October 7, 2012
Sarah, once my daughter, is now Finn, a member of the transgender community. Those are hard words to write.
I want to love the man my daughter has become, but floundering in the torrent of her change and my resistance to it, I fear I’ll never make it across my river of anger and sorrow.
I think about Sarah growing up, how she always acted with courage and fortitude. In junior high she studied Russian because it was “a challenge.” In high school she proved she wasn’t too small to play water polo goalie.
In college she announced she was gay. I hoped her lesbianism might be a passing phase, but instead Sarah began to dress in male clothes and bind her breasts. On her Facebook page, she announced she’d changed her name to Finn.
Trying to be supportive, I called her SarahFinn.
Then one December day, just before her father and I were leaving on a vacation, a handwritten letter on lined paper ripped from a notebook arrived in our mailbox.
“I want to be completely honest about who I am and what’s going on in my life,” our daughter wrote. “I went to Florida, had my breasts removed and am now taking hormones.” She said she feared being rejected but told us our relationship meant a lot to her.