My 13-Year-Old Son Asked ‘Am I Gonna Get Bullied For Wearing Chest Tape For 8th Grade’ – What We Learned
It’s 9:30 on a Sunday night, two nights before the first day of 8th grade, and I’m folding new graphic tees into my son’s backpack while he leans against the fridge twisting the cap off a blue Gatorade. The football game is murmuring on the TV in the living room, my younger daughter is cross-legged on the couch scrolling TikTok, and the leftover pepperoni pizza on the counter is going cold. That’s when he says it, quiet enough that I almost miss it: “Am I gonna get bullied for wearing ts?”
I pause mid-fold, look up. “Ts?” He shifts his weight, kicks a crumpled chip bag across the floor, mumbles that it’s short for chest tape. He’s been binding for two years, ever since he came out as trans halfway through 6th grade, and his old compression binder got too tight over the summer. His doctor warned him wearing a rigid binder for 8 hours a day, including PE, could mess up his ribs, so tape was the next step. He’d practiced applying it all July, wore it to week-long youth camp, loved that it didn’t dig into his armpits when he ran. But back to school, back to kids who’ve known him since kindergarten, and suddenly the what-ifs crawled in.
I didn’t jump in with the generic “no one will bother you” speech I’ve seen other parents pull out. I’ve volunteered in the middle school library for three years, so I know what bullying actually looks like there. It’s not the big shoving-in-lockers drama from old movies. It’s a quiet snicker as you walk past a group in the hallway. It’s an offhand comment that nags at you all lunch period. It’s kids posting stupid memes in group chats that you don’t see until you get home. Last spring, a kid in his science class made a comment about his hoodie being “too big for a girl” – that’s why he’s scared now. He hasn’t forgotten that.
I sat down on the linoleum next to his half-packed backpack, and told him the truth first: “Yeah, there’s a chance someone says something stupid. Middle school is full of stupid people saying stupid things. But that doesn’t mean you have to hide this, and we can make a plan so you don’t have to handle it alone.” That’s the first thing I’d tell any parent or caregiver in this spot: don’t dismiss the fear to make yourself feel better. Validating it doesn’t make it more likely to happen – it just makes your kid feel like they can trust you if it does.
We worked through the plan step by step that night, over cold pizza slices. First, the logistics: we’d already talked to the school nurse and principal at the end of last year, so he can change for PE in the single-use nurse’s bathroom instead of the locker room. No awkward questions, no one staring. If he needs to reapply tape halfway through the day, he can go there too, no extra pass needed. That’s an easy adjustment most schools will agree to, and it takes away one of the biggest stressors for kids: the fear of someone seeing something they don’t want seen. For teachers, that’s all you really need to do too – just say yes, don’t make a big deal out of it to other kids, that’s enough.
Next, we practiced responses for if someone asks or comments. He didn’t want a big speech, he didn’t want to start a fight in the hallway, so we came up with two short lines he can pull out without drawing a crowd. If it’s just a nosy question: “It’s just a bandage for a skin thing, none of your business.” If it’s obviously a mean comment: “Why are you staring at my chest? That’s weird.” Most 8th graders don’t know how to respond to that, they’ll just back off. No drama, no extra attention, which is exactly what most 13 year olds want in that moment.
Then we added the safety net: I put a crumpled five dollar bill in the front pocket of his backpack for Gatorade or chips if he needs a pick-me-up, and told him he can text me any time, for any reason, and I’ll come get him, no questions asked, no lecture later. He doesn’t want me marching into the principal’s office yelling after a tiny offhand comment, he just wants to know he has an out if it gets too much. That’s way more reassuring than any empty promise that “it’ll all be okay.”
Open house was two days later, and he wore the tape the whole time. He met up with his two closest friends, neither of them noticed until he pointed it out. One just shrugged and said “It looks better than your old binder, it doesn’t bunch under your tee” and that was that. A kid he’d had math class with last year waved at him in the hallway, no double take, no comment.
It’s the fourth day of school today. So far, he’s only had one awkward moment: a kid in PE asked why he never changes with everyone else, and he used the “bad skin thing” line, the kid just said “that sucks” and walked away. No snickering, no bullying. He comes home every day and complains about homework and bad lunch pizza, same as any other 8th grader. He still says he catches himself holding his breath sometimes when he walks past a group of kids in the hallway, still wonders if someone is looking. That hasn’t gone away.
I don’t have a neat happy ending here. I know next month, someone might say something cruel. I know there might be days he wants to skip school, or go back to hiding under baggy hoodies even when he’s uncomfortable. We didn’t fix all the bad things that could happen. We just gave him enough space to be honest about his fear, enough concrete small things to feel safe, and let him lead the way on what he needs. For now, that’s enough. We’ll adjust when we need to.
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