> Ever since I can remember I have been completely and utterly under the thumb of my father. All of us have been, us being me, my younger brother, little sister and my mother. My father is a raging asshole. A male chauvinist, over the top macho type of guy. And I’ve always been the victim, growing up, of his dislike. Because I didn’t really fit in with his image of ‘the ideal son’. I was, for lack of a better word, a bit of a girly boy growing up. I wanted nothing more than to dance and frolic around in dresses. 

When I was four or five, my mother had this big box of dress-up clothes. She brought it down from the attic and I immediately picked out the prettiest, frilliest golden colored dress I could find. I pranced around in it and declared myself a princess. And that I was now a girl. This went on for a few months, but strictly during the day when my father was away at work. I watched ballet videos with my mother, a soft-spoken and open-minded woman who worked part time as a social worker in those days. I was happy. Careless.

My father was, and is, an authoritarian figure. Had himself legally emancipated at an early age just so he could join the army ahead of time. After three years in the army he left as a lower level officer and started a career as a seaman. He was a captain when he and my mother met and had me. Later he left his naval career and became a traveling salesman. Think Don Draper, if Don Draper was a 6’4” Western European man with curly greying hair and piercing blue eyes. I’ve always found him incredibly intimidating and I think my mother did too.

Anyway, long story short… he came home early one day. He saw me in my dress and told me in an icy cold voice: “Go and take that of. After you take it off, go sit on the sofa.”

So, I took it off. Little hands trembling. Next, he summoned my mother into the room. Demanded to know “what the hell she had been doing to his boy”. I’ve never seen a person shrink so much so quickly. I myself was like a little tiny fly on the wall at this point, barely present.

He took the box with clothes up to the attic. Put a lock on it and informed us that we were not to touch it “until my wife gives me a daughter”. It stayed there on the attic, untouched, until my sister was born ten years later.

My father took more of an interest in my upbringing after this point. He took me to see navy ships, races, made me go on a martial art. He seemed determined to “make a man out of me” and in some ways he succeeded. One thing he allowed me to do was keep my hair long. Knowing I was bullied at school for it and wanted at times to cut it off for that reason. He insisted I kept the long hair, face the bullies and beat the shit out of them every time they called me a girl, to “show them how much of a girl I was”. I did just that. It toughened my up, in some way. But it also damaged me in other ways.

By the time I went to college, I had grown into a pretty normal dude. I wasn’t gay, I wasn’t even a crossdresser although deep down inside I still had those urges. I tried desperately to fit in and be what he wanted me to be but… I also grew more and more resentful. In college I made a lot of different friends. Including some guys, I met in an acting class we both took. One of them was pretty much your typical ‘flaming and fabulous’ type of guy. He was as over-the-top gay as my father was over-the-top straight. I told him one night when we’re drinking about my upbringing and my terrible father. And my friend, let’s call him Paul, suggested I should “get back at him”. I asked him how. Basically, why not pretend like I was gay?

But not just, say it over the phone or something. Or even to my father’s face in person. No, much better… I’d hint for weeks in advance about “having met somebody” and “being in a relationship”. I’d say it was a girl. I would ask if I could bring ‘Paula’ over for dinner. At Christmas. When the whole family would be there. And I’d arrive at the house with ‘Paul’ instead. So I did exactly that. I went to the house, at Christmas. Dressed to the nines. I told my father and mother that “Paula was caught up, she’s about to come. I’ll just open the door”. So I sat down with my family. Cousins. Uncles, aunts. My grandparents, just as conservative as my father.

Waited a while. Heard the door and rushed to open it. Walked into the living room where everyone was gathered and introduced Paul. My boyfriend. I’ve never seen a room go so quiet. People literally gasped for air. My sister, brother and mother looked both scared and amused, but everyone else was in shock, my father seething… he just completely lost it. Right in front of everyone. Veins bulging in his neck to the point where they looked like they were about to pop. He told me to leave. Ordered me, essentially. My grandparents urged him not to make a scene but he made one. I just replied calmly how he should do it. Call the police and explain the situation to them. I knew he never would; he knew some of the officers well; it wasn’t a call he would be willing to make and it wasn’t a situation he was willing to explain. I called his bluff and he just… sank. Like he shrank before my eyes. My mother and grandmother had to calm him down. He walked out of the room, defeated. I just stood there, not believing my own eyes. I finally felt free. Like I didn’t give a fuck anymore. He had scared me for so many years, terrified me, and now I could see him for the caricature he really was. It felt amazing.

Paul and I stayed the whole evening. He played his part perfectly. He eventually managed to charm some of my aunts and even my grandmother, who told me unironically how she was glad “I found such a delightful man” and that he reminded her of her favorite TV character, “Mr. Humphreys from ‘are you being served’, such a doll!” My father later came back to the room. Sat in a corner, sulking, refusing to meet my gaze. He drank too much whiskey. My mother kept talking to him in a hushed tone of voice, and he kept making a ‘go away’ gesture with his hand.

I stayed away from home for a while. I’ve already explained to everyone how it had been a prank. How I had to make a point and get back at my father for how he had treated me. Pretty much everyone sympathized. I didn’t lose anyone in my family over what happened. But my father lost a lot of respect in people’s eyes, I feel. He was always in control of things, he always directed the scene, but now he doesn’t anymore. I do my own thing. My sister does her own thing. He cannot order people around anymore. And I feel like a fool for ever letting him. I can now wear whatever the hell I want to wear, enjoy whatever hobbies I want to enjoy and nothing changes. He threatened to disinherit me that night. He threatened a lot of things but in the end, something inside him just broke. All of my relationships since have been with women, and I have since married and had children of my own. My younger brother came out as gay eventually, but by that time my now aging father had mellowed down somewhat and as he already has grandchildren and his legacy is thus “secured”, he didn’t seem to mind much. It helps that my brother is a muscular gymrat and that they can bond over sports, more then my father and I ever did. But whenever the subject of sexuality comes up my father is still incredibly awkward. I don’t think it will ever change. But I feel my ‘revenge’ has been pretty successful in the end.