19
Shortly after my father left, Carmine called me.
And yes, understandably, she was upset. But we both felt that she should spend the night at the Rho house.
The reason was that I was going to have to deal with my mother, and wisely, Carmine did not want to be in the middle of that battle, as, remember, she is a college student.
Carmine had two tests the following day.
And we knew we were OK. Carmine realized after I had left that she had not supported me to the level I needed to be supported at. And she also knows that my family had gone more than a bit overboard.
But the main thing was that I had contacted her as soon as I was ready, not able, but emotionally ready, and the message I had left was soothing, and she knew that she was involved, but she was not to blame.
And just before she hung up, she said, “Shannon, I know that you are facing decisions that have to be faced right now. But I want you to know that regardless of what you decide to do or not to do, I will love you and support you. My love for you, Shannon, is not conditional. Never was,
never will be. I do not care how you self define, what name you use, what gender you believe that you are, what you do for a living; well, porn is out… But seriously, whatever you do, I will be there for you.”
And that, I think, truly is unconditional love.
It was about 5:30 when the next round hit. Mom came home. I knew Dad had called her. Why? Because he is Dad and a lawyer and everything, every commitment he makes is a contract. When he said he would call and talk to her, I assure you, he called, and he talked with her.
Now, would I like the results of that conversation?
That I did not know. But I did know this: when Mom arrived, it was not going to be fun.
Mom, well, she is Scots Irish and southern bred.
And although she may come across as a northern liberal, in essence she is a southern liberal, and the emphasis is on the southern part.
I love her to death; we have had more than one knockdown over the years. Always the same genre: what she believes I want, and what I do want.
Mercer was a compromise; I wanted a gap year or two, perhaps some Peace Corps or something similar. She wanted me in Berkeley or Penn, or anywhere where I was being challenged to my limits.
We both lost. And I ended up modeling because of it.
And not long after I heard her arrive, she came into my room.
I was sitting girl Shannon style, as I would in the Rho house, on my bed with my legs crossed. I was reading, actually. I was doing some of the research that I supposedly needed for one class; however, the truth is, I was reading about hormones and what they do to the body and the timeline.
“Shannon.”
“Mom.”
This was not my conversation, and I didn’t want to push it. She screwed up; let her break this open and do the hard work.
“Are we going to talk about this, Shannon, or scream about this?”
“Mom, I am all for talking; however, talking involves respect on both parts.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, if you are going to scream like I am fourteen, then I will scream back. But if you are willing to treat me as an adult, then I will discuss this with you.”
“Shannon, what happened the other night?”
“Mom, you, Dad, the twins, the security, and a bit of Carmine sat there and in front of me were making my decisions for me. When I tried to talk, to interject, I was shut down. I felt like my life was being planned for me. And I am talking about parts of my life that are mine to decide.
Legal issues, hormones, possible surgeries, and children. All aspects of my life that I am the only one, with the input of Carmine, of course, but the only one who can make those decisions.”
“Shannon, do you know how worried I was about you?”
“Mom, to be brutally honest, at this juncture, I do not care. Mom, someone sexually assaulted me in a very public space, and I was the one arrested and who spent the night in jail, and that alone could have destroyed my career. And what you do not know was that, physically,
I can not wear the dancer’s belt 24/7; it hurts too damn much, so I wasn’t wearing one. I had assumed that in loose casual slacks I was safe. But if that man had grabbed my crotch instead of my ass? What would have happened, Mom? And if he had, and Kelley was not there? Would I even be alive, Mom?”
“And Mom, I come home and what do I get? Why didn’t you, and you should have, and ‘You need to’ over and over and over.”
“Mom, you never once asked me if I was OK. You instantly started telling me what I had done wrong.”
“Shannon, I am a teacher, I am an advisor for a sorority, I deal with young Co eds constantly.”
“Mom, I am not your typical young Co ed. And you damn well know that.”
“I needed some love. I needed to be held. Instead, I had my ass reamed out for being sexually molested, almost raped, almost murdered, and arrested and held overnight in jail.”
“That, Mom, was the mother I needed, not Professor O’Connor in her mature wisdom from a few decades of experience with co eds.”
There was a long silence after I asked that question.
Then a more subdued mother asked, “Where did you go, Shannon? We did not know if you were safe or not.”
“Mom, first, if I had told you I was leaving, you would have done everything that you could to stop me. And if you knew where I was, you would have paid someone to capture me and bring me home. In essence, you would have treated me as if I were fourteen and not as if I were twenty one.”
“I needed to get away and think without being told how to think. I went to someplace in Canada. I am not going to tell you or anyone else because I liked it there, and if you do not know where I have been, then if I need to return to a place I do feel safe, then I can.”
“So, Canada, Ontario, which is huge, and you would never find me there.”
“Did you have trouble crossing the border?”
“I used my British passport to get into Canada; that is all I needed. But I used my American passport to return.”
“As girl, Shannon?”
“Mom, look at me, I mean like really, really look at me. OK? Would it have made any difference what I wore? Mom, he is gone. I don’t know when, and I don’t know how, but your son is not here anymore.”
“Can he return if you want?”
“Mom, was he ever here in the first place? You know what my life was like even in a private school. You know that I never once passed as male.”
“That is your hair, Shannon.”
“No, Mom, that is your excuse. It is my size, Mom, my build. The size of my hands, or my arms. The slope of my shoulders. The same things that allow me to model as a woman, those were always present. We just pretended that they were not here. Mom, I can wear Angel’s clothes, and she can wear mine.
OK, I may be bigger than her after implants, but Angel and I are identical. So identical that we are used as identical twins for modeling.”
“And Mom, you know that.”
“So, could Angel pass as male? Now, I am one, maybe a touch more than one inch taller than her. But otherwise?”
“Shannon, can I ask if you have made any decisions that we should know about?”
“Mom, I have made three, and I have talked about all three with Carmine. Carmine and I want children, and we only want children that are related to both of us if we can make that happen. So I am going to have sperm frozen very, very soon. Like the next time I am in New York or something like that.
But within the next month. And we are going to use two different facilities for security.”
“I can see that, OK.”
“Second, I’m going to do whatever Dad needs me to do to change my status as an American citizen legally to female. Dad knows this and will be taking the lead on figuring this all out. Remember, I can always use good old Dad to change back if I change my mind. But in the meantime,
I would not have been arrested in Florida.”
“And Mom, I am going to look into hormonal treatment. Evonne tells me that it is common knowledge among models like us that hormones will extend your life as a model about ten years. It is all about the skin and hair. With hormones, I will have female skin, hair,
and secondary sexual characteristics. Now, some of that, most of that, is not reversible. And I will become sterile after about six months to a year.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, Mom, I most certainly am not sure. But that does not mean that I should not look into hormones and get advice that is honest from experts. I can say no, Mom, and in the first five to six months, if I stop, then everything reverts.
It is only after six to twelve months that the changes are permanent.”
“Shannon, are you thinking about surgery also?”
My Mom knows Evonne, and they have talked extensively. My mother knows what surgeries do and what they can not do.
“Mom, I am not ruling surgery out. And to be brutally honest? From a professional standpoint, it would be the right decision. But I am not ready to even begin to think about any surgery at this time.”
“Somehow, Shannon, I don’t think you want to hear my opinion, but I am going to offer it anyway. Think of this as a mother’s privilege, OK? Shannon, at the sperm bank. Not a question. On the legal issues, again, not a question. Both of those will protect you. And right now that is my concern.
The sperm will protect your ability to have your own children, and the identification will protect your life. On the hormones, I have mixed feelings. I prefer that you do not go down that road, but I understand why you will eventually go down this road, and I have no doubt that, given time,
you will do hormones. And I also know that the longer you wait, the…”
“Yeah, Mom, the longer I wait, the harder it will be for me long term.”
“So Shannon, start them now and then stop if it is wrong, OK? But I demand that you do this the right way and under medical supervision. I will find you the information if you have not already.”
“Mom, I know someone in New York the other girls use, and Ellen is close friends with one she trusts.”
“OK, then go with Ellen.”
“But surgery, Shannon, I know that you are not ready to make that decision, and I hope that you never are. But whatever you do, take time and think about this, think about all of this. I know time is working against you on the hormones, but do not rush into something before you are ready.”
I am not going to write what else was said.
Or that we shed some serious tears. Or that my mother finally realized that her take on my reality was a bit different from mine, which shed some more tears.
Or that we both promised, “This will never happen again.”
But the truth is, we both damn well know that it is going to.
My mother is her own person, just like I am.
And we may want that person to change, but to be honest, we do not have the right, the agency, to change them.
Carmine wanted her mother to change her entire life, and she did not.
Carmine’s mother was incapable of becoming more than she was.
That is a given; we all know that. Carmine’s mother did the best that she could for her daughter.
Was it enough? The jury is out on that one, as my father loves to say.
And my mother is doing the best that she can do.
But here is the truth: she is not my father.
My father can set aside his concerns and see the needs of his clients as his clients see them.
He spent a lifetime learning to do exactly that.
My mother, at her heart, is a fancy schoolteacher who ended up teaching at a University.
Perhaps she should have been teaching third graders?
Would her interpersonal skills be better suited for them?
My mother over cares, and my mother seeks solutions because instinctively she sees that as her role in life.
In the last year, I have been having a problem seeking a solution, and every single time, my mother jumped up and offered one.
And that was right; that was what I needed.
I needed a wardrobe. I needed girl lessons.
I needed to join the sorority. I needed my mother to contact individuals she knew in her sister institution who could help me integrate into Mercer very, very easily.
For my mother, that is her style, and it will never end.
But now? Now I am beyond that level of interaction. Now I need quiet advice and the time to integrate that advice into my design for my life.
I do not need a third grade teacher guiding me every step of the way. A third grade teacher is making decisions for me because I am not at the place where I can make them for myself.
Yes, last fall, shopping and the fun of shopping with her new daughter was a Mom’s prerogative.
But deciding and planning gender surgeries without including me in the conversation?
That was the step too far. Look, I know that I am in a liminal space right now.
I have a history of making decisions about what I want.
And when you enter that liminal space, you need to be allowed to work out what you want.
This is not the time for outside influence to tell you, “Shannon, you need to do this now.”
And this is what parents get wrong, and why parents and kids have problems and separate.
It is the intrusion into the liminal spaces, those thresholds between the rooms within our lives.
It is in these times that the nature of support has to change.
When someone is in this space, on these thresholds, they react poorly to pressure.
What the one giving the pressure wants to do is offer advice, but what the one in transition sees is a decision being taken away from them.
Dad sees this. But his business is helping people make transformational decisions in their lives. Mom is a teacher; all she can see is “I have answers that they do not; that is why I am a teacher.”
And when I was learning to ride? Well, she did. Mom can and did ride barrels. And she aged out of it, but she instilled her knowledge of that form of riding into me.
However, my mother never dealt with what I am dealing with, changing the role that society views you from that of a man to that of a woman.
And especially given that it is a career that is driving this transformation.
Not desire. I, boy Shannon, never once cross dressed in my sister’s clothes, although I am sure, knowing those two, if I had asked, I would have been dressed to the nines.
We were bored a lot of the time. I never wanted to be a woman.
I never saw myself as a woman. I was never unhappy being a man.
That was then. Now I do not feel those ways.
I am happy with my life. I am happy to present as girl Shannon. I have no desire to stop.
And my question is, what exactly does that make me?
And the true answer is, I did not know.
In roughly four months, there is going to be a wedding at the farm. At my wedding, I am marrying the love of my life, Carmine. Now, the question is, who is marrying Carmine? And to be brutally honest, I do not know.
And that is what I desperately need to figure out while I balance school and two independent studies with the completion of the term and a full time modeling career.