"My friend is mad at me." Usually when my daughter comes home from school, she ignores me or, at best, answers me in one-word sentences. I knew to run quickly into this open door.
"What happened?" I asked, anticipating her middle-school answers of "She thinks I like this other person" or "I wouldn't sit with her at lunch" or "We wore the same sweatpants and people thought we matched on purpose."
"She's mad at me because I think people who are transgender are normal."
I wasn't expecting that. Yes! sang my inner activist-Mom-soul.
"Tell me more," as I swung the door of conversational opportunity wide open.
"Well, she asked me what you did for a living. I told her you do diversity stuff. She asked what that meant. So, I said that you try to end racism and sexism. I said that you talk to people about privilege and that you try to make the world more fair for people who are lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender."
This is awesome. Why? Because when my other daughter was 5-years old, she told people that I did aerobics for a living. I have no idea...
"So my friend said that she thinks transgender people .. and I corrected her and said 'people who are transgender' ... but anyways, she said that she thinks it's disgusting and against God."
"She said it was against God?" I asked. I, myself, had just come from church that afternoon, and that comment hit me in a particular way. "Okay, that sounds interesting. What was your response back to her?"
"Well, I told her that everyone has a right to their religion, but that I was taught that God made us and chose us for a journey that we were meant to have."
"Wait, wait," I interrupted. "Can I film this? Because, for real, I think you're about to drop some serious knowledge and I want other people to see and hear you say this. Can I?"
"No." There's the one-word answer I was looking for.
"So, she then said that God doesn't make mistakes and so if God made you a man you should stay a man."
I held my breath. I couldn't believe my 11-year old was having this conversation at lunch.
"So, I told her that when I was in your belly, that God gave me cancer. And, when I came out of your belly, I had cancer. And, when I was two years old and finally realized I had cancer, I had to do something or I was going to die. I had to take out my entire eye -- an eye that God gave me -- so that I could live. If I stayed the way God made me, I would be dead."
I began to cry. She's eleven.
"And, I told her about how many young people who are gay have killed themselves because they felt that God made them and that they shouldn't be gay. And they weren't accepted by their families. And, they died. If I didn't change the body that God gave me, I would be dead, too."
I can't even....
She continued, "If someone is born in a body that God gave them, but that body isn't right. Then they might make a choice to change something about their bodies so that they can stay alive. That's what I had to do. If someone is transgender and they need to be in a different body, then they should do it."
"Okay, then what happened?"
"She said, 'No. They should just deal with it.' She got really mad at me and then she walked away. I wasn't mad at her, but I know I had offended her."
I couldn't speak. I was overwhelmed. My heart, my soul, and my spirit were overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by her sadness. Overwhelmed by her compassion. Overwhelmed by how readily she could articulate faith, gender, acceptance, and understanding.
"I'm really sad that she's mad at me, Mom. I'm sad that she's mad about me not agreeing with her. I know that you do this kind of stuff for a living, but I am going to do it for my life."
That's exactly why I do it, too, Joli.
Peace, love, and brave conversations,