After weeks of hemming and hawing about the 8th grade semi-formal, C decided she wanted to go. So many things to think about: How would she dress? Would she wear make-up? How about her fingernails - polish or no? She was ready to take C out for a spin properly for the first time ever. This was a very big deal.
We only had an afternoon to find just the right outfit due to the last minute decision. And the outfit finding was an adventure in itself. She didn't want to wear a dress but wanted to be feminine. She wanted to be unmistakably herself while also being clear that things were changing. She settled on a great combination of skinny black trousers, a fitted button down with a Star Wars tie and light blue converse. We had a few things in the trolley, excited about our finds. We dashed to the fitting room where our excitement screeched to a halt as we were confronted by the Fitting Room Nazi:
"Hang your items up there! Only SIX items! He can go in over there!"
"She."
"Huh?!"
"She."
"Oh... She... Ok. ????"
Fitting Room Nazi was clearly befuddled by my daughter, dressed in her boys' school uniform, shopping in the girls' section. I admit, in light of the current brouhaha over so-called "transgender bathroom bills," my heart was racing. C was jittery and I was ready for a fight. Happily it never came. To her credit, Fitting Room Nazi composed herself and allowed us in to the women's section.
The first set of trousers made C look like an anorexic stay at home mum. Not the look we were going for. The next pair were better but not really the trendy young teen we were going for. The last pair were perfect. Skinny trousers that didn't accentuate C's lack of curves and looked perfect with the giant converse. We held our breath a C tried on the shirt. It was PERFECT. Not too much room for non-existent boobs, tailored at the waist to give the appearance of curves and a nice open collar look that showed off the new trans necklace her dad and I got her - an imperative of any outfit she chooses right now. Finally, the pièce de résistance, The Tie. The tie pulled the whole outfit together and C was beaming from ear to ear. I couldn't help but think, "We just might pull this off."
The next day C told me she wanted to do her nails and pluck her eyebrows, "all the stuff." I took that to mean, she wanted a girly day before the dance, just like most of the girls at school were planning. When it was time to start getting ready, she was nervous and demanding - eager for everything to be done in lightening speed. I told her part of the fun of a girly day was taking your time and enjoying the process. She harrumphed but soon settled in to the fun. We put on some music ("Why do we need music?!" "Because you need music for a girly day.") and lay out all her clothes to make sure everything was present and accounted for. Then it was time for the beauty regimen.
Most little girls grow up practicing make-up and smudging their nail polish. For C there had been no practice run. Her first experience with these things was going to be a very important event in her life and the pressure was enormous. I got her calmed down long enough to paint her nails a gorgeous deep metallic purple ("I have to wait how long for them to dry?!"). Next she wanted to do her eyebrows. I explained how that would work and that it's not terribly comfortable so she'd need to be patient.
Now, C has heavy brows like her dad so she's going to need a proper waxing to tame them the way she's envisioning but I wanted to help her tidy them up for the dance. With every pluck she winced. "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow." as each stray hair came out. After I plucked a few she shouted, "HOW MANY MORE?" "I don't know, sweetheart," I answered. "HOW MANY?! TEN, TWENTY?! HOW MANY?!" "Twenty," I responded, hoping it would be the answer she wanted to hear. It worked long enough to get to a stopping point. I had her look in the mirror to see if she saw the difference she wanted to see. Nope. So off we went again, "Ow. ow. ow. ow..." The things we do for beauty.
Nails painted and brows tweezed hair was next. We had planned to get some temporary dye to put a strip of color in the front of her hair but forgot. Next best thing? Marker. So I dutifully colored her hair, strand by strand, until she had a nice block of purple to match the tie and the nails. I showed her how to use hairspray and a blow dryer to get the hair to set in a style so it would stay put all night. Final touch before the clothes? Make up.
She hadn't told me before she wanted to do make-up, but I assumed that would eventually come up so I had thought a bit about it a bit. When she said she wanted to wear some, I showed her how to do a light dusting of powder, blending carefully around her jawline and eyes ("This stuff smells awful"), some blush on her cheekbones, a little eye liner on her bottom lid ("Don't poke me in the eye!") with a light touch of mascara to make her eyes pop. Not enough make-up to make people think she's a street walker but enough for her to feel feminine and notice a difference in her appearance. She checked herself in the mirror and smiled. Success.
Finally, the clothes. C had wanted to surprise her dad with her new look, and dad was nervous to be sure. This would be the first glimpse of his daughter, in a way. But when my husband saw C step in to the kitchen, made-up and bedecked, he beamed! He could still see his son - the one with a Star Wars obsession - in his beautiful new daughter - the one who still has a Star Wars obsession. It wasn't a big, scary thing seeing his child dressed this way. It seemed natural. He could see how happy she was. That she is truly becoming herself and it made him happy.
We picked up one of C's friends who knows she is trans and headed to the dance. Several of C's friends know but it's far from public knowledge at the school - this was going to be the big reveal and C was bouncing with excitement. We had discussed possible reactions and how to handle any nastiness with C ahead of time, hoping it wasn't necessary but wanting her prepared, nonetheless. We dropped C and her friend off outside the venue just as a classmate C has known since kindergarten walked past. "Hey J," he said, using C's original name. As he said it, he did the biggest comedy double take I have ever seen, eyes bulging. But then he carried on as if nothing had happened. My husband and I laughed at the exchanged and heaved a sigh of relief. If that's how the evening goes, it'll be ok.
When C arrived home nearly four hours later, she had a flush in her cheeks we've never seen. She was so alive! She told us about how one after the other of the kids came up to her and asked her if she was a girl now, if she was trans, etc and how, each time when she answered yes, the kids would say "cool" and move along. No animosity at all. No teasing. No nastiness. We are are not under the illusion that this will be the norm -- there WILL be hard times -- but we are so grateful to her community for accepting her as she stepped out for her big night. Now she can leave middle school, not scarred by rejection and hatred, but warmed by the goodness of people. Even here, in this red state.