This Builds Character

Kids know what they’re about

When I was four, I thought I would grow up to be a paleontologist. My preschool teachers were impressed I knew the word. My parents patiently bought me books on dinosaurs and sat through hours of regurgitating dinosaur facts at them. Everybody took it at face value that This Was What I Was All About. I saw this not just as a job I could do, but where I could see myself fitting in. This was the kind of person I was and what I should do.

I did not grow up to be a paleontologist. But that wasn’t important then. It hadn’t happened yet. I honestly believed my future was going to be spent assembling fossilized skeletons like giant, expensive lego sets.

I had a window of understanding into who I was and what I was about. That window grew as I got older, and I started accepting or rejecting different aspects of who I saw myself to be.

When Sprout first identified themselves as nonbinary to Dena and me, they added a rational disclaimer: “I don’t know if I’ll always feel like this, but this is how I feel right now.”

Part of growing up means embracing and exploring different identities.

So if you wouldn’t knee-jerk react to a kid with “You’re never going to be a paleontologist when you grow up,” why is it okay to tell them “You don’t actually know you’re nonbinary/trans?”

Mister Rogers said it best: kids are deeply serious about their inner lives.

Whether or not it’s “a phase” isn’t for other people to say. In a way, everything we see about ourselves is just a temporary phase, but some of those phases last for a long time. Even the discarded self-perceptions have value—They help move us forward in our understanding of who we are.

Listening to what Sprout has to say about themselves is bigger than a conversation about gender. It’s about showing them we take them seriously. We trust them to come to us when they have Big Things to talk about. We love them unconditionally and there’s nothing they can say or think or feel that will change that.

Because no matter how either of our children identify now or in the future, the one constant we want them both to feel is that they are loved, exactly as they are in this and every moment.

First Two Pages of Frankenstein

Really enjoying the new album from The National (this isn’t surprising).

There are guest appearances from Sufjan Stevens, Phoebe Bridgers, and Taylor Swift, so this is the closest I will ever probably get to an album they all recorded together after spending a few months in an isolated cabin.

It’s not like they’ve transitioned to funeral dirges or lost the energy in their music, but I’m thinking about the difference between songs like Abel and Tropic Morning News. It’s not really a mellowing of a band or the emotions behind the songs, but creating a different vibe. Songs that are less for screaming along to with the windows down and more for vibing to while on a long drive.

Because no matter what, a car is the best place to listen to a rock album. I don’t make the rules.

Be gentle with your file name

Instead of labeling the script I’m currently working on with a draft number or date I started on, I called it a Free Write.

So now every time I open the document it’s telling me “Just get some words in and play around.”

It helps to see that first thing every time I sit down to write.

Parenting a they/them kiddo

I haven’t written much here about parenting a non-binary child. Part of that is the urge to roll out a long, all-encompassing post.

So instead of letting that stay a mental block, let me get the ball rolling with one recent anecdote.

Sprout went over to their gym teacher (with some backup from their BFF) and said that it makes them uncomfortable when the class gets divided into boys and girls to make teams or for different activities. Sprout wanted to make sure the teacher knew that they weren’t a boy or a girl, and dividing the class this way made it so they couldn’t fit in.

The gym teacher listened, and a compromise was made that Sprout would get to choose which group they did activities with each class.

I’m always proud when Sprout acts as their own advocate, but standing up to a teacher? That’s a bold move.

And right now, while they’re still young, the compromises and accommodations will be this easy.

A friend brought up the prospect of what’s going to happen once we get to middle school and locker rooms become part of the conversation. I said I wasn’t mentally prepared to think that far ahead.

But I know a few things about Sprout already. When they first shared their nonbinary identity with their mom and me, they said “I don’t feel like a girl or a boy. I don’t know if this is how I’ll always feel, but it’s how I feel right now.” We took them at their word, and continue to do so.

But I do know that they saw us as trusted people who they could come to with big, important things. And in seeing how they’ve approached sharing this identity and taking ownership of it, I know they have a lot of inner strength.

The potential problems they may have down the road could be completely different than anything we’re thinking about now, so why spend the energy on those fears?

Right now we have a child we love, who feels safe and respected with us, and who feels confident and proud of who they are. That’s where the focus needs to stay at the moment. That’s enough.

If you meet a Jedi Master on the road, kill him.

Last week’s newsletter was all about hero worship and toxic fandoms.

The topic took shape while talking with Dena about the way that some fandoms seem to be about elevating the character or creator, while others seem more balanced toward recognizing how the show/movie/character/etc. helps fans to lift themselves up.

Even within an individual fandom there’s that tension between the toxic and the transformative.

Look at Star Wars. That contrast between people making zines, cosplay, art, etc. and finding something they can create and add to the story vs. people who act as if complaining about The Last Jedi counts as a fully formed personality.

It’s the difference between yelling “That’s not how Luke’s supposed to be!” and asking “What could make Luke change like this, and can I relate to that?”

If a character or a piece of art gets held up like an idol for worship, it creates that us-versus-them friction. “Either love the thing we do the same way we do, or you’re nothing like us.”

A character or work held up as a mirror offers a chance to see yourself.

Going back to The Last Jedi, I love the ending of the film so much. A stable boy seen earlier in the film shows a small ability to use the force, and looks to the night sky, holding a broom as an imagined sword.

BTW his name is Temiri Blagg, because every being in every shot of every Star War has a name.

His brief contact with the Resistance gave him an opportunity to imagine himself as something more. The movie ending on this minor character in a moment of reflection seems to call out to the viewer: Don’t mourn the passing of your heroes—prepare to step into their shoes.

Put another way, “If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.“