Photo by Janko Ferlič on Unsplash

“What?” Janis asked her little girl. “Told you a lie?”

“Yes. She said, ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.’”

“I see,” Janis said. And she did. She remembered years ago, how she had been told to remember that little verse…

-=#=-

“Mom,” the young Janis said to her mother, “it happened again.”

“They’re bullying you again?”

“They won’t stop,” the little girl said. “They keep calling me ‘queer.’”

Nessa, her mother, had been washing dishes, but now she picked up a towel and wiped her hands. She turned around and sat down at the kitchen table. She reached out and grabbed Janis’s hand and pulled her close, enveloping her in a hug. “You know they’d stop bullying you if you admitted you’re a boy.”

Janis pulled loose. “I’m not. I’m a girl!”

Nessa sighed. They’d been through this before, but Jan insisted that he was a girl. Thankfully, he had a name that worked for either a boy or a girl.

It had only been a year since she and her husband had adopted the hard-to-place boy. Nessa understood his feelings only too well, however. She had hoped that they were a coping mechanism for something from his past, and maybe it was, but there seemed no sign of him changing his mind.

Nessa wasn’t privy to everything that had happened, but it seemed Jan had been abused. He had drawn pictures of a man and child doing something unspeakable. When asked, the adult was left unidentified, but the child was clearly him. Jan’s social worker had mentioned the pictures, but not exactly what they showed. Nessa figured since the adult was unnamed, but clearly a man, the act had been vulgar.

For her part, Janis didn’t know who the man was, nor did she care. The act wasn’t even remembered consciously, but it was there, in her brain, somewhere. It came to her mind at times of desperation – when she was feeling despondent. She had drawn them, almost unconsciously – of a man and a child outside in the sun. The man was standing behind the little child, and without thinking about it, she had drawn something sticking out from the man’s middle. Something that identified him as a male.

The first time, she had tried to throw the disgusting picture away, but her social worker pulled it out of the trash can, intent on telling her how good of an artist she was. The social worker seeing the drawing had immediately set up an appointment for the six-year-old child.

Janis tried to tell the resultant therapist that she was a girl, but the therapist thought it was a ‘coping mechanism’, and she cautioned Nessa against going along with it. It wasn’t just to cope, however.. Janis had known she was a girl for a couple of years, but the doctor wasn’t convinced.

Thus it was, Nessa had an idea of the life Jan had lived.

Janis had been attending the local elementary school for a couple of years. She had been fostered by Nessa and her husband for a year before the adoption was finalized. Her first year there, was kindergarten, and she had gravitated toward the other girls in her class. They had at first treated her with indifference, but as time went on, they began to show dislike, and finally outright hostility.

In her next year, bullying started. Nessa was surprised that first-graders would bully others, but it was certainly happening.

Then, her teacher tried to help. “Just tell them, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

So it was, when Janis insisted that she was a girl, Nessa, once more, tried to insist – “You have the body of a boy, Jan.”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me!” the little girl shouted.

Nessa was about to continue, but she stopped. “Do you think I’m trying to hurt you?”

“I’m not a boy!” Janis insisted. “You keep saying that I am!”

Nessa nodded. “And that hurts, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not supposed to. My teacher says it shouldn’t, but it does. Why?”

Nessa sighed. She knew where Jan – Janis was coming from and decided then and there to stop arguing with the child. She’d never wanted to anyway, but for the sake of Jan…is (it was going to take a while to remember the correct name and pronouns) she wanted to make sure the little girl was sure.

-=#=-

“You’re right,” Janis said to her own little girl. “I went through the same thing when I was a little girl.”

“You?”

Janis smiled as she gathered her daughter onto her lap. “Me. I was just like you, Stephie. I was adopted, and I was born with the same type of problem, and people called me bad names.”

“It hurts!” Stephanie said, trying to stop tears by pushing her fists into her eyes.

Nodding, Janis said, “Yes, it does. We can say that people’s words don’t hurt, but they do. A very wise man said that although we can tame just about any animal, we can’t tame our own tongues. It’s something that poisons not only us but other people as well.”

“What can we do?”

“Unfortunately, we can’t stop people from thinking what they do, sweetheart. Ultimately the words people say won’t hurt us. They don’t have the power to do anything to hurt our bodies. It’s our feelings that are hurt by them.’ Janis took a breath. “Daddy and I have been slow to realize that you’re really a girl.”

“I am!” insisted Stephie.

“I know, Honey, and I’m sorry. I wanted to make sure you were sure. I didn’t want you making a mistake now that might make you feel bad when you grow up.”

“I’m a girl!” Stephie insisted again.

“I know that, Sweetie. You’re my little girl.” She held Stephie tight, wishing she could do something about the kids making fun of her. It would be a hard thing. The more Stephie acted like a girl, the more the kids at school would mock Stevie. But the refuge of coming home where Stephanie was understood would be there.

Always.