I wondered if any other parents feel this way about their child.
Finding out that my wife was pregnant was the happiest day of my life. We ended up having a son and with pride wrapped around my heart, I suggested that he should be named after me. I couldn’t wait to teach him how to throw a baseball. To drive up to Boston and watch the Red Sox play on their home field. To watch the astonishment in his eye as he caught a home run from David Ortiz’s baseball bat.
I walked into his room one day and my mouth touched the floor. My son wasn’t wearing a jersey or a baseball cap, but a long, brunette wig. Hundreds, if not thousands of responses were available to choose from. I could have told him that he’s a boy and to take it off. I could have grabbed one of my belts and beat him without remorse. But that smile on his face was a piece of him that I never wanted to take away. I told him that he looked awesome. There’s no need to institutionalize happiness
As he giggled and spun around, I thought to myself “Do other parents feel this way? Or would they throw their own flesh and blood out of their family? For having fun? For trying to be who they are?” I frowned for all the children who have felt alone and didn’t hear their parents tell them that they loved them. My son might not play baseball and he might never wear that wig again, but he most likely will feel happy and free.