The Trans Doll
The year was 1986 and Cabbage Patch Dolls were flying off the shelves.
I saved my allowance until I had the princely sum of $30, then my mom took me shopping. I made a beeline to the Cabbage Patch display and picked out the doll I wanted - a bald preemie, with a blue and white dress. I wanted a baby girl doll so bad, and blue was my favourite colour.
I couldn’t wait to get that doll home and tear open the box. I hugged her and admired her, gazed into her green eyes, dressed and undressed her, changed her diaper, bottle fed her. It was the only doll I ever took an interest in - normally, I was not the sort of girl to play with dolls.
Then I pulled the paperwork out of the box, and searched eagerly for the birth certificate to find out her name was Kevin.
Kevin? But she’s a girl. Isn’t she?
Without skipping a beat, I christened her Karen, and henceforth, she was a girl doll. At the tender age of 9, I became the loving mom to a transgender doll.
As life is wont to do, it presents repeating patterns, providing a perpetual learning experience. The universe had primed me with a little dose of foreshadowing.
When I was 25, I became a mom for the first time to a beautiful baby girl. Two years later, I welcomed a sweet baby boy, and my family felt complete.
My kids had a gender-neutral upbringing, with no boy- or girl-designated colours, toys, or movies. They both played with blocks and Lego, castles and stuffed animals. We mucked about in the sand box, played dress up, danced around to music, and read the same books together. I didn’t play up pink princesses nor did I glorify war games.
For a long while, my daughter preferred purple and wanted to wear it from head to toe. Sometimes she wanted to wear hand-me-downs from a male friend who was a bit bigger. Occasionally, only a Cinderella gown would do. And from time to time, she dressed up her brother, a willing participant, in “girly” clothes.
I left the door open for my kids to explore whatever interested them.
When my daughter was 14, I found out she identified as a lesbian. Then at 16, she told me she was non-binary and wanted to be called by new pronouns (they/them) and a new name. They also alluded to hormones and gender-affirming surgery down the road.
Now, years later, they have settled into their identity via gender, name and pronouns, but they face an uphill battle in everyday life. They are subject to discrimination and judgement from narrow minded people who seek to hurt transgender folks: to disrespect them, to deny their rights, to ridicule them to their face.
In the final analysis, what is gender?
Binary gender norms are a social construct. Society agreed to think of gender in a certain way, that’s what makes it so. It’s the same as society agreeing on a currency being used to trade for goods and services - money is only worth something because we say it is, and we all buy into the idea. Dominant society had agreed that there are two genders, despite the existence of differing gender expressions from time immemorial.
Gender is a spectrum. There have always been extremely feminine women, and less feminine women, just as there are extremely masculine men, and less masculine men. The same person might not land on the same area of the spectrum on any given day.
Suicidal ideation can stem from gender dysphoria, which arises from the distress caused by a mismatch between gender identity and sex assigned at birth. It is culturally acceptable for a cisgender woman in our society to modify her body with breast implants or even a breast reduction, but female-to-male top surgery remains taboo. Surgical interventions can not only make people feel more comfortable in their body, but gender-affirming care can be life-saving for trans and gender-diverse people.
The concept of binary pronouns is another instance of dichotomized conditioning. It’s time to rethink that construct and extend beyond the box that society wants to keep us in. It was a struggle at first to get my brain and mouth to do what I wanted and refer to my child by new pronouns. The conditioning runs deep.
A child’s name is simply a gift parents give. Gifts are not obligations. You give things to people, and you hope they like them. If it doesn’t work for them anymore, they’re not obligated to keep it.
It is said that parents are uniquely equipped to raise the children they are given. Reminiscing about the doll I so longed for when I was nine makes me think there are no mistakes.
I chose my doll based on its appearance - I wanted a preemie with a blue and white dress - I wanted a girl. When I got it home and fell in love with it, I found out it wasn’t a girl at all and everything changed. But did it?
I loved that doll with a passion, gender surprise notwithstanding.
When I was expecting, I didn't want to know the gender of my kids prior to their birth. Whether my child was born a girl or boy made no difference to how much I love them. Why should it make a difference if I find out their gender later in life?
My trans child was who they were all along. And I remain who I was all along: their ally, their supporter, their fiercely loving mom.
My son was born female and was always a "tomboy" wearing his brother's hand me down clothes. He had his girly moments too, playing with make up and wearing dresses. At age 8 he used to say he was half a boy. Later I found out it was because he figured he was a boy on the inside and a girl on the outside, so must be half a boy.
Puberty did a really number on him, however, and he fell into a depression. In 7th grade he came out as non-binary, and 8th grade as male. He's now 17 and so happy in his body. Gender affirming care literally saved his life.
Thanks for sharing Amy. It's important to share such personal stories as they start to slowly pick away at unhelpful stereotypes and prejudice in the world today. I'd like to share a link to this story in my newsletter on Sunday.