This is a story I had given up on. It just seemed trite. Then I realized I was telling it from the wrong viewpoint. Mathew's viewpoint may may offend or trigger some people, but here it is.
It was the worst holiday I can remember. No, it was the worst day I can remember, period.
I was in the kitchen helping Mary cut up a pork loin for our traditional New Years day family dinner of shrimp cocktails followed by chop suey when Jeremy came down the stairs. I couldn’t take it all in at once. It was all just total perversion.
His too long hair was in a high ponytail held by a lacy elastic. He was wearing one of his sister’s Sunday dresses and had clearly borrowed one of her bras, too. I remember wondering, as if it mattered, where he had found the high heeled shoes on his feet. They were too big to be belong to Martha or his mother. He had smeared lipstick on his mouth and some kind of color over his eyes. Mary and I both just gaped at our sixteen year old son. Then we found our voices simultaneously, shouting over and through each other.
“Jeremy Allen Pierce!” From Mary.
“Jeremy! Get out of those clothes right now! And wash your face!” I roared; before adding, still yelling, if not so loud: “and get back down here.”
Jeremy just stood there, looking down at his high heels. It became obvious that he’d used some kind of eye-liner as it ran down his cheeks. Finally, he looked up at us.
“Mom, Dad, this is who I am, who I’ve always been. I’ve know I was a girl for as long as I can remember. My new years resolution was to tell you that I’m Jennifer, not Jeremy. I know what the bible says about men in women’s clothes, but I’ve never been a man. I never will be.”
He started to say more but I’d heard enough. “You may not be much of a man but You’ll never be a woman. I don’t know where you got all of this “Woke” nonsense from. It wasn’t from us or anyone at the academy. Go change into your own clothes, NOW!”
He defied me!
“No, dad: I can’t go back. I prayed so many nights for the courage to do this. I prayed so many other nights to just die. I don’t think I can do it again….. I won’t go back.”
I have never struck my children. My father had hit me too many times to no benefit that I ever saw. I might have then if Mary hadn’t grabbed my arm and shouted at Jeremy to go. Knowing she was right, that I was out of control, I let her turn me away from my son. I could hear him sobbing, hear Mary sobbing.
I turned back toward Jeremy and spoke with all the calm I could muster. “I’m going to the church to pray and talk to pastor Franks about helping you. Don’t worry. He can keep secrets. No one needs to know about this. Now go and change.”
Again, he defied me!
He looked back at me and stopped sobbing just long enough to choke out a faint “no” and then again louder “NO! I WON’T.”
Mary got between us again, but I made no move toward him. I hesitated for a second, but I knew what I had to say. It was my duty as his father, to save his soul and to protect the rest of our tight knit congregation from his willful sins. “You cannot live your perverted lifestyle here. I am going now to church where I’ll pray for you. When I return you will be dressed in your proper clothes and I’ll cut off that hair. I was wrong to allow it.” I went out the door without my winter coat and walked the seven blocks to the church
Jeremy was gone when I returned.
The temperature dropped into the teens that night with wind-chills in the single digits. Jeremy couldn’t have gone to any of his friends dressed like that. They all attended Calvary Academy just as he did. Neither they nor there parents would take in a boy in a dress. At least he took his heavy jacket, perhaps because the academy jackets were the same for boys and girls.
I heard Mary crying off and on all night. I got up and paced. I could hear stirring in Martha’s bedroom, too. She had wisely stayed in her room this morning but I knew that her brother's leaving had affected her. I had done the only thing I could do. Pastor Franks had agreed that Jeremy’s soul was at risk. That was more important than freezing weather.
I didn’t have a very productive day at work on the second. I couldn’t concentrate. I was remembering times with Jeremy, trying to find where I’d gone wrong. Or maybe Mary had. No. I wasn’t going to blame my failings on my wife. It was my duty to teach my son to be man. I hadn’t. I was checking my phone every few minutes, too; hoping he’d call or text that he was ready to come home. Overall there was a bit of carry-over at work from the holiday that helped to conceal mental wanderings.
In bible study that night pastor Franks talked about staying true to christian values that are under assault by the “woke” liberal agenda. He even cited Deuteronomy and talked about queer men pretending to be women. He didn’t mention Jeremy, of course. No one knows about him yet. I knew It was aimed at me, reassuring me that I had done the right thing; the only thing a Christian could do. I just sat there checking my phone, thinking of the parable of the prodigal son. I wanted to welcome my son home.
It was cold again that night. About one a.m. I got up and dug Jeremy’s sleeping bag out of the basement. I hung it over the front step railing with his favorite knit hat stuffed inside before opening the garage door and sounding the car horn four times. If he was in the neighborhood yet...
It was still there in the morning.
That day it was Trent’s day to control the radio. We had long ago agreed to play CBN and NPR on alternating days rather than have a volume war. I hoped that he might benefit from the Christian programming and I suspect he felt the same way about me and NPR’S woke slant on life. I was having a hard enough time concentrating when a segment came on about the fate of homeless young men. I hoped Jeremy wasn’t becoming a drug addict like the boy they were interviewing, but having turned his back on God he was certainly in danger of it. I just couldn’t listen to any more of it.
“Turn it off, please.” I said.
“Why? It’s my turn to choose the station.”
“Just turn it of,...Please.” “”
“Fine. I’ll play that hip-hop station then.”
“No, please. Just until they change topics. Jeremy’s out there.” Then everything I’d been holding in came out. “He’” and then I turned away so he wouldn’t see my tears.
Trent turned of the radio, then shut down both of our machines.
Handing me a clean shop rag, he asked “Jeremy is out where?” Why?”
I’m not sure why I told him. All we had in common was working next to each other. I guess I just had to talk about it. Andy came over at one point but let Trent wave him away without ever asking why we weren’t working. He’s a good boss. He’ll square the down time with accounting, somehow. When I finished Trent just handed me another rag and then stared up into space for a bit.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Matt.” he said. In a shop full of random profanity, He doesn’t curse. He’s not a Christian but says the words have lost all meaning from overuse. It was almost as shocking as if Mary said it.
“Blasphemy won’t help”
“Somethings got to get your attention. Don’t you pay any attention to the radio when NPR is on? LGBT kids are at high risk for suicide. She may have just lay down and froze somewhere. Were you paying any attention to the programs about transgender people? You didn’t even make an effort to understand you daughter. You just threw her out in a Minnesota winter….. Did you even call the police?”
If I wasn’t so emotionally drained I think I would have hit him. As it was I just stared at my hands and wrapped and unwrapped them in the wet rags I was holding.
“It’s not like that. Jeremy isn’t one of those sick people. He’s just, I don’t know, confused?”
“It doesn’t sound to me like Jennifer is confused. She may have been optimistic about your reaction but you had better pray that she was realistic enough to have a plan B. Or maybe knowing you as well as she does it was plan A. You’ve known that kid all her life. Do you really think she would do something this drastic if she had a choice.”
“Pastor Franks has been praying for him. Mary and I and Martha are all praying for him. Tell me what else I can do and I’ll do it.”
“You stubborn idiot.” Suddenly he stood up. “let’s go” Raising his voice he called to Andy “Sign us out early, please. I’ll explain tomorrow.”
“Where? Are we going to find Jeremy?”
"If you’re very lucky we might find Jennifer. More than likely we won’t. You have to learn some things. Or maybe unlearn some things.”
“I don’t need to listen to a bunch of woke propaganda. I need to get my son back.”
“I guarantee you won’t get your child back if you don’t work with the people who have some insight into the problem. You said to tell you what else you could do. As things stand now the best you’ll get is that she’s safely in the foster care system. Now, let’s go.”
I followed him to the locker room and then to his truck, not really knowing why. It didn’t feel like the best thing to do but it was doing something. That, I realized, was something I needed. Instead of starting the truck Trent pulled out his phone. He touched the chrome icon and the microphone before saying “transgender support near me.”
“The closest seems to be an LGBT services coordination center, whatever that means, in St. Paul. I’d hoped for something closer.”
Then he started the engine and mercifully turned off the radio before we set out. The twenty minute drive was mostly passed in silence. I kept thinking about what he’d said. Increased risk of suicide. And praying. Trent seemed content to leave me to my thoughts.
The LGBT services coordination center occupied a storefront in a less than desirable part of St Paul. I let Trent explain our presence as I still seemed to be following passively where he led. The shirtless young man in a leather vest at the reception desk just spoke into an intercom. “Shirl, we have a couple of guys here who need to see you.” and returned to the craft magazine he was reading when we entered, something about leather.
I was reassured when the tall, forty something woman who came out was more professionally attired in a bluish gray skirt and white blouse. “Hello,” she said. “My name is Shirley White. Please follow me. When we had been seated in a pair of molded plastic chairs she asked “how can I help you?”
I let Trent once again do the explaining.
“So you want me to help you find a girl you’ve already thrown out once?”
That broke through my apathy. “I didn’t throw him”
“HER! You don’t misgender people here! If she’s presenting as a female then she’s female.”
“O. K., but I didn’t throw her out. He,….. She, she ran away while I was I gone.”
“What else could she do? She already told you she couldn’t go back to being a boy. Did you think she’d wait for you to beat her into submission.?”
I leaped to my feet, face burning, fist clenched. I glared at her for moment and then slumped back into my chair just before the big young receptionist crashed through the door.
“Thanks, Arnie. It was a false alarm. I was a little too quick with the button.”
“You’re sure your safe?” he asked as he somehow hovered simultaneously over both Trent and I.
“It’s all right. I miss-interpreted the gentleman's agitation”.
“Do you need me to stay?”
“No, thank you. That won’t be necessary.”
We sat quietly as he left and then Shirley spoke. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I just spent two hours holding the hand of a girl who was beaten for what’s in her panties and let some of my anger about that out on you.”
“The girl,” I choked out, “it couldn’t have been jer er jennifer, was it.”
For the first time since we met her Shirley’s face softened and she answered in a quieter, deeper voice. Hearing it , I realized what she was, or had been. “No, this girl is black. She was beaten up by an angry John. She would have been safer working a few miles away where their looking for boys. But she isn’t a boy.”
“Thank you. At least I’m sure my…..daughter will never face that danger. She would never.”
She cut me off. “People do what they have to to survive: or they don’t survive. You have no right to judge J’Marra. But, getting back to finding your daughter. I can’t help you. We’re an unofficial volunteer organization. State regulations don’t allow them to refer minors through us. We can’t afford all of the background checks they want. You need to speak to Janet Wilkins over at county social services. I work with her for indigent clients who are over eighteen. Part of her job is LGBT liaison for the branches. If a trans minor has been picked up by the police or contacted any of their branches she’ll get a report.”
“Can you call her?” Trent asked,” or give us her number?”
“She won’t discuss a minor over the phone or without proof of your relationship. You’ll have to go to her office.”
Janet Wilkin’s office was back across the river in Minneapolis. Unlike the coordination place it was in a big modern office building full of municipal and county offices. Having left my apathetic state, I tried to express my gratitude to Trent on the drive over there.
“Trent, thank you. You have truly been my good Samaritan. When my pastor offered nothing, abandoning my child who has been a member of his flock, you have stepped up and given me hope despite the cost of time off and travel. You deny being a Christian but you have acted in a manner Christians aspire to.”
“You know, Matt, I’m the farthest thing from a Christian but I like a lot of the things Jesus is supposed to have said. Like about loving your neighbor. By the way, did you know that wasn’t original to him. The answer he gave about the greatest of the commandments was a quote that would have been recognized by Jewish scholars of the day. But, He had the right idea. Anyway, we're here.”
Evidently, Shirley White had called ahead about us and we quickly found ourselves speaking to Janet Wilkins. Or rather, she was speaking to me.
“You gave your child an ultimatum that forced her onto the streets. Why will she be better off if I help you.”
“I never meant for Jeremy to leave. I just left and expected both of us to be more level headed when I returned. I thought that given a bit of time he’d see that the whole transgender thing is just liberal “woke” nonsense. I thought he’d be back in his proper clothes and ready to apologize for his behavior.” I paused. “I was angry at him for defying me but I’d never cast him out.”
“You’re an idiot. You didn’t listen to what Jennifer said and you’re not listening now. Take this pamphlet, sit in the extra chair in the corner and read it. Maybe that can get some facts through to you.”
I was almost angry enough to stomp out of her office, but Trent pulled the chair he’d been sitting in next to the other one; guiding me with his shoulder as he did so. After about fifteen minutes I looked up from the pamphlet, having read it all. I was aware that Mrs. Wilkins had been on her computer, paying me no attention. It felt like being a six year old in the bad boy corner.
Evidently she was paying more attention than I thought. When I stopped reading she looked over her monitor at me. “Any questions?”
“This part about brain waves. Does that mean boys who are transgender think like girls? Have feminine brains”
“It means that transgender girls, who are girls because the brain is where gender identity is, have physically male bodies. What they try to do is minimize the conflict brought about by that condition. That means dressing and presenting in as feminine a manner as is practical, and where feasible using drugs and surgical intervention to bring the body into harmony with the mind. You don’t have a son, you have a daughter who has some medical issues.”
“At any rate, I think I have found her. A trans girl wearing a Calvary Academy jacket who will only identify herself as Jennifer was arrested for trespassing at the North Side Mall yesterday. That’s what they usually charge persistent panhandlers with. She’s being held in a county juvenile facility. With a misdemeanor charge she could be released to a parent. HOWEVER, I am going to fax them with instructions that she is not to be forced to go with you. You will have to convince her that she is safe with you or she stays with the county.
I was mostly silent again as we made way our back across the river and then North of St. Paul to a fenced compound with some sports facilities and a playground surrounding three big buildings. I was trying to reconcile what I’d read and heard that day with what I knew as gospel truth. After passing through security both at the gate and the marked visitor entrance we were placed in a kind of small parlor and told to wait. After a few minutes a woman came in, accompanied by Jeremy. He was wearing a uniform with a pale blue top and matching pants with a drawstring waist. The same lacy elastic held his hair in a high ponytail.
Seeing me as he entered the room, his face lit up. “Dad” and then as quickly went flat, eyes seeking his toes.
I needed that joy to return so badly. I hesitated and then spoke. “Jennifer, lets go home.”
Comments
So Hard
I too clearly remember the cognitive dissonance when parenting brushed up against love. We tried to abide by love with our kids.
Is it telling that he still thinks of his daughter as "he" in the third to last paragraph?
Jill
Angela Rasch (Jill M I)
It's a journey
No can go from one view of the world to a radically different one in a single leap. He's willing to attempt the journey. He's started and he's the kind of man who will follow through. He may, in fact probably, never will wholly understand her.
So much truth!
This is what so many TG youths and adults, have to look forward to when they come out.
This is probably as true to real life, as a story could be, and yet still be a story of hope.
I just hope that this attitude which is invading some US states, gets the short shift it deserves.
I am lucky to live in a country that hasn't reverted to this knee jerk response.
A well crafted story Greybeard.
Polly J
thank you
Thank you, Polly
A Second Try
Both for you and your story.
There's no doubt that this one fits in the competition. Well done.
thanks
I was happy to find a way into the story but I sure wish it didn't require soo much dialogue. I spent a lot of time just getting the quotation marks in the place.
he had his eyes opened
a pity some will not let that happen. their eyes remain closed, their hearts remain closed. My church sometimes works with homeless advocates, and they have told us that a majority of minors on the street are in the LBGT spectrum. But maybe the true spirit of God moved this man, maybe it was something else, but whatever the cause, a better result for this family.
a more realistic ending
I am aware of the many LGBT youth on the streets. A more realistic ending, perhaps, would be if he had said, "Jeremy, are you ready to give up this nonsense and come home?" Yet, there is hope. Matthew is based in a large part on my father's older brother. It took him decades rather than days, but he did apologize to his middle two children for his treatment of them (not LGBT, just not good Baptists).
Nicely done
It can be difficult to write a story that has a conflict such as the one in this story. And doing so without bashing the main character's beliefs.
Sheep never question what they believe, they just follow the voice they hear. Even when that voice give more lip service than put their works into action.
Why was it Trent who acted more Christ like in helping Matt than the pastor of the church Matt attends? Or other church members?
Matt's beliefs were challenged when Jeremy came out to him and his wife. And he rose to the challenge by trying to find the child who left home. And he may have started questioning his beliefs when they found Jennifer and Matt called her by her name as he said, "Let's go home."
Had Matt truly been a sheep, he never would have been seriously concerned about Jennifer. He would have turn his back on her and that would have been that.
A wonderful story with a great deal of meaning.
Others have feelings too.
Thank you, Jaimie
"Had Matt truly been a sheep, he never would have been seriously concerned about Jennifer"
I have to disagree. Part of what I wanted to show here is that the parents are also in pain in these situations. That doesn't make them less wrong. Unfortunately, it may even harden their positions. Like David crying over the body of Absoloman, they feel deep sorrow even as they do what they feel they must.
There is no greater mindfuck than...
...trying to reconcile what appears to be "loving" behavior coming from someone whom you know to be toxic. Sadly, I know this from personal experience. This was a good story. Is there hope that the brainwashed can deprogram themselves? Well... I sincerely hope so. Matt seems to have been just this side of brainwashed, thankfully.
Mona Lisa
Mona Lisa
Thank you for your comment. I want to refer you to my answer to Dorothy's comment. It took decades, but it did happen. If you can, leave the door open a crack.
Powerful journey...
Jeremy no Jennifer, My son no my daughter. Giving an ultimatum to change, to you an idiot, being shown one's insensitivity.
Jessie C
Jessica E. Connors
Jessica Connors
Now why
couldn't I tell it that succinctly?
Very Nice
Thank you very much for this story. It very nearly made me cry. That's excellent for a short story.
When I came out to my mother, she said I sickened her. But she's been trying to make up for her initial reaction ever since. She's actually bought me some women's clothing. In other words, she's trying to understand and accept it.
I try to give people some slack when I think about how they were raised. In many cases, their bias is simply based on ignorance, and like the father in your story, getting some information about it can make them change for the better.
Thanks and kudos (number 52).
- Terry
good
I'm happy for you that your mother is becoming accepting.
Thankyou for this story
My personal view is that more inhumanities are performed in the name of religion than outside it.
My byline of "Outsider" indicates not only my non-tansgender status, but also my non-religious status. At times I feel that religions are are individually and collectively 'conspiracy theories', which agrandise and justify the actions and announcements of those supporting their religion. I do not see floods, deaths of relatives and all the other unpleasantneses that arrive as "devine retribution" on the victim but merely chance occurrence or mechanical cause and effect. (For example, If you crash your car because you had too much to drink, that is simple cause and effect.) Why blame an all-powerful being for your undergoing the same misfortune as everyone else? Why should praying reverse an outcome in which your personal behaviour had no input?
I have many friends and acquaintances who would be good people without their additional goad of religion!
Happy New Year to you all
Dave
I kind of agree
For too many people religion is a justification for doing nothing. "Thoughts and prayers are with you" for at least five minutes. In the best cases, it can be be a force for good when the prayers are supported by action. In the worst cases, it has been a source of unspeakable evil. Unfortunately, this is most common when religious intolerance is paired with temporal power. That, it seems me, is the danger we face in much of the world today.
As I commented on Holly Snow
As I commented on Holly Snow’s story, Life for My Child, I do not understand parents that put religion above their love of their child. Any God that asks me to condemn or disown my child is one that I have no respect for, and is not worthy of my worship.
Yet it happens. As Outsider pointed out on my story, A New Year’s Reconciliation, the parents in my own story rejected their daughter.
I have seen too often that parents are quite capable of doing just that. The story of Leelah Alcorn is not an isolated incident.
That said, I do have a dear friend that was an evangelical Christian, and had to make exactly that turn around. Thankfully she did it while her daughter was still very young, about 4 years old. She just turned 13, and they are both very vocal activists for our community. She inspires me every day, and gave me the courage to transition myself.
As a author, my focus is always on that hope, that love and support can overcome.
That said, it is a hard journey, and overcoming ones lifelong teaching, and belief system is incredibly hard.
Your story is an excellent example of this.
Thank goodness for his coworker to lead him from the abyss.
Well done.
thanks Kristine
Unfortunately the interpretation of scripture to justify hate will not go away. It is taught from madrasas of the Taliban to the classrooms of Liberty University. Just keep on preaching the opposite.
Great story
It is so difficult to fit so much story into such a short space. Kudos for doing so. My take on religion is usually at odds with the religious community. I take a more historical approach. The Bible and all the surrounding texts were written by man and as such are fundamentally flawed. You need to look at the politics at the time the text was written to understand the purpose behind it. This is not the space for that discussion but blind faith without question is dangerous and leads to a lot of the far right wing politics we are dealing with today. Again great job. Thank you.
Thank you
I agree that religious writings need to be examined in the context of the times. The same goes for translations which are all that most of us can ever read. The King James Authorized version was in many ways a political document and every translation since has been influenced by the beliefs and culture of the translators.
A bold choice
It was a bold choice to tell this story from Matthew's perspective, but you did a lovely job of (I think) fairly showcasing his conflicting feelings and beliefs. He loved his child and wanted to do what was right, but had to deal with the conflict that arose. And the fact that he made an effort to use Jennifer's name, but still mentally kept using male pronouns is a very telling note on which to end things. Maybe there's hope, but clearly he has a lot of work to do.
One thing I especially wanted to applaud were how you depicted the secondary characters. In a story like this it would be very easy to 100% vilify the religious people and 100% exalt the LGBT supporters, but you resisted the urge to turn them into caricatures. The pastor was a do-nothing who preached intolerance, but he was also welcoming of Matthew, sat with him, was supportive (in his way), and kept his confidence. Meanwhile, Shirley and Janet were genuinely heroic and selflessly helped at-risk people, but with Matthew they were also angry, quick to judge, and patronizing. (The pastor sat with Matthew; Janet handed him a pamphlet and had him sit in a corner.)
Before anyone jumps on me about this, I'm not making value judgements here. But it's a sign of quality writing that these were characters, not caricatures. I 100% believe that Shirley and Janet would be suspicious and angry of someone like Matthew, and being frustrated and overworked, would likely be very short with him. So that felt very authentic. But it's also a sharp contrast to the warm welcoming he gets at church, so you can see how it reinforces his conflict. That's really lovely writing!
Thank you, Jenny
for a very thoughtful comment. You're clearly right that Mathew still has a long ways to go but I hope it is like one of those chemical reactions that once precipitated by heat or a catalyst go all the way. Love as a catalyst for change....do I cliche much?
The worst day
His coworker is more a " Christian" than all who profess hatred of people for their lifestyle. That's about the most non Christ like behavior possible. I must admit what made me comment was the saying " Gospel Truth" so seen as different from regular truth.
Time is the longest distance to your destination.
truth
I said earlier that Mathew was largely based on one of my uncles. For him the truth was what the bible said as interpreted by his pastor. I never attended that church but my parents accompanied him there once. I know for a certainty that the sermon was racist to an extent that my mother was appalled and they never returned. I got my own taste of it at his funeral service here in town where his son-in-law preached a political rant ending in an altar call. I admired him more than I can say for finally breaking with his church on many issues. Where this rambling comment is going is to say that for some people the certainty of righteousness of the scripture carries over to a certainty that they cannot be substantially wrong about anything. That goes double if it comes from the pulpit or commentators endorsed from the pulpit. Facts that don't confirm that are just not recognized.