Father's Rejection: Standing up for who I am.

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A story about a mom we might wish we had, a father that describes our worst fears, and a personal resolution asserting self-identity.
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The noise of Taylor's alarm clock was all that separated the Friday evening nightmares and the Saturday morning dread. This was the second Saturday of the month; the day that the Family Court had decreed was to be allocated for visitation by Taylor's non-custodial father. They had never been close, and their relationship had become much more strained in recent years. Perhaps this was because Taylor had never been able to act macho-tough the way his father demanded. Mom, on the other hand had always been totally loving and supportive and encouraged him to explore a range of interests. She had a high-paying job and could to afford to indulge him with gifts and by paying for activities. Her practice was to let Taylor chose what he wanted, and the choices had included piano lessons, art classes, and creative dance. Recently she had encouraged Taylor to try the cheer dance class that the studio offered right after the creative dance. It was good exercise and really fun, but learning the hip movements was a real struggle.

Taylor reluctantly slid out of bed, pulled a robe on over his floral-print nightgown, and walked to the bathroom. He thought for a moment before sitting down to pee. Mom was right, sitting made it easier to keep the bathroom clean. After a quick shower he went to the kitchen and grabbed a low-calorie yogurt and some cereal for breakfast before returning to his room to face the task of getting ready.

Looking in the mirror Taylor took a moment to admire his androgynous face. Taylor loved the way he looked now, and was not looking forward to what would happen once puberty hit.

A quick glance confirmed that he had scrubbed off any hint of the eye makeup he had sparingly applied before going out to dinner last night. He wondered how he had gotten talked into getting totally dressed as a girl just to eat in a fine restaurant with Mom and her new lady partner. He wasn't sure if it had been obedience, politeness, or resignation to the inevitable. Wearing even age-appropriate makeup certainly did not make sense given what was scheduled for this morning. Taylor's fingernails still showed hints of dark red nail polish. With an ambivalent attitude he took a cotton pad and the remover and went to work cleaning thoroughly from the shaped tips down to the cuticles. The visit was going to be bad enough, but this added to the morning's hassles.

"Are you getting ready, Sweetie? Your father will be here soon."

"OK, I'm hurrying, Mom."

Taylor realized he did not have time to get the polish off his toenails. A pair of dark socks would cover them up anyway. He started looking for one of his few remaining pairs of jockey briefs then changed his mind. A pair of smooth high-cut briefs would be more comfortable, and a solid color wouldn't show either. At least underneath I can wear my usual stuff, he thought.

The thought of wearing girls' underwear for the visit changed into an attitude of outright defiance as Taylor continued thinking. He was tired of trying to act like a boy just to satisfy the unreasonable expectations of a man who he really did not want in his life anymore. Maybe dressing in a more expressive way would make a statement, and possibly open a discussion that always seemed to be avoided during the paternal visits. It would be wonderful if Father could accept that Taylor enjoyed a few stereotypical feminine interests. On the other hand, he thought, if my presentation leads to another blow-up it wouldn't be the end of the world. Shouting matches were a frequent part of the monthly visits so why not have one over something real?

Taylor's bedroom closet was a huge high-tech design with hanger rods, bins, shelves, drawers, and shoe-storage bins. Mom had helped him divide it into sections with a few left-over, strictly boy clothes on one end, and the skirts, frilly blouses, and dresses that Mom said were for 'special occasions' like last night at the other. In the middle were the unisex outfits he wore the most. These were outfits that Mom approved of and that felt right on most days: stylish and expressive, yet something that a boy could wear in public without too much comment.

Taylor picked a tight black undershirt and a navy blue scoop-neck top that had a plunge opening half way down the front. It was a combination that allowed a girl to show off her figure, but on a boy it still looked OK. From the shoe bin he picked a pair of athletic shoes that had purple trim, but were otherwise gender neutral. On an impulse he scanned his jewelry collection and picked up a oval-shaped pendant on a braided cord and draped it over his neck. It was heavy looking and not overtly feminine, but still added to the statement.

Picking up a brush Taylor gave his medium length hair the quick once-over that was all his shaggy unisex style needed. Since his father last saw him he had been to the salon with Mom and had indulged in getting subtle highlights added to his natural hair color. He realized that this might be noticed, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

The feeling of dread returned as he heard Father's pickup truck pull up into the driveway. The routine was always the same. Father would want to go to the town park, sit and talk a while, then suggest going to a sports pub for lunch. The sports pub was the always the worst part. There was the noise, the endless athletic contests broadcast on the wall screens, and the waitresses in skimpy outfits who flirted with the male customers, but somehow made Taylor feel uncomfortable.

Reluctantly he headed out the front door. He considered this both a legal obligation and a sign of respect for his father. Think back over the years Taylor could never recall a time when his father had not been domineering and distant with unalterable opinions about how things were supposed to be. The oversize truck with sexist bumper stickers and window decals sat in the driveway. Taylor opened the door and climbed in.

"How's my son today?"

Taylor could hear the dripping sarcasm in the question." His father rarely called him by name, and often made derogatory comments about Mom insisting on giving him such a girly name. "Fine, everything is OK

They made occasional small talk as Father drove toward the park, as expected. Impersonal questions were mixed with one-word answers. Eventually the questions became more direct. Taylor wondered why he had to go through this grilling every month.

"Did you try out for football like I told you to?"

"No."

"Why not. Aren't you tough enough?"

"I have other things to do."

"Yeah, sissy things. Are you still taking those damn dance classes your mother made you sign you up for."

Taylor hesitated. "Yes." Yes I am going to answer him with the truth. Yes I am still taking dance, but it was my idea, not Mom's Taylor thought during the next long silence in the conversation.

"You know I have an informant who keeps me posted on what you are doing in school."

That one did not need an answer. That informant was obviously Mr. Redd, the History teacher. Both Father and Mr. Redd had reactionary opinions and considered the environment of suburban, white, middle-class America in the 1950's to be the height of civilization. In their worldview men were to act as the head of the house and have lots of outside interests while women were to say home, do the chores, and do what hubby wanted, when he wanted it. Mr. Redd clearly did not approve of either Taylor or women like his mother who had successful careers, and he was generous with snide comments to that effect in class.

"So, I heard that your wore girls' clothes to school last week."

Taylor ignored the remark, hoping Father would move on to another topic. There did not seem to be any benefit to arguing.

"You heard me. Did you or didn't you?"

"Those weren't girls' clothes."

"Really?" The tone of voice was ominous. "Tell me exactly what your wore, damn it. I told you I have an informant so I will know if you're lying."

"OK, I was wearing unisex jeans with a decorative belt, a tee shirt, and a loose shirt on top. Not much different from today."

"That was a shiny tight-fitting tee shirt, and your shirt buttoned right over left, didn't it? And the jeans were skintight and had decorations on the ass pockets. Those were damn slutty girls' clothes in my book.

"Look at you now. Plunging neckline and that stupid pendant, you even dressed like a girl for our visits. Are you trying to insult me?"

This was certainly not the conversation opening Taylor had hoped for. He sat silently hoping this storm would pass. The scheduled visit still had hours to go. At least if they were already in the sports pub Father might watch his language.

"Your goddamn mother is making you into a sissy faggot. You know that? Taking those dance classes instead of trying out for football! Maybe she wants you to try out as a cheerleader next year -- I sure she would love to see you in a skirt waving pompoms in front of your fake boobs.

"Why can't you stand up for yourself like a man and tell her 'Hell No' when she tries to force you into wearing those sissy faggot clothes? I don't know what I ever saw in that bitch of a woman."

This was too much for Taylor. He would not be shamed by this tirade or allow Mother to be called names.

"What I do and what I wear is not Mom's idea. This is me. This is who I am. Understand?" Taylor shouted.

The assertive response seemed to catch Father off guard. He turned red and gripped the steering wheel as he pulled over to the curb and stopped.

"I should have known. If that is what you are you can go to hell. This will be our last Saturday visit. I never want to see you again."

Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes. Taylor saw the blow coming but could not get away in time. Frightened, Taylor opened the car door. Father was about to hit him again, and getting away seemed the best idea.

"Yeah, get out, crybaby. You can walk home. Maybe you can even practice wiggling your pretty ass on the way."

Taylor spotted a convenience store across the street and dashed in. Even if Father followed, he knew that he would be safer in a public place. He watched the truck pull away with the tires squealing, and waited for a while to be sure Father did not return. He took out his cell phone, called Mom, and asked for a ride.

Taylor had calmed down somewhat by the time Mom arrived and was able to give a detailed account of what happened. As expected, Mom was totally supportive and said she was going to report this to the Family Court social worker first thing on Monday.
"I am sure that his assaulting you will be grounds to terminate his visiting rights," she said.

Returning home Taylor went to his room to think and rest. After a while he saw a path ahead.

"Mom, can you come in here and talk?"

"Certainly, dear."

Mom came in and saw that Taylor had dressed in a blouse and skirt and had put on a light touch of makeup.

"Mom, I want to get my ears pierced, now. We have been taking about doing this like forever. Can you take me to the mall?"

Mom smiled, gave Taylor a big hug, and went to get the car keys.

After months of anticipation the procedure was anticlimatic. A brief conversation while looking over starter sets, sitting in the chair, marks on each ear, and a quick jab of pain on each side and it was over. Mother smiled as Taylor looked in the mirror and admired the small studs. "Awesome," said it all.

He was still indecisive about the next step as they drove home from the mall. Taylor hesitated a long while weighing alternatives in his mind. He knew that his future would be easier if he was decisive now before his voice started to change.

"Remember the workshop you took me to at the Pride Center?"

"Of course, Dear. I figured it would be good for you. Why?"

"There was that doctor who talked about helping boys like me." Taylor hesitated one last time, and then took the plunge. "Let's make an appointment."

The end.

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Comments

the father is the loser here

he could have been enriched by getting to know his real child, but he chose otherwise, and its his loss.

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Love

You need to love your child no matter who or what they are or do in life. examples is the mother who visits the child in prison for murder that is extreme but love your child no matter what.
My 2 boys are the sunshine of my life along with my wife
HUGS Richie

At least

Taylor had one parent who could see what the other parent could not, Sadly there are far too many who do not have even one parent to help them achieve their hearts desire , Taylor should think herself lucky that at least she had one parent who truly understood what being a parent means....

Kirri

Awesome

A great story What a strong girl

MICKIE

You can't make a silk purse -

out of a sow's ear.
What must be, must be or it will self destruct.

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What an as*hole...

The father is, Taylor and Mom are better off without the jerk in their lives.

It's nice that Taylor's Mom is willing to let Taylor live her/his own life as s/he wants.

Nice little story.

a friend of mine in bristol

a friend of mine in bristol uk has a tg daughter she the daughter works in a office as her self mum works too bum waster dad cleared off when she was 10 bum of the year found out went round the flat punched the queer poff in the face what a guy ace rimmer not now move to a better place he is so banned so this story not so far fetched.good story