When I’m in bed one night, I get online and search “Ryland Whittington.” A link pops up—it’s a story that Nicole Murray-Ramirez has written about Ryland’s talk at the Transgender Day of Empowerment. He says:
[ . . . ] All of us fell in love with 6-year-old transgender boy Ryland and his family. Wow! This family’s video story on their child and his remarks I will remember forever—powerful, moving and full of unconditional love. Later, Todd Gloria and I were talking about this family and we agreed that everyone should know their story. Ryland and his family will be getting the national “Judy Shepard Family Values Award” at the upcoming “Nicky Awards” in August.
While I am completely honored by Nicole’s words, I am in a panic. It’s official. We are going to be public—Ryland’s name is right there in print. That night, I lie in bed unable to sleep as I think about what our future will be after Ryland receives the Harvey Milk award in front of more than a thousand people.
This train has already left the station. Now Jeff and I need to do everything in our power to protect Ryland from what lies ahead.
Through a friend, we arrange a phone call with two publicists in Los Angeles who might be able to help us position our message in a way that doesn’t compromise Ryland’s safety. They are friendly, and they propose a plan.
“Why don’t we come down the day of the Harvey Milk Breakfast and make sure the media leave you alone?” one says. “We’ll make a barrier around you and request that all media not film during Ryland’s speech or anytime thereafter.”
Jeff and I look at each other, knowing they can’t read our faces over speakerphone. “That sounds good,” Jeff says.
“Also,” they tell us, “you may want to protect your family by hiring a company to scrub your personal information from the Internet—your home address, your phone numbers, anything personal, details of that nature.”
This sounds like a good idea as well. I’m still extremely anxious, but it feels better to know that we have some help for what’s coming.
I’m so proud of Ryland, but I decide to have a conversation with him privately. One day when he gets home from school, he’s having a snack in the kitchen when I sit down with him. “Ryland . . . honey, some important people saw your speech at the Day of Empowerment, and now they want you to come speak again—this time in front of a lot of people. They also want to give you an award.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“That’s awesome, Mom. I want to go!” He’s so excited, yet so innocent—I’m afraid he doesn’t get how big this is.
“Do you understand that a lot of people will be there and that means they’ll know your story?”
“Yeah,” he says with a shrug, totally relaxed.
“Are you okay with that?”
“Sure, Mom. I don’t care.” He runs off to go play.
In a way, that’s just the reaction I’ve been hoping for—the whole point of all of this has been for Ryland and kids like him to have a normal childhood.
Chapter Seventeen
Coming Out
The Sixth Annual Harvey Milk Diversity Breakfast is held at the Hilton hotel in downtown San Diego on May 22, 2014. Ryland is so excited it’s as if he’s walking on clouds. Jeff and I are in ready anticipation. All is pleasant, but nerves are high.
We’ve chosen our outfits carefully—Ryland in a beautiful black suit with a purple tie, me in a blue dress that Jody loaned to me for the special day, and Jeff in a sharp suit and tie. Side by side, the resemblance that he and Ryland share is striking.
A good friend offers to watch Brynley, and with our family and friends, we coordinate the exact location at the hotel where we’ll meet up with everyone. As soon as we enter the hotel, I’m glad we’ve planned the morning so precisely. The lobby is buzzing—totally wall-to-wall with people. I glance around and spot our crowd: my parents, Jeff’s parents, Mrs. Dodds, who arranged to take half a sick day when I invited her to join us, and Jim and Chris—our good friends from church. We make our way to the check-in table and get our seat assignments.
When we enter the huge ballroom where the breakfast will be held, it’s decorated with bright lights and beautiful colors. We all take our seats, but when breakfast is served, I don’t touch my plate. My stomach is in knots. My mom flashes a smile my way, which eases me some. I smile back. For all of us, this day has felt like a long time coming. Jeff’s parents and my parents have been equally supportive with Ryland’s transition. Obviously, in their generation, nothing like this was ever discussed, and Jeff and I have been deeply touched and thankful for how quickly they all adjusted to having a grandson. From Ryland’s early hearing problems to the “tomboy” questions to the official transition, our parents have embraced and nurtured Ryland’s self-esteem, just as we have tried to do. It hasn’t been easy for them; in fact, they’ve also faced their own judgments and resistance. One of my dad’s coworkers asked him recently, “What are they letting your granddaughter watch at home?” Countless times, our parents have been subject to other forms of harassment, exclusion, and sadness.
And while they’ve remained supportive, they also have their concerns with our decision to allow Ryland’s story to go public. When I invited them all to the Harvey Milk Breakfast, as much as they love and accept Ryland, they all expressed some trepidation about Ryland’s upcoming speech, for his safety and anonymity. Both sides of our family would have felt more comfortable if Ryland was an audience member instead of the speaker.
However, here at the breakfast, that doesn’t keep them all from fawning over him in the moments before he takes the stage. My nerves amp up even more as the introduction and presentations get under way. I glance at Ryland, who is listening patiently, cool as a cucumber. He’s rehearsed his speech dozens of times, and when he takes the stage he’ll introduce himself for the first time with his new full name: Ryland Michael Whittington. For a long time, the middle name we gave him at birth caused him a lot of anguish and grief, and in the months leading up to his speech at the Transgender Day of Empowerment, Ry expressed that he’d like to be able to introduce himself with a new middle name. At first, Jeff and I debated over who should get to choose it—Jeff felt it was our job to choose a middle name with meaning, while I felt it was up to Ryland to select a name that he would really love and that would enable him to fully embrace his identity. Since preschool, he has been obsessed with the name Michael, naming every stuffed animal and character with it. He has a best buddy at school who also played on his Purple Panthers team, whose dad is named Michael. “What middle name do you like?” Jeff asked him one day.
“I like Michael, like Ellie’s dad,” Ry said.
Jeff and I looked at each other and agreed that it wasn’t too outrageous. “Okay,” Jeff said. “Michael it is.” Together, we accepted it.
My heart pounds as the emcee introduces our video—I know what’s coming. On the giant screen behind him, our life flashes before the crowd. Again, within a couple of minutes, there are tears and people passing one another tissues all around the room, including from my parents as well as Peg and Rand. They see now what our intention was in allowing Ryland to do this—it’s a powerful experience for everyone in the room.
When the video concludes, the crowd applauds with great cheers. The emcee invites us up onstage and hands me the microphone, which I hold under Ryland’s chin for him to begin his speech, a speech that he confidently created and wrote all on his own. “My name is Ryland Michael Whittington. I’m a transgender kid. I love to play with transgender kids. I am six. I am a cool kid.” At that, the crowd cracks up. I look out to them—I’m laughing, too. Ryland continues. “I have a sister; her name is Brynley. I was a girl; now I’m a boy. My mom and dad are going to let me be who I want to be.”
He starts to speak quickly, so I whisper in his ear: “Slow down.”
He does. He goes on: “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life. Thank you to my parents, Hillary and Jeff. Thank you to Harvey Milk for
helping the world be a better place.”
As the audience claps and cheers, Jeff accepts the microphone from Ryland and braces our amazing son’s shoulder with the sincere pride of a father. Like a little man, Ryland folds his speech and tucks it into the inside pocket of his suit. Then he looks to the crowd and gives them a smile that is the look of humble satisfaction—just like his spirit in this cause.
When Jeff takes the microphone, the audience quiets down again. “I know that we don’t have a whole lot of time,” Jeff says, “so I just wanted to say a couple of things. We are so grateful to be here and it is so amazing to receive anything associated with such an amazingly inspirational man as Harvey Milk. For us, we’re just parents doing the best we can. One of the most inspirational things that Harvey Milk did, as far as our family is concerned, is encourage people to come out, to break down the walls and the barriers and allow people to start being seen for their authentic selves and be true to themselves. And . . . this is our coming out. This is us making our voices heard.”
Here there’s another roar of applause.
Jeff continues. “It’s been a long journey, full of a lot of unknowns, a lot of fear: What will this mean for Ryland’s future, Ryland’s safety, his friendships now, his future friends, our livelihood in real estate? There are so many unknowns . . . but we just know we have to make our voices heard if we want to change this world, and we want to make it a better place for all of our youth and make it a more loving and accepting place for them to be who they are.
“Thank you to everyone here supporting today and I have to point out—we wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for this woman: my wife, Hillary. Because she has fought so hard. She doesn’t back down; she’s relentless. Don’t get in her way—she will run right over you! It’s because of her that we’re here today. Thank you.”
Again, the crowd cheers us. My only response is to smile.
I’m so touched that Jeff has given me credit onstage. I feel appreciated for my efforts to support Ryland, and it’s amazing to hear my husband come full circle in a journey that seemed to take him so long. He went from being afraid to talk about Ryland’s gender identity to speaking in front of more than a thousand people about how proud we are of our son and how this subject needs to have compassion and understanding built up around it.
When we exit the stage and go back into the audience, Jeff spots some of his former firefighter colleagues. He had no idea that they were in the crowd, watching him and our story. Until now, the majority of the department never knew our struggles, or exactly why he had left the department. Now the secret is out, and with the supportive responses, today Jeff stands a little taller.
As for Ryland? It’s the best day of his life. When the event is over, people begin to swarm us. The publicists, Emily and Sarah, act effectively as our walls, while still allowing us to talk to some of the important people whom Ryland, Jeff, and I have been hoping to meet. We even manage to snap a photo with Speaker Toni Atkins. For all three of us, it’s a huge honor to meet the woman behind so many LGBT protective policies.
After the event, we walk to the parking garage with the two publicists. “Hillary, we have a thought,” says Sarah. “After watching the reactions to the video today, if your goal is to educate the world on this subject, we think it might be time to release the video.”
“Really?” I look at Jeff with concern. “You think that’s a good idea?”
“Yes. Why don’t you add Ryland’s speech from the breakfast this morning to the tail end of your video, and we’ll post it on YouTube. We think your story will have a big impact.”
Ryland’s safety comes first, and our family’s personal information is protected. We just gave a speech about “Rights are only won by those who make their voices heard.” I think to myself, Why not? Harvey Milk did it, our family’s personal information is being protected, Ryland is proud, and if it will help save the lives of others, we have to go for it. I know that letting the video out into our judgmental society is going to cause a rumble. It will force some people to look in the mirror. But I also know it will serve as comfort to the other children out there who are struggling.
“What do you think, babe?”
Jeff nods. “Let’s do it.”
WE RELEASE THE video on May 30, 2014: my brother’s birthday. It’s also the day after Laverne Cox, the Orange Is the New Black star who is the first transgender actress to receive a Primetime Emmy Award, appears on the cover of Time magazine.
Almost as soon as the video is out, San Diego Pride, whose annual parade is held every July, posts it on their Facebook site. From there, overnight, the views keep growing . . . and growing . . . and growing. Ellen DeGeneres, Demi Lovato, and George Takei post our video on their social media with supportive comments. Ryland’s story is featured on Good Morning America, Extra, People magazine’s website, and in many other places (including on the shows of some very conservative media personalities, who criticize our decision to allow Ryland to transition). Our phones ring and emails ding nonstop. Jeff’s work life is paralyzed as hundreds of messages pour into our work email, Facebook, text messages—everywhere. “We could never respond to all of these if we tried,” he tells me.
He’s right, and it only grows from there. The local newspaper in San Diego runs a feature on their front page, and a local news station airs our family’s story at the top of their broadcast. I think to myself: If anyone didn’t already know in our neighborhood, they sure do now. The next day, it hits closer to home—literally. That morning, a local news truck has managed to find our home address and sits waiting at the end of our driveway.
Oddly, I feel more anxiety about the local news coverage than I do the national news. I’m afraid the local “coming out” will affect Ryland’s day-to-day life very critically, especially if any of the parents in Ryland’s class don’t agree.
I’m scared. Petrified. Sick to my stomach. Within a couple of weeks, I lose fifteen pounds. It’s not by choice; it’s that my nerves are running my body. I’m a zombie, going on no sleep, and as friends and neighbors gush their praise about our family’s courage and unconditional love, I feel disconnected from each conversation. Ryland’s life has been changed forever. For a year, we’d been somewhat private about his transition. Now we can never take this back.
I try to keep life at home as normal as possible, pretending as though nothing is happening. I don’t want Ryland to pick up on how tense I am about our high-alert situation. Jeff attends school drop-off and pickup with me. I don’t let Ryland out of my sight, except for school. While he’s there, I glance endlessly toward the clock, counting the hours and minutes until Jeff and I see our child exiting school, happy and unharmed.
Within days, the post is seen by 7.5 million people on YouTube, and receives millions of comments and shares on Facebook. Fortunately, of the thousands of emails we receive, none of them are critical or negative.
Social media, however, is a different story. I do my best to avoid reading the nasty comments, but Jeff can’t seem to help himself. I grow frustrated with his obsession to read these unsupportive opinions. His anxiety grows with each one, while I continue trying to keep things as normal as I can with the kids.
Three days after the video’s release, we’re invited to a swimming birthday party for my friend Jody’s daughter, Paige. Jeff and I discuss it: it’s a safe place. I should leave the house and behave as if everything is normal, for the kids.
The day of the party, Ryland still has very little idea that his video is sparking conversation all around the globe, or that his face was posted all over social media and news stations.
We pack up our swim gear and grab Paige’s birthday gift, a Barbie swimming pool and a Barbie doll to go with it. Then we head out the door. When we arrive, the kids are running wild as they’re getting ready to swim, and the normalcy of the scene manages to take my mind off things, even if just for a moment. Jody’s home is gorgeous, with a sprawling backyard and a lagoon swimming pool. As
I strike up a conversation with Jody, her dad, and another mom friend, Ryland hands me his ears. Jody’s dad begins to praise me.
“Wow,” he says, “so those things on his ears help him hear? Can he hear anything without them?”
“No, he’s actually completely deaf without them.”
“Wow, that’s amazing! You’ve done such a wonderful thing by giving him that as an option!” He goes on, applauding our efforts to get Ryland sound, then there’s a brief pause. Suddenly he says, “Hey. Have you guys heard about that five-year-old who had a sex change operation?!”
Jody’s expression freezes in horror. She looks at me. “Dad,” she says with caution, “you have no idea what you are talking about. Get your facts straight!”
“No! Seriously! You haven’t seen it? It’s all over the news. A little five-year-old boy from San Diego had a sex change. I swear!”
“Dad—you are wrong! You are absolutely wrong!”
“But . . . Jody!”
“Dad, I’m telling you that you are wrong.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s his mom sitting right beside you!”
He slowly cranks his neck to the left to look at me out of the corner of his eye. “Nooooo,” he says. “That’s not you, is it?”
I slowly nod my head up and down.
Somehow, I realize, I’m not angry. Ryland has no idea about the conversation because he’s swimming with no sound. In this moment, I realize that I have a choice: I can create change in the world by being loving and accepting, the way I want everyone else to be, or I can show hostility by getting upset, grabbing the kids, and storming out. But if I want others to be open to my views, I have to demonstrate the same openness to them and their views. I can’t shun them without giving them a chance to see that I’m not a terrible, crazy person. I’m a mom who loves her children and just wants them to be happy.
Raising Ryland Page 20
