The Awakening

It was on a midsummer afternoon several years ago when I set out to run some errands. Cameron, who was seven years old at the time, insisted on coming along to spend a little "alone time with mom". With four children in our home, it was sometimes difficult to find the time for one-on-one moments. We had taken care of my task list, accomplished the things that needed to be done, and were on our way home when Cameron made it clear that he had added one more major task to the agenda...

He began to break down and cry. The tears quickly turned into uncontrollable sobs and, as any mom would, I began the natural inquiry, "What's wrong Cameron? Are you okay?" Still... there was no response and the sobs continued. I proceeded with my inquisition, "What's going on, honey?" Again... there was no response and the sobs became inconsolable. I proceeded to play the medical version of hot and cold... "Are you sick?" He shook his head as if to say "no". I continued, "Is your tummy hurting?" Again, he shook his head in denial. At that moment, my inquisition shifted to pleading, "Cameron... tell me what's wrong. You know, you can always talk to me and I'll always be here for you. What's going on?"...

There's something about the moments that profoundly change our lives... we tend to remember every detail... where we are, what we're doing, and - most importantly - what we feel. Every detail of the conversation that followed is etched in my mind... Like a moment frozen in time. The conversation that ensued became a chapter in my life, forever engraved in my heart. It paved a path to greater discovery that has led to a foundation of insight and profound understanding...

Cameron had always been unusually feminine. These seeming non-conformity's to "gender appropriate" interests and behaviors became blatantly obvious in our home - an environment "charged" with testosterone. I had four sons (or... so I believed at the time). Even the dog was a male. Life in our home was completely consumed by rough and tumble play compounded by incessant wrestling, shouting, climbing, competing and fighting. Our day to day life was consumed by super heroes, action figures, video games, basketball, dirt, football, and grass stains. Needless to say, Cameron's behavior stood out as being odd from an early age. He'd seize opportunities to openly express his femininity. I struggled with Cameron's independence and felt torn between the responsibility I felt to support my child and my own selfish desperation for the "phase" to run it's course so that he could finally become the "normal" boy that I had brought into the world.

A phase will do just that... a phase will "run a course". It'll end. The more time that passed, it became evident that Cameron's course was set on a path to permanency. He'd demand a girl's toy with his happy meal at fast food restaurants, he played exclusively with girls and girl's toys, he'd sit to go to the bathroom, and he'd frequently express frustration with his brothers' behavior. In later years, he was absolutely repulsed by the fact that they found belching and farting to be fantastic sources of entertainment - which frequently resulted in pass-time competitions and laughter fests.

At age three or four, Cameron announced that he hated his penis- he said it was a mistake and that it wasn't supposed to be there. He seemed relentless in his disdain for the "unwanted appendage". In my naivete and frustration, resulting from the helplessness I felt with his persistence on the matter, I made a light-hearted sarcastic joke, "What do you expect me to do about it... snip it off?" I figured he would laugh... or at the very least, come to his senses and realize that there was nothing that could be done about the situation. Sensing my frustration with the disappointment he felt in his body... he let it go. He quit talking about his penis, but the gender variant behaviors continued. In fact, in the years that followed, they intensified and became more prevalent. I would get home from work in the evenings and discover that my closet, jewelry box, and cosmetic bag were in disarray. Cameron would wear my high heels around the house. Then, interestingly, he would wrap accessory scarves around his head and tie them behind his neck so that the ends would cascade down his back like hair. He would move his head so that the ends would sway back and forth when he walked, pull the ends over his shoulders, and flip them behind his back with his hand.

All along, I lovingly supported him in his interests and tried to make sure that he knew that I loved him. I wanted him to know - without any doubt - that my love was unconditional... that he could be himself... if only - in our home. So, you'd think the conversation that followed that afternoon wouldn't have come as a shock or even a remote surprise. Although, there were plenty of precursors, I felt completely unprepared for the moments that followed.

"Cameron... tell me what's wrong. You know you can always talk to me, and I'll always be here for you. What's going on?"

Doing the best to control his emotions, he wiped the tears from his cheeks and looked at me with a profound sadness in his eyes. I could tell he was afraid... that it was taking every ounce of courage in his body to express what was coming next... "I'm not like other boys." I tussled his hair with my hand, "It's okay, baby." He didn't stop there... he continued, "I feel like I'm supposed to be a girl." The tears turned back into sobs. He repeated, "There's something bad wrong with me."

My heart swelled with love. The pain that he was feeling was so intense, it was palpable. His heartache permeated our surroundings and engulfed his sobs. I felt overcome with peace as I pulled the car to the side of the road. I took his hand in mine and with the other hand, grabbed his chin. I turned his tear-stained face toward mine so that our eyes locked. By this time, tears were streaming down my face too. I looked steadfast into his eyes and spoke with vigilant conviction, "Cameron, there's nothing 'wrong' with you. Do you hear me? There's nothing wrong with you..." We cried together for what seemed like a good while, then together, we began our journey. I had looked at Cameron thousands of times, but in that sacred moment I began to understand... For the first time in my life, I was blessed to "see" my daughter. I told her that diversity in the world was good and it's the differences in life that make the world beautiful. I told her that, although others may never understand what she feels or who she is, she would always be loved and accepted in our home. I explained that my love was unconditional and that I wanted her to feel free to express herself naturally.

My child has more courage than anyone I know... she's not afraid to be herself... she's strong... extremely strong... strong enough to teach her parents, what should've been obvious all along. She's courageous in the face of adversity and her courage gives me strength. If she can face this challenge in her life... then I can certainly face it with her. I have become a champion for her... her biggest fan... and an advocate for her needs and interests. From that point forward I began to, not just support, but truly understand Cameron's gender needs. Buying her toys and clothes what were gender appropriate became an act of embracing her identity as opposed to "supporting her interests". From that point forward she could, not only openly express herself in our home, but our support shifted to a quest for understanding. I immediately began to search for the answers that would help me to understand her better. I began to research gender issues and immersed myself in gender-related research and study. It wasn't long before my independent inquiries led me to an Internet link about transgender children. I sat in shock... completely amazed as I read the words printed on the page. I lost myself in the information that seemed to explicitly describe my child...

1. Expressed desire to be the opposite sex (including passing oneself off as the opposite sex and calling oneself by an opposite sex name).

2. Disgust with their own genitals (Boys may pretend not to have a penis. Girls may fear growing breasts and menstruating and may refuse to sit when urinating. They also may bind their breasts to make them less noticeable.)

3. Belief that they will grow up to become the opposite sex.

4. Rejection by their peer groups.

5. Dressing and behaving in a manner typical of the opposite sex (for example, a female wearing boy's underwear).

6. Withdrawal from social interaction and activity.

7. Feelings of isolation, depression, and anxiety.

I quickly realized that I would need to seek out medical support and educate myself if I were ever going to advocate for my child's happiness. I knew that we had a long road ahead... but I also knew that if my child could find peace and happiness in life, it would be a worthwhile journey.

In the Beginning...

Cameron's life began like most other children's lives. I'll never forget the day that he came into my world and the announcement was made, "It's a beautiful baby boy!" What joy... what gratitude I felt at that moment and in the years that followed as the blessings of this precious little spirit were realized. Cameron has been blessed with many special gifts, talents, and attributes... but along with those endowments has come some extreme challenges...

Cameron's body and spirit are not in harmony with one another. As Cameron began to develop, we noticed some excentricities in his behavior and interests. Cameron preferred to sit rather than stand when using the bathroom, and rather than developing an affinity for trucks, action heroes, sharks, dinosaurs, or other traditional boy interests - we noticed that he consistently made his way to the hot pink Barbie section of the toy store. On occasion, when I'd agree to buy he or his brothers a toy, his brothers would ask for something like a truck or action figure and Cameron would insist on a doll. I felt compelled to support him in his interests and I'd buy him a doll. After all, I thought - specifically calculating the reprucautions "If one of the boys asks for a truck and gets a truck... and Cameron asks for a doll and gets a truck, then without saying a word, I send the message that I don't accept him." Over the years, I felt angered by the strict gender roles present in our society that seemed to exclude my child. I would recite questions in my head, "Why can't he play with dolls? What's wrong with dolls? Boys become parents too. Why can't he wear pink if he wants to? Pink is just a color. Why shouldn't he sit to go to the bathroom? Is there a rulebook somewhere that states that all boys have to stand to go to the bathroom?" It seemed rediculous and I wanted for people to open their minds and their hearts, I wished that society could embrace Cameron - or at least allow him to be himself without a bunch of gender biased expectations.



These unique interests seemed to affect other areas of his life as well, from the cartoons he preferred to watch on television (most notably an obsession with the Powerpuff Girls), to the pictures he drew. While my older son was drawing pictures of sharks or combat scenes, Cameron would consistently draw pictures of hearts, butterflies, flowers, little girls, and sunshine. Probably the most curious thing about his illustrations was the fact that he always drew himself as a little girl with long hair or pigtails, and a dress. His preferred color scheme was always pastel with an affinity for various shades of pink and purple.

As he grew a little older, his physical mannerisms, which were always feminine, gradually betrayed him as they exposed his true gender identity. He talked, laughed, walked, ran, and even sat like a girl. Through it all, I consistently tried to maintain a balance and focus... to support him in his interests while trying desperately to protect him from the callous judgement of a sexually binary society. It was no easy task and I soon realized the challenges that lie ahead. Cameron didn't fit into the male or female gender stereotypes and over the years the inner conflict and turmoil started to take it's toll on his self concept, and magnified my inadequacies as a parent. I wished, more than anything, that I could change the world... I desperately wanted to make it a happier place for him... a place where people would understand and accept him... somewhere far removed from ridicule and torment.

I finally came to a conclusion... "if I can't make the world a happier place, then I will do all that I can to make Cameron a happier child." My rationale quickly shifted from dwelling on those things that I could not control, to making the most of the things that I could. I prayed about it and the answer that I received became very clear "Love him... even as I have loved you."

I decided that I was going to continue to give Cameron my unconditional love and support, and allow him to express himself naturally... at the very least in our home. As a result, our home became a Utopian environment for Cameron and a safe haven for self expression. It seemed to be enough... for a while. As Cameron's physical body began to develop more and more masculine characteristics, his psychological female gender identity became more obvious to those around him. The ridicule and torment that had once been a frequent challenge in his life, became incessant. Then, to make matters worse, he was assigned to "THE TEACHER"... the one that we all have at some point in our childhood... the one that torments your life and makes your world a living hell. She targeted Cameron, and made him the focus of classroom ridicule, which exacerbated the challenges that he faced with his peers. She moved his desk from among his classmates and placed it in the corner of the classroom, facing the wall - so that he couldn't put his hands inside it. She left him there... not for a day... not for a week... not for a month... she left my child alone in the corner for four months, until we moved to a new community and transfered him out of the school system.

At one point last year, Cameron had gone to school wearing pink fingernail polish that he had put on over the weekend. He had forgotten to remove it, and when he came home I noticed that he had been chewing on the tips of his fingers and fingernails, frantically trying to remove the polish. As soon as I walked through the door, he asked for some fingernail polish remover. There was a sense of urgency in his voice. He was clearly upset. I asked him what had happened and he said that he had been teased at school. He didn't go into detail about the events of the day. Of course his classmates had a party, criticizing and harassing him. At lunch he was too intimidated to eat because he didn't want any of the kids to see his fingernails, so he just sat at the table with his hands hidden in his lap, trying to prevent further criticism. His teacher saw him sitting there and demanded that he eat. She said, "You're the one who put the nail polish on your fingers... don't try to hide it now!" When Cameron refused to eat, she punished him by sending him to eat alone at the "silent table". Then she walked by and touted in sarcasm, "What's wrong Cameron? You don't have any friends? I'll be your friend."

I knew things were difficult for Cameron at school, but I hadn't realized the extent to which his teacher had been tormenting his life. He was afraid to cross her because he knew that he would have to return to her class. It wasn't until last week, after we had moved and Cameron felt safe, that he began to share some of the horrors of what he had experienced under her "professional" care as an "educator". It beggs the question... "What was she teaching the children???" Cameron's journal entry demonstrates his frustration....