“Maybe it’s not that they have a need to know but a right to know.”
“‘Right to know’ suggests you are being duplicitous, lying to people about something, masking certain truths. Are you duplicitous or lying?”
“No?”
“No. You’re not masking a truth. This is the truth. If you told people she was really a boy, that would be untrue. There’s nothing here anyone has a need or right to know. You’re not keeping secrets. You’re respecting your child’s right to privacy, which she has both need of and right to, just like the rest of us.”
*
In fact, it wasn’t just Poppy. Families who keep secrets don’t keep just one. They all guarded like garrisons stories of who they were, who they had been.
At breakfast on the first morning of school, Rigel and Orion crafted a plan.
“Let’s tell everyone we’re actually pirates,” said Rigel. “I’ll say my name is Blackbeard, and you can be Captain Hook.”
“You don’t have a black beard.” Ben was disappointed to find they’d moved all the way across the country and his little brothers were still idiots. “And he doesn’t have a hook.”
“I have a hook,” said Orion.
“Is that why he’s called Blackbeard?” Blackbeard considered the matter. “I’ll be Stubble the Pirate.”
Ben snorted. “You wish.”
“Hint of Whiskers the Pirate? Dad gave me his old electric razor.”
“But have you used it?”
“I see your point.” Rigel’s hairless eleven-year-old face lit up. “I’ll be Nobeard the Pirate! Seattle is going to be so great.”
Ben could be the smart one all anew. The move bought him another year of revelation. By the time he’d turned seven at home, everyone already knew he was smart, which made his being smart unimpressive. His tests actually came back with sighs from his teachers: “A+ as usual” or “Great work as always.” Now his papers came back breathless again with “Wow!”s and “Amazing!”s and invitations to join Advanced Placement classes and the Debate Club.
And Poppy became Just Poppy. Not Poppy with a penis. Not Poppy who used to be Claude. Not Poppy who’s really a boy. Just Poppy.