What I Learned When I Asked My Kid’s School: Are There Trans and Non-Cis Students Here?
Last October, I sat across from my 7th grader’s homeroom teacher at parent-teacher conferences, my cold pumpkin spice latte sweating through its paper cup onto the linoleum. My kid had come out to me as non-binary three weeks earlier, and after we’d ticked through the usual boxes — they’re acing language arts, still struggling to remember to turn in algebra homework — I leaned in a little, twisted my kid’s old friendship bracelet around my wrist, and asked the question that had been bouncing around my head since they came home crying one night saying they’d never met another kid like them: “Are there any trans or non-cis students at this school?”
I’d worked the question over in my head for weeks, turning it different ways. I live in a small suburban district outside of Cincinnati, where half the parents at soccer practice grumble about “political stuff” in schools, so I’d worried asking would mark me as a troublemaker, or that the teacher would hedge, or say no and leave me figuring out how to tell my kid they’d have to wait until college to meet anyone else like them.
Instead, she tapped her frog sticker-decorated lesson plan and said, “Yeah, we’ve got a handful right now, across all three grades. More every year, from what I’ve seen.” She didn’t lower her voice, didn’t look over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening. She told me about an 8th grade boy who transitioned over summer break, who plays on the soccer team and mostly just wants people to treat him like any other 8th grader. She mentioned a 5th grader at the feeder elementary who uses they/them pronouns, whose parents worked with the administration to update all their records over the last year. She didn’t name any names, which I appreciated — privacy matters more than anything for kids who aren’t ready to be out to everyone.
That got me thinking. A lot of people, even other parents I know, act like trans and non-cis kids are something that only exists in big cities or on social media, not in middle schools in suburban Ohio. But just because you don’t see them, doesn’t mean they aren’t there. I asked the question because my kid was hurting from feeling invisible, and I left that conference with way more answers than I expected, plus a few small, concrete things that any parent or teacher can do to make things easier, that I’ve been passing along to friends ever since.
The first thing that stuck with me is how the teacher answered the question without outing anyone. That’s the rule any teacher should follow, and it’s the first thing I tell other parents to expect. If you ask this question as a parent, no one should be giving you names or personal details about other kids. A good answer is exactly what she gave me: a confirmation that yes, these kids exist here, and that the staff knows they need support. For teachers, if a parent asks you this question, that’s all you need to say — you don’t have to share anyone’s private business to be honest. If you don’t know the answer for sure, you can just say “We have had students share that they are trans or non-cis with our staff, and we work to support all our students regardless of identity.” That’s enough.
After the conference, I asked what we could do to help my kid connect with other students if they wanted to, without pushing anyone who wasn’t out. The school counselor suggested she reach out to the GSA advisor at the nearby high school, who kept a list of families that were open to connecting for low-key meetups. A month later, my kid was sitting at the public library playing Mario Kart with another 7th grade non-binary kid from a different school in the district, and their mom and I drank bad vending machine coffee and talked about how nervous we both were to ask the school the question in the first place. That’s another concrete step: if your kid wants to meet other queer kids, ask your school’s counselor to facilitate an introduction only if both families and kids are okay with it. Don’t pressure anyone to out themselves, and don’t push your kid to connect if they’re not ready. My kid just wanted a casual friend to hang out with outside of school, and that’s exactly what they got.
For teachers, the small stuff matters more than big gestures, from what I’ve seen. That homeroom teacher keeps a stack of blank pronoun stickers by her desk, right next to the extra pencils and tissues. Any kid can take one, no questions asked, no announcement to the whole class. That way, kids who are just figuring out their pronouns can try them out without having to make a big speech in front of everyone. She also updates her printed class roster with name and pronoun changes as soon as she gets them, even if the official school record hasn’t been updated yet. That takes 30 seconds, and it makes a huge difference for a kid who’s already stressed about being misgendered in front of peers.
There’s still a lot that’s uncertain here. Our middle school still doesn’t have an official GSA — a small group of parents pushed back at the last school board meeting, so we’re waiting until next semester to vote it in. My kid still comes home some days upset because a substitute misuses their pronoun, or someone makes a dumb joke in the hallway. We still have meetings with the administration to talk about updating the bathroom policy to let kids use the bathroom that matches their gender identity, and there’s still steady pushback on that.
But the thing that surprised me most when I asked that question is how normal it is, how many kids are already here, just going to school, trying to get through algebra and eat lunch with their friends, same as every other kid. I went into that conference scared I’d get a no, or a fight, and I left knowing that my kid isn’t alone. That’s all I really wanted in the first place. We’re still working on the rest, one small step at a time.
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