A few things were clear. He should cut his hair, change his name and begin taking testosterone. But as Jason Martinez prepared to come out as transgender, one step in the transition eluded him.



How do you tell a 4-year-old that mommy is actually a boy?



Martinez's daughter Amaya was a spunky, straight-talking kid. She loved reading, so Martinez thought a book might ease her through the transition.



"I wanted something to explain the process that she is going to see happen," Martinez said. "But there was nothing out there to tell her about me."



He decided to write one himself.



As a perceived young girl, he considered himself a tomboy. By the time he enrolled at South Albany High School, students used a different word. Lesbian.



Martinez preferred boys clothes but never felt like a lesbian. He married at 18, then gave birth to Amaya soon after. He had no words for the way he felt inside. Then, in 2004, he met a transgender male.



"It blew my mind," he said. "That's who I am. I researched it every day."



He waited a few years before coming out. One night in 2008, Martinez bought a children's book kit from Target and began filing in the holes. He decided to write from his daughter's perspective.





When Jason Martinez transitioned genders, he wanted a way to explain the process to his then 4-year-old daughter, Amaya. Martinez self-published a book titled "My Mommy Is A Boy" which explained in simple terms what transgender means, and about what happens when a parent transitions. Kristyna Wentz-Graff/Staff

"My name is Amaya, and I am four," he wrote. "One day my mommy told me she wasn't going to be a girl anymore. I was confused."



"Mommy told me in her heart she always felt like a boy and being a girl made her sad."



Martinez struggled with what to call himself. "Dad" fit better than "Mom," but he didn't want to pressure her.



"I can call my mommy 'Mom' or "Dad," he wrote. "She says it's my choice. No matter what I call her, she loves me."



He wrote 16 pages then mailed the book to an illustrator. When the completed project came back, he sat Amaya down. The book forecast all the changes to come -- the haircut, the testosterone injections.



"Mommy goes to the doctor and gets a shot that makes her body match her heart," he read. "Even though my mommy looks different now, she is still the same person as always, and we love each other."



Martinez finished reading, then asked Amaya what she thought.



"This book is amazing," she said.



"Why?" he asked.



"Because I'm in it," she said.



He shared the books with the parents of Amaya's friends. Soon, parents he didn't even know wanted a copy. Dr. Megan Bird, a gynecologist who leads Legacy Medical Group's transgender health program, keeps a copy of the book in some of her patient rooms.



Transgender authors have published other books since Martinez first released his. "My Mommy is a Boy" remains one of the best-rated children's books on gender identity. He sells it online now for $9, just enough to cover the expense of printing.



Eventually, the family moved to Southeast Portland, where it's easier to be transgender, Martinez said. Amaya is 13 now, unfazed by the parent she just calls "Jace."



"Now, it's just whatever to her," Martinez said. "It's normal. I don't think she remembers me any other way."

-- Casey Parks

503-221-8271

cparks@oregonian.com; @caseyparks