My father and I have a complex relationship. I think most people have complex relationships with their parents, and those of us who are transgendered have further challenges. I thought my father was a little different and would be more open - he was a hippie, after all. He came out to me once as bisexual (though he's never had sex with a man and said he doesn't intend to), told me he has an addiction to gay porn (which he says he is combating and that I REALLY DIDN'T NEED TO KNOW ABOUT), and is married to an ex-lesbian. All of these things aside, and his own freak-identity taken in hand, I respect his difficulty with accepting me as his son rather than his daughter. Even as my child is as-yet unborn I can comprehend a parent's attachment to the physical form of his child and the struggle it must be for my father to release himself from his need to see me as I was born. However, my father and I are not on speaking terms at the moment and I am unsure of how our relationship is going to look and feel in the months ahead.
When I told him that I was going to be a father, his response was, "I need some more coffee, I'm going to go out later." Only after my brother reprimanded him for his lack of enthusiasm did my father ring up to say "Congratulations." As with most ex-hippie, middle-aged white male Buddhist, in-denial addicts, his amount of perceived self-awareness is inversely proportionate to his ability to empathize. For sure, he has stopped doing most all of the drugs that made him a complete asshole, but his life has comprised of too many moments from which his brain shall not recover.
My father then wrote me a long email in which he asked several questions about my transition, saying that he did not understand why I needed to be a man. Couched in terms of care for my physical well-being, the insult for me was of staggering proportions. His revelation that he is uncomfortable seems to have wiped out the memory of other questions asked and answered. He added that he is unsure of his relationship to my child, insinuating that biological relationship is necessary for being a grandparent and projecting that I, myself must also have such feelings. His tone was hurt, angry, and demanding. And it was all about him.
How could I actually be my child's father, if I cannot be perceived of as a man? What questions did my father really want to ask - perhaps to himself - about what fatherhood meant to him, and his own conflicts of masculinity and manhood? For all of the work he has done over his life to break out of the 1950's model of success, his fight against the establishment, and his struggle to overcome his own childhood of physical/mental/emotional abuse and poverty, he is still unable to love himself and accept himself as he is. There is no wonder that I am an easy object into which he can place these struggles, a highly visible and palpable offering representing these conflicts which plague him and keep him whirling around in his own anxieties to this day. This all sound harsh, but it's all very textbook-psychology.
I sent him a reply saying that I appreciate that he loves me, but that his questions caused me a great deal of pain. That I am not becoming someone else as a result of my transition but more of myself. I was very angry and it took me several weeks to write the reply because I wanted to address the sections of his letter independently and with care. As for his concerns for my physical being, I reminded him of the times when he was unable, uninterested, or unaware in regards to keeping me healthy and safe throughout my life - too many to count and embarrassingly recent. That it is not the work of a protective father to smoke cigarettes and get high and drunk with your kids every time you see them for their entire adult lives. That I am healthier now than I have ever been, having quit smoking cigarettes and weed several years ago, drinking only moderately, and exercising regularly.
As for my child, my beautiful baby growing in my wife's body, he was put on warning. If he could not, without reservation, love my child equally to my brother's child (who is now 3 years old) and regard my child as his grandchild absolutely then he will not know my child. I remember the feeling when we went to our grandmother's house, knowing she did not love us, seeing her regard our cousins with more affection. I will do whatever it takes to ensure my child does not grow up with that sense of emptiness and longing.
I ended saying that I need a couple months of space, as my wife was having some physical complications and I just started a new job and my energies were needed elsewhere.
Recently, upon hearing about some rather hard times we are going through, my father breached that barrier and wrote me another email. My wife, six months pregnant, was laid off from her job of six years. We are not sure how we are going to be able to support ourselves and we are under a lot of stress.
On the surface it is a nice gesture to reach out - but how he did it was horrible. He started the email saying that he still doesn't approve of my transition. How honest. Then added that he loves me anyway. How generous. Then he spent couple of paragraphs intimating that there are a great many things we still need to talk about and laying a lot of heavy future work out there. He capped off the email saying he knows that I'm having a hard time and it was more important for him to reach out to me and offer me support than to respect my boundaries. The whole communication was about him and his needs. He needs me to reach out to him for support, in order to fulfill what I can only guess is some part of our good dad/bad dad/repentant dad cycle.
The sad part is, I wish I had any inclination to reach out to him when I'm having hard times. It would be great to think of him as someone who could love and support me as I am really struggling right now to stay positive and focused and strong. I could call him, but I'd only be disappointed by 'I know exactly how you feel' stories, and there really is nothing he can do for me.
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