Just Call Me Dad

Many of you know my story. Aware at the age of 10 that something was wrong with my gender assignment, nonetheless I assumed the roles and responsibilities mandated by my genitals. By the time I understood I was Transgendered, I was married and the father of three children.

I was exhilarated at the thought of becoming the woman I was born to be. Yet, I was certain the cost would be the loss of my children. That was too high a price. Thus I decided not to transitions until the kids had all passed their eighteenth birthdays. As it turned out, my daughter was 22 and my boys were 20 when I revealed my intensions. For their entire lives up to that point, I had been Dad.

Today, my femininity is so comfortable, it is hard to believe I have lived as a woman for only three years. Some friends will occasionally comment that my children still call me “Dad” and I should ask them to call me “Mom” or “Billie” particularly in public.

I don’t think I will, for a couple of reasons.

First, I am quite sure my “ex” would have apoplexy if she knew her children were addressing me as “Mom.” But more importantly, I am not and never have been their Mother. I may have changed my gender but it’s not retroactive. By the grace of God, all three of my children are outstanding adults. I am proud of each one and whatever my contribution, the role I played was their father. Forgive my hubris, but I am proud of that.

If I had my druthers, I would go through life with no one knowing that I wasn’t born a woman and if someday my children want to start addressing me as Billie or even Mom, that’s OK. In the meantime, just call me Dad.

Take Care,
Billie