We are not a family breakfast kind of family. Most weekends we do our own thing. Since we are on a schedule all week long, when the weekend comes no one wants to commit to a wake up time or a group breakfast. There are, however, a couple of exceptions. Birthdays, mother’s day and father’s day are family breakfast outings. We have our favorite place; the kids know that we are committed and typically there are no complaints about getting up…in fact, I think they actually look forward to it.
Mother’s Day 2013 — we are seated at the Breakfast Club, stomachs rumbling, saliva forming as we ponder the yummy, drool inspiring offerings. Our server comes to our table, pen and pad in hand; one by one we place our order. Just an ordinary family out for an out-of-the-ordinary breakfast together.
Finally, our food is delivered — piping hot, aromas wafting, deliciousness waiting to be devoured. Oops. Olivia’s food hasn’t come. We call over our server and she says, “I’m so sorry. What did he order?”
“She ordered waffles and bacon.”
Did you catch that? I know it took me a long time to get to this point in the story. Now remember, this happened a year ago. Hunter didn’t exist yet — at least not in his current state of being. Olivia was still very much Olivia to us and we were still using female pronouns.
Naturally, as a FTM trans guy, Olivia was thrilled to be “mistaken” for a guy. I was indignant. And, in complete denial. This was my daughter. I was just getting used to shopping in the boys’ department. I was definitely not ready to use male pronouns.
If you had told me a year ago that in a year’s time I would be calling my younger child, Hunter, using male pronouns and correcting others when they call him “Olivia,” I would’ve said NO WAY. No question, I was in denial.