My Dad Will Never Own This T-Shirt

I haven’t seen my dad in two months and my life has changed so much

Hey Poke Pals It’s been a while since I’ve posted last, but even despite my little break, my blog has been gaining some traction in the online world, and I’m grateful. Thank you for the new followers The Bizarre blogger and Lori Caricofe for the follows, and Benja Gabriel Thurgood for applauding my last story. It’s been a rough few weeks and I haven’t figured out what to post unrelated to LGBTQ so I thought: Why post at all? I’ve come back with the decision that when I decided to not post anything LGBTQ related, I was closing off a part of myself, a part that, even though I may not like it, will still be there, and will always factor in who I am. I also realised that blocking off that side of me means that anyone who has told me I am wrong for who I am or has shunned me for who I am has won. So while not every post will have an LGBTQ focous, I will still discuss it instead of moving away from it altogether.

And the biggest reason I’ve supressed my LGBTQ lifestyle and self is partly because of my father.

I had recently run away from home because my dad has been domestically abusive, physically abusive and mentally and emotionally abusive too. Some people claim I have a huge amount of stockholm syndrome for both of my parents because I still care about both and I want to help both, despite the lack of ability to do so. Nevertheless I try so hard. Acceptance was always my biggest weakness as I’d do anything to accomplish it. From a community or a family. Odd because outside of anyone I cared about, I didn’t care who accepted me, because their opinions didn’t matter to me. Ironic, no?

Well after coming out, my parents said there was no way in hell they would ever start me on puberty blockers, hormone blockers, and ESPECIALLY not T. (testosterone for the allies who don’t talk tango) I agreed that I wouldn’t start on T unless I was completely sure I was ready to. I stated all I wanted was a binder, and the chance to be called Tom,Tompson, or Tommy Boi with my He/Him pronouns. They refused saying it would feed into me acting like a boy. Then they used the words “Pretending”. When my last stepmother moved out and divorced my dad, he continued using pretending and would get angry at any attempts for masculine actions. I grew upset. I hated the body I was born in, gender dysphoria was bad and I didn’t know what to do. Suicide constantly raised it’s hand as another way out. But I wasn’t going to kill myself. Not after so many people who lived told great stories of being able to step out of the darkness into this community of light and rainbow. That was the story I wanted to tell.

But I think the biggest reason I think that my dad and I had our issues was the military.

My dad was military before I was born and he was born, and he was military sixteen years. In my first eight years of life, he wasn’t around as much as he wanted to be, but he was always on deployment. I was constantly fighting with that in my head. I was proud to have a military parent, a parent who will stand up for what he believes in and what he died to protect, but as I got older I questioned everything. If he believes in a country of freedom, why couldn’t I be gay without his anger? Wasn’t that my freedom? My life my liberty my pursuit of happiness? The three things he was so honored to defend? That was some of the smaller questions, but the bigger ones were ones like why wasn’t he there? I was living in hell and he wasn’t there. The logical answer was that he was overseas and didn’t know, but then why didn’t he educate himself? He couldn’t of done anything from Korea though. But why did he have to go? I was alone and scared. These questions circled my mind, but when I was 8 years old, I could sigh relief, because now he was my dad and I didn’t have to worry anymore…

Except I did. In the days after that I was always trying to figure out what I could do to make him happy but he seemed stuck overseas. I felt like I was competing with the military for his attention. He never seemed to really be there. My first stepmother left due to him being to mean and she didn’t like it. She said “Change or I leave”…

She left.

In the years after that, we went through many women. All of them never stayed as his girlfriend or wife, but some kept being his friends. I didn’t know what to do. Some people have told me that without a mother, that’s the reason I think I’m a man is because I was raised around two boys for a long time, but that’s not it. I’ve had plenty of time with sisters and mothers. We all know that it’s not a choice or a thought. I don’t THINK anything. So that being said, I was competing all the time. Nights were scary when he’d get drunk and sing military cadence songs and watch horrifying videos of reenactments of what happened overseas. Luckily my brother and I would be away or asleep during these nights and wouldn’t get too much of the details, but a couple nights were heart wrenching. One night, while we were trying to go to sleep, we heard him start shouting at the top of his lungs “WHY!?”.

I wanted to stay in my room, scared of getting in trouble, but my brother wanted to help his father. He’d do anything for his dad. He went up to dad and hugged him and said “It’s ok dad” and my dad kept screaming “WHY!?”. My brother asked “Why what dad?” and my dad replied “Me! It was supposed to be me! WHY?! WHYY!!??”. It took me a minuet, but I realised he meant his men. The men that came home dead. He was sad and angry that it was all of them and not him that had gone.

Nights like that happened, but not so often. When they did, they were bad. Those nights would prove that no matter how much we tried and no matter what we did, our dad would be stuck in Afghanistan, Iraq, Korea, forever far far away in some battle. Sure some stories were funny and good, like the one of the Teokgeo-rie Midget and such, but funny stories or no, our dad was stuck in the life of a veteran.

It’s been no secret that LGBTQ and military have had their fights, but there have also been great parts of that relationship too. I don’t think that my father’s transphobia came from the military but I don’t know where I would place blame. All I know is that this fathers day, I wasn’t able to call him, and he never answered, an action further shredding the bond formed for sixteen years into meaningless scraps.

A song I’d like to share today comes from a fellow trans man, and its something I have always wanted to tell my dad as Tom, his out and proud son, instead of as A, his daughter.

Ryan Cassata: Daughter

Wolfysh Blogger: Giving Words Fangs