Sometimes I get a glimpse

Last night, you came into the den after work. It was late and we started talking. I was telling you about my experiences at my new job, you listened so attentively, and our conversation was truly lovely.

And I got a glimpse.

I got a glimpse of my son. The one I knew from birth, into adulthood. The one I knew before you got onto a path that strikes fear in my heart upon awakening every day.

I look at you, with your long unruly hair, the nose ring and the dainty earrings, the feminine clothing and the effects of estrogen that show in your physique. I look at you and into your face - somewhat softened by the wrong, synthetically manufactured hormones, hairless from whatever extreme method you have undergone to erase it - and sometimes, I get a glimpse.

I listen to your voice - which slips in and out of the feminine affect you are trying to perfect - and when you forget to pretend, I get a glimpse.

You brought me something from work, remembering my half-joking request for it. I never expected it, but your thoughtfulness came through. And I got a glimpse.

You’re a good person. You were always a good kid. But you began to withdraw, and then suddenly burst forth with the announcement that you were now “transgender” - and fear consumed me. Penetrating, overwhelming, paralyzing terror.

It’s been hard to see you on this path because I know the risks. I know the dangers. And I know the science: gender cannot be changed with body alteration any more than it can be changed by declaration alone.

So, I’ve had an aversion to listening to your delusions. I’ve, shamefully, found myself dismissive of you because when you romanticize your newfound “identity,” it hurts me over and over again. When you inform me that someone else you know now knows about your “real self,” I cringe inside and try to change the subject or find a way to leave the room.

I’m not proud of it, but I can’t listen to your exuberance and feel the same faux joy you do.

But then there are times, like last night, when we find a connection that leads to prolonged conversation.

And I get a glimpse of the boy you were, and the man I had hoped you’d become.

The glimpse is joyous.

But when I am alone, left in its wake, reality shatters me all over again. And I wish it were more than just a glimpse.