Multifaceted

The following essay by Haven was selected as a runner-up in a New York Times personal narrative essay contest for teenagers, which drew 8,000 entries from around the world. Basing their criteria on the kinds of powerful personal narratives that appear regularly in the New York Times columns “Modern Love,” “Lives,” and “Rites of Passage,” the contest judges chose 35 finalists, from which they selected eight winners, eight runners-up, and 19 honorable mentions.

 

 

“They”

by Haven Low

 

The dewy grass and decomposing concrete crunch under my feet as I trudge to the first morning of my job as a camp counselor. I sport an official t-shirt, an unflattering, eye-catching garment, reluctantly thrown atop of a bathing suit. All I want to do is hide. I am extremely self-conscious about my physical shape. At 16, I have grown out of my girlhood but not yet into my womanhood. I exist somewhere in between? I feel like an imposter in this brightly colored cloak of responsibility. It takes all of my will to stop from turning around and retreating to the comfort of my bedroom. 

Suddenly, I think of the campers set to arrive for their first day together, all of whom identify as transgender or gender non-conforming. If I am this uncomfortable in my gender-conforming body, how must they feel? Surely these second graders won’t care how I look in a bathing suit, I think. This realization gives me courage and a renewed sense of purpose. In the midst of their own struggles to reconcile gender with anatomy, they won’t think to judge my appearance. Or will they notice my own insecurities? 

As I turn the corner, with clammy hands and a knot in my stomach, the director greets me with a warm smile that calms my fears and leaves me mostly forgetful of my earlier doubts. In the final moments before campers arrive, we promptly cover the driveway with colorful chalk streaks and the words “Welcome to camp!” I chew my nails as I wait for the chaos to begin. Despite the nerves churning in my stomach, the world seems so peaceful and the birds chirp through the early morning wind. Will these kids accept me? Will they like me? Again the concrete crumbles as cheerful parents in minivans pull up, smudging our colorful chalk designs. One by one, I observe and greet each camper. Each child brings a story, an identity, of their own. There is the gentle boy who feels most comfortable in skirts striped with pinks and purples. There is the rowdy boy, born female, who runs circles throughout the crowd. There are the identical twins standing shyly together — identical, yet one is a boy and one is a girl. They keep coming.

I suddenly understand I have the responsibility of creating an environment where the kids all feel accepted and comfortable. They walk a complicated path and deserve all of the love and support I can give them. Placing my preconceptions and self-doubt in my backpack, I approach a shy kid with a rock and-roll haircut and rainbow leggings. I have absolutely no idea how they identify. Luckily, their suburban mom with frizzy curls and a cup of pungent coffee in hand reads my mind and answers my question. 

“This is Quinn,” she says. “They are gender non-conforming.” 

I am barely prepared for this. They are a singular person, I think, knowing it will take effort to remember the correct pronoun. Quinn looks me in the eye, and an impish grin spreads across their face. I smile in return. I am astonished that at the age of seven, Quinn understands their identity and is not afraid to show it to the world. They, without a doubt, embody self-acceptance, despite living in a world where far too many people equate them with being foreign and freakish. I realize how much I can learn from these kids as I walk my own path of self-discovery. Taking a breath, I settle into myself and my excitement. Without hesitation, Quinn grabs my hand and drags me towards a week full of self-exploration, expansion, and discovery.