Parenting gender non-conforming kids: What I learned as an alt mama with a very proud dad partner
Last October, we stood outside my 10-year-old Riley’s 4th grade classroom waiting for parent-teacher conferences. Riley had borrowed my thrifted platform boots, thrown a hot pink tulle skirt over their black ripped jeans, and added a silver hoop earring they’d haggled for at the local ren faire. They’d run off to the water fountain ten minutes earlier, leaving me and my partner Jake leaning against the cinder block wall. I was picking at a chipped streak of blue in my split-dye hair, already spiraling. I’d counted three side-eyes from other parents in the hallway, and I was already drafting responses to any comment the teacher might make about “distracting” clothing or peer teasing. Jake was holding the bag of slightly burnt chocolate chip cookies we’d brought, and he just waved at a fellow dad across the hall, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled, “THAT’S MY KID! LOOK AT THAT SKIRT!” I wanted to melt into the linoleum. That’s our dynamic, after all: I’m the alt mama, always braced for a fight, and he’s the very proud dad, never afraid to yell that from the rooftops.
When Riley was 7, they came home from first grade and announced they’d never cut their hair again, wanted it down to their waist, and would be borrowing my studded belts and crop tops from now on. I immediately went into my usual alt mama mode: I joined three different online parent groups for gender diverse kids, printed out three social stories for handling bullying, emailed the principal three times to make sure Riley would be supported, and spent a whole weekend thrifting gender-affirming clothes in every size they might grow into over the next year. I was ready for anything the world could throw at us. Jake, who’s a high school woodshop teacher that wears the same three flannels on rotation, looked up from the coffee he was drinking and said, “Cool, we need to get that good detangler, right? My hair gets super tangled when it grows out past my ears.”
I thought he was being careless back then. I thought he didn’t understand how cruel people can be, that he was setting Riley up for hurt by not preparing them for every bad outcome. I spent so many nights lying awake worrying that his laid-back, unapologetic pride was going to backfire. What if someone said something terrible, and Riley wasn’t ready? What if Jake’s big mouth made people target them?
A year later, a 5th grader teased Riley about their skirt on the playground. I got the call from the office, grabbed my keys, and was already on my way to give that kid’s parent a piece of my mind when Riley climbed into the backseat of my car and pulled out their sketchbook, like nothing had happened. I asked if they were okay, and they said, “Yeah, Jake told me anyone who cares that much about what you’re wearing is just bored with their own life. I ignored him and played four square after he left.” That’s when I started to notice what Jake had that I didn’t.
I spend so much time thinking about all the bad things that could happen that I accidentally make every ordinary moment about risk, not about Riley. Jake doesn’t do that. He just sees Riley, the kid who loves drawing dinosaurs and painting their nails neon green and climbing trees, and he’s proud of them, no asterisks.
What I’ve learned from this, that I think a lot of progressive, identity-conscious parents like me can use, is pretty simple. First, when you feel that anxiety spike, stop and ask two concrete questions before you act: Has your kid said this is a problem for them? Is this an immediate safety issue? If the answer to both is no, step back. I used to insert my own anxiety into situations that Riley didn’t see as a problem. If someone stared at them at the grocery store, I’d pull Riley close and give the stranger a dirty look, which would make Riley ask me what was wrong, why that person was looking at them. Now I just do what Jake does: I smile and wave at the stranger, and keep talking to Riley about their latest art project. Most of the time, Riley didn’t even notice the stare until I pointed it out.
Another concrete shift I made: Talk about your kid’s choices and identity out loud, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Jake posts photos of Riley’s latest drag makeup on his woodworking Facebook page, right next to photos of the picnic table he built for a neighbor. When his extended family asks why Riley wears skirts, he just says “They like how they look” and changes the subject back to high school football. He doesn’t over-explain, he doesn’t apologize, he just is proud. That rubs off. Riley never hesitates to tell people what they like, what pronouns they use, because they’ve never seen anyone act like that’s something to be ashamed of or quiet about.
I still do the planning, don’t get me wrong. I keep a list of gender-affirming therapists in our area saved in my phone. I go to our local school board meetings to speak up against policies that target trans kids. I had the hard talk with Riley about how some people won’t be nice, and what to do if that happens. But I leave that stuff for the big picture, not the grocery run, not the parent-teacher conference, not the afternoon at the park.
This year, Riley told us they want to use they/them pronouns at our extended family Thanksgiving next month. I already started mapping out exit routes, drafting what I’ll say to my conservative aunt if she makes a comment, saving extra gas money so I can leave early if we need to. Jake already texted the whole family group chat “Riley uses they/them now, if you can’t handle that don’t bother coming” and went back to building Riley the new dinosaur-shaped bookshelf they asked for. I’m still nervous. I don’t know if Thanksgiving will go smoothly, or if there will be a fight, or if Riley will get their feelings hurt. But I also know that whatever happens, Riley will be okay. They know their dad is going to yell about their skirt from the hallway, and build them dinosaur bookshelves, and love them no matter what. That’s the part no amount of planning can give you, and that’s the part that matters most right now.
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