Yesterday morning, I took my child, Jamie, to the orthodontist to pick up a new retainer. This was necessary after an unfortunate incident with our elderly dog, who surprised us all by deciding to go on a counter-surfing spree. The result? A chewed-up retainer that left Jamie in tears. They had been so diligent, always keeping it safe and sound. As expected, the first replacement was complimentary, but after the second one broke, we had to pay for a third.
While checking out, I remembered that it was nearly July, and our dentist had recommended scheduling an appointment for Alex, who would soon need braces, just like their siblings. I casually mentioned, “Oh, I need to set up an initial appointment for my youngest.”
“Sure thing! What’s your child’s name?” asked the receptionist.
“Alex,” I replied, omitting their birth name, Alexander. Recently, Alex has expressed joy when mistaken for a girl, appreciating the acceptance. When asked how they felt about being referred to as a girl, Alex simply said, “Just go with it. I don’t mind.” However, they do not wish to transition or identify strictly as a girl.
Navigating gender identity is complex. In our city, where we frequently encounter familiar faces, the transition was noticeable. From birth through elementary school, Alex was known by he/him pronouns. Then, in fifth grade, they began presenting increasingly feminine, sporting long hair and wearing clothes traditionally associated with girls. Yet, Alex still identifies as a boy, and I continue to use he/him pronouns in some contexts.
Children often can’t hide their gender identity; they can’t simply relocate and start anew like adults can. Young kids lack the understanding of the difference between assigned sex at birth and gender, leading to blunt questions from peers. Adults may be more tactful, but the issue remains challenging for non-binary children.
At the orthodontist’s desk, the receptionist asked, “When’s his birthday?”
My heart sank as I heard the pronoun “his.” I knew I had to address this. I glanced at Jamie, who, disliking attention, quickly requested to wait in the car. Recognizing her discomfort, I handed her the keys and said, “Sure.”
Leaning closer to the receptionist, I quietly explained, “Jamie is not ‘he.’ Jamie identifies as non-binary and uses they/them pronouns.” She looked puzzled but attentive. I continued, “I appreciate your understanding as we navigate this.”
With some hesitation, she asked, “So, should we refer to Jamie as ‘she’?” I gently corrected, “No, Jamie is neither male nor female. They are non-binary.” I could see her struggling to grasp the concept.
“Jamie was assigned male at birth,” I informed her, “but they express and present differently. They don’t want to transition to become a girl, so we’re in a unique space where Jamie feels more like just a person instead of being classified strictly as a boy or girl.” The receptionist began to look concerned, so I simplified things: “Jamie may or may not be transgender. They’re only 11.”
The other receptionist nodded, and the main one softened, “Oh, I can’t imagine how confusing that must be for a child.” I added, “I’m just trying to be a supportive parent.”
She then mentioned that they had seen transitioning patients before, but they always identified firmly as boy or girl. I replied, “Well, now you have someone who identifies as ‘they.’”
Eventually, we settled the pronoun issue, but I sensed that the receptionist’s computer didn’t have an option for ‘they/them.’ In a bid to ease the awkwardness, I over-explained, “Jamie might transition, or they might stay non-binary forever. They are just 11, and we’re not making any big decisions right now…”
I unknowingly perpetuated the myth that kids are “too young to know their gender,” which only added to the confusion. They nodded in agreement, which made me realize I had inadvertently reinforced inaccurate narratives.
After more discussion about insurance, the receptionist proposed adding a personal note to Jamie’s file to ensure everyone was informed. I appreciated their willingness to navigate this challenging conversation. As I left, I realized I should have sought out a more inclusive orthodontist, as I have a short list of trans-friendly practitioners.
Once outside, I checked the time; thirty-two minutes had passed since Jamie had asked to wait in the car. I felt guilty for not being quicker, especially after waking her up early during her summer break. When she asked why it took so long, I simply said, “They were pretty booked. It was hard to find a time that worked.”
In summary, accepting and supporting a non-binary child involves navigating complex conversations and societal norms. Through understanding and patience, we can create a more inclusive environment for our children. For more insights on parenting and inclusivity, check out this helpful resource on the topic. And if you’re interested in family planning, this article on home insemination kits can provide valuable information.