Just Passing

19. Conference Time

The woman sitting across the conference table is only a few years older than me. Her once flaxen hair is streaked with gray. Wisps fly free from her loose ponytail, and as she tucks a strand behind her ear she then pushes her gold-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose. It seems to be a nervous habit; she has adjusted her glasses every few minutes since sitting down.

"So, how's Blake doing in math?" Her voice is thin. I can only imagine how much she is juggling right now.

"Honestly, he is amazing when I pull him. Thoughtful. Engaged. Quirky sense of humor." I smile, reassuringly. "Although, Ms. Dunn reports that he still seems challenged when trying to apply concepts back in class. But, I'm not too concerned. It's normal for kids to be more confident in a smaller setting."

This is a bit of a lie. I am a little concerned. I still can't figure out what's going on in class. Usually it's obvious after a few times working together. Some gap in knowledge. A misconception that can be worked through with visuals or manipulatives. But Blake thrives when I work with him, and then seems to become anxious when he is back in class. And observing him didn't shed any light on the problem either.

"He really loves working with you."

I marvel at how similarly she looks to her son. The same rosy cheeks and expressive eyes.

"That's great to hear. I really enjoy working with him. He's a great kid." He really is. The past month has gone astonishingly well. He is easy to build rapport with, and comes to our sessions without hesitation. He asks questions, stays on task, puts in effort. I couldn't ask for more. "He's really lucky to have you."

The way I say it, all of a sudden I feel like I'm a kid again. What would it have been like if my mother had supported my transition at such a young age? But really, the problem wasn't my mother. The problem was the early 1990s compared to the late 2010s. It wouldn't have crossed my mind to tell my mother that I was a boy back when I was in fourth grade. The only trans-rep I saw in the media as a kid was on the Phil Donahue Show. We've come so far. Yet, here I am. Still hiding.

She looks surprised by my words. "That's ... that's so kind of you. I keep questioning myself. Well, people keep questioning me. It's ... it's been rough. But I know this is right for my kid."

"He seems so happy. I just .. I just want to say that you are both so brave." I barely get the words out. God, what's wrong with me?

"You'd do the same thing."

"I'm trans." I say it before I have the chance to stop myself. Then I take a breath. "I'm sorry, I- that's not common knowledge. And I know we don't really know each other, but when I heard about Blake ... I just wanted to let you know that, well, I know my mom was always worried that I wouldn't have a normal life. And I know things have changed, but, I guess I just wanted to let you know that..." My rambling voice trails off. I can't breath and I feel like I could puke.

The silence hangs in the air a beat longer than it should. Maybe she is expecting me to finish whatever it was I was saying. But I just look down at my hands.

"Thank you for sharing that with me. You're right. We've gone to these support groups for other trans kids. But, we haven't spent too much time with any trans adults. Although, I guess Blake has, he just didn't realize it."

That hits me. Hard.

"I've wanted to tell him. I just ... It seemed like something I should tell you first." You don't tell kids your secrets. Especially if they are your students.

Her face brightens up. "You've got to tell him. It would mean so much to him."

I swallow. My fingertips feel numb. Tiffany is going to kill me. I've let the cat out of the bag, so to speak. "I really would love to. And with your permission, that is a conversation that I can have with him. But honestly, I'm not sure how comfortable I am with everyone knowing. I don't want to burden him with my secrets or feel like being trans is something to be ashamed of. I'm not ashamed, I'm just .. I'm just not as brave as Blake is."

"May I ask, what are you afraid of?"

It's such a mom question. And one that I don't really have an answer to. So, I shift the blame. "My wife is a very private person. And, of course, there is always the fear of job protection. I know the district is very liberal, but the fear is in the back of my mind."

"You know, I did hear that there is an openly trans teacher at the high school. The choir teacher. I think his name is, um, Aiden Mills? There's an LGBT Educator's group. They pushed for the sensitivity training before the start of school."

Huh. That's not information that I knew. Well, I'd seen the bulletins in the teacher's lounge about the LGBT Educator's group, but I'd never gone. "That's ... reassuring."

"I don't want to push you to do anything that you are uncomfortable with, but I think Blake would really appreciate having you as a role model and a source of support. I know he puts on a strong front at school, but he is so worried about being seen as a freak. Thank you, though, for confiding in me." She reaches across the conference table and pats my forearm.

"I don't know why I am hesitating. Blake should know. I'd be fine if you wanted to tell him, or, I can start the conversation with him."

"It would be powerful to hear the words from you." Her voice is warm, but firm.

"Ok. Yes. Sounds like a plan. Thank you, again, really."

"No, thank you." And the conference is over. Now I have a different parent to talk to. They're probably waiting out in the hall. I shift the manilla folders in front of me and try to refocus on math. But all I can think about is: What did I just do? Was this the right decision? What happens now?