Don't Be Afraid To Let Them Show

By Wm. on November 18, 2025

In the early spring of 2000, Martha and I learned we were going to be parents. We'd been trying for some time, ultimately turning to a fertility specialist. Over the ensuing months, there were the typical preparations: getting a nursery together, baby showers, mulling over names. We settled on a girl's name quickly: Anna. A name for a boy proved much more elusive, with no clarity granted even after learning that our child would indeed be male. Our indecisiveness lasted until maybe 36 hours after birth. Over the years we told this story to our child every so often, including what the name of a daughter would have been.

Our child quit college about two-thirds of the way through the sophomore year, in February 2021. We knew from weekly conversations that things hadn't been going entirely well, perhaps in part due to pandemic-related restrictions, but it was still very much a surprise. Just two weeks left in the term, the decision made without any prior indication or consultation with us, spurred by a roommate's announcement that they would not be returning for the spring term.

Another surprise awaited. Not long after moving back home, our child sat down in the living room with Martha and me to talk. To talk about confusion over gender identity. To tell us there had been questions dating back several years, even if it had never been hinted at in our presence. To let us know that a new name was being given strong consideration. Yes, Anna.

I suppose I had been prepared to learn that my child was gay—there had been almost no dating up to this point. But I had honestly discounted the possibility that my son might actually be my daughter based on reactions I'd seen over the years to various things. Yes, there had been rebellion against the notion of a haircut for years, but that was accompanied by an untamed beard. While it might be overstatement to say that Martha and I were stunned, it's true that neither of us quite knew what to think. There was zero consideration given to arguing with or castigation or rejection of our child. We instinctively knew that what we needed to offer up was space and time for discernment and to make it clear we were always there for support and conversation.

We did insist, though, on gainful employment if education had reached a (perhaps momentary) dead end. Soon our child's life was working at Walmart by night, gaming (either solo or with friends) by day, with sleep thrown in as needed. I couldn't help but notice that female avatars named Anna were being selected for game play. Over the course of a couple of years, it became clear that we were indeed becoming parents to a daughter. This was capped when she returned from a May 2023 trip to watch her one-time college classmates graduate and announced to us, "I want you to start calling me Anna." Martha and I had already been avoiding masculine references between ourselves in preparation.

But Anna is the introverted daughter of two introverts and was proceeding cautiously about coming out. It would be another year before we were given permission to disclose the news to friends, neighbors, people we know at church (for the record, a couple of years ago our church formally became an open and affirming congregation, acknowledging what had been effectively practice for a while). Martha and I have generally been more reactive than proactive in sharing, usually waiting for questions of the type, "How's (deadname)?" We're grateful that folks are frequently (very) supportive, and if not obviously supportive at least polite with us, even if mystified.

Eighteen months ago, Anna moved to Indianapolis, where she shares an apartment with her boyfriend, Hayes. She'd met Hayes while in college. His family lives nearby and has been incredibly helpful to Anna. We'll be driving up there for Thanksgiving, just as we did last year.

When I'm sharing the news about Anna with someone, I usually say something along the lines of, "We're all learning how to live into this new reality." I won't deny that I have some feelings of mourning for the person I thought I was going to have around for the rest of my days. But in many respects, that person is still here—that smart, caring, occasionally maddening person who made the incredibly sweet gesture of choosing the name we had picked for a daughter-at-birth—that person is still inside, regardless of what we call her, or what she looks like. We are all treading somewhat carefully, I think: she because her outward appearance doesn't yet match how she feels on the inside, me because I don't want to have to deal with people who I'm expecting to be less receptive to the change. There's also plenty of anti-trans legislation being proposed and/or passed at both the state and national levels. I'm fearful enough about the near-term future.

Martha and I aren't heroes, aren't being courageous—we're just two people who love and want to support the child who came to us a quarter-century ago. If anything, Anna is the courageous one, pursuing her truth in a time of greater antipathy towards transgender people. Like other parents, we just want a happy, fulfilling life for our daughter.

I was walking our dog one Saturday morning at the end of September, listening to an AT40 show from 1986, when Cyndi Lauper's "True Colors" was played. The song struck me in a way it hadn't before, and I realized that the time had come to write this post. The Music of My Life came about in part to express thoughts about my deceased parents, but also to let my then-son know a few things about his old man. That child received somewhat frequent mention in the blog's early days; astute long-time readers might realize that's not been happening the last few years. While it feels awkward to make references to Anna when I'm talking about days when she was (deadname), I'll likely be trying that out going forward.

As it happens, this past weekend's 80s AT40 offering from Premiere was 11/8/86; "True Colors" was #3 on the show, down from its #1 peak the previous week. Back then I was in my first semester of grad school. Lauper's new song didn't groove me the way so many of the hits from She's So Unusual had, and it was easy to mock her delivery on it. But it's become a landmark tune—it occurred to me even before I read its Wikipedia page last week that maybe Cyndi had AIDS on her mind when she chose to record it.

This is the 1000^th post here at TMoML. I could think of no better way to celebrate the milestone than to honor my daughter. I love you, Anna, and your mother and I are always here for you. Let's all live with courage going forward.