The Hardest Conversation to Have

For all my life, my mother knew me as Kenny. Her son, brother to her daughter, Kelly. Now, I’m Hibby. I’ve been Hibby since I was 13 in online Pokemon chat forums. I didn’t know how she was going to feel about me changing my name. We had gone through a lot of fights because of her reactions to my feelings, identities, and many other things, and my reactions to her reactions. I didn’t want this to be another fight.

I was tired of fighting not only her, but feelings of being an impostor, of invading a space I didn’t belong in. People of color aren't afforded the privilege of identifying as non-binary in America; whiteness overtakes the label and Eurocentric ideals on what masculinity and femininity are become forced upon us queer and trans people of color. The stereotypical white queer/trans person with blue hair always made me feel unwelcome in their space. One literally asked me "Why are you here?" one time during a meeting I had every right to attend. 

If they weren’t vocal about it though, it was apparent in their brushing over of me, of their ignorance towards issues of race, and of their misunderstanding of my own experiences with my queer and transness, because they didn’t fit within their white conceptions of what queer and transness were. Surrounded by this whiteness, I thought it was normal to throw away my ties to my queerphobic and transphobic Viet family, but at the same time I didn't receive the queer/trans family the white people got. Being mixed, I found it hard to be accepted within queer/trans communities of color, as well. I strive to be in those spaces, but I know deep down that I am seen as an invader there too.

I had to start somewhere. “Did you have to pay to change your last name when you married Bill?” I asked her. 

She had divorced my dad when I was 18 and remarried soon after, to a white man. 

“No, it was a part of the marriage,” she replied. 

I told her I wished it was that easy for me. She then asked if I was going through with a legal name change. I wasn’t too surprised, as my sister had told me that my mom was aware that I went by Hibby, but not of too many of the details. My heart sank, but I answered, saying:

“Yeah. I’m changing my name to Hibby. Did Kelly tell you?”

“She did, but I wanted to wait to talk to you about it.”

“I’m hiring a lawyer and changing my name to Hibby, yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“I just want to make sure you’re sure.”

“I’ve used Hibby since I was 13 online. And I’ve been going by Hibby in real life for the past few years.”

“If it makes you happy, I’m happy.”

It was so nonchalant, matter-of-fact, and quick, that it left me a little stunned.

“I thought you’d be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad at you? I just want you to be happy,” she said calmly, staring straight ahead at the road but glancing over at me with a slight smile from time to time, “When you came out as gay, your dad and I didn’t understand. We didn’t handle it that well, but I’ve grown, and he’s grown. We just want you to be happy.”

We sat quietly after that and just smiled. I thought that I would be crying at this point, but I wasn’t. We eventually reached our destination, meeting up with Kelly’s boyfriend at the time. He wished me good luck on my campus visit, calling me “Hibby” in front of my mom like it was no big deal, and it wasn’t. We drove back to Chicago, and after 40 minutes in the car, I gathered up the courage to keep talking to my mom about my transness.

“Do you know what they/them pronouns are?”

“No, what’s that?”

“They’re my pronouns. It’s like, I’m not a boy, but I’m not a girl. I’m just me.”

“How do you use that when talking? I want to know so I can not look stupid to my customers.”

“You would just say something like, my son Hibby, they are doing a PhD in Information.”

“Isn’t they used for more than one person?”

“Yeah, but you use it for a single person sometimes too.”

“Oh, okay.”

I was astounded! Shocked! Who was this woman just quickly accepting me talking about my pronouns and gender to her? Had someone taken my mother and replaced her with someone else? Or have I just underestimated her all along?

I realized that if I had held onto the idea in white queer and trans spaces that family should never hurt you like this, I would never have been by my mother’s side to see her growth, and to be seen.

I realized that if I had held onto the idea in white queer and trans spaces that family should never hurt you like this, I would never have been by my mother’s side to see her growth, and to be seen. A queer or trans white person might forgo their family to make their own found family from others who accept them, and I don’t blame queer and trans Asian people for doing this if their family truly won’t budge, but this idea is harmful to us queer and trans people of color. Yes, the parents of queer and trans white people might be ignorant and uneducated, but they have easier access to learning what they need to know to grow and accept their queer and trans children. My parents and the parents of so many other queer and trans Asian people have additional barriers to accessing this information. I can be hurt by their rejection of my queer and transness, but I have to realize what additional work is needed to make them understand. I didn’t realize this until I actually saw my mom’s growth years into knowing about my queerness.

We don’t get to see this type of story told often. I know my fellow queer/trans people of color struggle with their families as well, and I feel incredibly fortunate to have a mom who accepts my new name and various identities. I would be so sad to never have this opportunity with my mother, and white queerness/transness would have taken this away from me. These Western narratives of found family and unwillingness to work with uneducated family members have harmed us people of color for too long, and it’s time we share our own stories and forge our own paths and narratives forward.

My mom smiled at me and then asked in Vietnamese:

“So, you’re like: ‘I’m not a boy, I’m not a girl, I’m an idiot.’”

We busted out laughing. I could not believe my mother just clocked my entire gender and aesthetic in one sentence, seconds after learning I use they/them pronouns and identify as non-binary. It was such a quiet happy feeling. It wasn’t tears and a tight hug or anything like that. It was pure joy, and it felt wonderful.

But that’s not where this story ends. She visited me not too long ago in Philly, and she kept using the wrong name. She kept using the wrong pronouns. My sister, partner, and I corrected her whenever we got the chance, and she complained about how I went through all the struggle to change my name and still hadn’t gone out and gotten new legal documents. I started to doubt myself once again and to doubt her. I didn’t feel safe enough in our relationship to tell her that I started taking feminizing hormones. I identify as transfemme now. I'm afraid once more of telling my mom about this, even though she wasn't bothered by me being non-binary. Why is this so hard? Will it always be this hard for queer/trans people of color? I’m so unsure of myself and continually learning who I am, but she’s still learning too. I wish things were easier for the two of us, but I still have faith in her. Once I learn enough about myself to tell her who I am, hopefully she’ll keep learning too.