First Impressions: My Maddy
Dani Glass
Once a week, a yoga instructor comes to my school and does yoga with my preschoolers. One of their favorite parts is using their “yoga phones” – aka their feet, lifted one at a time to their ear. They love to make calls to their family members, but before encouraging a call to a mommy or daddy, our instructor checks with the teachers to see if that’s applicable for everyone in the class. It’s a small moment – just quick eye contact and a gesture – between the instructor and the teachers, but it goes a long way in the commitment to inclusivity and respect.
I’ve yet to teach a child with a trans or nonbinary parent who doesn’t go by “mommy” or “daddy” (or the equivalent in another language). In fact, until recently, I had yet to see any form of representation of a trans or nonbinary parent or other adult. There are plenty of stories and books out there nowadays about children who are transgender, nonbinary, or gender non-conforming in some way. Don’t get me wrong, we still have a ways to go, but if you search, you’ll find them. Trans and nonbinary parents are a different story, however. It’s wonderful for children to see themselves and their peers represented in trans or nonbinary characters around their age, but we’re still largely missing representation of trans and nonbinary adults – which is important because many children have nonbinary adults in their lives or will become them one day.
As a nonbinary adult myself, who works with children as a preschool teacher, I’m intrigued that I hadn’t even thought about this lack of representation until I read My Maddy by Gayle E. Pitman. The story is told from a child’s perspective and details all the everyday things they experience with their parent, who, just like their many everyday experiences, is “in between, and kind of both, and something all its own.” The story focuses not on the gender identity of the parent, but on the love and affection between a parent and child. The story focuses not on gender, but on the beauty of the “in-betweens” in life and in nature – from rainbows, which come from the “in-between” of sun and rain, to a snack that takes place in the “in-between” of lunch and dinner, to bedtime stories that exist in the “in-between” of real and imaginary. The story reminds us that very little in life is binary, and that the love shared between parent and child is the most important part – far more important than the way one identifies or the name they use. Maddy’s existence in the space “in between” just is, and it’s a beautiful part of their relationship and connection.
I didn’t know what My Maddy was about before I read it for the first time. But as I did, somehow my chest felt both tightened with emotion and open with relief. I was seeing something I didn’t know I’d been missing. It was shocking to me that I hadn’t realized this representation had been missing from my own life – because I am a preschool teacher constantly on the lookout for books with high-quality, diverse representation of marginalized and minority communities! I have conversations frequently with children in my class about gender and how I’m neither a boy nor a girl. Somehow, even as a real-life example of a nonbinary adult in children’s lives, this had been my blind spot.
We – or at least I – mostly think of representation in terms of children. Children need to see representation of who they are and who they can grow to be. Children need to see themselves and their families and loved ones reflected in the pages of the books they read. Children need to see examples of people they have not yet met or don’t know they’ve met in books and media. Maybe it’s just because I’m a preschool teacher, but I realized while reading My Maddy that I’d never thought about representation for adults – how and why adults need to see themselves represented as well as children. I’d never thought about what I was missing in the books I read and media I consumed. That simultaneous tightening and opening I felt in my chest when first I read My Maddy was a perfect example of feeling “in between and kind of both.” It was sadness that I’d never seen my future represented as a child, and it was joy that this representation exists now. It was loss for something I’d missed, and a smile for what I have now.
Ironically, one of the things I love most about My Maddy is its lack of focus on Maddy’s actual gender identity. The book focuses not on exactly how Maddy identifies, but on the relationship between the narrator and Maddy. The book focuses not on the specifics of Maddy’s identity, but on shared identity and connection; very little in life is binary. The words explain not exactly how Maddy identifies, but on what it might mean to them to be non-binary in simple and child-friendly, yet nuanced, artistic, and poetic ways that draw on nature and shared human experiences. The focus of the story, ultimately, is on love and connection, and everything else just is.
