My Amazing Trans Son
“Dad, can I have three dollars?”
“Sure, but what do you need it for?”
“My friend needs a chest binder, and his parents aren’t supportive. I’ve been asking everyone for a few dollars so we can get one.”
That simple conversation captures how much our lives have changed over the past few months—ever since my son came out to me as trans at just 11 years old. In such a short time, I’ve watched him grow into someone who is proud of who he is, deeply supportive of his friends, and open enough to talk with me about things that truly matter. Still, the journey hasn’t been easy for either of us.
We have some really tough, awkward conversations now—conversations I never imagined having this early. Like when we talk about sexual activity.
“We have something super awkward to talk about,” I told him one day.
“Okay… what is it?”
“I know you’re in middle school now. Sometimes sex is a thing with kids your age. But I’m worried about it, and I want you to wait. I don’t want you to experience sex for the first time as the wrong gender and have it hurt you.”
“I know,” he said calmly. “I don’t think I’d enjoy it with the body I have anyway. I want to wait until I’m older.”
Moments like that fill me with pride. My son shows a strength and self-awareness far beyond his years. At the same time, life has become more complex and much busier. Between correcting friends and family about his gender, attending doctor visits, and keeping up with counseling appointments, our days are often hectic. He carries so much in his head and heart every single day—far more than I ever did at 12.
Some days, I’m exhausted. So tired and emotionally drained that I can’t help but cry. I carry a heavy weight trying to support my child the best I can. But then he tells me about his friends—kids who are gay or trans and whose parents aren’t supportive at all. And I’m reminded how much harder this journey could be without love. That realization grounds me and strengthens my resolve.
I think back to my own childhood. I struggled with my weight, extreme sensitivity, and anxiety for most of my life. My parents loved me, and they showed up in big ways, but they didn’t always see the quiet, daily struggles I carried. I promised myself I would be present for my child in both the big and the small moments.
So now we have more awkward conversations—like the one in the car when he casually told me he has a boyfriend.
“So… I have a boyfriend, and we spend a lot of time together.”
“Do you like him? Does he make you happy? Is he nice to you?”
“Yeah.”
The way he tells me these things so freely, without fear, means everything to me. He talks about his boyfriend—whose parents aren’t supportive—as if it’s normal to be open, to be honest, to be loved. And it reminds me how many kids and adults don’t have that safety. My son does. He knows I’m here, no matter what. That feeling is indescribable.
Life is hard. We all feel weak, alone, sad, and afraid at times—I know I do. But as parents, we are entrusted with one of the most important roles there is: to love the children we are given. To support them, teach them happiness, help them take pride in who they are, and raise them to be kind, compassionate, and supportive of others.
The tears and lonely days still happen. I’m human. But I also feel immense joy in being a father. Knowing my son will face fewer of those painful days—despite being part of one of society’s most vulnerable groups—because he is loved and supported by me and others… that makes every hard moment worth it.
