Let’s Talk About Failure
My readers know that I try to keep this a positive space for all that is queer in NH, so maybe it seems unusual that I’m writing this post about failure. Hang with me until the end, and I’ll try not to disappoint!
As I’ve written in previous posts, parenting a queer teenager has a lot of challenges. I try to navigate these challenges with patience and grace, but sometimes, my blood still boils. Sometimes I am humbled by failure.
My teenager is taking Driver’s Ed, and for anyone who has experienced teaching their teen how to drive, I bet you have a TON of stories as well. It’s nerve wracking to be in the passenger seat with an inexperienced driver, but it’s also really surreal to see your spawn doing something so decidedly adult. All that aside, the Driver’s Ed experience posed a bunch of new challenges for us as parents of a trans* kid. Challenges that ultimately, made me feel like a failure.
When we filled out the application for Driver’s Ed class at the beginning of the summer, I was prepared to provide the legal name of my child. That makes sense, since they have to report to the DMV. I was also pleased to see there was a space for a “nickname” on the form, so I had high hopes that the instructor would respect my kid’s preferred name. Oh, boy was I wrong.
After the very first class, my teen was irritated that the instructor had dead named him in class. While that’s really annoying, it’s also a normal part of the trans* experience, and he was accustomed to correcting people. Most adults he encounters are respectful of that request and at least try to use the correct name and pronouns. This instructor not only did not try to use the correct name, but insisted on using the dead name at every opportunity. It was really frustrating for my child, but he just kept correcting the instructor whenever he could. Usually, people kinda get the message, or just get so annoyed with constantly being corrected that they start changing their words just to get him to stop, but this Driver’s Ed instructor was not to be swayed.
For the next 6 weeks, my kid just put up with the constant micro-aggressions. I can’t tell you how impressed I am with his resilience and tenacity with enduring this during every class and every driving session. His endurance is inspiring.
While this was distressing and annoying to all of us, the 6 week class otherwise went pretty smoothly until the end of the term when we were suddenly informed that my son had to retake three classes before he could sit for the final exam. To make a long story short, he had missed two classes and had to write two essays as make-up. Both essays had been written and sent in, but the instructor insisted they were not received on time, and thus, he did not qualify to pass the class. I usually let my kid advocate for himself, but in this situation, he asked for my help. Here is where I feel I failed.
When I wrote an email to the instructor to try and rectify this misunderstanding, I deadnamed my own kid. I consciously made the decision that in order to smooth this all over, I would have to put my own values aside and sink to the instructor’s level. This instructor held all the power in this situation, and while my son and I both felt that this “misunderstanding” was deliberate retribution for being corrected about his name and pronouns, we both really wanted him to just pass Driver’s Ed and be done with it. We stepped back from the confrontation and let the instructor win.
The end result was that miraculously, the essays were found. The instructor gave us the excuse that the emails came from a different name that she did not recognize. With a disgusting pit in my stomach, I thanked the instructor for accepting the essays.
I absolutely felt like such a terrible mom at that moment. I conceded to a bigot so that my kid would pass Driver’s Ed. It felt like a failure of all that I stand for, which is why I knew I had to share this story with all of you.
Failure is really hard to accept, but it is a reality of life for everyone. You can’t win them all, but for queer folks and the people who support them, failure can feel like it comes more often and hits harder. There are people and systems that have power over us, and sometimes the people wielding that power choose to use it to demean and disrespect. Admitting defeat in these situations feels like a failure, but I would like to propose that we try to flip the script. When that Driver’s Ed instructor used her power to demoralize and demean my child, that was a moral and ethical failure on HER part, not mine. She failed to be a reasonable and respectful human being with a child, and so rather than berating myself for failing to stick up for my kid, I am angry at her gross misuse of power.
It feels like a negative thing to admit our feelings of failure, but I think there is a certain camaraderie that failure brings. Supporting and loving the queer people in our lives can sometimes feel like a lonely journey, but by sharing our successes and our failures, we are stronger together. While this story didn’t really have a happy ending, it is still worth telling because anyone who identified with this tale can know that they aren’t alone. Our failures are not unique, but part of the collective story of being queer in New Hampshire. We can take back some of the power that was robbed from us by sharing these stories together to grow stronger and more united by them.
So, to the other parents out there feeling like total failures, I see you and I feel you. Instead of retreating into regret, let’s lean on each other so we can lift ourselves up.