like riding a bike

It’s a scene right out of Norman Rockwell – a parent and a child, a bicycle with two wheels, the parent’s hand on the back of the seat, with just enough of a grasp to keep it steady, as the child struggles to find a balancing point, a way to power that bike right out of their parent’s hand and keep it upright on their own. The parent’s face is a mixture of concern and encouragement, the child’s of fear and determination, the two of them like magnets turned around, no longer adhering, pulling apart, but still connected by a shared energy. That’s the captured image, and then the live action resumes, the bike pulls away from the parent’s fingertips, and the child, pedaling furiously, plows ahead into a future that will never be the same. I lived those moments twice, in the exact same place on the quiet street we lived on when the kids were small. My oldest boy took longer, always the cautious one, and my youngest, Maxie, the one who always seemed more naturally aware of how her body moved through space, who could work a swing when she was three, was quicker. But of course they both learned to ride those two-wheelers, and learned to trust – both their father, that he wouldn’t let them fall and get hurt, and eventually themselves – that they could take flight alone and be okay. It’s a great metaphor for the whole experience of parenting – the coaching, the helping, the gradually letting go – while still standing there, hoping to be the safety net as well.
Maxie is nearly 21 now, and embarking on a journey so few will ever take, a journey to find a gender and a body she feels comfortable in. She did not need nor ask her parents’ permission to take this trip, and there is nothing in our own experience to help her with it. She picked a therapist to help her with the mental part of the journey, and a physician to put together the mix of hormone treatments that will enable it. Her progress, both physically and mentally, is something we’ll be able to only partially discern, her business alone. There is no bicycle seat to hold until she gets it right – not even for a millisecond. Personally, I’m astonished at her courage, prouder by bounds than I was standing in the street those many years ago, watching the bike wobble and weave as it moved away from me. And just like that first solo ride, I also know there is no going backward, no putting the genie back in the bottle. Maxie will keep moving forward, into her own future, just as she did then.
What that future holds for her, neither of us knows. When the bike pulled away I could imagine that in the next 10 seconds there could be a skinned knee, some tears, and some discussion about whether to try again right then and there or come back and try again tomorrow. With the journey into gender transformation there is no use in trying to imagine what will come next. What will be will be, and all I can do as a parent is be there if she needs me, when she needs me, how she needs me. I think about what came before the bike-riding – the training wheels that in hindsight were not there to protect the child from falling, but rather, to free the parent from worry. Those were the last training wheels we ever figured out how to apply. Now we’re both balancing on our own, doing the best we can. Hoping our best is good enough.