Theme and Variations

Back in college, I composed a short piece for harp.  I named it after my cracked harp. Whenever I sit down to play, that lively little tune works its way in between more serious tunes, by “real” composers.

Like many folk tunes, it has an A part and a B part. The two parts don’t really go together. Over the years I have played what used to be the second part far more often, to the point that  sometimes I have to go back and look at the music for the first part.

We have had a long year, full of the best and worst of times. My husband has been out of work for over six months. We aren’t really sure how much some of my son’s treatment is going to cost. The stress got to me at Christmas time. Sometimes when I get overwhelmed by life, I sit at the harp and just play without thinking. As I played, one little melody kept coming back out. I wasn’t sure if it was part of something I heard on Dancing With the Stars or if it was really “mine”. It made me cry every time I played it. It sounds brave but a little sad underneath. I recorded it on my phone so I could figure out if I just glommed on to something else I heard.

I didn’t play at all for several weeks, but when I finally did get back to the harp, that little snippet of tune was waiting. I was playing through my old ” Cracked Harp Reel” and suddenly there it was at the end, finally completing the piece. It is just a variation on the the theme, but it is has a strength all its own.

I had already given this tune my son’s chosen name. He is doing so well this year. Even though I am thankful and proud for my son’s progress, I am still sad sometimes when I see a little blond haired girl somewhere.  Today as I played, I realized I didn’t really lose the child I had, I am just getting to finally hear  the whole song.

Unexpected Reaction

My son decided to take a tap dance class with a teacher who knew him “before” when he took ballet. I let the teacher know about the new name and preferred pronouns. We weren’t too worried about students recognizing him since the other ballet dancers would have advanced beyond a beginning tap class. I was a little concerned someone might recognize me in between classes, but figured I could just smile, wave, and keep moving.

My son took tap years ago and found it too strenuous. He left ballet classes because he kept getting headaches from changes in blood pressure. I worried that now with the binder, the headaches might return. To top it off, we are in a heat wave.
As we left for class, my worry wart brain had all sorts of things swirling around, but none of them prepared me for what actually happened.

We arrived a few minutes early and got to reconnect with the teacher. The other students arrived a little late: two sisters about 13 and 8. The family just moved to our town. The girls seemed friendly and they all compared their new tap shoes. They all went in to class, and then I heard the other mom worrying out loud to her husband that she had told her girls that it was probably going to be a younger boy in the class, and now it was this big teenage boy. It took me a second to even realize it was my son that was the big scary teenager! (I am not sure how she even knew a boy would be in the class, but I will worry about that later) I reassured her that it had been a few years since my son has taken a dance class, so they would all be beginners. “How old is he, anyway?” She kept fussing about how she had assured her girls he would be younger.  I think she was honestly worried my 13 year old son was going to somehow intimidate her precious daughters. I had to wait until after class when we were in our van to tell my big scary son the news. He not only “passed”, he has moms worried for their daughters’ virtue.

Instrumental

My grandma decided I was going to play the piano. I still remember the white Ford pickup backing into our driveway  and my dad and uncle unloading an upright piano covered with a mattress pad. We lived in a duplex, so the piano took up a big part of the kitchen. My mom showed me how to put my fingers on the keys. I practiced and practiced. I took lessons and performed in recitals. I remember the dresses my grandma made for each recital more than I remember what I played.

By high school I could play offertory pieces for church. I memorized complicated pieces, but once when a pastor asked me to play “Happy Birthday”, I had to admit I couldn’t play because I didn’t have the music. I liked playing the piano, especially Mozart, but I probably approached it like learning to type. I could hit all the right keys, but copying Dickens doesn’t make you a writer.

  My dad decided I should play the mountain dulcimer. He made amazing instruments with book matched wood and inlaid soundboards. I studied books and listened to tapes. I strummed until my fingers had black lines from the strings. I loved the way the dulcimer sounded. I could pick out melodies by ear, but I had to memorize harmonies. I taught my sisters to play. All the hymns and Appalachian tunes we loved were literally at our fingertips. In my happiest memories I can hear the dulcimer’s sweet song.

   I fell in love with the harp on my own. I was at a Shakespeare festival and under an oak tree there were harps for people to try. I can remember  the weight of the harp against my shoulder just felt right. I did not want to leave. I was blessed to find an amazing harp teacher back at college. She bent rules so I could take lessons even if I couldn’t play in the orchestra. I played the gong in the orchestra that first year. With the harp, I felt like I was inside the music.  Sometimes it is almost like I am dancing with the notes.

It took me 19 years to find “my” instrument.
When I had kids, I eagerly introduced them  to my favorites. I couldn’t wait to play along with them.
Tune in next time for the story of how my youngest found “his” instrument…

Reposting

http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/7536054?utm_hp_ref=gay-voices

I didn’t write this, but it echoes some of my thoughts. My child hasn’t been called names yet, but I have heard the “God doesn’t make mistakes” line one too many times.

Sun through the clouds

I just want to jot down a few of the bright moments we have had lately so I won’t forget in the midst of all the struggles and disappointments.

It is warming up into the eighties here, so it was time to head out shopping for more summer clothes. We headed to the boy’s department at Target and started looking for shorts.  There wasn’t a huge selection but we found a few. We laughed at some of the more ridiculous outfits, especially a really nasty rotten banana colored pair of shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. Roni picked out a great Minecraft shirt and a shirt with bold orange, yellow and blue stripes. We even found a swim shirt with a  happy skull (He likes happy skeletons).  As we got into line, he asked to go get a pizza at the snack bar.
This was the best clothes shopping trip in at least two years. Last year I ordered online after he melted down amidst all the sparkles and spandex. This year,  not a single tear. I could tell we were annoying the staff as we laughed, but it was so good to be able to do a simple thing like shopping without having a child in tears or hostile silence. 

My Book Cover

Don’t judge a book by its’ cover…

My “cover” looks like a middle aged, slightly greying, mini-van driving, church going, homeschooling, Kindle reading, coffee swilling, comfy shoe wearing mom of two.

Our Christmas cards used to look like the perfect all American family. I took the photos myself. There we sat smiling, Mom, Dad, two kids..in front of the Christmas tree or wherever I managed to get all of us to stand still at the same place long enough to take a photo. I always look a little strained because I have just set the timer on the camera and run into the frame.

In the pew on Sunday I am usually going to be there with my hair curled, wearing a skirt and my good shoes. I sing in the choir. I’ve taught Sunday School. I just joined the ladies’ missionary league and helped with the bake sale back in October. I have a Pintrest page full of Bible verses.

I homeschooled my older son from first grade until 10th grade. I am still homeschooling my 7th grader. I used to organize homeschool field trips and Lego clubs. I still drive kids to ceramics class, acting class, piano lessons, and confirmation class.

So what do you think of my cover?

Have that image in your head?

In November, my youngest child shared that though born a girl, he is a boy.

In that moment, God’s grace helped me see my child, and all his hurt, and just love him. My “cover” fell off, and it was just me, a mom that loves her child and will do anything for him.

I feel like people keep expecting me to act like my old “cover”, but I can’t. I can’t go sit back in the pew right now. I can’t even read homeschool blogs, because now they make me angry. Angry that people can try to withold God’s love from the very people that need it the most.

I am thankful that I am getting to see past other people’s “covers”, too. My husband has read books, driven to Dr.s appointments, cried with me, and is proud of his two boys. My husband’s mom and dad have been amazing. My son’s friend that used to have tea parties and play dollhouse with him uses the new name and has remained a true friend. The acting and ceramics and piano teachers have all been supportive. . My brother in law, the one I wanted to push off a moving train 20 years ago, wrote a loving email to his “favorite” nephew. My ten year old niece explained to my parents that they needed to use the new name and that “I don’t understand it all the way, but my cousin is happy and plays with me now, so it is OK”

So here I am, lurking here reading #transgender blogs, avoiding cute Facebook posts about my child’s friends turning 13 and getting their ears pierced. We finally found a great chest binder, but that isn’t the sort of thing I can post on Facebook right now. Thank you to the blog writers that are sharing their stories. I am amazed at how similar our stories are, even if our covers are all different.