July 12, 2016

Originally published online at The Advocate.

My husband and I live in Nebraska and thought we had three boys until our second child was about 18-24 months old and began rifling through kitchen drawers for towels to fashion into long hair or to pin as a skirt. Everything about this child was feminine — from the movies and cartoons she watched to the toys she played with. We say she was a walking Broadway show — all pink, all Barbie, all musical, all the time. We knew virtually nothing about gender identity, so we assumed that if there was an international award for raising the gayest boy on the planet, we had the nomination locked up.