I transitioned when I was in college, nine years ago. At that time, as is traditional in the culture of my country, I still lived with my parents in a big, extended family. My father did not like my transition, to the point that when we argued he would lose his temper and kick or punch me. My mother defended me and asked me not to runaway, so I didn't, despite my depression and anger. I had to tone done the way I dressed, wear a jacket or sneak out and not let him see me. I don't know what happened over the years but I guess he realized that there was nothing he could do to change me, and with the support of my mom and friends, I graduated, got work at an I.T. firm and proceeded to make a life for myself and blend in as a woman.

Fast forward to today. I live with my partner 40 minutes away from my parent's house. I still have stuff there and pass by occasionally to sleep or spend time with them. Last week, I went to a meeting of a transgender support and advocacy group that I hadn't been to after several years. I just wanted to pass by to see some of the girls I've missed and catch up. Afterwards, I passed by the house to pick up an old pair of football/soccer shoes that I was going to wear for our office's football/soccer game that was going to resume after a time of activity. I was wearing a layered dress, with my hair in a kind of pigtails, and East Asian style knee high socks, makeup — my usual. My dad was there, in our dining area, doing some work on his netbook. I went up to him to put the back of his hands on my forehead. We call this gesture a "mano" (derived from Spanish, I guess), a traditional sign of respect for elders. I told him I was just going to pick up a few things and proceeded to the room I shared with my sister when I was still living there. Going back down, I was about to leave when he requested I look at his netbook for some network connection problems. After some tweaking, I managed to fix the problem and he said his thanks before I left. Family tech support, I thought to myself. Oh well. But at least we're civil, and he hasn't really mentioned anything negative about my being transsexual in the past few years. Only his disapproval of my boyfriend. So I guess things get better, even if we'll never have the kind of mushy lovey-dovey father-daugher love that I sometimes crave.