By Tom Holbrook
At the stoplight, the father turned his head and looked at his kids. “This is a delightful state of events, having all three of you guys together.”
The two youngest beamed, but the fifteen-year-old kept their gaze down, scribbling with a Sharpie. “Even the sullen teen,” he added as he moved forward with the traffic. In the front passenger’s seat, Sasha turned toward him.
“Not guys, Dad. Right, Lane?” She turned to the back.
“Huh?” Lane grunted without looking up.
“Dad’s being sexist. We’re not all guys. ”
“My apologies,” the father smiled, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “You’re absolutely right.”
“And I’m a wolf!” declared the five-year-old in the back next to Lane.
“But a guy,” Sasha said. “A guy wolf.”
William threw back his head and howled. “Ahhooooo.”
“Nice to have you ALL agree to go somewhere together. Even if it has to be the arcade, god help me.”
“You love arcades, Daddy,” Sasha informed him.
“Dad, Laney’s drawing on her leg,” William reported.
“Don’t call me Laney.”
“It’s Lane now,” Sasha admonished. “Get it right.”
“Okay everyone,” the father said, calmly but with authority. “Let’s talk about something else?”
“Anything else,” added Lane.
Lane was drawing a vampire bat on the bare thigh that showed through their strategically holey jeans. William glanced at the bat and then at Lane’s scowling face. “Why are you a grumpy-wumpus?”
Lane said nothing.
“Dad and Lane had a big fight this morning,” Sasha said. “You missed it because you were doing legos.”
“Thank you for the report, Sasha,” the father said, “but actually, we weren’t. We were having a cordial, level-headed discussion about gender.”
“Lane wants to chop their boobs off,” Sasha told William.
“Sasha!” the father grimaced. A familiar pain was starting in his right temple.
William scrutinized Lane’s baggy black sweatshirt. “I want to have boobs when I grow up.”
“You can’t,” Sasha called from the front seat without looking back.
“Can too. Dad, do wolves have boobs?”
“Female wolves do.”
“Biological female wolves do,” said Lane.
“Now that’s an interesting question,” the father said, turning the car onto Eldridge Rd. “Do you think wolves have gender identities that differ from their biological identities?”
Lane looked up, rubbing their nose, nearly streaking Sharpie across their own forehead.
“Maybe,” they said. “I don’t know. Humans do, though. We’re evolving.”
“We’re revolving,” William said to his Hulk action figure, turning him around and around.
“Actually,” the father said, “that’s not really evolution. Evolution takes millennia. It’s the result of tiny changes over hundreds of generations. Although there is now a school of thought that some evolution leaps forward at a faster rate, but we’re still talking centuries.”
“Maybe humans have been gender fluid for millennia,” Lane countered, “but the patriarchy suppressed it.”
“What’s the patericky?” William asked.
“You don’t know anything, do you?” Sasha asked.
“Enough, Sasha.” The father sighed, collecting himself. “Patriarchy is a term for a society run by men. Usually by men who aren’t doing a very good job about making sure everyone is mutually respected, like Ms. Sample tells all the kindergarteners, right? Treat all your classmates with respect.”
“Except Hugh.”
“Even Hugh, William.”
“But he’s mean.”
“We need to treat everyone with respect, even if they are mean.”
William played with his action figure in silent protest.
Sasha turned all the way around so she could see Lane. “If you hate men, why do you want to be one?”
“I didn’t say I wanted to be one.”
“Wait,” the father said, glancing in the rearview mirror. “So, you don’t identify as male, now? Because I thought that’s what all this was about.”
“The Hulk identifs as male,” William chimed.
“I don’t have to identify as anything, Dad. And, it’s none of your business.”
“That’s debatable, but fine. Assume it’s not my business. Never mind me.”
“The Hulk smashes stuff,” William added.
“Just like the patriarchy,” Sacha said with pride.
“How do you identify to yourself?” the father pressed, ignoring the other two.
“I don’t want to have this conversation,” Lane said, and started drawing again.
“Hulk has no boobies. He has muscles.”The father gripped the wheel and took a deep breath, the spoke calmly. “Try. You’re a brilliant student. I need you to try. You can’t just not answer. You need to try!”
There was a long pause.
Sasha opened and shut the glove box repeatedly.
“Sasha, please,” the father said.
She stopped and said, “When I get boobs, I’m going to buy a hundred awesome bikinis.”
“Sasha,” he said again.
“Me too!” crowed William. “A thousand hundred bikinis.”
“You’re not getting boobs, loser.”
“No name calling,” the father said as they crossed the Cavanaugh Bridge to the north side of town. The traffic snarled to a stop in the same place it always did.
The father looked in the rearview mirror. “Lane?”
Lane put the cap on the Sharpie and slid it into their sweatshirt pouch. “I don’t know how I identify, but it’s not as a woman.”
“You mean you don’t feel like most of the girls in your school?”
“I don’t wear make-up or a cheerleading outfit, if that’s what you mean.”
“Marcy Flanagan’s sister is a cheerleader,” Sasha informed her family. “She’s a senior and she’s wicked pretty.”
“You can be a woman and not be a cheerleader,” the father said. Despite his determination to stay calm, he felt his chest constricting and his voice getting louder. “That’s really my whole point.”
“I’m definitely going to be a cheerleader,” Sasha told her father.
“You can’t,” William proclaimed with confidence. “Fourth grade doesn’t have cheerleaders.”
“You don’t know,” Sasha said with a smirk.
“Do too,” William whined. “Dad, tell her I know.”
The father looked at Lane in the rearview mirror. “You can be a strong woman, like your mother. You can even be masculine, if that’s what you want, and dress masculine, that’s fine.” He thumped the steering wheel with his open hand as he spoke. “You don’t have to change your sex. There’s all kinds of ways to be a woman! You’ll see that when you get older.”
“This isn’t about you. Why are you taking this so personally?” Lane asked.
“I don’t!” The father swerved into the left lane to get around a slow-moving bus. “I just think that you need more persp-”
“You get mad so quick.”
“I don’t! I’m sorry. I mean, it’s not that I’m mad, I’m just concerned, and…”
“Disappointed,” Lane offered.
“Never.”
“Then what do you call it, Dad? What do you call the way you and Mom talk about me all the time? “
“We-”
“Or how you keep trying to get Conrad to tell you what we talk about in my sessions. He tells me, you know.”
“That’s not cool, Dad,” Sasha added.
The father gave a loud exhale. “It’s hard. Okay? I’m not afraid to admit that it’s hard for me to make peace with. It seems so…”
“Do they have skeet ball?” William asked, making the Hulk jump from his lap to the back of the father’s seat.
“Skee ball,” Sasha corrected, “and yeah. Don’t you remember from last time?”
“I’ve never been there.”
“You have, loser.”
“Sasha. Language,” the father chided.
“Have not!” William insisted and kicked the back of the driver’s seat.
“You have, kiddo,” said the father, patiently. “It’s the place with the ball pit.”
“I love that place!” William said.
The father tried again. “Laney — sorry, Lane. I think it’s just that your mother and I raised you to be a feminist. And now you’re fifteen, and you realize women have a shit deal-”
“Language! You owe me a dollar,” shouted Sasha.
“-and your answer is to stop being a woman, instead of fighting for change.”
Lane threw themselves back against the seat and crossed their arms. “Oh my god, Dad! Am I letting you down? Not identifying as female is giving up the good fight?”
“You’re twisting my words.”
“I’m not, you just said I’m doing this to shirk my feminist responsibility!”
“No, I just want to know why-”
“You want to know why? But it’s none of your business! I don’t know why. Everyone keeps asking me what I want, but it’s not about what I want. It’s about what I feel.”
“Lane feels like they aren’t a girl,” Sasha explained.
“Yes, Sasha, thank you.” The father’s face was red. He cracked his window a few inches. “I understand that.”
“You’re a science teacher,” Lane pressed on. “Tell me you understand the nuance of non-binary!”
“Of course I do, honey. I do. But you are using science completely out of context when there’s a compelling argument that this is at least partly a social dilemma.”
“Frogs. Dad,” Sasha said, batting his arm.
“Frogs!” shouted William.
“What?”
“Frogs can change their gender,” Sasha informed him. “We learned about it in class.”
“I thought you were on Dad’s side this morning,” Lane said.
“It’s a battle royale.”
The father looked over at his innocent child with her long braids. “How do you even know that term?”
“Nintendo.”
“Nintendo?” the father replied, confused.
“Do you think a wolf could use a sword?” William asked the car.
“Laney, I just-”
“Lane, Dad,” Sasha corrected.
“Lane. I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret. You have plenty of time to figure this out.”
“Jesus, Dad,” Lane groaned.
“Owe me a dollar,” Sasha called.
“This isn’t about figuring something out, Dad. It’s not a jigsaw puzzle. Can we not talk about this?”
“You can’t just ignore this, honey. And I’m just trying to have a civil conversation.”
“Nobody regrets it, Dad. That’s a myth.”
“I’m sure some-”
“A tiny percentage.”
“Your uncle Billy joined the navy when he was eighteen. He regretted it immediately. It took him four years to get out of it.”
Lane ran their hand over the buzzed back of their head. “That’s a weird analogy.”
“Is it? I became a teacher. Your Grandma Elaine was a teacher. Your mom went to law school. These are decisions that are easy to take back. You’re talking about permanent change to your body.”
“How much longer?” William asked.
“Almost there, William.”
“My name is Wolf now.”
“Girls at my 10th grade class are having nose jobs, Dad. One even had a boob job.”
“You could have given her yours,” said Sasha, helpfully.
“Half the girls have bulimia,” Lane continued “and all the boys are worried about growing mustaches. They’re always flexing their biceps. Kids are already changing their bodies to try and fit the gender norms that they think validate them as worthy humans.”
“Point taken,” the father said, “but my point still stands. You can resist societal norms without drastic procedures. You can wait until you’re older and you’re sure.”
“Tell that to all the dead kids!” Lane shouted at their father.
William stopped playing with Hulk. “Dead kids?”
“Stop,” the father pleaded.
“Zombies,” said Sasha, and turned and made a scary face at her little brother.
“Trans kids have the highest suicide rates in the country,” Lane snarled.
“Stop! Stop fighting!” William cried. He dropped Hulk and put his hands over his ears.
“But that’s not you! You aren’t feeling that way!” the father shouted.
“You don’t care how I’m feeling,” Lane shot.
William began to cry, and his soft sobs brought the conversation to a halt.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Sacha said, turning in her seat.
The father squeezed the steering wheel with all his might. “Let’s not talk about this in front of William,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Eight times higher than average, Dad! Eight times!”
“I said stop!” the father demanded, staring straight ahead at the traffic.
“Higher than Veterans!”
“ELAINE!!! ENOUGH!!!” the father shouted.
William’s red face split open into a howl, and in the front seat Sasha struggled to contain a sob.
“Wonderful,” the father said, still facing forward. “Nice job.” It was unclear if he was talking to himself or to Lane.
“I can’t wait to get out of this family,” Lane said softly and turned their face to the window.
“Stop being such a jerk,” Sasha said, and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
William sensed the shouting had stopped and removed his hands from his ears, his breath still ragged from crying. “I want to go home,” he whined.
“I didn’t ask to have this conversation in this car,” Lane said with quiet righteousness.
“We’re here,” the father growled, as he pulled the Prius into the strip mall that held the arcade, a Sally Beauty, and a Dick’s Sporting Goods. He parked in silence in front of the beauty supply store windows, filled with pictures of women showing off their different hair styles.
“Thank god,” Sasha said. “Let’s go, Will.”
She and William hopped out of the car and trudged to the door of the arcade. The father watched them go, his hands still gripping the wheel as if he could crush it into pieces.
He looked up into the rearview mirror, but his child wouldn’t meet his gaze. He counted slowly to ten, but the pounding in his temple didn’t lessen and the vice grip on his heart didn’t release.
“Dad?” Lane asked from the back seat, their voice tentative.
There was a long pause.
“Dad?”
“We’re here,” the father said, finally. He looked down at his hands, exhausted, and a moment later startled when the back passenger door opened and then slammed shut. He sat alone in the car and listened to the blood pounding in his ears.
“Excuse me.”
“WHAT!” the father yelled, jerking his head up and accidentally sounding the horn.
“Oh my! I’m sorry!”
He looked to the left to see an old woman with an alarmed look on her face. She was wearing a tan overcoat against the light rain and had a plastic Sally Beauty bag in her hand.
“No. No, I’m sorry,” the father said, and lowered his window all the way. He looked toward the arcade to see Lane disappearing through the front door. He turned back to the woman. “Forgive me. You startled me.”
“I just wanted to say how lucky you are.”
“Excuse me?”
“To have such a beautiful family. Such lovely long braids. And two handsome young men. You’re a lucky man.”
The father exhaled, and something loosened in his chest. He wiped his red eyes and laughed.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” the woman asked.
“I am,” the father said. “I am. And you’re right. I’m a lucky man.”
The woman smiled.
“I mean person,” the father said.
“Excuse me?”
“I meant person. I’m a lucky person. A stupid, stupid, lucky person.”
—————————————
Tom Holbrook is a bookstore owner, editor, and author. He lives in New Hampshire with his family and can be reached at www.authorhelp.net
Show Your Work 