The day started slowly. We arrived and I quickly noticed, though not consciously, a woman that I recognized but did not remember. She was tall, as are many of the girlfriends and wives of the men in my extended family, so I paid her no note. That was until I walked into the main room of the house and I saw someone else. Another woman, I thought at first, from behind, but then my son turned around. I recognized him immediately, even through the heavy makeup warping his looks. My heart dropped. I froze. He froze, like a deer in headlights, then, like a deer, he scurried away into the kitchen. I followed, not even bothering to alert my wife, who had not noticed him yet. In the kitchen I saw my son, with the “woman” I had seen earlier. Then I recognized him too, my son’s husband – his childhood boyfriend, also confused about his gender. My blood boiled. I went to them and they stopped their panicked conversation. I said their names, and their faces warped – my son’s in false sadness, his husband’s in fury.

I said that I missed them.
I said that my wife missed them.
I said they are still welcome with us.

They did not appreciate this. My son exploded. He had seen my PITT essay, had hated it and thought it was full of lies. I asked him to be kind. I reminded him that I am his father and it was a holiday. He went on a tirade saying he was a she, he was a lesbian, claiming I broke his “wife’s” trust, I broke his trust and closed by demanding respect including use of his chosen name and pronouns. He and his husband left and I rejoined my wife. She was angry at me for not telling her that her son was here, but she understood. She was hurt, too. Nobody, not one person who has not gone through this understands the pain that is felt by a parent of a “trans-identifying” kid.