I grew up with two fathers and one mother. My first father is my step father, a disabled veteran that was mugged and killed while my mother was pregnant. The time he was dead left him with severe brain damage, she fought to be able to take custody from the VA hospital that was leaving him to die. When I was a child she called his area of the hospital 'the death ward', but when I became an adult she eventually started calling it ward 2C2. My birth fathers father was in the hells angels bike gang, he grew up having to be very smart and practically having an extra sense for the type of person someone was. He and my mom tried to have a relationship, but they found their scars of long gone pasts made that too hard. They did become very good friends though, something they were very good at. My blood father gave my mother a spine to stand up for herself with, and my mother brought back his good heart that was buried by life. The only group he was part of was his family, but did still have many friends. After I had a giant chunk of mu right leg removed due to cancer, he helped me regain my full mobility. Thinking about him makes me feel conflicted, but fathers day is obviously a date that would remind me of him. Why would I feel conflicted about such an amazing person? He was understanding of people before it was popular to who overcame a lot of hardships and always held humor. He died of heart cancer, so it wasn't like it involved any crimes. The man was amazingly intelligent, someone who studied so many old newspapers and papers in libraries that his eyesight suffered.

Well, he was only accepting of everyone that wasn't part of his family. He was accepting of me enjoying a lot of the things he enjoyed, dressing in my own odd way, but when I came out to him as transgender male? He totally rejected it. He was someone that understood me better than my mom. When I was growing up he had to tell my mom that she was the one that wanted me in dresses, skirts and makeup, that i hated that stuff. He was the one fully understanding of my love of cowboy hats, mens trench coats, pants, and so on. When I came out to my mom, a lot of things made more sense to her about me. Sometimes I wonder if he would have come around if he hadn't died, though I'm reminded that this is something I will never know. I didn't know where to put this, but still wanted to say it somewhere.