My New Son

“I would like you to call me ‘Joseph’ now,” says Amanda.

I stare at my child across the table at a local restaurant. Many, many memories fly through my thoughts filling my mind until, at last, I focus on the person sitting across from me. I tear up remembering the time that she loved wearing her pink cowboy boots even in the summer, to when she stopped wearing her girlie clothes, to when she cut off 18 inches of her hair, and then finally to this moment. 

The waitress comes by to ask how our dinners are. I mumble something positive hoping that the tears would not fall onto my cheeks at that moment, and she leaves. The place is busy but not too loud. Our dinners are always big portions of food that I can never finish. We end up taking half of our meals home almost every time.

“Are you okay, Mama? Why are you crying?” she asks. I can see the nervousness and the questioning look wondering if I will be anything other than supportive.

I blink back the tears. I saw the changes in my child over the last couple of years. Friends disappearing from her life, clothing changes, hair changes, attitude changes. There is something else going on but right now this is what she is telling me. This is what will help make her feel better. 

“I don’t have a daughter anymore, do I?” I ask her though it is more of a statement. I want to hug her and pretend that she’s 2 years old again when she had a head full of curls and a laugh that would make you smile just hearing it. She is so independent. Hearing her say, “I do it” on a task-to-task basis while growing up was a daily statement. Does she hope that being a boy will make that easier?

She doesn’t say anything but instead nods her head. I look at her. She’s beautiful! Her hazel eyes, wide mouth that has a fantastic smile, the short hair that she looks amazing with, and the costume she is wearing. It is Halloween night and she decided to dress as David Tenant playing Dr. Who. She looks great! She is tall and thin just like David. She wasn’t always thin. She was the fattest baby! Cheeks with jowls that jiggled when she moved and cushioned her face when she slept on my shoulder.

I found the Dr. Who suit jacket online, the tie and shirt came from her brother’s private school years, the sneakers were an absolute steal online and I knew she would wear them even after Halloween was over. I saw the trenchcoat at a local thrift shop. I had to order the sonic screwdriver from a fan-based Dr. Who site but it was worth it! She looked the part and I had a great time finding all of the outfit pieces and putting it together for her. 

She has stopped eating and is just looking at me. I have been tearing up and staring at my child. I don’t have a daughter. I don’t have a daughter. This mantra starts and I cannot stop the panic filling me. 

Am I surprised? Yes. No! No, not really. I had a hint of something different about a month ago but decided to just not think about it. I don’t think I wanted to deal with it at the time. It was too confusing. I was not ready to ask the questions. Definitely not ready to hear the answers.

“Why didn’t you tell me when I found your school paper with the name ‘Joseph’ on it?” I found the English assignment amidst other school things on the kitchen table. I was thinking the wrong paper was grabbed and brought home.

“I wasn’t ready,” she says and shrugs. “Are you alright?” she asks me.

It was easier to accept the explanation at that time that it was a school nickname and that was all. I feel so stupid! I should’ve asked about it then! No. I am glad I didn’t. She wasn’t ready. I know she was not ready to tell me then. If I pushed it might have turned out bad. This isn’t a bad time. It is not a great time but I see why she chose now. It is in public. She knows I will not sob in public or ask too many personal questions. For her, this restaurant is her safe zone. I understand. 

“So, do you feel like a boy? I mean...I am sorry. I do not know how to address this correctly and I know I will need to be blunt about some of these things because I do not have the words,” I am just talking so fast at this point that even my brain cannot keep up on the words coming out of my mouth.

“It’s alright. I know it is a shock. Yes, I feel like I should’ve been born a boy.” 

But why?? Is it something I did? Is it because she has a brother so she wants to be a boy too? Did something happen at school? I saw no inclination of this for 14 years. What changed? Was it the divorce? Was it new friends? She spends a lot of time on her phone...was it something she saw online?

The dark circles under her eyes are more pronounced now. Her white skin shows every blemish. She has always had such lovely coloring. 

“So, do I call you my son now instead of my daughter?” Tears are streaming down my face leaving wet tracks towards my neck. I don’t have a daughter…

“Yes. And also use male pronouns,” she says quietly. 

Son. He. His. He’s a boy. I have two sons now. But why? Why do I not have a daughter anymore? I am hearing her words and understanding them. At least my brain is understanding them. My heart is broken. It is pumping to a different rhythm. I carried this person for 8 months and 28 days. My body knows her as a girl. I breastfed a girl. I changed the diapers of a girl.

I take a deep breath and say slowly, “Okay. It will take a while for me to get in the habit. I have called you ‘Amanda’ and referred to you as my daughter for 16 years. This is going to take time,” I say this with as much love as I can.

“I know. You’re going to try?” he asks me sounding hopeful.

“Yes! I will try,” I say smiling through the grief and pain of losing a daughter; of having my small world turned around and around so much lately that it seems I am walking drunkenly through my days.

Joseph smiles and my heart melts. I love that smile. It is still the same smile. Why has everything changed but not really changed? 

The waitress comes over and asks us if we want to take our dinners home and if we would like dessert tonight. We both decline extra food and ask for to-go containers. Joseph is still nervous. I can see it in the way his slim frame is sitting in the chair. 

I reach across the table and open up my hand to him. He looks at me, puts his long fingers slowly in mine, and smiles through his own tears. He curls his fingers into mine and we just look at each other. 

“I love you. No matter what you are going through I will love you. I may not understand what you are feeling but I will try. You are more important to me than you believe. Your feelings matter. You matter. I will always be on your side,” I say as the tears come down my face full force. His own tears have fallen on his cheeks. 

He needs me and he needs my support. I need to suck it up. I have not lost anyone. He’s not dead. My child is still sitting in front of me. Alive. I will try to understand. This is my problem, not hers...his. He. ‘Joseph’ is my son. My new son.