Well, tonight was a fucking disaster of epic proportions. Misgendering and deadnaming-a-go-go – and pronouns? What even are they?! Yeah, cheers, Dad.
I love my Dad. When he’s not being Victor Meldrew and whinging on and on about the slightest little thing, he’s funny, engaging and the best storyteller for miles around. I hope I inherited some of his ability to spin a yarn.
There’s a “but” coming, right? You betcha!
I came out just over two years ago. In parents terms, I know I had it easy. I wasn’t disowned, far from it. After initial wobbles, Ma and Pa were pretty supportive.
Now, I wasn’t born yesterday. I know damned well that they’d prefer it if I wasn’t transgender, if Georgie and I had stayed together, if we’d had 2.4 children and lived happily ever after.
But life doesn’t always work out like you thought it might. I never dreamed I’d be brave enough to come out, let alone start HRT and do this transition thing. I’m damned sure there’s plenty of chatter behind my back to the effect that I’ve taken a wrong turn.
But here we are, it’s happening, and I’m never turning back. Back to two years ago – I still remember writing the letter to my folks and then meeting them for lunch at a local gastro-pub. I remember my mum in tears, saying: “I’m losing a son.”
And my Dad saying: “What are you on about?! You’re not losing anyone – he’s sat here!”
And a bit later me accidentally overhearing at the football him telling my Godfather: “He’ll always be Andrew to me.”
More than two years after changing my name by Deed Poll, I HAD hoped we might have made some progress.
And in many respects we have. Last Christmas, with all the family together, was awesome. My mum and sister have been cool, buying me a birthday makeover and personal shopper experience, all that stuff. Meals out have been nice, too.
I feel relatively at ease to discuss trans matters in front of the whole family – waaaaaay more than two years ago. The elephant in the room is still there, but it’s smaller. We’re making progress here, we really are.
BUT STOP FUCKING CALLING ME ANDREW, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!!!
I know you spent weeks agonising over a name to call me before I was born. You called me Andrew (I always shortened it to Andy) Neil. I respected this and felt awful about changing it, hence Andie Nell.
I did that for YOU. Otherwise, I’d have been Audrey, after Ms Hepburn, with a middle name equally fabulous.
I did it for you to keep things simple. The gender clinic folks warned me not to. I ignored them – I wanted to keep things simple for you.
More than two years on, and what a fucking terrible decision that turned out to have been!
My sister makes an effort to get my name right (or she calls me Plute – long story). My mum tries to a lesser extent.
My dad? Forget it!
We’ve had the same run-in now every few weeks for the past two years-plus. He calls me Andrew, I correct him and then he replies with something like this tonight:
Oooooh, it takes some getting used to! I’m 71 and how can I just change your name just like that?
I’m not 71, I’m 45! And is it really such a massive leap to go from Andrew to Andie?!?! NO! I’m not asking you to call me Primrose or Sophie, am I?!
Or we get this:
Well, you were born a boy and we christened you Andrew.
Yes, and I feel TERRIBLE about changing my name. It’s like I’m some artwork – perhaps once-perfect to them. They spent nine months painting me. They signed their names in the bottom-right corner, in a maternity home in Derby.
The home is literally closed and boarded up now. Not even Florence Nightingale’s shining light could save it.
Then I come along decades later and say the painting’s not good enough – it needs to be improved. Not a restoration but wholesale changes – wild, crazy, vivid colours are daubed over the greys and browns.
The scene changes beyond recognition. I love the new painting. But, while they try to murmour their approval, it’s clear they preferred the one before. The original and still the best.
This is my life. I learn so much by what is not said rather than what is said. And what is said is just deadnaming and misgendering.
Every single time my dad calls me Andrew, I correct him. I explain about deadnaming, I tell him I legally changed my name more than two years ago.
I tell him how upsetting it is to be deadnamed – what it means, how it feels. In my case, it feels like the deadname-er isn’t taking my transition at all seriously – like this is some stupid dressing-up phase. Fancy dress, “and he’ll be back in his breeches before long”.
And that’s what happened before the football tonight. Andrew, Andrew, Andrew. I wouldn’t mind if it were the occasional slip-up followed by a “Oooh, sorry, Andie”.
But it’s not. It’s every single time. I can count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times he’s called me Andie in the past two years – and I have digits to spare.
Before Soupy and the rest leap to his defence, I KNOW it’s not easy from a parent’s point of view. I get that! I know he’s from a different generation, I know I was AMAB. But there is zero effort there. Nothing whatsover.
I can understand it more if I’m just wearing a pair of jeans and a plain T-shirt, like tonight. But if you deadname me – and then use the wrong pronouns – when I’m wearing a lacy top and a miniskirt, as happened one time? Does nothing in your mind kick in and tell you: this person might not appreciate being called by a man’s name?
I did the whole gender spectrum thing AGAIN tonight, using a pint of beer and a terrocotta ashtray on a table in the beer garden to illustrate male and female. I used my hand to illustate the non-binary people in between.
I did the same with sexuality – the pint of beer was him (straight guy) and the ashtray was Julian Clary (gay guy). I used my hand in between to illustrate bisexual people. Forget pansexual!
I’ve done this several times before – it never sinks in. I had to explain two weeks ago what the rainbow flags all around town meant.
And so we sat there in the beer garden, me saying he needed to make an effort to get my name right, him insisisting he is.
Sorry, you’re not. I love you very much, but you’re making no effort whatsoever.
I asked him what he and Mum referred to me as at home, when it’s just the two of them.
“Andrew.”
What, both of you?
Yep.
As for she/her pronouns… FORGET IT!
I dunno what to do now. The gender clinic has told me that I have to correct people who deadname me. And I always, always do.
But what the fuck do I do here? It’s not like my dad’s refusing to get my name right, it’s just that he’s not making any effort to.
So do I keep on correcting him, with no result apart from to cause a massive rift between us?
Or do I just accept that, as he said at the football that day, I’ll “always be Andrew” to him?
I feel like I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. If things carry on the way they are, we’re going to drift apart. I can see no way out of this.
Any feedback gratefully received. Comments box below.
Andie
I feel ya Andie. Had the exact thing with my mom two days ago. I have not decided how to move forward yet, do I let it slide, do I make issue every time? How does it affect my relationship with them going forward? I know we will both figure this out though, just like we figured out how to exist as our new selves. Lots of love and hugs … Charlie.mtf
Thanks Charlie, though I fear this will never be worked out now. If he was going to change, he’d have done it ages ago. It’s more than two years – he won’t change. He’s too set in his ways.
😣
Well I cannot offer you any advice from experience love, because things are no different here.
The only people in the family who are 100% are my Dahlings…the ones who the grown ups were really worried would not understand!
Mum calls me Isla but forget pronouns & my Wife is better with the pronouns but does slip up. Slip ups from either are now greeted with a loud operatic “Heeeeeeeeeee!!!”
My Dad has still not called me Isla. He usually calls me nothing but occasionally deadnames followed by an apology that is almost acted out.
I am 99.999999% certain that it is perfectly normal to Deadname me when not present at their house.
My In-laws are much better. My mother in law deadnames me often, but equally calls me Isla. She is 81 and has dementia…which kind of shows the others up for how pathetic they are.
Yes I did say pathetic, because along with ritually being he’d & him’d at work (which is more accidental & thus par for the course imho) it is getting on my tits also.
Sending big hugs your way 💜
Thanks Isla. If an 81-year-old with dementia can get it right, why is it so hard for other people? As I say, I don’t mind the occasional slip-up, but I am now sick and tired of the constant deadnaming, me having to correct him and the arguments that then ensue. Every time, I explain why it’s offensive and every time, he just doesn’t listen. Sick and tired of it – and I’m damned sure that he is, too. He’ll have gone home and whinged to my mum about how he’s in the doghouse again. He doesn’t seem to realise that all he has to do to stay out of the doghouse is get my pissing name right. I’m not asking him to call me a daughter – I doubt that will ever happen, sadly. It’s just a name. It just requires making a little effort to change his habits, but he’s demonstrated time and time again that he’s not prepared to make it.
Your Dad is 71. Mine has just turned 69. There is definitely a generational thing going on here 🤬
Agreed. Mine are also late 60’s. I find younger generations find it much easier to get it right without much effort.
Mine are 68 and 70… both of them with a VERY rigid idea of gender that’s going to take years to unpick, if at all…
I think the issue really is that all of this was pushed so far to the sides of society until recently that they’ve never had to bother even contemplating it. Now it’s out there and affecting them, even thought they don’t want it to. We’re bursting their “happy little normative bubbles” and this is the kickback we’re going to get for it.
Societal tradition can be a b**ch.
I’m sorry it’s rough…
Well you’ve already pre-empted what you think I’m going to say but how about this instead? What do you wear when you see your Dad? If you’re en femme (don’t like using that now as it’s your default not fancy dress) it will surely be harder for him to call you Andrew. I really think your parents need to meet other trans parents/families. Ask your mum if she’d like me to put her in touch with my friend
Sorry, Soupy, I was really, really angry when I wrote that post. You make an excellent point – and I wondered that myself. But it doesn’t matter if I’m wearing jeans, plain T-shirt and baseball cap for football – or a lacy top, miniskirt, wig, makeup etc for going out. I still get Andrewed! It makes no difference at all.
I think it would be great for them to meet other trans people – but I dunno if they’d be up for it. I’ve burst their little normative bubble, and I think that would just make them feel even more uncomfortable.
I think the whole thing’s a lost cause now. He’s 71 and seems incapable of changing his ways. xxx
Never give up! And I don’t have any trans people to introduce them to, just a friend who is around my age whose world was similarly rocked several years ago when her brother came out as her sister. Their mother was older than yours and has since died, but my friend may have some wisdom/reassurance she could pass on to your parents if they’re interested. And no ‘danger’ of meeting the sister as she lives abroad. Of course, said friend may not be up for it but I bet she would – she’s v gregarious. I don’t want to bring it up with your mum, but you can tell her I can put them in touch if she’s up for it.
OK, thanks angel. I’ll run it by her, see what she says. Really appreciate it, thank you. xxx
Oh Andie I feel so, so sorry and supportive of you. It is pretty awful of him but my Dad is the same Suffolk and Derbyshire breed the same types obviously. I made a great effort to make it easy for them; went dressed androgynously, saw my family separately before we went out together, took a female friend who knows and is super supportive, used the name Mum (now sleeping) had chosen if I was born right, the works.
They all said they were fine but one sister really wasn’t and slowly turned them away except for my youngest sister who is great. No matter what you do some won’t like it. Two years later I’d had enough and was losing it (must be something about that time period). Enter Jaz my very pretty Indian Moslem friend who offered to accompany me on one last go. We wore identical outfits and I had some business type cards printed up. I told all of the family that I’d had enough of dead naming, it was causing me issues, this is my future and if they wanted to contact me as Natasha here are the details. That cut several toxic family members out and things looked up. Dad is Dad, we talk on the phone and when I visit I dress down.
At the very least I hope this shows you aren’t alone and that there are ways to move ahead.
Hugs
Hi Natasha! Welcome to the blog and thank you so much for the post – so much of that resonates with me. However, things took a turn for the better yesterday – I shall post all about it soon!
Big hugs, and great to hear that things are looking up for you.
Andie xxx
Fantastic! I feel much happier for you.
Natasha xx