The best father!

Yes another Father's day one, mostly because I know ftm stories aren't as popular.

Let me tell you my story and hopefully, through it, you’ll understand why I think my father is the best father of them all. I was actually born a male, but I’ve always felt like a girl. So when I was younger I would often do things to be girly.

I’d try to grow my hair out, I’d sneak into my mother's room and use her makeup, and finally, I would put on her clothes and shoes. I loved it, all of it felt so fulfilling, it felt like who I was supposed to be, but not everyone saw it like that.

The first time my mother saw me wearing one of her dresses with her makeup all over my face she looked at me disgusted… That look is still burned into my memory. She ripped her clothes off of me, washed my face, scolded me, and sent me to my room.

Back then I really couldn't understand what I was doing wrong, I just wanted to be like here. Now that I’m older I know I did nothing wrong, and she’s the last person I want to be like. After my first punishment, it wasn’t long until I did it again, and not long after that until she caught me again.

The second time she caught me, she wasn't as gentle as the first time. She grabbed my arm and pulled me really hard to the bathroom and washed my face, then once again ripped her clothes off my body, and finally, she pulled me over her knee and slapped my butt super hard.

I was then grounded for a week. My father did come to me during that time and try to comfort me, but I learned he was lying about the reason I was grounded. I wanted to tell him then, but as you could imagine I was scared of my mother and worried she’d hurt him somehow.

I got caught a few more times over the next few years before I stopped playing around with her stuff. I had stopped because when she found me, she didn’t say anything to me, she just took her hand and slapped me across the face as hard as she could.

Thinking about it still makes me shake, and even worse, she told me if I told anyone I’d get in trouble. So when my father asked what happened to my face, I had to listen to her lie about my roughhousing with the boys at school.

He patted me on the head and told me to be more careful. He said he hated to see me hurt. So I did as he said, I stopped messing with my mother's stuff, and I confided in some of the girls I met at school about my feelings, and they were more than happy to welcome me as one of the girls.

So they shared some of their clothes and makeup with me, and I hid them in my room and would wear them from time to time when I was alone in my room. I had thought my mother wouldn't mind that since it was technically my stuff.

I was wrong though, when she caught me wearing girl clothes that actually fit me she flipped out screaming at me. She ran up to me and cupped her hand as she swung at me. The pain and the force of the hit caused me to hit the floor.

My head hit it hard, so not only was a bruise forming on my face, but my head was bleeding. She then tried to rip the dress off of me, but I for some reason decided I had enough and fought back. I kicked her in the face and as she screamed I ran out of the room.

She quickly ran after me throwing things at me and screaming at me to take the dress off and act normal. I tried to make it to the front door, but I tripped over something she had thrown at me and fell to the floor.

Because of that, she was able to get to me and hold me down by the arms. She was holding my arms so tightly they ended up bruising as well. She then proceeded to scream at me and then used her knee to hold on to my arms so she could remove the dress.

I started to scream and call out for help, hoping someone would hear and save me from her. Then it happened, someone cleared their throat and my mother looked up. It was my father and he had come home early.

My mother quickly got off of me, and I used that time to get up and run and hide behind him. I held his pants cowering, shaking, and bleeding while we all sat there silently. My father broke the silence and calmly asked my mother what was going on.

My mother finally let her twisted views slip, and she told my father I was one of those daughter-majority people who think they were born in the wrong body. My father looked back at me and saw the dress I was wearing.

He then leaned down and looked me in the eyes. I was very nervous. He was about to turn on me as well, but instead, he just smiled and handed me his handkerchief to press against the wound on my head.

He then told me I was very pretty, and if this was who I thought I was, he was more than happy about it. He then stood up and looked at my mother, and for the first and only time in my life, I saw him angry.

He yelled at her, saying she was a horrible awful person for attacking a child, never mind their daughter. Hearing him say that was what assured me he was on my side, and my mother's response was what told me she’d never be.

She screamed at him and said he was a fool for supporting this sinful behavior and that she’d never accept it in her house. My father then said something I never expected to hear. He told her to leave then.

She stopped yelling and looked shocked and hurt. She said she wasn't just going to leave, and he couldn't just leave her because of my sins. He looked her in the eyes and told her he couldn’t love a woman who didn't love their child and had no problem hurting them.

He then said to get out or he’d call the police. My mother tried to fake cry to try and get him to reconsider, but he just called the cops. She ran to her room, packed a bag, and managed to get out of our house before the cops showed up.

The cops took the report, and pictures of me and we were able to use it to get a restraining order on her. In the year to come, my father got a divorce, which was deemed her fault so the only thing that she got to keep was one of the cars.

He then used the police report and the pictures of me to get the courts to grant him full custody of me. So we were now free of her, at least we should have been, she refused to leave us alone and eventually got arrested several times.

The whole time that was going on, my father had me taking therapy sessions, some of which we did together, and my therapist suggested I start puberty blockers. So after my father had full custody he took me to get started.

He even took me shopping to buy all new clothes, and from that day forward I wore dresses every day and grew my hair out so I could style it. Eventually, I started taking estrogen to look more feminine and he was more than happy for me, and there for me.

So from that day forward I got nothing but love and was allowed to be who I was supposed to be. Now I’m twenty-eight, engaged to a wonderful non-binary person, and celebrating the best day in the world Father's Day.

I know he gave up a lot to protect me, and I know it couldn't have been easy for him, and I could never truly thank him enough, but I’m sure going to try, and I hope one day when I have a kid, I can be just as amazing as a parent as he was to me.