We didn’t know while you were growing up that you were gay. Neither did you. Had we known, we probably would have done a lot of things differently. It’s sad that someone planted this seed in your mind, based on your distress about your looks and sex, that you were really a girl trapped in a boy’s body. In any earlier generation, you would have simply figured out that you were a gay young man, and that this is why you didn’t vibe with many typical male interests. Of course, you never had to have those interests, as far as we were concerned. We don’t hold the childish view that all boys have to have typically masculine interests or that all girls have to have typically female interests. Even we don’t neatly fit the stereotypes. We certainly would have got you into counselling for your gender dysphoria that we’ve since found out about; but then, you chose to hide it, I guess assuming that we would be unsympathetic. Sadly, you chose the harder way. I suppose you thought at the time that hiding everything was the easier way. I can’t blame you for choosing what many kids do.

Not long ago we had a conversation in which you told me that you were a gay man. And I said, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I made clear then that of course I still love you. We’ve never been orthodox Progressives, but you know that we never have hated them, or gay people, or in general people with different views, which is why you’ve never in your life heard us use the epithets the haters use. It grieves me that you have embraced leftist culture-war hate in recent years. I never taught you that. I taught and modelled the opposite: tolerance, kindness, desire to understand all kinds of people, and belief in the immense value of all people. Sometimes I still see glimpses of this better mindset in you, and yet at other times venom pours from your mouth against all the people culture-war lefties tell you that you’re supposed to hate. When I hear this, I am sad and ashamed. I hope the fully grown up version of you reverts to the kindness in which you were raised.

Now, you’re a “trans-woman,” i.e. a man who has become convinced that he’s really a woman. Of course, very few others actually believe that you’re a woman, although many will play along with the pronouns. As you walk down the street, everyone who sees you immediately identifies you as a man, no matter what you’re wearing, no matter how you do your hair, no matter how you try to pinch your voice up into a female register. No one else in your family, as best I can tell, thinks you’re a woman either. But somehow, you’ve fixated your hate on me, cutting me off.

It may be that to you I represent the world which can’t see the woman you imagine to be inside you. I think that probably you don’t want to know what most of the people around you think. Most people, especially the young, will take a look at you and be afraid to broach the topic. And many fear being branded with the put-down “transphobic” for not playing along. You know what I think because I’ve discussed this topic with and around you, and I did it with respect, never lecturing, mocking, or belittling others’ newfangled views about “gender”–just respectful and reasonable conversation.

But that, and truth, are not what you want. You want capitulation. You want people to loudly and proudly affirm what we all know to be false, that you are a woman. I can well tolerate and live with a sad and harmful delusion, but I will not contribute to it. Why? Because I love you. If you had bulimia, I would be in the wrong to affirm what a “fat pig” you are, as you waste away before my eyes. Here, I would be wrong to affirm the falsehood that you are a woman. You are a man–a charming, talented, hard-working, and objectively good-looking man. A gay man. In your delusion you’re probably poisoning your body with cross-sex hormones. It’s tragic that doctors sworn to heal can fork over what you need for a dangerous experimental treatment. I pray that you come out the other side of this without having done any permanent damage to your beautiful and healthy body, without following the tragic path of mutilation that has harmed so many others. While I’m convinced that this is a mistake, of course in many other ways I am proud that you are my son. I have loved you since before you were born, and I will always love you, no matter what you think, say, or do. To me, there is no substitute for you in all the world; either I have you, or there is a you-shaped hole in my heart.

I hope and expect that some day, when this fever-dream lifts and you accept reality, you will respect my respectfully and gently choosing to sit out of this game. I’m speaking freely now, as this is an anonymous forum; my grief has to go somewhere. But of course, if you let me back into your life, I will only discuss these things if and when you bring them up. I don’t need to convince you, although since I love you, I want you to embrace the truth. I just want to be around my gay, beloved son.

In conclusion, here is a question I think you should ponder: Is it really so bad to be a gay man?.