My neighborhood is pretty diverse, to one side of me are my long time neighbors, I think they’ve lived in this neighborhood for about 25 years, I’ve seen their children grow up and have children of their own. The kids have moved back home, and left again, and come back again; I suppose this is a consequence of an uncertain economy and parents who long for their kids to have it better than they did. To the other side of me is a house that was inhabited for 30 years with a similar family, the parents are long gone, one to a nursing home one who died of heart failure. The house has been bought and sold several times; none of the new owners treated it with the respect of its original owners. Currently, an immigrant from Jamaica lives there, she doesn’t talk to us.
I assume most of the neighbors know we’re gay; we don’t try to hide anything. Many of the houses are rental houses, fixed up by the owners, or not, and occupied by renters, some responsible, some not. A mix of cultures and races, mostly lower class and some outlaws in the bunch. I feel safe on my street, but not in the neighborhood, even with my German shepherd, I hesitate to stray too far from home on our walks.
About 6 yrs ago a young African American family moved into one of the nicer rental homes, a mom and dad and three kids. Shortly after they moved in, the mom disappeared. I found out later that she was arrested and is in prison, not sure for what but I assume its drug related. I’ve watched the three kids grow up and have developed a great admiration for their father who is raising them alone, two girls and a boy. The boy is the oldest; he was about 10 yrs old when the family moved in. We noticed pretty early on that he was in the tribe (for the uninitiated that means he fits into the glbt spectrum); it was hard not to notice the effeminate walk and exaggerated hand gestures. It is for that reason, a young member of the tribe in our neighborhood, that we’ve kept a protective eye on him. In the past 5 yrs he has turned into a girl, right before our eyes. It has been an amazing genesis, first the clothes, presumably borrowed from his sisters, skintight jeans and short little jackets, the feminine mannerisms became more exaggerated. He never tried to hide anything, just put himself right out there for all to see. I was appalled and amazed. Appalled mostly because I was afraid for him. What could happen to a young African American boy who so proudly swings his butt and sports clothes borrowed from his sisters, in our tough neighborhood? He grew taller and more muscular, his body reminds me of a dancer, thin and wiry but strong too. He is beautiful. The clothes became more elaborate, lots of purple and pink; he added a purse and some burgundy streaks to his hair. For along time his hair remained in a short cut Afro, but then he started wearing a turban, I realize now that he was growing it out. As he whisks down the street, rarely without his sisters in tow, I marvel at his boldness, for he is a proud young boy/girl. I wonder how on earth his father must feel? His sisters? What was their process with him? Did he sit down with them and discuss his feelings, or did it gradually happen over time, everyone avoiding the proverbial elephant in the living room?
The turban is gone and so is any pretense that he was ever a boy his hair is long now and he’s in High School, I fear for him every single day. I called our local GLBT youth organization Kaleidoscope for some advice, how do I break the ice with him? His family and my family rarely talk, other than the occasional “hi” in passing on the street. I remember when they got a German shepherd puppy and when it disappeared, learning of its death I expressed my regrets to the kids. I remember when my own German shepherd puppy scared the youngest sister, she screamed and ran when he approached her. But, aside from those brief encounters, I don’t really know them. It’s not like I can go up to him and say, “hey I see you’ve decided to be a girl, I know just the place where you can get support”. Mostly, I watched him, hoping that he remained safe, praying that he doesn’t become a statistic, wondering about the abuse he suffers, and yes marveling at his beauty.
Finally yesterday I saw he and his sisters walking home from school and decided this was the day. I ran out the door yelling his name, which he didn’t hear because he had on pink earmuffs, his sisters stopped and called to him (he always walks ten paces ahead of the girls) he turned around and came towards me. His sisters, no doubt feeling protective or curious, stood still. I motioned them onwards indicating this was between him and me. I asked him if he knew about Kaleidoscope, he does. I asked him if he is treated well at school, he replied with a shrug “it’s ok”, I told him we worry about him, he smiled “awww, thank you” and that we watch him hoping he’s safe. We hugged, I told him to come by anytime, if he ever needs anything come over. I think this encounter helped me more than him, in fact I know it did. I hope and I fear for him and all of us.
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It takes a village–thank you for taking a role in that. After all, if we don’t take care of our youth, who will?
darn, I should have told him how beautiful I think he is, next time…