scrolling twitter today and then coming over here is like walking out of a burning building and then walking into the calm remains of a building that burnt down 5 years ago and has been reclaimed by nature.
there still wasps in here but there’s also fewer flaming i-beams falling from overhead so it’s a good tradeoff.
I distinctly remember the first time my dad called me my right name. I was sixteen, I’d gotten my driver’s license not too long ago, and now that I was driving, my dad gave me a credit card so I could get gas, or food if I was staying late at school due to marching band. He was very clear, this card was for food and gas only. Only gas and food. Just those two categories of product. He would be checking the bill. I had no desire to buy anything else with this card.
However. Often when getting food after marching practice, or on our scant breaks, I’d drive my friends to burger king or little ceasers or starbucks or whatever, and sometimes not all of my friends could afford the food they wanted. And well…food is food. I have a big appetite, and as long as I didn’t go crazy overboard and order catering for the whole band, a few extra burgers and shakes wouldn’t stand out on a monthly bill. So I bought my friends food.
I did this for several months, and sometime during that came out to my parents. They both thought it was a phase, and that I would grow out of it. Since they’re not terrible people their approach to me having ‘a boy phase’ was to let me do my thing and wait for me to change my mind. I didn’t change my mind, and eventually they understood that, but that’s a whole other post. The point is my dad didn’t discourage me from transitioning, but avoided talking about it with me. He stopped calling me his daughter, but replaced it with child rather than son, that kind of thing.
But back to the credit card. Eventually I started feeling guilty. TECHNICALLY I was obeying the rule ‘food and gas only’, but I knew I was bending it. I nervously admitted to him one day that sometimes…on occasion…once in a while… I’d buy a friend food. I waited solemnly for his judgement. He walked over to me, put his hands on my shoulders, looked into my eyes sternly and said,
“Zackary, we are Italian. If you let your friends go hungry….” (and here he decided to shake me just for a little emphasis) “I will disown you.”
And that’s when I knew he’d come around. Trans? Fine okay sure, give it a shot. Stingy? Get the fuck out.
“It’s a hospital not a hotel.” is one of the shittiest fucking things I’ve ever seen commented under a patient complaining about their care. No, you’re right. It’s a hospital, not a hotel. You’re paying way more to be there and you’re likely having one of the scariest experiences of your life and you’re probably overwhelmed, in pain, unwell, having a mental crisis OR otherwise stressed. The least they can fucking do is treat you like a human being. They should you your basic human needs like water and food.
dnp, being together for 11 years, building their forever home from scratch so that it fully represents their personalities with a green feature wall, still being the same loud and gross couple they are and making heart eyes and love eyes at each other
