Instead of claiming it's too difficult to consider your children or grandchildren "they," take on the challenge. Be grateful they're living their true lives.
The Thesaurus has become my best friend.
Both of my children (offspring, progeny, issue, brood, descendants) are living their true adult selves as Nonbinary individuals. Their birth certificates claim "female" but I am honoring their revealed identities.
My former partner (spouse, mate, better half) had the courage to begin leading Her authentic identity earlier this decade. Her revelation became the subject of a streaming television show, "Transparent." The groundbreaking series reflected the changes that happen to a family when one person has the courage to reveal themself.
The 2014, award-winning show was prophetic. More change was yet to come in real life.
I am the matriarch in the real family, and a dramatized version of me captures some of the challenges I faced with my first spouse's announcement.
With these credentials, I am on a mission to shake the shoulders of people my age -- and disturbingly, many younger -- and urge them on a path to honor the gender identity and nomenclature of people they love.
And while they're at it, my targeted audience could respect the same individual wishes of baristas, grocery store staff, schoolteachers, postal workers, bus drivers, and anyone else they meet on an ordinary day. If you're stuck, consider "How would you like to be addressed?"
While even I still occasionally trip on "they," I had no problem with my progeny's late in life revealed identity. They were never cowardly.
The first clue I had that they would be unique was their chosen wardrobe as children. Like the 1960's mom I was, I purchased outfits with matching tops and bottoms. But the minute I unpacked the toddler clothing from their wrapping, my cutie pies switched halves and smugly wore their mismatched designs. That was my first clue to expect the unexpected.
I think my admiration, and jealousy of my brood's behavior, started way back then. I wasn't angry at their decisions to be nonconforming; I was thrilled, and envious.
And as they grew up, audacity doubled their creativity. Individually, Faith produced the spoof musical, "Jesus Has Two Mommies." Faith and Joey wrote and originated "The Real Live Brady Bunch," "The Miss Vagina Pageant," "Not Without My Nipples," and the final number of Season 5 of "Transparent," "Joyacaust."
"Don't perform that," I said when learning the plans for each of these radical shows and tunes. "You'll get in trouble."
Fortunately, they did not heed my warning.
My jealousy of their accomplishments was not tied to their awards or salary boosts. I was envious because in my younger adult life, I did not have their courage to go against the norm.
When I graduated from college in 1960, the options for a good Jewish girl were to become a teacher. (Gentile women were steered toward nursing.)
And after receiving a diploma, an engagement ring from a doctor or lawyer in training was ideal.
I fulfilled those directives.
My children, lucky descendants that they are, never had any such instructions. While other moms my age saw the suburbs as a homestead and a professional as a husband for their grown-up kids, I was euphoric that mine did not take that path. I so wanted them to be original.
Now that they are in their '50s, with children of their own, my admiration for my Nonbinary offspring continues to mount. I am an obnoxious backstage mother, who grabs the arms of waiters to alert them to my kids' accomplishments.
When I look at their childhood photos, I am surprised to clearly see the dichotomy of their upbringing. In some early scenes they are clad in dresses, but their hair is cut short, as if they were little boys.
Why did I never allow heir hair to grow long, to have brunette stresses that would clearly mirror Their gender? Was I signaling that there was no need to be scotch-tapped to girlhood that early?
In later photos, when I still was purchasing their wardrobes, why are they clad in blue jeans and t-shirts? Did my children look more natural to me in such clothing? Was I unconsciously announcing they could be nonbinary?
Did I somehow recognize, that early on, that one day they would be uncomfortable to be misidentified as girls, as daughters?
I often wonder how I would relate to my children if they had grown up to be Cisgender. (A person whose gender identity is the same as their sex assigned at birth.) Would they be as interesting to me? Would I be as proud of them?