Nice people and the right words
Nice People and the Right Words
An old friend and I ran into each at the grocery store at the end of the year. My wife and I have boys and she and her husband have girls. Our children straddle the same age range, and they grew up together, though we've drifted apart somewhat during the college years. My friend's older daughter went off to a prestigious and expensive college in Massachusetts, one of the "sister" schools known for academic rigor and a dedication to the particular needs and interests of women.
I knew her very well. The girl worked for me in the summer between her freshman and sophomore year at college. She was great to work with, funny, good with people, truly a wonderful person, who was becoming a beautiful woman. For reasons I feel self-conscious mentioning - the reasons for which will become evident in a moment - I need to say this: This girl was "all girl" in the ways that some boys are "all boy". This did not mean that she was not tough, and capable, and confident, for she had all those qualities. But she was in every way a woman.
I did not like that she was moving in with her twenty-seven-year-old boyfriend, but she was not my daughter. I did not share my opinion about shacking up with a man so much older than her. I did know what her parents thought about it, but I assumed they believed they had no power over her life choices once she was legally an adult. They are very nice people, who live and let live.
When I saw my friend days before Christmas, I asked how her how Samantha was doing, and made a point to send my warmest wishes to her. Her mom gently corrected me. "Samantha is no longer Samantha," she said. "She, I mean 'they' just goes by 'Sam' now. They realized at school that they are non-binary."
My body language took over for I did not have the right words for the age in which we live. So all I said was, "Oh..." Is "Oh..." even a word? Is it a complete sentence? Is it a question? Or is it merely a sad, speechless sigh? Whatever it was, that was the sound that came out of my mouth.
Not wanting to be rude I summoned some more words, and I meant them from my heart. "Well, please give Samantha, I mean, Sam, my best. I miss her. I loved working with her, I mean, what do we call her now? 'Them?'"
"Yeah, 'them'." said the mother.
"Well, happy holidays, happy everything. Peace and love and all that." And I meant every word.
Now it's late January. The holidays are over that the "kids" are back at college, including my youngest son and our friends' oldest daughter, or I should say, "child", "offspring", "person?"
The new terminology seems designed to be less precise, to be at the same time more "inclusive" and less accurate, and less true. It's confusing. Maybe that' the point.
My wife went shopping yesterday and saw Sam's mother, our friend. She and Sam's mom talked about our kids and how quickly they’ve grown up. When my wife asked about Sam, and how "they" "are" doing, even she was not ready for the latest news from the world of education.
"Surgeons"(if that's the word for the "health professionals" who swore an oath to "do no harm") cut off the healthy breasts of a beautiful twenty-two-year-old girl, woman, person, child of God? There are no good words for such a thing. But "atrocity" seems like the most accurate. But you can't say a word like that and still be seen as nice. And my wife is a very nice person, just like everyone else in our perfect little town on the coast of Maine where we worship at the altar of, whatever happens, "Just Be Nice."
"If Sam changes their mind," the mother told my wife, “they, can always get implants later." The words suggested that our bodies are merely a mass of meat and bones and silicone bags that can be removed or replaced on demand. Perhaps she said this to comfort herself, or my wife - my very nice wife - who only wants to be compassionate, supportive and friendly to a family we have loved for years, and still do.
But honestly, when my wife told me about Sam's surgery, tears welled up in my eyes, for "surgery" did not seem like the right word for the bloody decision that everyone allowed. I am afraid to go to the store now, not knowing the right words for when I next run into Sam's mother, when she tells me about her once-upon-a-time-daughter, who came to believe that, maybe - I don't know - she is not her daughter anymore, but someone, something else. I am afraid that I will not only lack the right words, but any words. And eventually, I suppose I will run into Sam in person. Like a good person, I will aim be nice, as always, but my eyes may betray my true feelings about the immense cost of an education.
