I got a glimpse of my son. The one I knew from birth, into adulthood. The one I knew before you got onto a path that strikes fear in my heart upon awakening every day.

[…]

You’re a good person. You were always a good kid. But you began to withdraw, and then suddenly burst forth with the announcement that you were now “transgender” - and fear consumed me. Penetrating, overwhelming, paralyzing terror.

It’s been hard to see you on this path because I know the risks. I know the dangers. And I know the science: gender cannot be changed with body alteration any more than it can be changed by declaration alone.

So, I’ve had an aversion to listening to your delusions. I’ve, shamefully, found myself dismissive of you because when you romanticize your newfound “identity,” it hurts me over and over again. When you inform me that someone else you know now knows about your “real self,” I cringe inside and try to change the subject or find a way to leave the room.

I’m not proud of it, but I can’t listen to your exuberance and feel the same faux joy you do.

But then there are times, like last night, when we find a connection that leads to prolonged conversation.

And I get a glimpse of the boy you were, and the man I had hoped you’d become.

The glimpse is joyous.

But when I am alone, left in its wake, reality shatters me all over again. And I wish it were more than just a glimpse.