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Thursday, September 24, 2009

Addendum to North Carolina Trip (Blast From the Past Entry)

This was a private entry on MySpace, whereas the previous entry was public. I recommend reading the previous post first.



Monday, June 05, 2006
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Current mood: amused

Here are a few things that I didn't want to mention in my public entry, regarding my trip. Those of you on my private list are aware that there's another aspect of my trip, and the reality that I am actually Brittany's father. I didn't wear makeup or bring anything other than gender neutral clothes on my trip. For those of you who don't know what gender neutral clothes might be, it's t-shirts, jeans and shorts, which are of a style that either a male or female could wear them. I did wear a pair of satiny (is that a word?) pajamas to bed, but they weren't frilly or cut in a very feminine style either.

On Saturday, when I went to the beach and pool with Brittany, I had to cover up, naturally. I wore men's bathing shorts, that my friend, Vanessa and her mom bought for me quite some time ago. They're still in good condition. On top, I wore a t-shirt... not a flimsy one, but one that was more difficult to see through. At the pool, those two women (lesbians?) didn't seem to be looking at me much, but I could just imagine what they were thinking, seeing someone who looked like a woman being called "Daddy." There was one point when I went under the water and put my hair back when I came up. Brittany said pretty loudly (word for word, here), "Daddy, you look like Mommy." (My ex always has her hair tied back like that.)

When we went to Miller's Restaurant and Taco Bell, I had some odd looks. The hostess in Miller's Restaurant (who I had wished was on the menu, LOL) was calling me "ma'am." Then Brittany says, "Daddy, I want pancakes." Ummm, can you say "awkward situation?" I knew you could! I got some strange looks from the hostess and other folks gathered in that area, trying to determine which gender I was at that point. And at Taco Bell, there were three guys gathered behind the counter, talking low and laughing at me. If I wasn't with Brittany, I might have caused a stink, and spoken with the manager. But I did my best to ignore them, while getting rather pissed off. How dare you ridicule a customer? You're going to laugh at a customer and make her (yes, her!) uncomfortable? I'm bringing you business, giving you my hard-earned money, while spending quality time with my daughter... and this is what I get? I'll shove that Taco Supreme right up your ass, buddy. And I'll make it crunchy style!



There were a few times during the weekend when Brittany called me "Mommy." I liked it, but it was odd to me. I'm sure the ex would't be happy if she knew Brittany had called me that. It wasn't awkward like the "Daddy thing," so that was good. One time she actually did catch herself saying it. She said, "I'm sorry, Daddy... I didn't mean to call you Mommy." (Wow, she talks like such a grown-up sometimes now!) I told her, "That's okay, honey. You can call me whatever you want to call me." I remember someone at the LITE meeting (Long Island Transgender Experience support group) saying that she lets her son call her whatever he feels like at the moment. For awhile, he did call her by her chosen name, but then slipped back to "Daddy." That made it a bit awkward if she was in the mall, but this is her child. If her son needs to have a daddy at that point, that's what she is... because she will always be the father of her child no matter what. (Now that's a different thing to be saying, isn't it?) If Brittany needs to think of me as Daddy, then that's what I will be. If she'd rather call me Mommy or Amy, or even Auntie, that's fine too. I leave that up to her, and she will call me whatever makes her most comfortable.

The innocence and openness of my child is very profound to me. She knows certain things about me, but they are nothing unusual to her at all. She's seen my boobs when I take a shower, she hands me my sports bras ("Here's your bra, Daddy."), she's seen my toenails painted and my legs clean-shaven. She's even said that I'm a girl in front of my ex (this was about a year ago though), and my ex has said, "No, Daddy's a boy." At this moment, I believe that she thinks of me as a boy (or man) who wears sports bras, has breasts, and paints his toenails. But there is some part of her (that my ex has been trying to de-program) that associates me with girls (or women), as she has called me "Mommy" a few times.



Children are very smart, without bias or prejudice to get in the way. She doesn't know a thing about transsexuality, but in a way, it's like she doesn't have to know. Not yet, anyway. It's easier right now, because she's open to things, intelligent, and sees the world in a different light than adults do. At this stage of her life, she just wants me to be there. She wants me to love and care for her, and do fun things with her. Once you take away society's bigotry and closed-mindedness (the latter of which tends to happen naturally as you get older, and I find to be nobody's fault for the most part), what more can she want? As she gets older, these aspects of society will start to become a problem for her. Her friends won't understand. If she talks about it in school, how will the teachers down there react? Her simple world will become tarnished by others, and she may have problems with her life (and with me) because of it. This is something that I think about often, and sometimes I have considered sacrificing my happiness and well-being by remaining in a male existence, so as to spare her these hardships. But... I would not be happy, and I would probably often be sad or depressed. What kind of parent would I be? Not much fun, and quite a burden in that sense as well.

The main obstacle is my ex, who thinks that even gays and lesbians are freaks of nature and sinners against God. She's a nasty, bigoted, closed-minded woman, with no concern to how others feel or how they want to live their lives. And then there's me. My ex won't understand at all, and I don't think she's sensible or intelligent enough to spare Brittany the confusion of: "Don't listen to Daddy, he's a boy."


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