Read Alex as Well for Free Online Page B

was a really good one. Stick with it! You need to let Alex know that you are the boss. All children need to have boundaries. They can pound onthem as much as they like, but they need to know boundaries are there, and they don’t budge.
In the future, if you think you are going to say ‘mister’, why don’t you try saying ‘sunshine’ instead?
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Cheryl wrote:
Know that we will always be in your corner. You are not going through this alone. This is a safe place for you where peo[ple care.
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Georgeous wrote:
What did the year advisor say?
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Vic wrote:
Let’s take a step back for a minute. What was the thing Alex did that you thought meant he doesn’t care about others? Do you mean wearing the girl’s school uniform? Or telling you about being unhappy at the old school? I’m not clear on how that is hurting you. It sounds more like Alex is establishing an identity. That would have taken considerable bravery, I would have thought. Am I missing something?
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Dee Dee wrote:
Alex can decide he doesn’t like a school, but he still has to go. Imagine if every parent let their kids stay home who ‘didn’t like it’? The schools would be empty. The home is not a democracy. The adults have to make the decisions.
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Georgeous wrote:
I disagree. If he is unhappy and unsafe then he shouldn’t have to go. He’s not going to learn and prosper in an unhealthy environment.
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Dee Dee wrote:
No, he does have to go, it’s the law.
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Vic wrote:
This is not about the pros and cons of school attendance, it’s about Alex.
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Che r yl wrote:
No, Vic. This is about Heather, and she’s grieving over the loss of her son, so watch your tone, please.
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Vi c wrote:
Ok, noted, but it sounds like Heather is punishing Alex for things she did when she was three years old. And if Alex knew she was a girl when she was three, but was being identified as a boy, then of course that is going to manifest in some unusual behaviour.
I would have thought that the fact that Alex has enough self awareness to recognise who she truly is, at this tender age, and the boldness to be herself is something to celebrate, not to mourn. I guess it’s just me.

12
    WE GET HOME from the hardware shop and my dad is home. I don’t say anything. He puts his arms around me and he says, ‘I’ve thought about it, and your mum and I have gone around this all wrong. It’s your body. They’re your feelings. What we should do here is support you in any way we can, because this must be really tough for you. Adolescence is tough enough. Will you forgive us?’
    I nod through tears.
    He holds my face in his hands. ‘You’re a really pretty girl. Do you know that? But that’s not important. You’re doing something really brave and being true to what’s in your heart and I’m proud of you.’
    ‘Thanks, Dad,’ I whisper, hardly able to make a sound through the lump in my throat.
    We turn and go into the house. Mum has made a vegetarian lasagne. It’s not very good. I’m glad, because it doesn’t matter. It’s not about the lasagne. She’s tryingand it’s so great. It’s huge.
    ‘I bought a vegetarian cookbook today,’ she says. ‘It’s going to take me a while to get used to some of these recipes. Hey, maybe after dinner we could go through them together? Tomorrow night you can help me make something.’
    ‘I’d like that,’ I say.
    ‘Tell me about this new school you want to go to?’ Dad asks, ripping off a slice of garlic bread.
    I tell them about Amina and her friends, and about art metal, how I am going to make a letterbox for our house.
    They are listening to what I’m saying. I can tell because when I finish a sentence they don’t change the subject and talk about the things they were thinking about while I was speaking.
    After dinner we sit down in the lounge room. Dad has his feet on the coffee table and Mum has her legs across his lap. I sit cross-legged in the armchair flicking through the recipe book. We watch The