Father's Day

2019

Father's Day

Well, it's Father's Day this morning. Honestly, I'm conflicted. You see, we have 2 wonderful (adult) children. They call me "dad", and we celebrate Father's Day. Yet, I'm a woman.

If I know my wife, she will try hard to make sure the day is special for me. She is a sweetie that way. She wants me to know I'm important to her, and to our children.

But, as I said, I'm conflicted. I don't know if being called "dad" is right. I don't honestly think being called "mom" is right. I didn't birth them and I know our kids wouldn't be comfortable with that anyway. I'm honestly not sure I'd be comfortable being called "mom", either. For that matter, to me, Mother's day has always been a day to honor their mom, my wife. She's an awesome mom. She earned it. I'm not trying to replace her in any way, nor even horn in just a bit on her motherhood. I don't want to do that at all. I don't believe that "mom" is the right word for me.

I've always been their dad, and I love them madly. I very much like being their parent, and I like that when they need someone to talk to, they often turn to me. Though I am not the sort of person who does "typical dad things", I have always tried hard to be there for them, and I intend to always be there for them. But at the same time, "dad" and Father's Day don't seem to be quite right either. Father's Day evokes masculine images, and so does the word dad, and I'm not the least bit masculine. I don't dislike the day. But it seems odd,  I guess.

Risk

I am also aware that there is risk inherent in someone like me being called "dad" publicly. That risk is not just mine, but theirs also, because anger transfers very easily, and also because our kids are strong young women who would speak up if someone was acting stupidly. There are a lot of ignorant people out there, who react with anger toward whoever is different from them. This means that calling me "dad" publicly could be dangerous for our children as well.

Maybe there needs to be a day called Goofy Person's Day. There is a Transgender Parent's Day. I'm not sure how our kids would feel about that. They might be more willing to celebrate Goofy Person's Day.

Bottom line? I'm thrilled and honored to be their parent. Though I'm not sure Father's Day is the right day, I don't so much care what they call me. I for sure am blessed to have them in my life!

Happy Goofy Person's Day!

Sara's Hair

 1984

 

Sara was an unusually cute girl. She was a year behind me in school, and she had that refreshing, innocent girl next door quality about her that just plain appealed to people. She was nice, popular, and was in the band, and was a cheerleader as well. Lots of guys were after her for her body, and for her girl-next-door personality.

I was a Junior, and I was interested in her hair. I suppose that’s weird. But her hair was perfect, all the time. She was a natural blonde, and always did a great job taking care of her hair. She was one of those girls that even after hours of time in band uniform at a football game, when the hat came off, her hair still looked great.

Her hair was always clean and shiny, always had good body, always smelled good, was always styled in an appealing manner, and she clearly took good care of it. I was fascinated by her hair, I suppose because it seemed so much the epitome of what a woman’s hair should be like. I remember wondering why more girls didn’t take the same amount of care.

I have always been drawn to great hair on women. I suppose the fact that they took the time to get it right says something about their classiness, to me. 

Peace and Harmony

 2022

A lot has happened over the last several years. So many big changes. So many things learned, and so much understanding and enlightenment gained. It honestly has been a wild ride!

Among these things have been the following ideas:

1. Many churches want to do the right thing, and genuinely want to be welcoming to LGBTQIA+ people. The obstacles include such things as:

    - A genuine lack of understanding how to even begin to change, or even what change is necessary. It sounds easy, but it takes thought, and wisdom, and courage. Change is not easy.

    - A real (and realistic) fear that taking any steps toward welcoming LGBTQIA+ people will result in them losing attendance, and with that, losing finances. Numbers = $$. 

 - A fear that if they were to try, the church leadership would quickly be out of a job. This is not an unfair fear. Rather, it is entirely possible. 

2. When an LGBTQIA+ person finds a church that sees them as a person, rather than a political issue, it is a wondrous experience! I can't begin to explain how it feels, and I've been there myself. 

3. Living authentically matters. When an LGBTQIA+ person is able to be themselves, there is freedom, peace, self-acceptance. There is the ability to really live. 

4. Support systems matter. A corollary to this is that Family isn't who your blood relatives are, but rather those who have your back, in the midst of the fight. 

5. Prayer matters. Prayer works. When you stop praying in fear "Please God, anything but this! Take it away!" and instead ask God to show you who you are (have you ever really thought about that?), the difference in your thought process is quick and breathtaking. Go back and read number 3. Once your mind is open to exploring YOU, gracious, the difference it makes!

6. God really, honestly, genuinely does love us for exactly who we are. He knit us together in the womb, and knew who we were before we were even born. He knew. He knew because He held the knitting needles. He made me as me. He made you as you, too. 

 

A List of All the Reasons Transgender People Shouldn't Have Equal Rights

 A List of All the Reasons Transgender People Shouldn't Have Equal Rights:

Pronoun Changes

2019

I started out life with male pronouns. but one day, my wife and I put 2 and 2 and 3 and 1 and 5 and 4 and 3 together and figured out that I am transgender. That'll wreck your pronouns in a hurry.

I wanted to avoid the whole hog rush into changing genders that so many people experience, and make sure that each step made sense for us. Part of that was trying to figure out what pronouns to use. I wanted to get it right. So, I initially decided to think on it, not make a quick change, and continued using male pronouns.

As it became increasingly clear that I was not a cisgender male, I switched to using they/them/their as my pronouns. This caused some issues for my wife because without intending to, she would switch back and forth from he/him/his to they/them/their in conversations. I felt bad for her because she was trying hard, but errors were so easy to make. 

This continued while I explored whether a more accurate situation for me was non-binary, or female. Honestly, non-binary would likely have been more simple for me, since I had a male body. As time continued, I stayed in that niche for several months but was increasingly thinking I was actually female. One day, in conversation, I mentioned something about being non-binary and my wife laughed and said "Why don't you just admit it?"

"Admit what?" I asked.

"Please," she retorted. "You're more girly girl than I am!"

She was right. I am.

Later that same day, talking with our therapist, I told her that I wasn't non-binary, but actually female. She laughed, and said, "I was wondering when you'd decide that. It's pretty obvious"

We used they/them/their for another few weeks but then began phasing in she/her/hers. This accelerated to the point where we began using it more publicly when we filed for my name change.

Now my wife is comfortable referring to me as she/her, and I have coworkers who have never known me as anything other than she. People still slip sometimes, but that's normal, and they're getting better all the time.

I took my time, figured out what felt right, and then went for it. That was the right approach, for me.

Panic Attacks

1978

When I was a child, I experienced something painful. Literally painful. I was having chest pains, with difficulty breathing. I felt tingling in my fingers, sometimes I would feel sweaty or chilly. It happened at odd times, with no real cause, and I never knew when it was going to happen.

Of course, I told my parents. Honestly, they didn't believe me. Even when it eventually happened in front of them, they thought I was faking. But, it kept happening, and I remember my mom at one point telling me they were going to waste money to take me to the doctor so he could tell me it wasn't happening.

A few weeks later, I was seen by a doctor. He ran a few tests and told my parents that he thought I was just under physical stress, caused by eating too much, and not getting enough sleep. Mind you, I got more sleep than most of my peers, thanks to my extremely early bedtime, and I was skinny and always hungry.

My parents immediately cut my food back even more, and began requiring an earlier bedtime. It didn't help at all.

In the same period that this was happening, I was going through a period of strong dissonance. I was feeling really out of place, and so many things were starting to feel wrong. 

Thankfully, the chest pain and difficulty breathing slowly got farther between episodes. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, I am aware that what I was experiencing were the symptoms of panic attacks. they were really scary. 

I still have panic attacks sometimes. Usually centered around something scary to me. For example, during my time in the Army Reserve, I sometimes had panic attacks before drills in which I knew I was going to have to go into locker rooms. 

Panic attacks are scary. If you experience them, I can't begin to encourage you enough to seek aomeone to help. 

My New Hairdresser

 2017 - 2018

 

My first hairdresser having taken a job out of hair care, we went in search of someone new. A few visits to have my hair done proved disastrous, and we decided we need to be seeking for someone in a more expensive salon.

We visited a salon at a local mall, and once in the chair, I was again nervous. My wife was all over this, explaining what we were after, and why, and from the grin on the hairdresser’s face as she talked about how she’d want to go about it, I knew she was fully on board.

That first visit, she fixed the damage that Great Clips had caused. On subsequent visits, she crafted my hair as it got longer and longer, making sure that we stayed noticeably inside the line before each month’s drill.

Each time, when she was done, she and my wife went over with me how best to achieve the look she was creating. Hearing my wife say “Wow, that looks really good” was awesome!

If you're trans, and don't see a hair stylist, please consider it. Feeling good about yourself really helps with self esteem. 

Diane

 1980

 

Middle school is an awkward time for a lot of kids. In any school, there is that one girl who suddenly blossoms, becoming mesmerizingly pretty overnight as puberty kicked in. In our school, Northwood, the girl who suddenly went from Plain Jane was Diane.

Late in 6^th grade, Diane suddenly had noticeably large breasts, and better shaped legs than the girls around her, and she was suddenly pretty, too. Her breasts weren’t just noticeable. They were large. It seemed to happen overnight, but I’m sure that the reality was it was over a period of months.

The guys were evenly split on her. Half of the boys had no interest in girls yet, and the other half worshipped the ground she walked on. The girls also seemed conflicted. Many were so mad at her they could spit, and at the same time, the girls all seemed to want to be her friend.

Mind you, she couldn’t help going through the changes her body was experiencing, and I have no doubt that she was spending a lot of time experiencing negative emotions associated with what people were saying about her, and about how she was feeling, physically.

I remember one day in science class, that Diane, who was sitting at the table right behind me, was the subject of conversation. It was one of those conversations about someone that is carried on right in front of them, while pretending they’re not there, and can’t hear. The conversation was about her breasts, how stupid she looked with those big things, how she was a freak and a loser because of her body, how she felt she was better than everyone else because she had tits, how she clearly was a slut because she showed her breasts off (you know, wore the same tops every other girl in school wore), etc.

This went on for about 15 minutes, despite the presence of the teacher in the room. We were doing activities, so the teacher, rather than lecturing, was in the front of the room, at his desk. I remember feeling increasingly bad for her. Finally I couldn’t take it any more, and turned around and told them to stop it, that they were being mean. There was a shocked silence for a moment, and then some laughter, and a comment that “look, the wimp is defending the slut”. But they stopped, which shocked even me.

The kid I hung out with in middle school at that time, Mike, he asked me what my problem was. All I could come up with was that it was wrong, talking about her like that. He seemed to find that odd, to the point that by the end of that year, we were no longer talking. 

Diane seemed to appreciate it, though. For the rest of 6^th grade, I had a sort-of friend. We were in different social circles, but she would talk with me, and I always got a smile and a wave.

 

Caught

2017

 

In the barracks in California for training, I had adopted the tactic of showering late at night, by which I mean 2 in the morning, because at that time, everyone was asleep. I also showered on different floors, because it seemed less likely someone I knew would see me if they went to the bathroom.  It worked well and kept me in a position where I was relatively safe showering, as a transgender person in a barracks full of men.

I wasn't super far into transition at this point. I had shaved legs, and painted toes, though the color was very near skin tone, and hard to notice. But still, I tried to play it as safe as possible. 

This night, I was finished showering. I had heard another shower start, and thus knew another person was present. I dried off quickly, and headed out. On the way out, I passed the other person’s shower. I stopped at the sink for a moment to trim my eyebrows. Done, I took of my towel, and quickly dried off my face.

At that moment, the shower behind me opened, and the other person stepped out. I was in the act of turning to leave, and turned toward him as he stepped out. I had never seen him before. He was tall, and goodness, was he built! I noticed in a moment his powerful chest and arms, water glistening on his skin. My eyes dropped down his chest to his flat, muscular stomach, and then oh my god, to his dick, hanging between his strong legs. My gaze just kept traveling, drinking in what I was seeing. I was mesmerized. I have no idea how long I feasted on him with my eyes.

“What the F-!” the harsh voice snapped me out of it, and I realized with a horrible, sinking feeling that not only had I been checking out every beautiful inch of him with my eyes, but I had been caught doing it. He was glaring furiously at me.

He called me a sick f__k, and yelled at me to get out before he kicked my butt, and I cried out and darted out of the room. I wrapped my towel around myself as I hurried out, hearing him cursing me from the room behind me. I remember being thankful as I went down the hallway and the stairs in a mad scramble that I didn't pass anyone.  In my room, alone in the dark, I laid there in my bed and cried.

I was lucky, and I knew it. That experience could have ended very badly.

Thankfully, within a few days I was on my way home.   

The Wargame

 1994

 

I was in the Army, participating in a wargame in the New Mexico desert. The armored vehicle I commanded was undergoing mechanical issues. So my driver, and myself, were left with the vehicle while the attack continued away from us. Maintenance teams in general were overwhelmed, and I found out later our unit's maintenance team was captured. We were there, by ourselves, for a week.

The desert heat was oppressive through the day, and the nights, by contrast, were rather frigid. So, my driver and I spent the days sweltering. We quickly got smelly, and thus made sure we bathed each day. Now, my driver would simply bathe right in front of me, but I just plain couldn’t do the same. I was very uncomfortable with the idea of undressing and washing in front of him. Each morning, when it had warmed up a bit, I would take the portable shower we had, and go around to the front of the armored personnel carrier, and shower where I couldn’t be seen.

He found it a bit odd, and teased me a bit. In his southern twang he'd say "What's the matter Sergeant?". But I couldn't tell him. He'd try to be silly, pop around the side of the personnel carrier. But I always coverd my chest, and that just made him laugh harder. 

Naturally, because my life so rarely goes right the first time, when our First Sergeant and his driver stopped by after that week to replenish our food and water, where was I? Yep. Showering. 

I wish I could say that showering got easier. But unfortunately, it didn't. 

But the worst part of the experience was yet to come. My driver and I noticed one morning that a lot of tarantulas were around. Next thing we know, we were surrounded with them. Some sort of migration. The desert was black and moving. The stuff horror movies were made of. 

At least the showers stopped. We spent three days on top of our armored personnel carried, fending off spiders. 

Modeling the Pretty Panties

 (2017)

 

I have a lot of panties. I need a good number, because I wear a pair every day to work, and then a different pair in the evening. Most of them are boy shorts, because those fit me better, and they feel good in how they fit. Accordingly, they look better on me. One of these is a marbled pair, cream with raspberry swirls. They look really pretty, and I totally love how I feel in them. Have you ever owned any garment at all that you felt great just from simply putting them on? That was that pair of panties.

One day, my lovely wife was in the bedroom, freshly showered, getting ready for us to go some place. I finished showering, and toweled off. I went into the bedroom, got out some socks, and took out a pair of panties, which turned out to be those cream and raspberry swirled boy shorts.

I slipped those panties up myfreshl y shaven legs, and into place. Immediately, I just felt very pretty. I turned, and cocked a leg. I’m sure I was beaming. I turned some, modeling them for my wife, exclaiming how pretty I felt in those panties. I noticed her smiling, and her eyes were dancing, which happens when she is really happy.

“What?” I asked.

”That was just really cute” she giggled.

You know that interior feeling of warmth you can get when all is right in the world? Yeah. That.

The "Fight" in the Alley

 1981

 

It was 8^th grade, the time in life when people in my middle school were the kings and queens, running the school, as far as we were concerned. Not me, though. I was just trying to get through. Like all schools, there were some boys who spent their days trying to assert their dominance. I wasn't the most masculine student, and one day an eighth-grader named Steve decided that he was offended by me.

Steve was an eighth-grade football player. I was about 5'5" at the time, and he was nearly 6 feet tall. He was a pretty big guy, with about 80 pounds on me. He was also a karate student. Sarcastically speaking, I was overcome with joy at the prospect of fighting him. 

Steve buzzed it around school that I was gay, and had hit on him. Naturally, the other guys egged him on to kick my butt.  So on a Monday he announced that he and I were fighting on Thursday morning, 15 minutes before school started, right in front of the school. Interestingly, I had no idea for over a day that this was the case. I guess everyone thought I knew, so no one mentioned it. Imagine my shock upon hearing it!

Steve was much larger than I was, and had a reputation for being a pretty good fighter. In other words, I’d rather not have to do this. But I also knew if I didn’t show, I’d be considered a coward. As far as everyone knew, I was a boy. Being considered a coward would mean every boy in school would be looking to fight me, just to improve their own reputation. 

Wednesday, I ran into him in the hallway. My middle school, the former high school, was an old, three story tall building with a full basement that was also classrooms, and there were a huge number of stairways. You could easily go for days and not run into someone. We were supposed to meet to fight the next morning. I had no idea why I did this, but I told him I didn’t want to meet in front of the school, because we’d just get suspended. I told him I wanted to meet in an alley that was a block away from the back of the school, a half-hour before school started. He agreed. Thankfully, there were witnesses, including some of the cheerleaders. In my community, the cheerleaders had the power.

Thursday morning came, and I was there in the alley, 10 minutes early. I guess I’m an idiot. Who comes early to get their butt kicked? But hey. My dad had taught me to be early for things. I stood nervously, looking at my watch, and waited. And waited. And waited. No one showed, not even spectators. I was only a few minutes from being late for school. Finally, I went down the street to the school. As I walked in, a passing girl announced “Here comes the pussy!” Cue the laughter.

I was surprised, and told her I waited at the agreed upon spot, and Steve never showed. The kids that were laughing heard it too. I went to my locker, grabbed my books, and went to class. In the next few hours, the ridicule of me for not showing for the fight became kids telling me it was cool that I had “won” the fight. Steve, it seemed, forgot he had agreed to meet in the alley. So, he and a bunch of his closest friends waited in front of the school along with the potential spectators. So, Steve was a no-show. In middle school social rules, I had won the fight.

Steve found me in the hallway at the end of the day, and told me he wanted to fight. I told him bluntly that I’d pass. I had won, and that was that. His friends told him it was fair, and to back off, and the result of the day was that I won!

Why Do Cisgender Lesbians Reject Transgender Women So Often

Why Do Cisgender Lesbians Reject Transgender Women So Often?

This is something I hear a lot from transgender women I interact with online. These women are transgender lesbians, and it can be really hard to find cisgender lesbians who will give them the time of day. That makes me sad. 

I understand of course that people often like to be physically attracted to someone, but if we're being honest, who one is physically attracted to changes much more often than people admit. For example, someone who is wildly attracted to a tall blonde, who ends up in a relationship with a petite brunette.

Relationships go deeper than the surface. The people we're attracted to check some boxes other than just what do they look like, if there is to be a relationship. Frankly, I've seen some amazingly hot transgender women anyway! Attraction also hinges on their personality, as well as their values and norms. 

There are a lot of great people out there. It seems silly and counterproductive to just plain block off the possibility of a relationship with someone based solely on the preconceived biases we all carry. 

Let's be real. No one knows what anyone else looks like under their clothes until and unless they end up at a point where they see them without those clothes. no one knows in advance anyway what a transgender woman has in her pants. For that matter, I met a cisgender guy who had no male genitalia because of an accident. So no one ever really, truly knows. Why in the world shut off an entire group of people, many of whom are resilient, fun, and caring?

Bluntly, it comes down to prejudice. Ignorant, probably unintentional, prejudice. These folks aren't ruling out dating a transgender woman because of who they are, but rather because of who they used to be. Who among all of us walking the Earth doesn't have some pretty out there stuff in our past, that if known, might make us somehow less desirable? All of us. 

Yet, none of us should have been in that position, and should not be now, either. That was what we WERE. We're not that person anymore. we're not. No one really wants to be judged on their past. Listen to who they are. No one reading this has a perfect body. Instead, maybe folks should be more like Pastor Mark Wingfield, and just be friends with a transgender person. See what happens. You never know!