First, I have to say that I’ve always admired your weirdness. Yes, you’re an odd one. To wit: dyeing your hair orange before going to a gathering with 30,000 teenagers. I could never pull off colored hair, but friends just looked at you and said, “Oh, yeah, that’s Pastor Jeff.” And at 6’4” you would have been visible in a crowd to all your church kids—clever.
Now, on to that last text message about your child: Seymour doesn’t identify as male or female and chooses to not be called daughter rather child and instead of her rather to be called they. I would love to see a blog post on non-gender word usage in a world that is stuck in binary. I struggle a bit but I am learning to honor Seymour’s name and using they as a way of referring to them not her.
I have a bunch of ideas, Jeff, but none of them are about gender-specific language. I hadn’t finished reading your text before a couple of lines from Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass interrupted:
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
I confess I also had a sneak preview of your message. Folks in the congregation I’m serving reported about a year ago that their granddaughter altered her name and asked to be referred to as they. So, your child isn’t alone.
For the record, I say that Seymour and Whitman are right. When son Micah was a teenager, he railed against posers. Goth, emo, metal: apparently all groups had posers, kids who were wearing the clothes and moshing the mosh, but not bearing the genuine tribe brand on their souls. Every time we passed some lonely kid on a street corner and Micah gave his critique, I kept my eyes on the road and endured. How could I explain that only the rarest of human beings isn’t a poser? Don’t each of us contain multitudes—compelling personas asking to apply our makeup and fill out our wardrobe?
Gray-hairs like us say, “Oh, Seymour is just trying to find, uh, herself.” Just. As if their search isn’t epic, and as if ours is complete. Seymour is going through a phase, all right, and so are we, brother. It lasts from cradle to grave. You went with orange. My clerical shirts are migrating to the back of the rack—the collar doesn’t mean what it used to. You and I are actually playing it safe, keeping our spiritual boats close to shore.
But your child is—or are?—frying Jonah’s whale. When Seymour says, “Call me they,” they are fussing with not only personal identity, but also with what it means to be human. Your Child-Formerly-Known-as-Anna’s project is Applied Whitman. And picking your own name, that’s a move of biblical proportions. Parents name their children, but Yahweh gets the final say.
So has Seymour forced God’s hand? I’m crazy enough to consider them faithful. As for you, wife Sue, son Isaac, and anybody who cares about Seymour, we ought to speak a brave language, adopt a compassionate grammar–and not complain. Love that won’t receive the beloveds’ new vocabulary and speak awkward sentences as if they’re really songs isn’t love at all.
Just to check, I sent you this text message: “So Seymour is good with my posting this?” You answered, “They are indeed.” I love you for your answer, Jeff. You tell me you’re “learning to honor Seymour’s name.” Let’s all keep learning. What we say will sound like poetry.
Blogger’s Note: for photo credits, contact me at my email address, JohnColemanObl@gmail.com.
I love everything about this post. I love that Jeff is seeking to better understand and support Seymour, and I love that you bring such an important social issue to the table. Compassion and understanding is always the answer.
Thanks, Nancy. That first photograph of Seymour is lovely, really haunting almost. My buddy Jeff is an extraordinary man–goofy as the day is long, but full of love. Peace, John
how wonderful to reach out
to best understand & love!
perhaps some inner looking
at, say, lab tests
for reassurance 🙂
Hi, Smilecalm. Gracias for the poem . . . “lab tests,” good one! Peace, John
myself & others
find such tests
#compassion – the perfect tag. Thanks to you and thanks to Seymour for letting you share.
Hi, Melanie. Hope all is well with you and yours. Nice to see you. Peace, John
Wow. This post is a struggle for me. Like all of us, I am they, but I have named my they “naptimethoughts” and “she” is being VERY argumentative right now. The lady behind NTT thinks that this is a beautiful post, and remembers herself at that tender age, trying to define herself in quite the same way, if not by the same means. That lady thinks that Seymour is going to be something great. They obviously have a ton of people and stuff rattling around up in their head and that one day, it’s all going to percolate out into the universe as one major cup of coffee. Rock on witcha bad self, Seymour, from one changed name to another.
NTT is funny as shit, but her waters run deeper than Loch Ness. I’m going to encourage Seymour to check out this comment. Meanwhile, cosmic argumentation proceeds. Hope y’all reach an amicable settlement–or at least a truce. Much good karma your way. Peace, John
What a wonderful world it will be when we all learn the language of love for one another, just as we are! Thank you John for your words of not just tolerance but real love.
I agree, ML. I’ve often considered “tolerance” as kind of scrawny. Love is better. Peace out.