One thing I didn’t consider when I started this journey was how it would force me to look at my past through an entirely different lens. My dad was a broken man on many levels. He was brilliant and creative and giving while also being a supreme narcissist and unrepentant user of everyone he claimed to love. Complicated, conflicted and confused. He created a son in his image. I wish he had a chance to meet the real Jason, and I had a chance to meet the real Larry.
Having just evolved into my nonbinary human self by way of my kiddo coming out as nonbinary two years ago, it led me to thinking about the genetic connection for certain human traits. If both his son and his grandson embrace a nonbinary existence then there’s a better than even chance my dad was as well. We share several other inherited traits, including a third nipple and lovely singing voice. A gregarious and outgoing nature also came from our “male” lineage rather than either of our moms.
I suspect there would be others if I had more data to analyze, but my dad’s time on this Earth was cut short when he was just 61 years old, long before I learned enough of my own truth to perhaps help him uncover some desperately needed truths of his own. Our relationship was a source of constant inconsistency in my life. Rarely did I know the Larry who would show up on my doorstep at odd moments to completely disrupt whatever path I was currently on. I wonder now if those weren’t desperate attempts to connect.
Since the Universe operates on a healthy dose of irony, I’m not entirely surprised that not long after I became a Master Mason on November 11, 2023, an old friend showed up on my doorstep on Thanksgiving weekend needing my help. I didn’t flinch from the challenge as I am obligated to help my fellow human if at all within the purview of my power and purpose. I invited him in without exception or expectation despite the exaggeration. Take a load off, brother. Rest. Recuperate. Reimagine what the future might take to be what you need. Two weeks on my couch snuggling my dog who wasn’t allowed might be enough. Finally, enough?
Be still. Heal. We’ll pick these pieces up tomorrow.
Six months down the road and it was time to tell “Larry” to hit the bricks. There hasn’t been a single boundary he didn’t joyfully and unapologetically crash through despite my repeated and consistent recitation of those boundaries. Just like my old man. Charismatic motherfucker. I’m not fooled because I’ve been dealing with that shit since the jump. Every single one of my missteps involved some charismatic motherfucker who took me on a ride I shouldn’t have been on in the first place, including my own father. I set out to be the dad I never had. Missioned accomplished. But I wasn’t that partner. I never had her back. Shame on me. Mission failure.
I’ve told my friend that his time in our space has reached its end. He’s seemingly complying with my request, but it doesn’t really matter. I know what my limits are when it comes to changing another human being. This road has reached those limits.
Ghosts rarely rest easy. Mine certainly haven’t. Until they did. I found my girl. Finally. She was me. We are every pronoun, each one as comfortable as the last. He, him, she, her, they, them, we, us. When I found Jessica at the end of this long, confusing detour, I couldn’t have been more shocked or delighted. This literally wasn’t on my radar in the slightest, I thought I was standard-issued confused cis white guy. Nope. I was incomplete. Missing pieces of us that I never knew existed.
I can’t help believe my dad might have blossomed from the same.
