a flick of the wrist and a snap.

Our food arrived. C.J. shoved fried rice into his mouth with his spoon and, when that became too laborious, he used his dirty little fingers which were stained from the day’s art projects.

We were driving home and relishing in the quiet of the car.

“SING SOW!” C.J. shouted from the back seat with such enthusiasm that the contents of his purse dumped onto the floor of the car.

“Oh my!” he exclaimed.

Twenty-one-year-old drunk girl indeed.

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