It was unexpected, unplanned, and exactly the way it was supposed to be.
Well, sort of. It took some weird complications to make it happen, but I think if it weren’t for those, it wouldn’t have gone as well as it did.
See, last weekend my dad and I went up the hill to shoot his shotgun and hit a couple golf balls after I’d had some serious relationship issues (more about HIM later.) My dad seems to think it’s great therapy to blow off steam by blowing up paint cans, and he couldn’t have been more right. It was the golfing that got me.
On my last swing, I lost track of my form and swung not just my arms but also my back, throwing something out of alignment. It wasn’t a HORRIBLE injury, just enough that I was done goofing off. But all that accumulated in my back seriously giving out on me last night. I was trying to get the baby in her high chair when my back went SPROING, and all of a sudden I couldn’t move my arms, couldn’t lift my head, and I was completely immobilized and panicked. Good thing my best friend was there helping me watch her or it would have been me stranded and helpless with a screaming 2-year-old for 2 hours.
Anyway, I tried to get comfortable, took my last two Vicodin from my old knee injury and waited on the ‘rents to get back. I won’t go into the gory details of those two hours, but let’s just say that 1000 milligrams of hydrocodone should have worked better than they did. I was in humiliated tears before the night was up.
And when they got home, things just got better. My stepmom the nurse gave me another 1000 milligram and said that was enough for the night, which did little other than to make me drowsy and nauseous, but hardly touched the pain. My dad, pious believer that he is, decided to get out the holy anointment oil and try to pray the injury out of me. He sent everyone else out of the room, and I just sat there, with nothing to say. When he asked if I was alright, I looked him square in the eye and said, “Do you really think I would still believe in a God who would make me this way?”
Once I started, I couldn’t stop. Everything just rolled from there, but even in my drugged stupor and excruciating pain (probably the reason I didn’t have any reservations about saying what I said,) it couldn’t have come out better. Everything I’ve been struggling with figuring out how to say for months flowed out like water, and at the end of it, my dad said he would love me forever, no matter how much I decided to surgically mutilate myself. Well, it was funny at the time. You have to get my dad’s sense of humor.
No matter how he put it, I knew he was behind me 100%.
Whole new worlds have opened up to me. Of course, I’m still stranded here at the house with my back busted and it’s going against my better judgement to even be sitting here at the computer instead of lying down and resting, but I had to share this. Yesterday, it was 2 weeks until my birthday and I still had the burden of trying to figure out how to tell him before I turned 21. Last night, all of that went away. Today, I’m free. My dad still cares about me, he won’t try to change me or preach at me, and he knows everything there really is to know about me. I feel like we’re really friends now.
One other thing- as soon as I can afford it, I really want to get on Minoxidil (or Rogaine, see the minoxidil discussion on the Beard Board for details) for my facial hair growth. I don’t feel nearly so awkward about it now that my dad knows I’m FTM. Everyone else can just figure it out for themselves, but now that I have my dad’s blessing, I feel free to express my gender and really start the ball rolling towards true transition.
It’s time to start planning my coming out party!