{"id":31,"date":"2014-10-12T06:30:00","date_gmt":"2014-10-12T06:30:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/typingmonkeys.com\/ait\/?p=31"},"modified":"2018-02-21T21:21:53","modified_gmt":"2018-02-22T01:21:53","slug":"day-20-better","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/possiblegirl.com\/sotheresthat\/day-20-better\/","title":{"rendered":"Day 20: Better"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">Morning comes and I am awake at the crack of dawn.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">I pace downstairs and make coffee. I pace around with my coffee once it&#8217;s brewed. And then I pace some more. Waiting. Waiting to see if my oldest son has come around.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">I make sure to wear &#8220;guy&#8221; socks, and even put on my &#8220;guy&#8221; boots. Without realizing it, I am returning to my traditional role as Dad.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">The kids get up around 10 a.m. to go see <i>My Little Pony: Equestria Girls &#8211; Rainbow Rocks<\/i>\u00a0with a friend at a nearby movie theater. My youngest <i>is<\/i> a Brony, remember? But my oldest is still distant. I look down at my wrist and realize I haven&#8217;t even put on my hair ties, my symbol of strength and defiance.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">I continue my pacing around the first floor, cleaning this and that. I just can&#8217;t be in the same room as my oldest as I&#8217;m afraid I&#8217;ll break down in front of him.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">Thirty seconds in the living room, then back to the kitchen. My youngest wanders in and I ask for a hug. Not good, I tell him, not good.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">Finally their ride arrives and I whisk them out the door. I close the door and lean against it before finally sinking to the ground. And the tears come. Oh, do the tears come.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">That&#8217;s it, right? I can&#8217;t be myself in front of my son. The one who is always understanding. Just not of this. Or of me.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">I finally pull myself back together, though I fear it takes me a good hour to exhaust my pity party. I give my face a good splash of cold water to get rid of the red rims around my eyes. Deep breath, buddy. Deep breath.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">By the the time the boys return home, I&#8217;m feeling better. Whatever happens happens. Either he is here on this journey with me or he&#8217;s not. My youngest is good with me, and even more so with his <i>Pony<\/i> movie.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">We finally settle in for some more <i>Doctor Who<\/i>. It&#8217;s a normal day for the three of us and I decide I can live with that. We wrap up a mini-marathon and it&#8217;s time for my youngest to get to work for the evening.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">After dropping him off, I finally decide enough is enough and broach the elephant in the room with my oldest.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">So we good?<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">Silence. Lots of face pulling, but no intelligible response.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">This goes on a for an eternity, but I&#8217;m out of answers. I&#8217;m emotionally empty. I feel like there&#8217;s a path to reaching him, I just can&#8217;t find it. Thicket too dense. Machete too dull.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">I finally ask if he wants to read my blog. <i>This<\/i> blog.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">He nods and I head upstairs to let him read alone &#8212; without the specter of me pacing or staring at his face for every possible reaction as he reads each post.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">I finally return after 20 minutes and he is staring at the screen with tears in his eyes and on his cheeks.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">Oh shit. Oh shit? I don&#8217;t even know anymore.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">But these turn out to be good tears. He gets up and gives me a long hug. And finally says, &#8220;Dad, I love you. I think I get it now. And I&#8217;m okay with it.&#8221; There is a sincerity in his voice and in his hug that tells me we are, in fact, okay.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">The rest of the evening is good, relaxing even. We pick up my youngest a few hours later from work, grab dinner and wrap the evening with one more episode of <i>Doctor Who<\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">It seems only apropos to end this with a quote from <i>Doctor Who<\/i>, but not actually Doctor Who. That does makes sense. But if not, just trust me&#8230;<\/span><\/p>\n<blockquote><p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\"><i>When you\u2019re a kid, they tell you it\u2019s all\u2026 Grow up, get a job, get married, get a house, have a kid, and that\u2019s it. But the truth is, the world is so much stranger than that. It\u2019s so much darker. And so much madder. And so much better.\u00a0<\/i><\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">Maybe not darker, at least not for me anymore. But it definitely is stranger, madder and so much better.<\/span><\/p>\n<div class=\"p1\"><span style=\"font-size: 10pt; color: #999999;\"><i>Note: When I began transitioning in 2014, I was known by my nickname DiG, which sufficed until I learned my mom had chosen Jennifer had my birth gone differently. So for historical sake, I leave my posts and podcasts as originally conceived, but know that my name is and apparently always was Jen.<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n<div class=\"p2\"><span style=\"font-size: 12pt;\">\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Morning comes and I am awake at the crack of dawn. I pace downstairs and make coffee. I pace around with my coffee once it&#8217;s brewed. And then I pace some more. Waiting. Waiting to see if my oldest son has come around. I make sure to wear &#8220;guy&#8221; socks, and even put on my [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-31","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-blog"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/possiblegirl.com\/sotheresthat\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/possiblegirl.com\/sotheresthat\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/possiblegirl.com\/sotheresthat\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/possiblegirl.com\/sotheresthat\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/possiblegirl.com\/sotheresthat\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=31"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/possiblegirl.com\/sotheresthat\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":543,"href":"https:\/\/possiblegirl.com\/sotheresthat\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31\/revisions\/543"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/possiblegirl.com\/sotheresthat\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=31"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/possiblegirl.com\/sotheresthat\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=31"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/possiblegirl.com\/sotheresthat\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=31"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}