Number 155

 #Girldad or Call me Daddio

Way back in 1996, after Rebecca and I first learned that she was pregnant with our first child, we decided that we didn't want to learn the sex of our child until she/he/it was born. "One of life's last great surprise's," was what we said. Fast forward to January 30, 1997, when Emma Louise arrived on the scene. At the point of delivery, I did my best to get a look between the legs, because, of course, I wanted to know. At the precise moment I see conclusive proof that we have a boy, the midwife calls out, "Congratulations, you have a daughter!" To my everlasting chagrin I had mistaken the umbilical cord for a penis. As a parent, this was my first mistake. It would not be my last.

Three years and four months later, Grace Elizabeth joined us in the usual way. This time I waited for the doctor to make the call. "It's a girl!" she declared. And just like that, I (well, we), had two daughters. We talked a little bit about having a third child. We decided we were done - with two children you can still play person-to-person defense. With three we'd have had to switch to zone coverage. The vasectomy that I had six months later put a finish to my baby making career. My final score was: Girls - 2/Boys - 0. No doubt about it, I was a #girldad. 

As obsessively self-reflective and self-critical as I am, you might be surprised to find that I actually think I was a pretty good parent. It helped that Rebecca and I were a pretty good parental team. Our respective child rearing philosophies were similar, and I was woke enough to ensure that we split the tasks (other than breast feeding), at something close to 50/50.

Unlike Henry VIII, I was not terribly concerned that my sperm hadn't provided me with a son "to carry on the family name." In fact, because I was still operating under the assumption that I was male, I kind of felt that I had less pressure on me as the opposite-sexed parent. I was good at bath time, and I knew how to pick out appropriate clothes (and put them on - even the tights!). I will admit that I never developed any hair styling skills, but it was never a huge priority in our house anyway. Rebecca rarely wore make up, so both girls had minimal play make-up around the house. In any event, neither child ever asked me if I wanted a make over. I'll be honest. Given my particular story, I'm not sure how I would have reacted had they asked.

But I was there when tears were cried, and I could kiss a boo-boo as well as any of you moms out there. I knew how to turn a big box into a fort, and when a sand box was requested, I knew just how to make one. Because my schedule as an elementary school teacher was more in tune with after school activities, I spent a lot of time in gymnastic school waiting rooms. Ballet, too, for a little while. (It was a great time to grade papers - or to be more honest, it was a great place to ignore the papers I needed to grade.) 

As they got older, our conversations changed, too. Rebecca took the lead when menstruation needed to be discussed, but I was present, so both girls knew I knew they knew I knew. Unfortunately for Emma, onset for her occurred during the 2 1/2 month window that Rebecca moved to Minnesota ahead of us. Emma was to go swimming with friends that day, perhaps for the last time before moving; and a comedy of errors, along with anguished tears happened as Rebecca tried to instruct Emma on the finer points of tampon usage over the phone. I will admit, this was one occasion where I failed utterly as a parent. (The mother who was driving the girls arrived about this time, quickly sussed out the situation, and saved the day. I am still thankful.)

Somewhere along the line, I was given the nickname "Daddio." I'm not sure how it got started, but I kind of liked it. For one thing, it was never used when storm clouds were brewing. Everything was A-OK when I was 'Daddio.' When the girls learned that I was partial to it, they would sometimes try to butter me up with it when they wanted something. That's when they let it spill that they knew the answer was "No" when I said "Maybe," and "Yes" if I said "We'll see."

In the later years, there were sporting events, recitals, school plays, and concerts. I remember being giddy when Grace moved from middle school to high school, because it meant no more middle school band concerts! (Seriously - there is a special place in heaven for middle school band instructors.) Then came the college visits. I remember when Emma visited Iowa State. She was really into it until she found out that she would have to re-apply to the architecture program after her first year. All of a sudden, she didn't want to go. But I knew something she didn't know. "Emma," I told her, "You'd never be one of the students they don't readmit." It took her awhile to convince herself of the same thing, but eventually she did, and Ames is where she ended up - graduating one semester early, as it turned out. With Grace, and her insecurities that she wasn't smart enough for college, it warmed my heart as I watched her slowly realize she had at least as much on the ball as the then current college students she met as she toured different campus's. Slowly but surely she started giving off an "I can do this!" vibe. And she has.

Rebecca's sudden passing was a punch in the gut for all three of us. There's really not much more to it than that, but out of our mutual grief, one of my favorite shared moments occurred. The movie Dead Pool had just opened when she died. It is an R-rated comic book movie that is equal parts dark humor and action set pieces. "What the hell," we thought one evening about four days later, "Let's go." It was a good movie in its own right, sure, but it was the perfect movie for us that evening. The gallows humor provided a moment of pure catharsis after so much pain. We laughed and laughed and laughed...

And then, about two years later, we sat down so that I could read aloud a letter I had written to them. In the letter I told them my truth - that their father was, in fact, a transgender woman. I had reached a point in my life where I knew the only way forward was to tell them, but I was so scared that my news would hurt them. They had already lost their mother, I thought, what if they think their 'daddio' is going away, too? Maybe I surprised them, but I certainly didn't scare them away. They accepted me and my new identity immediately. "I've always been an ally," said Grace, "I just never expected it to be for my father..." 

These days, there's a lot of talk about pronoun usage and trans people. If you're a good ally, you want to make sure that you're using the correct new name for a trans person, rather than their old (or 'dead') name. You also want to do your best to use the correct pronouns, too. For my part, it is very affirming when I hear myself referred to as "she" or "her." This is something that matters, but for one exception. I am not Emma and Grace's mother. I am their father. I am their 'Daddio.' And though it hurts a great deal when somebody accidentally uses a "he" or a "him" when referring to me, I do not feel an ounce of dysphoria when I am identified as my daughters' father. My love for the two of them transcends everything else. So yes, I remain a proud #girldad. (Just in more ways then one ;)