A Q&A about LGBTQ ... with my mom

"The world is such a different place,” my Mom said. “I don’t understand some of the terms they talk about on TV. I don’t really understand the whole transgender thing."

The conversation was prompted by watching the news with my Mom recently. Our local news has multiple stories about our provincial government introducing bills about limits on ages for gender transitioning drugs. And about transgender athletes. And about many things that could confuse many people, including my 82-year-old mother.

She peered over at me, rocking gently in her recliner. “Oh boy,” I thought. “I’m not an expert on this myself." What left my lips was: “I’m no expert on this but maybe I can answer some things." Insert smack head here. 

She started the conversation slowly and softly. 

“When I was young, there were only straight people,” she said. Before I could protest, she stopped me and finished “in public.” 

This, I thought, was probably true. My parents were farmers and, if there were any homosexual people in the '50s, '60s and '70s, they were not going to be admitting it publicly, especially in a farming community.

“Rock Hudson was gay,” she continued. I nodded. “I think the first optometrist I took you to for glasses was gay." I just nodded. 

“What did you think when you first heard about people who were openly gay?” I asked.

She shook her head. 

“I didn’t like it but that was because I didn’t understand it."

“Fair,” I said. 

“Your Dad hated it."

“True," I replied. But then my Dad wasn’t a fan of anything or anyone he considered different. 

“I’ve met lots of gay people. My hairdresser is gay,” she proudly said. 

“And how do you feel about it?" 

“Oh, he’s very nice. Everyone is nice."

This doesn’t surprise me. My Mom has done a bit of travelling with me. She’s met new and interesting people in different parts of the world.  And, quite honestly, she really does believe everyone deserves love and respect. Well, almost everyone. She’s a hardliner with murderers. I get that. And assholes. I get that, too.

“When did you get to meet gay people?" she asks. 

“Well, there were rumours when I was in high school that a couple people were gay,” I said. 

“Oh, what did you do?" she asks. 

I look puzzled and asked: “What do you mean?" 

“Were you friends with them?" 

“No.” 

“Why not?" 

“Because, Mom, they weren’t in my classes and I really didn’t know them,” I answered. 

“Who are their parents?"

“Moooooommmmm!!” I wail in exasperation. "It was rumours and it was over 40 years ago."

I decide to finish my Coles Notes version of my story. 

“Working in the travel industry and in aviation, I’ve met people who are gay and straight. Like you, Mom, it doesn’t matter. People are people. Love is love. And some of my favourite friends are queer."

She smiles and nods. Gay. Straight. This she gets. 

I smile, congratulate myself on an easy conversation. I side-eye her, though, when I hear her intake a breath. 

“Damn it!" I say to myself. “I knew I wasn’t getting off this easy."

“Tell me about transgender people,” she says. 

I wince, not from the topic but because I’m apparently her subject matter expert on it. On the one hand. I’m grateful that she’s comfortable asking me but, on the other, it’s all new and confusing to me as well. 

“What do you want to know?" I gently ask. 

“Why would a boy want to be a girl or a girl want to be a boy?" she queries. 

Before I can stop myself, I look at her, my eyes wide and incredulous and say: “How would I know?" At least it came out soft, not sharp. 

She didn’t recoil at my answer but said: “ You know everybody. You probably know a transgender person, too. So, you’d know."

Now here’s the kicker: I do NOT know everybody. And I do not know a transgender individual. However, I know the partner of a human being transitioning and I know a smidge about the journey. 

Deep breath... 

“So, Mom, I don’t know a transgender human being. But I do know the partner of one. It’s my understanding that it’s a feeling that they were born the wrong sex. I don’t understand it because I’ve never felt that way. But some people do feel it. And we live in a time and place where instead of living their lives in frustration and anguish, they can transition into the gender they feel they should have been born in."

She ponders this for a bit. 

“So, what do they do?" 

“The person I know with the transitioning partner said the amount of transition is up to the individual. And there are hormones as well."

She remains silent, pensive. I say nothing, letting her take in the little bit of information that I’ve shared. 

She looks at me. 

“What do you think?" I ask.

“People are people," Mom said. "Love is love."