My Daughter

 Sorry for spliting the caption but it was a little to long for single picture. Hope it's not a problem

 

As I emerged from the small beach bungalow we were renting for the weekend, my teenage daughter was already waiting outside on the porch, practically vibrating with excitement to hit the beach. "Come on Dad. Let's go!" She called out, a smile playing across her lips as she adjusted the strap of her bikini top. "I'm coming, I'm coming. Give your old man some time" I chuckled shaking my head as I secured the cabin door lock behind me. Just as I turned around, I noticed a pair of youngsters, probably college age, walking past on the boardwalk. Both of them snapped their heads around towards my daughter, their footsteps slowing as their hungry glances swept up and down her frame. Instantly my overprotective fatherly instincts kicked in. I wanted to wrap a towel around her or step between her and their praying eyes. But I forced my muscles to relax. I didn't want to be the embarrassing, old fashioned father. Even if a knot of unease twisted my stomach at how much skin she was showing, I reasoned with myself that it's just a bikini. It's completely normal at the beach and that's exactly where we're heading. Still, standing there on the sun drenched porch, it struck me how deeply I've grown into this role, especially if you consider that my daughter used to be a boy not so long ago.

As I mentioned, a year prior, I didn't have a daughter at all. I had a son named Miles. I've been raising him on my own with the occasional help of my parents since my wife died due to childbirth complications. With only two guys under one roof, our home was always a decidedly masculine space. Then, everything changed. Miles was shortly before his sixteenth birthday when I first noticed something was off. He had grown withdrawn and I caught on to the fact that he started wearing excessively baggy clothes, even in the warm spring weather. I'd ask repeatedly, but he'd just shrug and mumble that it was nothing. Yet, my parental intuition told me he was hiding something. Finally, one evening, Miles approached me and nervously asked if I can take him to a doctor next morning. When I pressed him on the details, he hesitantly pulled his t-shirt up. My breath caught my throat. His chest was visibly swollen, the tissue rounded beneath the skin. It was as though he had spontaneously grown a pair of small, adolescent breasts. Next day, at the local clinic, we received the diagnosis. The TG Flu. I wasn't ignorant to the term. A rare pathogen that fundamentally rewrites a person's biological sex.

Over the following weeks, the physical transformation accelerated with terrifying speed. Day, by day, I watched as Miles's frame grew noticeably smaller. Slowly adopting female contours while his hair began sprouting at an astonishing rate. I could only imagine the psychological hell he was enduring and how it was affecting his mental health. He was a boy who had no desire of becoming a girl, yet the TG Flu was methodically molding his body into distinct, feminine proportions. The hardest part was I had no idea how to approach him or talk to him about the physical changes without making him feel uncomfortable. All I could was to offer every emotional support he needed. About a month past diagnosis, I was sitting alone in the kitchen, nursing a cup of black coffee. Miles walked past towards the fridge to grab a snack. I couldn't help but take a discrete look. His hair grew long, past his shoulders, his face was so effeminate that strangers would have mistaken him for a girl without a second thought. His hops had visibly widened, giving him a rounded, feminine lower half, while on top, the round, unmistakable outlines of burgeoning breasts trained against the fabric of his t-shirt. Another month dragged by in a haze of doctor's appointments, culminating in our final consultation. I'm sure that by the time, Miles had already figured it out, but the doctor's words hit like a physical blow. The process was complete. Miles was now biologically a girl.

The transformation was undeniably brutal on Miles and I could see he wasn't happy about his unwanted sex change. Yet, he stubbornly did his absolute best to maintain a sense of normalcy, continuing to wear his boy clothes even though they now draped awkwardly off his much smaller frame, and attempted to live as if nothing extraordinary had happened. Then, slowly the tide began to turn. One afternoon, he brought a new friend home from school. A girl who introduced herself with a bright smile as Olivia. I offered a welcoming nod and watched the two teenagers hurried down the hallway towards Miles's bedroom. Later that day, after Olivia went home, I noticed something different about Miles when he came out for dinner. It was his hair. Usually a chaotic, messy mop, but now it was carefully brushed and neatly styled. I kept my mouth shut, offering no comment and simply let him be. Over the ensuing weeks, Olivia became a regular guest at our house, frequently accompanied by two other girls. The more Miles immersed himself in their world, the more distinct his behavior and appearance became. It started with the hair, the progressed into manicured nails painted bright pink. Next came the wardrobe. The baggy, male clothes were replaced by form fitting skinny jeans, cropped blouses, pastel sneakers and eventually delicate lace bras. I bit my tongue, choosing to give him space to explore and experiment. Yet a persistent feeling lingered in the back of my head. It was as if he was desperately trying to fit in with his new girl friends, mirroring not just their fashion trends, but their mannerism as well. The absolute turning point arrived a few months later. I was waiting for Miles to finish getting ready. We had planned a father-son evening out to grab our favorite Chinese food at the downtown dinner. A tradition we kept up since long before the TG Flu. When Miles finally emerged from his room, my jaw literally went to the floor. He was wearing a short, crisp white, pleated tennis skirt paired with a snug, pink, spaghetti-strap top that generously revealed a hint of cleavage. His eyelashes were noticeably darker, longer and curled, obviously touched with a sweep of mascara and his lops gleamed with a glossy sheen. He paused on the threshold, blinking at my stunned expression "What?" he asked. "Nothing... I just... Like your new style" I stammered awkwardly. "Thanks" he replied with a smile as he walked past me towards the car.

Once we were seated the reality of how much Miles had changed hit me like a train. The delicate hand gestures, the way he kept his legs together, the dramatic, theatrical eye rolls and the characteristic groan of "Daaaad", an exclamation universally mastered by teenage girls everywhere. There was simply no denying it any longer. Miles had fully embraced womanhood with grace and confidence I never could have anticipated. Later the very same evening, after we returned home, we found ourselves sitting across one another at the kitchen table. Between us was a piece of lined notebook paper with a sprawling list of girl names written on it in alphabetical order, stretching all the way from Amanda, Britney and Chelsea down to Zoey. I could see the quiet frustration in Miles's eyes as he chewed on the pen, struggling to find a name for himself. Suddenly a wave of inspiration washed over me. "Nicole" I blurted out loud. Miles snapped his head up "What?" His brows furrowing in confusion. "Nicole" I repeated "That's... That's the name your mom wanted to give you if you were born a girl" I explained. Miles stood up abruptly from the table and hurried over to the hallway wall mirror. He lifted a hand, brushing his long hair back with a fluid, graceful swish, then executed a playful little twirl before striking a relaxed pose, resting his hand on his hip "Nicole" He murmured to his reflection. A genuine smile lit up his face. He turned back around to face me, his eyes shining "I like it" He said. "Well then. Nicole it is" I said returning the smile. The next day I plunged into the bureaucratic nightmare of paperwork, filling the necessary petitions. Just a few weeks later, it became official. Miles was now legally Nicole.

It's been a year now since the TG Flu turned our all male fortress upside down. Today, against all odds, Nicole is a vibrant, resilient and remarkably beautiful seventeen years old girl. Nicole bravely faced her physical transformation, took control of her narrative and embraced womanhood with her head held high. She seems genuinely happy in her own skin and I find myself endlessly grateful to have such an amazing daughter. I wish my wife could be here with us. I know without a shadow of doubt that she would be beaming with absolute joy, especially Nicole looks so uncannily like her mother. I've never considered myself a religious man, but I have a lingering, comforting feeling that my wife is watching over us from somewhere smiling down. Just like I smile every single day, marveling at the incredible, beautiful young woman Nicole has become.