When our son was born in 1996, I was filled with a love I’d never known before. I loved my wife and other members of our family, but this was different.

We knew then (as we still know now) that our love for this being would be forever. No conditions, no restrictions, no imposed agenda. Unconditional love and support as long as I lived was the contract I made then and there.

In those first days, I watched as my wife lovingly bathed him, nursed him and provided all kinds of loving care at all hours of the day and night. I would learn what it meant to be a father ― to change his diapers, to feed him in the middle of the night, to rock and hold him until he fell asleep, and to look with love deep into his eyes.

Over the years, my role as a dad would shift, and I’d make my share of mistakes, but always from a place of love (even through some of my own anger or frustration) and the intention of being the best dad I could be. And I’d marvel at what a wonderful mother my wife was. We both loved our child and would do anything for him.

In the ensuing years, we shared special moments with our son, including so many great one-on-one father-and-son times, family trips and times just laughing around our house about something silly. This is also not to say that there weren’t many times where we would get sideways for all the reasons things can go south when dealing with a tantruming toddler, a petulant pre-teen, a boundary-testing teenager or a newly liberated college student.

But all those times, the good and the not-so-fun, are what make up the whole of your relationship and bond with your child. Working through some of the toughest times is what brings a deep connection.

Through the adolescent years, we knew our child wasn’t the traditionally manly-man type of male. But nor was he the stereotypical idea of “girly.” He was just who he was in his own shade of unique and gender-neutral gray. And we loved him as he was, without feeling we needed to change him. We felt that our role as parents was not to tell him what he needed to be, but rather to give him the love, space and support to become who he truly was.

After college, when he’d moved out on his own, he came to visit our home and announced that he was transitioning. He had come to realise that in his heart and soul, he was female, not male. This was not new for him. Though he knew he’d been assigned as male at birth, that’s not something that was true for him as he, now she, looked deep within herself. She was a woman, not a man.

Outsiders, even in the intimate role of parents, cannot genuinely know what’s inside someone else. The only place this realisation can take place is deep within each of us. Some fight the truth of this realisation, and too often battle with depression or end regrettably in suicide, which can occur when loved ones reject someone in their family who is transitioning. And others continue to find a way to live in a publicly performed lie out of fear or shame.

Those who accept and embrace their realisation often have a difficult journey that requires great courage to swim against the current of who they’ve been told they are or are supposed to be. Yet after this period requiring great strength to come into their own, they often find happiness.

As you might imagine, our daughter’s revelation came as somewhat of a shock to us as parents, but in some ways, it wasn’t. We quickly learned that our now-daughter wanted to be called “she” or “they,” and had a new name of her own choosing. We lovingly listened and gave space to her as she shared all that led up........

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