Ironing for the prehistorically inclined

When I was a child my number one ambition in life, as beautifully illustrated by a nursery journal kept by my mother, was “to do some ironing”. I would love to say that I spelled “ironing” correctly, but I didn’t. The boys in my class were given gold stars for drawing astronauts, the girls likewise for ballerinas and nurses. I may have gone a little off the deep end of gender conformity with my love of “ironing”, yet, what do we see beside the doodle? Two gold stars and a smiley face.

Ignore the worrying implications for feminism for a moment now, and let’s look at how this anecdote plays out in the world of gender expression.

Years later, I’m out to the world as transgender and living as a man. The day I arrived at university, introducing myself as I felt fit, was the best day of my life. No more faking a pathological need to iron – it’s baggy jeans and happiness for me. My one regret: why couldn’t I cut out the decade of childhood depression, and be allowed to find this happiness nearer the start of my life?

The family of a child called Zach Avery have met with condemnation for allowing their child to do just this – to be comfortable in her own skin. The fact that her birth certificate says “male” is irrelevant to her sense of self. If Zach retains her Gender Dysphoric feelings into adolescence, then, and only then, will she be offered treatment. For now, all that’s happening is that a child is being given emotional, developmental support by her family.

As Jordan Bishop noted in his previous article, “most children aren’t really aware of what gender is”. A reasonable assumption. The mistake is to suggest that children may never be active participants in their own self discovery – and that is a dangerous road. Children live in a world of exploration. Their most meaningful knowledge is gained not from civilisation’s dogma, but from lived experience.

When I drew that delightful illustration (in which I look more like an mangled cat, by the way) it was not because I wanted to iron, but because I knew those gold stars would affirm my existence. I’d rather have been an explorer or a chef, but I knew that would call down the horror of the big red cross.

Zach Avery is escaping this system and, with the help of her parents, building her conception of self free of gold stars and red crosses. Had I been allowed to draw an astronaut, I expect I would have changed my mind about it eventually. On the other hand, maybe I’d be an astronaut by now. Zach has the opportunity to change her mind about who she is a thousand times during the process of growing up – but, crucially, some of the decisions she makes will stick, and with her parents’ love and support, they are sure to be good ones.