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The sound of whispered conversation nudged me toward consciousness. I opened one eye.

Down at the foot of my bed stood a boy and girl out of a family situation comedy from some long gone era.

I opened my other eye.

They stood hesitant, the girl in a pretty dress and the boy in a brown suit that he was obviously on the verge of outgrowing, his hair neatly combed for once. These kids sure looked like my eleven year old Lisa and her brother Matt who was a year older, but they weren’t dressed like them. Where were my two disheveled ragamuffins?

“Whaaahhh?” I groaned, “Were we supposed to go to church today?”

It was the only reason for this that made sense to my befuddled brain, except that I had stopped taking them to church two years ago, a short while after my wife Marjorie had died. You could say I’d developed some issues with God.

Then I noticed the tray that Lisa was carrying. French toast with boysenberry syrup, eggs, bacon, whole wheat toast, juice and coffee. And one yellow rose in a crystal vase.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” they sang out together.

“Um ……. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m your dad.”

“We know that, Daddy,” giggled Lisa as she unfolded the legs on the tray and set it on the bed beside me, “but happy Mother’s Day.”

“Yeah,” added Matt, shuffling self consciously.

The food on the plate looked surprisingly edible, I’d gotten worse at Denny’s. And even if it hadn’t been, the gesture itself…

My heart went into serious melt mode. “Well thank you so much. But you kids, oh really, you shouldn’t have.”

“Sure we shoulda,” said Lisa, “I mean it’s Mothers Day, but like you tell people, you’re like both a dad and a mom to us. Now that, you know-”

I nodded that I knew. Their mother, the woman that should have been there with us, the one who really should have been receive this sunny side up tribute.

“And we’re sorry it couldn’t have been more,” said Matt quietly, “But we didn’t have enough to really get you something.”

“Don’t be,” I said, “I’m the one who should be sorry. Your allowances haven’t been much these days…”

Now they were both hugging me, awkwardly, careful not to upset the tray on my bed.

“But we understand why. It’s not like you wouldn’t want to give us more.”

We were now a single income family, and the house payments and bills that two salary earners had been able to meet comfortably were taking up just about everything I made each month. But this address was what put them in the vicinity of the best school in the county…

“Yeah, it’s all good,” nodded Matt.

“And this, this is the best Mothers Day present I ever got,” I smiled, fighting back tears, and not mentioning that it was the only one I'd ever been given.

“There’s more. Something else we thought we could give you. Maybe it’s right to do, or maybe it isn’t, but we think it is.”

“We sure hope it is,” muttered Matt.

“And it’s not really like a gift, but it’s-” Lisa stopped.

“It’s what?”

Matt said, “The truth.”

“What? You’re going to give me the secret of the Universe?” I joked, but I was feeling apprehensive suddenly. The way he had said that word...

“No, it’s about telling the truth,” said Matt, “How you said the truth is always best, and how you said there was nothing we could ever tell you that would make you stop loving us. Well that goes for us too, you know, with you...”

“We love you Daddy. You’re a great, wonderful parent, the way you'll stop whatever you're doing when me or Matt need something. And this thing you do, you shouldn't feel like ashamed, or having to hide it. It doesn’t matter to us,” smiled Lisa.

“It doesn’t. I mean clothes?" Matt gestured dismissively, "How important is it, what somebody wants to wear? I mean I guess this thing means something to you that it doesn’t to me, but it doesn’t make you anything less to us. Bad or weird or whatever you’d think we would think. And if anyone thinks that, well they don't know you. I'd rather have your kind of weird any day than you hitting us like Sammy Ernstfelter's dad, or being drunk like both of Linda Reynolds' parents. So anyway Lisa and me, we..."

"We talked about this. And decided we should tell you…”

I nodded, meeting their eyes. I wasn’t about to pretend I didn’t know what “thing” they were talking about.

Ideally maybe telling the truth is always best, but we always find reasons not to. Not everybody is grateful to hear every secret thing about you, they would prefer you lied than confront them with something they weren’t able to accept about you. I had risked telling Marjorie about my crossdressing early in our relationship, and miraculously she had been pretty accepting of my female side.

And I had always intended to tell these two bright and good-natured kids some day, but had always feared that before a certain age such a thing could confuse them, and to saddle small ones with something that you kept secret from the neighbors and various relatives, this wasn’t fair to them. Such things required a certain level of understanding and maturity that humans aren’t born with, that only develop with time. And apparently Lisa and Matt had this maturity, initiating something that I thought was still five six years in the future.

How had they found out? Innocently enough, I would find out later. They had found an old letter from Marjorie to me about my "gender issues" and "dressing" that somehow had found its way into the box of family photographs. The rest had been a matter of deduction, and discussions between them about things I had said and done and that they saw in my nature, which suddenly made a new kind of sense...

Finally I found my voice, and managed to squeak out a hoarse heartfelt, “Thank you. This really is a gift…”

They smiled back, nothing but love on their faces. Lisa pointed, “Oh, and there’s a card…”

Tucked into the napkin on the breakfast tray I noticed an envelope. I pulled out the handmade card inside it and read the inscription.

And totally lost it. The next five minutes were a blur of hugs and I-love-yous and sweet happy tears. Then I ate my breakfast in bed, put my rose on the dresser and went into the kitchen where it looked like World War III had been waged, and began cleaning up the mess they had made while preparing my breakfast. And somehow this too felt like a gift…
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