Maybe the best I can hope for is for my children to experience the happiness I longed for as a child. Maybe my kindest and truest want will be for them to walk through this life without the biases I was brought up with, the layers of conditioned learning of what was right and what was wrong. Maybe, just maybe, their eyes will show me immeasurable compassion and inclusion.

One of the things I love about reading is sharing the stories with the kids. We all put our books down and tell each other what is going on in the story. Ry is reading “The Lemonade War.” Linda is reading “Bud. Not Buddy.” I am reading “This Is How It Always Is.” We end up discussing math and the lemonade business, racial inequality, and gender dysmorphia.” It is a full and open conversation. And in those moments I know the world today is not the world I was raised in, and I am so very thankful for that.

My loving and kind sister was born in 1967. She spoke like a boy, played like a boy, and looked like a boy, however, the world was not kind to her in this way. My parents were not accepting of her. And by viewing them with some grace I ask, how could they? They weren’t raised by loving and accepting parents either. My sister carried, and continues on some days to carry, the weight and shame of their beliefs.

Seeing that and feeling that for her, I knew that as a mother I only wanted to love my children. I promised myself that I wouldn’t judge them for their orientation or their weight (we were raised with that shame too)

When we discussed gender dysmorphia and my son said, “Who cares if he wears dresses and earrings?” I smiled from ear to ear, but replied honestly, “Some people might make fun of him.” He didn’t even skip a beat, “I wouldn’t.”

And I felt deep in my heart what I wrote at the beginning of this post, maybe my kindest and truest want will be for them to walk through this life without biases.