Last night, before going to sleep, I lay in bed watching Youtube videos. Somehow I ended up on that speech Debi Jackson gave about supporting her trans daughter that went viral last year. Hearing it again made just as choked up and tearful as it had then. What followed was an unquiet sleep.
I was in what might have been my parents' house, except the layout was unfamiliar. In what seemed to be a living room, my dad sat on a couch watching TV. The room flickered with that television glow. My mom and I stood off to one side. In this dream world I was out to my mom but hadn't told my dad yet. As he flipped through channels, suddenly there appeared on the screen some kind of crossdresser or drag queen. In disgust, he hurled some disparaging remark at the image, the way I remember him doing when I was a child. But this time, I flipped out.
"Fuck you!" I screamed, "why the fuck would you say that?!" And I didn't stop there: a long torrent of curses followed. When I finally finished he looked at me, totally baffled, and asked: "What— what's this all about?"
"Because," I said, quietly and with a great deal of effort, "I'm... trans."
His face changed suddenly to one understanding. He got up and walked towards me, and as he did, both he and the room grew huge while I seemed to stay the same size. By the time he reached me he was so tall that he had to get down on his knees so we could be face to face. And then I realized I was a small child. A girl, in fact.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he drew me towards himself in a big hug. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know."
"It's okay, dad" I said. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."
And then I woke up.
It took me a few seconds to realize: No, wait. I'm already out to my dad. And he doesn't say homophobic stuff like that anymore. Of course it was only a dream: neither me yelling at my father nor the two of us hugging are things I can imagine happening in real life. But jeez, it seems like I have issues.