Even as a child I suspected something was different about my dad—and not only because he was so distant from my siblings and me. He seemed to be unable relate to children, and he had no idea how to express love to any of us. Even when he was physically nearby, he wasn’t really there. Sometimes I longed for a dad—a real one who would want to spend time with me. I couldn’t understand why we kids had to be like statues—never allowed to show joy or happiness. 

       As a young teenager, I wanted to find a replacement for the love I never experienced at home. So I began getting high on cocaine. Home always seemed far, far away from my mind while I was using cocaine to fill my void and provide an escape.

       One cold winter day I escaped from home by diverting down a dirt road near the neighbor’s barn; I was just goofing off by myself, when I heard a nearby conversation. The two men talking, Frank and Joe, were unaware of my presence. The topic was my dad. I stood there, listening quietly and praying they wouldn’t notice me.

       Frank was telling Joe that my dad was “different.” I had no idea what he meant, but I was curious. So I listened intently. Frank continued, saying that my dad liked to dress like a woman. What the heck, I thought, who are they to say this stuff about my dad? Yes, Dad was a distant and angry man, but come on….

       Joe asked Frank how he knew. Frank told Joe he saw Dad in a bar, and it was obvious. I was shocked; I couldn’t believe the words I was hearing. I thought—I hoped—perhaps Frank had been drunk and misconstrued something. It couldn’t be real—I certainly didn’t want it to be real. I wanted to cry, but then I got mad. So I did what came naturally to me: I escaped to cocaine, which always helped me to fly away to a different world.

       I thought if I told my friends, they would surely laugh at me; I could hear it all now. And, of course, what girl would want to go out with the boy whose father dresses like a woman? How could this be happening to me? All this gave me the perfect reason for my own escape, so I got higher, and before I knew it, I was into some pretty strong drugs to help me escape.

       I was struggling; I wanted to learn how to become a man, but so far my only teachers for this role had been the neighborhood men who got drunk and wasted time ogling loose women on porn sites and at strip clubs. I was getting strange mixed messages from my dad who was hooked on becoming a woman as opposed to the neighborhood men who drank, played cards, and looked at women as sex objects. The neighborhood men seemed safer to be around, and at least they recognized me and paid attention to me. Some of the neighborhood men even cheered me on at my baseball games. That was better than dad’s conspicuous absence from my games.

       But the attention from the neighbor men couldn’t compensate for the emotional loss I felt over my dad’s abandonment of me in favor of his sexual fantasy life. The shock from overhearing the conversation between Frank and Joe felt like an emotional sideswipe by an eighteen-wheeler—and it wasn’t easing with the passage of time.

       Before I was 16, I was sent away to rehab. I didn’t really mind, because the rehab center was out of state—far away from my dad. And it turned out to be a special blessing because it was there that I met Jesus Christ and asked Him to be my personal Savior. I learned that Jesus loves me, regardless of what I’d done in the past. I learned that my yesterdays were gone and my tomorrows could be brighter if I chose to make them so.  Rehab wasn’t easy. I constantly wondered what was going on back home, but being there was better than being home in the midst of all that probably was going on. I stayed at rehab, became a mentor, and earned my high school diploma. 

       At the center, I grabbed hold of the lifejacket God threw me and held on tight. We had group Bible studies and daily devotions. My heart was growing more in love with Jesus Christ and becoming less dependent on drugs. Jesus Christ gave me a high that no drug could match. 

       That dependence on God became increasingly important when I learned that my dad was going to become a woman and that our family was tearing apart. I knew at that point that Dad truly had given up on fighting his addictive desire to become a woman. I wondered if I could be strong enough in my faith to get through this without reverting to drug use. I had to learn to emotionally handle losing my dad. I longed for my dad to be free if his addiction—of his bondage. 

       I had let go of the heartache of never really experiencing love from my dad. I needed to release to my Father above the anger and anguish I felt. God understood all my feelings and fears. Understanding God’s care for me helped me to relate to my dad on a personal level. Was I still angry? You bet! But, I needed to handle my anger God’s way.  I would not give in and treat Dad as a woman, but I would treat him with love—and with the respect due any person created in God’s image.   

       Although my dad and I had a distant—and at times cold—relationship, I still loved him; after all, he was my dad. All I knew to do was to hold onto God, allow Christ to work in my heart, and pray earnestly for my dad. 

       I don’t know where my dad is spiritually, but I know I will not give up praying that Christ will change his heart and work with the wounds that Dad apparently needs to address. It is apparent that Dad does not know how to love or show any forms of affection. It’s clear that his alcohol only covers his pain for a while, but his pain returns when the alcohol wears off. I know what it was like to seek an escape. If my dad was truly at peace—something only God can truly provide—he would not be seeking his high in such dangerous places.

       Many years have passed now, and throughout my difficult journey I continue to trust Jesus. I don’t know how people can get through such trials without Christ. I still love my dad and hope for the father-son relationship that we both need. I will not give up on my dad and the joy that Christ desires him to have.

       If you are going through a similar situation, know that God is with you. May you call on Jesus Christ to help guide you through—and always remember His love for you.