I was the youngest child born to my father. He had two sons from a previous marriage. My oldest brothers are 22 and 20 years older than me. I never even knew about them until I was 4 or 5 years old, when I met my oldest brother, Dave and his family. When I was born, my dad was 47 years old. I spent most of my childhood explaining to people he was not my grandfather. He was my dad. To me, this could get pretty embarrassing, especially when I had peers who had dads who were in their 20s. Just for reference, I also have a full-blooded brother who is 2.5 years older than me.

When I was little, my dad lost his job. He was a Tool and Dye Maker. He apparently made pretty good money doing that, but it was dangerous and he was getting older. Around this time, I was having medical tests galore to determine my diagnosis, which was later confirmed as the muscle disease, Spinal Muscular Atrophy. After my dad was laid off, he returned to college at Owens Community College. His wife was also in college, so I spent a significant amount of time with my grandparents, Willis and Melba.

A few years after my father went to college, he received his degree in Accounting and got a job working as a Tax Commissioner Agent with the State of Ohio. This meant he worked a lot in Cleveland and Columbus. It meant we did not see him much, except on weekends. This left my brother and I exposed to the thoughts of a woman desperate for attention and love from her children. I remember being told my dad did not know how to show love and affection because he was not overly emotional. To a little kid, all you know is your dad isn’t affectionate and you think that he does not love you. I believed this.

Our relationship (my father and mine) deteriorated, as I became quite a brat during the time he was home, baiting him to piss him off. I now understand this is a coping mechanism a lot of children use. If you can get someone mad at you and you feel they have abandoned you (even if they haven’t really) then it’s justified. They were going to leave anyway. They were mad at you, so you deserved to have them abandon you. I did this quite a bit, especially when we had family time. We never really fought if we were alone, but I felt incapable of showing him niceness, love or compassion in front of others, because I felt so hurt and betrayed by him.

My father was in a very serious car accident when I was about eight. He was okay save for scrapes and bruises, but his car was totally crushed. I remember being scared, but I still believed he did not love me. Little things his wife would say would provoke thoughts of inadequacy. It was as if she was turning my brother and I towards liking her best, because she was there for us, or claimed to be, and our father was both physically and emotionally vacant.

I did have a father-figure in my life, and he showed me love and compassion I did not feel I received from my father. My dad would always say he was too old to lift me up, even though I was tiny. This man would carry me around on his shoulders, up and down steps. I even remember loving going to my uncle’s house, who would throw me around in the air. That was so much fun and something I could never experience with my dad. It was another reason I resented him and led to me refusing to even hug or kiss my dad, as a result.

As I grew into my teenage self, I grew more distanced from my father. I became more independent. I loved sports, so I picked my own teams to like, not wanting to like his teams. Both my dad and she stopped taking me places because I had slowed down in my ability to walk normally and quickly. It became a “burden” to them to take me places, as I had no scooter or wheelchair. This led to even more resentment, especially when my older brother got to go wherever he wanted.

When I was 13, my father-like figure died and my world was turned upside down. I felt more grief and darkness, as here was someone whom I felt actually cared about me and he was gone. I found little comfort from my family, who did not truly understand the depth of the pain and rejection I felt from my own father. It took me a really long time to get over this death, and it made me dislike my own father even more. I did not understand how a good and caring person should die while they were still so young, and I saw my dad getting older and kind of bitter with that old age. I spent as much time with the few friends I had, out of my house, and ignored what my father said. I felt he was a bad influence who would often wake me up by slamming drawers and swearing while in the room next to my bedroom (the kitchen). Our relationship was barely existent.

My dad had occasional moments where he would try to show love. We went to a few sporting events. He would be nice to me then and I would constantly question if his apparent affection for a now, older me was genuine. It was very confusing that he could be so nice to me when we were alone and yet we could fight so terribly in front of others. I said plenty of things I am not proud of including telling him I hated him. I was not a nice person to him, but all of the emotions I felt towards him had been building up for years. I could NOT be nice to him. I would feel ill at the prospect of doing so, because I had so much rage and resentment that I felt for him.

When I came out as “liking girls” at age 16, my life grew harder. The person who was supposed to love me most, who rented a womb to me for nine months, became cruel and unpredictable. She would pin me down (I couldn’t walk but I could wiggle and thrash) and do terrible things to me. These are things I was so embarrassed to even talk about. I remember screaming at the top of my lungs for someone to help me and get her to let go of me. I hated my dad for letting her do this to me. I am more understanding towards my brother who seemed to have an attitude of, “at least it’s not me”, but my dad could have, should have done something.

Sometimes he would help her, by holding me still to get it over with, and he would have sympathy in his eyes. However, he never did stop her. I would cry and scream and then I would have so much rage after. I would scream at the top of my lungs and call them all terrible names. Then I would get in trouble for that. Nobody knew what they were doing to me, so other family members and family friends would just see my “rages” and assume I needed help or was just being a jerk.

I was not a pleasant person to be around. I acted out at home, at school, and pretty much everywhere I did not have to put on my “happy face.” I could pretend to be happy. Nobody knew why I was acting out. I went through a lot of bullying at school. I ran my mouth a lot, in answer to this bullying and that made me even less likable. I figured I deserved it anyway. My family would say I was being ridiculous. Everything was always my fault. I blamed myself as much as everyone else. My life continued to spiral out of control and my only saving grace was the GLBT group on campus at Bowling Green State University. For the first time, someone, anyone was accepting of me regardless of who I was, what my background was or who I loved.

My dad took my coming out with mixed emotions. After I came out to spite her, she outed me to my dad. At first, he was furious. I was supposed to be the only girl. What did I mean there would be no white wedding (with me in white/in a dress, marrying a guy)? What did I mean I liked to date girls? After a week of barely talking to me, it became the subject we did not bring up, though out of nowhere we’d be watching something on television, he’d point out how hot a girl was and ask my opinion. This was shocking to me the first time he did it, but it was much better than the abusive reaction I was receiving from someone else.

I stumbled over my relationship with my dad, from then on, for the mere fact that he was still letting the abuse happen. I was so mad at him for that, but he was also becoming more accepting of my love of the feminine persuasion. One day when we were alone (we were growing to have a lot of those evenings as my older brother either hibernated upstairs or hung out with friends and as the other person in the house was busy playing Ms. Cleo) he asked me why I had to like girls. He was really sad. It became very clear to me that my dad did not understand why I had to be that way, and I tried to explain, as best I could, that it was not a choice.

I could see he’d lost something with the realization that I really did like girls. At first, he too thought it was just a phase, but as the months passed and I became more involved, attending events on campus like the GLBT dances, it dawned on him that this was not going to go away. We had a few more talks where he asked me to reconsider. He did not mind GLBT people, but he had a gay friend before that had made him uncomfortable (I do not really know the details), so the entire prospect of his kid being a part of this community had seemed like a personal diss to him. Once he realized this was not about him, and I truly did love women (though he did occasionally ask me how I “knew” and asked about my love life – which wasn’t his business – his theory was “you do not know unless you have sex with a man”) he would joke about women with me and we’d occasionally “check out babes” at the mall, the car show or other places he took me.

By the time I was 19, I was miserable. I was constantly harassed about being into women. I was told not to tell my grandparents as they would hate me. I was told not to tell anyone else in the family, as they would look down upon all of us. I wanted to bust the hell out of that closet completely. Most people knew at college. I told my friends, except for the ones I went to High School with, whom I was told would never like me or speak to me again. The rumor mill had started to swirl around my small hometown, since some peers from high school saw me actively participating in GLBT group activities on the BGSU campus. I knew I could keep it from my family, but I am from a small, Midwestern, semi-conservative village (not even big enough to be a town). I knew soon enough the jig would be up and I was gearing up to be ostracized.

The stress of further rejection in my hometown was overwhelming. I was stressed from that. I was stressed when I was forced to move back home to live in the abusive environment I’d managed to escape, albeit for a few months. I was stressed because she was trying to dictate every move of my life. She was trying to live vicariously through me, by telling me what to do and threatening me if I did not listen. I ended up exploding and saying terrible, horrible things in anger. I screamed and yelled as I was told to shut up so the neighbors did not hear me. Then, my brother was instructed to turn off my wheelchair, push me into the center of my bedroom and leave me there. The manual switch for my chair was down by my wheels, so I could not reach it. I was enraged. Not only had I lost my dignity, I lost my ability to move.

My brother did as told, and my dad did nothing to stop this. I screamed for them to turn my wheelchair back on, as I sat there, trapped in it, unable to touch anything; not my bed, my computer or anything. I screamed until my voice was hoarse, but nobody came to help me. As my red, tear-stained cheeks grew even redder with rage, I looked at my wheelchair. All I had was a metal watch around my wheelchair joystick. Using the sharp edges of the watch face, I began to slash at my wrists, violently. I kept making scrape marks but could not draw blood. As I sat there, I felt no pain. I began to feel nothing, but the desire to be dead. I wanted to die so badly. I thought it was my only escape.

As I whittled, marks began to form that looked almost like welts. Still, I felt nothing. So intent was my work that I did not hear her come in. She looked so smug as she confronted me about trying to kill myself. She, at first, threatened to call the hospital. I told her to do it. Maybe someone would put me out of my misery. That was not the answer she expected. She called in my father and had him sit there as she explained what I was doing. He seemed alarmed, but he had just retired from his job. Our insurance was in limbo for a few months, which meant we did not have any. She informed me I was lucky, because we didn’t have insurance, so no doctor could tell me I was crazy. It was then that I realized I would not be getting help.

I would have two choices. I had to either escape or kill myself. As a sense of reality struck me, the pain of what I did to my wrists hit me as well. It hurt and I do not like pain! I was so numb in those moments when I was slicing, but once I became more coherent, the severity of what I’d done to my skin hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn’t want to kill myself! It would hurt and I hate pain. It became abundantly clear to me that my only choice was escape. I managed to secure that by enrolling at Wright State University. I just had to get through five months (summer break) and I’d be home free, so I believed. I passed the time by getting a job, which helped me get out of the house. My dad would often take me to work and pick me up, so we had moments alone, where we’d actually talk and were cordial to one another.

Going to Wright State was great, but I was forced to rely on my parents for financial assistance where necessary. I was not old enough to be declared independent, and my dad made just enough to not allow me to get enough loans to pay for all my housing (my tuition was free). I did not really understand the loan process and let them dictate the moves I made, which was a mistake, because it led to quite a bit of debt. I also was not allowed to stay on campus over breaks unless I was doing something creative (like being in a film). Going home was a horror in and of itself.

The entire time, I was placed back under their rules and their control. They put me to bed so I went when they wanted. They got me up on their schedule. I was banned from talking on my phone with my phone line bought by me most nights, even though it was mine. I ended up having to sneak my phone to bed with me. This was often my only means of escape and connection to the outside world. I was used to making my own decisions, as I lived on my own at WSU and my PCAs (personal care attendants) would schedule around my needs not around what they wanted for me. The old rage started to bubble up again inside me and it wasn’t long before I was screaming, because I was mad and upset at the entire situation.

We had some really horrible fights. She also made a big deal about every little health problem I had. After their 25th anniversary party, upon which my father and I had a huge fight at the pre-party restaurant dinner, she refused to let me return to WSU because my edema was looking like edema in my feet. It was a common problem given how often I used to have to hold it without going to the bathroom when I lived at home. Sometimes I could only go once or twice a day. She called up my doctor, who wanted to err on the side of caution, but I knew it was nothing. Still, unable to drive myself back to WSU I was left at her mercy.

The fight at the restaurant occurred after a lengthy session where she held me down, abusing me in the way I hated most. She was a pro at getting me alone and torturing me until I screamed and was enraged. Still pissed off by the time we went to eat, I called out my father, telling him what a jerk he was and saying a lot of other, horrible things. I laughed at him for it, and everyone attending the dinner was shocked and horrified by my behavior, but so much anger had bubbled up in the few days I was forced to be home and I was so sick of him letting her abuse me. I lashed out at him with ferocity.

Of course, it made me look absolutely horrible. I was so embarrassed about the abuse I was enduring and she knew that. She knew, at this point in my life, I would never confess so she would get away with it and I would forever look like the enraged demon child my family believed I was. That was exactly what had happened. Everyone told me to apologize to my dad, but I wouldn’t. They did not know, but I did. I was so mad that he could be a spectator to this abuse and let her get away with it. I think I was even more furious with him than I was with her. By now, I expected her to be like this, but he had moments where I believed he cared about me, and yet he would not defend me by stopping her. This meant I was once again the bad guy and my family was receiving pity from others, because they had to deal with such a horrible child like myself.

When I was supposed to go to the doctor, she had messed up the times. I was mad because my feet were fine, but she insisted I go. My dad took me and had to drive me right back home, as the 11:00 AM appointment was really at 4:00 PM. When we got home I was in a bad mood. Nobody came to the door after five minutes, to let me in the front door and I started yelling. She was furious and yelled at me when she finally let me in. Apparently, my dad had collapsed. Apparently, I should have known and been patient. I, of course, felt bad. Still, I am not a mind reader, so I did not feel it was fair for her to be mad at my impatience when I had no idea what was going on.

My dad was rushed to the hospital and the prognosis was not good. His heart problems had caught up with him and he was almost 100% blocked. He was in congestive heart failure and was too old for them to do anything about it. I was 20, and I was sad. I felt bad for the fight two days before, and blamed myself for adding to his stress. I was still mad at him, but did not want him to die. My brother took me to the doctor and the foot problem was nothing, so I was allowed to go back to WSU. By now, my grades had slipped and I went back knowing my dad was going to die. I saw him a few more times before he finally did, two months later, and we kind of made our peace, but his death opened the floodgates for all the pain I felt and the pain he had caused in my life. I was a wreck.

At WSU, I went to therapy. As I recounted stories about my family, for the first time someone listened. For the first time, someone said, “they did that to you?” For the first time, I was told it was not my fault and what was being done to me was abuse. I was finally able to talk about the abuse in detail, though even today I still feel twinges of embarrassment at the thought of the unconventional abuse I received. I started to heal. I have read a lot on abuse and coping with it and now I try to help others in similar situations. I want them to realize life does get better. I want them to realize they can escape and move on to live productive, full lives. I want them to know they are not alone.

In the summer of 2002, I started going by Dominick and having close friends call me that. My dad had been dead a year and after a summer alone with her, I had vowed never to return home again if I could help it. I did only once more, that Christmas, where I was insulted for falling in love with my partner of almost a decade today; so much that I knew I could never go back to that environment. With the help of Ash, the first person I told about going by Dom and being a transgendered person, I was able to research what being transgender was. With her supporting whatever I wanted I found a way to finally identify myself that made sense to me. Ash stood by me and made my decision to transition easier, because she made it clear she would love me no matter what I decided.

Today I often wonder if my dad would accept me as Dom and if we could come to an understanding. I wonder if had he not died, whether I would have been able to forgive him for letting her abuse me. I wonder if he would even admit his part in it, because she only admits it when she thinks we’re alone, by saying I got what I deserved. When others are around she seems to have no idea what I’m talking about.

Regardless of what my dad would think, I’d still be who I am today. This is who I am PROUD of being. He could accept me or not. If he would is anyone’s guess, so there is no use speculating. I am happier than I ever have been, living a life of truth. If he was a true dad he would love me, accept me, and want me to be happy. I’d like to think he would.

My dad is a part of my old life, and a part of a lot of horrible memories. There are some good in there, so I try to hold onto those instead. I am proud of my Polish heritage and love my wide array of cousins I have thanks to him. I am grateful many of us have been able to find each other on Facebook and reconnect. However, that old me is gone. That old me has moved on to greener pastures. To talk about my dad and think about my dad is to step back into that life and remember all the sadness and anger I endured. Instead, I want to move forward.

I do not speak much about my dad, because I have moved on and he has been gone a decade this year. I think he would want me to move on and have the courage to leave the abuse behind me; courage he never had to stand up to her and stop it from happening in the first place. I can only imagine today he’d be proud I had the courage he never did, and that is the only thought I really need to have when thinking about my dad. I’d rather focus on the positive, because thanks to being honest with myself, that is exactly what my life has become…positive.

Technorati Tags: family, relationship, father, parent, abuse, kid, yelling, suicide attempt, hurt, death, dead parent, story

Really, I am far more even tempered. I let things roll off my back. I haven’t felt overly emotional until I needed my next shot, last Wednesday. I assume the first few shots may be like this. I also recognize my irrationality when it occurs. I still seem to be having moments of irrationality due to OCD. It has made those moments more noticeable, because they occur less and stick out more. Still, there have been some great improvements in this area. This was definitely an unexpected part of the Testosterone experience, but one I am definitely grateful to have received.

Now into my third week on T, I have noticed my hip is giving me a lot of pain. At first, I thought it was the weather, but other bones in my body also hurt. I knew there would come a time where pain in my bones would be an issue, due to my osteoporosis, but I never knew it would happen so quick. You see, Testosterone has the ability to thicken bones and increase muscle mass.

My left hip has been a problem for me since birth when I was born without a left hip socket. Ever since then, my hip has been weak. When I fractured my tibia in 2003, my ankle and knee suffered, but damage occurred to my hip from being bed ridden, as a result of that injury. Well, now it seems the bone is trying to thicken and perhaps even strengthen. Of course, it is starting to really hurt, because the muscle surrounding the hip is so weak, too.

The worst pain occurs when I roll from side to side in bed. This just feels horrible on my hip. Luckily, I do not have to do this too often, but I have been taking deep breaths to attempt to squelch the pain. I just keep reminding myself that I knew there would be some discomfort associated with my bone regeneration and that it is much better for me, having thicker bones and less chance to break them. This is going to be the hardest part of being on Testosterone, but it is for my benefit.

I do not have any conclusive evidence my muscles feel stronger. I figure that is something that might come with time. My hope is that at the end of my first six weeks of shots, my doctor will see a rise in muscle enzymes. If that occurs I will be happy. I am not expecting too much, at this point, but I figure any increase is better than none.

My voice has become scratchy and I sound consistently hoarse. I am starting to crack when I speak, and people are starting to mention they hear a difference. I can sing lower notes, which feels great, but I am easily tiring out my voice, and it feels like I have strained it a little, in my excitement at singing songs once too low for me. I realize I need to slow down, as not to harm my voice. It is hard, because I am so happy and want to share what I can do with the world! Of course, then when it came time for my voice lesson, my voice was so tired and I spent most of the lesson cracking. That was rather frustrating for me!

My increase in libido has become insane. If this is too personal to hear about, I suggest you stop reading, now. My doctor, psychologist and I had all agreed that I had trouble with the idea of sex due to my male-oriented mentality. Having female organs made it very hard for me to even find sex appealing. I often felt bad for Ash, because I love her, but I’d often just worry about her and had such a low sex drive, I never really cared about it for me. Now, it is a CONSTANT thought for me. Of course, there are no complaints from Ash. I actually feel really great that I can share in the intimacy again with Ash, except I really have sex on the brain all the time. I have truly become a teenage boy in that respect.

Well, these are the changes I have noticed so far, three weeks into starting T. I am looking forward to sharing more of my journey on Testosterone with you all, as in unfolds.

Technorati Tags: Testosterone, T, first two weeks, transgender, FTM, transition, Hormone Replacement Therapy, HRT, male

When Keith Allen interviewed Shirley Phelps-Roper, she talked about how you can have sex any way you want with the one person you choose to marry and live your life with, within that holy, sacred marriage. In the meantime, Roper was ignoring the fact that she had sex outside that sanctimonious marriage she so boldly claims all people must have. Apparently, the standards the WBC sets are ONLY for those not within the WBC. It’s apparently okay for Shirley to have had sex out of wedlock, but not for anyone else to commit any other sins nor have sex out of wedlock as she did.

Roper believes she has repented for said sin and therefore, the slate has been erased clean, and therefore her sex out of wedlock should not be discussed as it no longer matters.

I just want to point out a few things:

1. I do not care about people having sex out of wedlock…I cannot get married therefore, I am guilty of such

2. I do not believe in sin, as I am not a Christian

What I do care about is others holding themselves to the same standards, and the WBC makes exceptions for their own. With that in mind, I have a message for Shirley and the rest of the WBC community:

Technorati Tags: hypocrites, Westboro Baptist Church, Shirley Phelps-Roper, sex out of wedlock, hypocrisy, Fred Phelps, protest, military funerals, homosexuality, illegitimate, sin

It’s obvious he knows a lot about transsexual health and that he has a specialty in it. However, I did not think he’d get the tests rolling so quickly. My doctor is an older fellow, but very cheerful. I saw him from the lobby, wearing a Santa hat. I said to Ash, “I bet that’s a doctor and I bet he’s fun. I hope my new doctor is like him.” Sure enough he was him. He’s a modern kind of doctor. He carts around a laptop he uses to record answers to several different questions. When he was done with the Q&A session, he asked me if there were any issues I needed to discuss.

I said to him, “Well, in case you missed it, I’m transgendered.”

He laughed and replied, “the only reason I did is because I did not see any medicine. Where’s your shots? Where’s your gel?”

I explained to him about my eight years of struggling to find doctors who would do the initial tests to get me on Testosterone. We talked about using the gel (androgel) or the shots (Testosterone injections). Initially, we were going to go with the gel, but due to cost issues, we’re starting with shots and plan to move to gel. He took my letter from my therapist recommending I get on Testosterone and started arranging for my tests, right then. He also informed me he’d be scheduling a home visit, so he could more thoroughly examine me out of my chair.

We also spoke about surgeries and he told me he “knows people” who can help to avoid the massive costs of having more of my surgeries.

For the first time, I feel a weight lifted from my chest. As a singer and as a person with a relatively high voice, the only thing that gives away the fact that I am transgendered is my voice. On T, my voice will lower. I am nervous and excited, at the same time, at the prospect of having a lower range. I look forward to exploring the world of music and going on this journey with my voice teachers, Rick Church and Lee Merrill Hapner. Both have been very vocal about their own excitement at the prospect of witnessing my vocal transformation. They have been two of my biggest advocates, and I am so grateful to work with them!

Besides my voice change, I look forward to having stronger, thicker bones (the Testosterone may completely reverse my osteoporosis), growing some scruff (I plan to avoid the Tom Selleck 80s ‘stache and the full beard, though) and having my body reshape to appear more masculine. My doctor even said, with a twinkle in his eye, “I wonder what it will do to your muscles…Probably make them stronger.” This is because T helps to increase muscle mass. This is GREAT for a person with a muscle disease, as I have. Anything to help my muscles is a plus.

We also have a plan to utilize my increased metabolism; another bonus of Testosterone. Many trans guys allow the increased appetite they receive as a result of this, to get the best of them, but Ash and I have talked. It is a good thing I cannot get in the kitchen. She has to administer my meals. Under no circumstances will she be feeding me more than I already eat now. I need and want to lose what weight I can. If this metabolic increase can help, I am going to make sure this happens. I told my doctor, “I told Ashtyn, even if I cry…don’t feed me.” He found this quite amusing.

Of course, there are potential risks that we plan to address. The issue of heart disease over the long term, is a concern because my father had it. The best thing is that this doctor knows what he is doing, how to regulate my levels, and he actually wants to work with me. That is the most important thing. No matter where this new path is going to take me, the key is to remain happy and healthy along the way.

I will be documenting my journey from my first shot through my full physical transition on Testosterone and sharing it with all of you both through this website and through YouTube videos. I look forward to bringing you all along for the ride. Get strapped in because it’s going to be a wild one!

Technorati Tags: Testosterone, Female to Male, FTM, transgender, transsexual, hormone replacement therapy, doctor, body image, transition, shot, androgel, doctor

The clip shows pre-teen, Levi O’Brien, talking to his mom, Tracy, who is homeschooling him. In it, she tells him that there is no basis behind science. The entire scene is pretty scary, especially when Levi expresses his views concerning how smart he believes Galileo was for giving up science for God (Apparently, Levi has no idea that Galileo was forced to recant his scientific beliefs and discoveries in the name of religion). This is not the only obviously inaccurate thing Levi is being taught.

The only thing I do agree with his mother on is the fact that I do not believe I, as a parent, should send my son off to school for eight hours a day, when I know I am capable of giving him as good of an education (or better) than the one he could receive at a public school. Of course, I also believe not all parents are capable of this, which is why public schools do exist. I also believe that Science is based in fact, and therefore it is an important subject to be taught accurately, to children.

Anyway, this prompted me to do some digging to try and find the brainwashed Jesus Camp kids. It took a little digging, but lo and behold I found most of them on Facebook, and you will never guess who else I found?

Despite the Kids on Fire camp being shut down due to public reaction from the documentary and vandalism on the property, Becky Fischer is keeping up with her young “soldiers” through Facebook. She has also been schooling a new group of children, to be soldiers in the last days army. This is through the School of Supernatural Children’s Ministry.

Her hardcore message is best summed up in her own words, so here they are:

If the text is too small, click on the above image to see a bigger version of it!

You can find out more about what Becky is up to and find more of her “prophetic words” on her Facebook. The scary part is that over 2,000 people subscribe to her BS.

Becky’s most promising student was Levi O’Brien. He was just a pre-teen with a rattail when he was featured as a child preacher in the film. Not much has changed from then. Now, Levi is 18. He still screams and yells when he is preaching. His messages are still somewhat incomprehensible. He no longer has the rattail (that we can see), but he is using his Facebook as a platform to spread his uneducated, close-minded message about Jesus and God.

Levi believes his God is the only God (and his God did not create other religions). However, Levi’s FB has a lot more opposition to his constant messages of faith than Becky’s does. His 400+ friends constantly debate the validity of his words. His mom, Tracy, even hops in on one post to back up his claims, by stressing just how accurate The Bible is and how it is used as a school textbook in many places. All in all, the message of Levi remains the same.

You can check him out on his Facebook here.

Despite being kind of mousy and a loner, Rachael Elhardt had very specific beliefs about religion. She was the girl who believed she had to convert people to her fundie style of Christianity or they were going to hell. Despite her outspoken nature on religion, she has opted to keep her Facebook private. As such, we can only assume she is still a crazy Christian because she remains friends with Levi and Becky. You can at least see a picture of 16 or 17 year old Rachael on her Facebook page.

Decidedly absent from the Jesus lovefest on FB is young Tory. If you remember, she is the one who was a dancer. She was a part of the children’s praise dance team at Christ Triumphant Church who was afraid of dancing for the flesh. Tory questioned her faith more than once in the documentary and spent much of her time on film bawling her eyes out. Of all the kids, I felt bad for her the most. I have tried to find out what happened to Tory and whether she still attends Christ Triumphant Church (which by the way has been endorsed, or at least it’s head pastor Alan Koch has, by Becky Fischer).

I would like to believe that these kids have learned to think for themselves, but sadly, despite the negative press for Jesus Camp, they continue to hold these steadfast, terrifying beliefs that their religion is the only way and all others must be converted to their thinking.

Technorati Tags: Jesus Camp, Levi O’Brien, Rachael Elhardt, Becky Fischer, Where are they?, Evangelicals, Christians, Soldiers for Jesus, Kids on Fire, Facebook

From kindergarten through third grade, people used to call me duck, because I had a limp that resembled a duck’s waddle. This is because I have a muscle disease, Spinal Muscular Atrophy. I remember walking down the hall and having entire classes of kids quack at me as I passed them. It was mortifying and yet, I held my head high and tried desperately to ignore them. Really, I wanted to just curl up into a ball and cry. I think that is why I had such a problem with being a duck in our kindergarten play. It reminded me of that horrible name I was called. At the time, I told my parents I wished I was dead, because life would be better dead then being teased so horribly.

In fifth grade, I was made fun of for the way I dressed (I had no choice in picking out my clothes) and that’s when they started calling me fat. I used to be very skinny, but I was put on steroids for my asthma. I doubled my weight in six months, and that’s when my classmates called me porker, fatty, piggy, and made me self-conscious about every piece of food I put in my mouth. Some kids told me to stop eating so I wouldn’t get any fatter. Explaining I was fat from medicine didn’t help. It made it worse, because then I became a “liar” to boot.

Really, I was a little chubby, but to them I was fat. To make matters worse, my mother forced me to get perm after perm, making my silky, straight hair look like I had the head of a poodle. She dressed me in sweat or cotton pants and could never do anything with my poodle hair. I started wearing glasses that year and she made me get ugly plastic ones. I tried to find the smallest pair possible…but…they were pink.

I was also tripped on the bus and often had to crawl off of it, because I didn’t have the strength to get back up. The bus driver didn’t seem to care other than to call us unruly kids. The funny thing is that the primary target was my next door neighbor, who enjoyed taunting me on and off the bus. I couldn’t get away from that kid until his family moved, a few years later.

In sixth grade, a kid hopped on the back of my scooter at recess, held down my forward button and tried to ram me into some playground equipment to “flip me over”. I couldn’t get the kid off the back of my scooter or to let go of my controller button, and if I had not thought fast enough to switch the on/off switch and get my scooter to stop I would have rammed into it and injured myself badly. I remember being shaken up and very scared. My heart was pounding in my chest, and all the kid got was a yelling at from the playground monitors.

In seventh grade, a male student tripped me and the teacher walked out of class, leaving me on the floor next to my motorized scooter, unable to get up. I missed my bus home and the janitor found me a half-hour later, crying on the floor. He had to pick me up and put me in my scooter.

I was constantly teased for being fat, for my family being the way they were, for being disabled. I was told I should just kill myself because I was too worthless to stay alive. I was told I’d be nothing in life, and to forget my dreams, because I was pathetic. I was told I was a bad person and I must have done something bad for “God” to make me suffer in a wheelchair.

My mom got involved to cause trouble and get pity for herself, which just caused more trouble for me. I was teased because I couldn’t stand up for myself, for being a tattle tale (even when often others told her what was going on and not me), for being a whiner.

In tenth grade, after returning to school from a six months absence due to severe spinal surgery, as I wheeled around in a neck to waist back brace, I came upon an elevator full of dead mice. This was my elevator. The one I used to get up and down floors. The senior prank had gone horribly wrong when their live mice they wanted to let loose around the school died, so one of the guys wanted to prank “the kid in the wheelchair.” They poured the dead mice into the elevator hoping I would run them over and crush their bodies. As I was backing into the elevator unable to see down, a kid stopped me because he felt bad. He told me to get out of the elevator and got the janitor to clean it up. I was stuck upstairs while they did. I was a mess. Who would do this to me and why?

The school nurse would not let me go home even though I was a wreck. She told me I was fine and to deal with it. A disability mediator was called in and my doctor wouldn’t let me go to school. None of the people responsible ever got punished for this and the disability mediator made me return to school giving in to false promises by the school. I was let down, yet again.

I was not given an IEP almost every year I was in school. That is against the law. I wasn’t allowed a personal assistant to help me take off my coat. If my friend’s PA didn’t help me I often wore my coat all day. I never could get my books without help. If it was not for a girl named Rachel or a girl named Tiffany I would never have eaten lunch or got out to my bus to go home. I had to ask my classmates for help which was downright embarrassing. This led to even more resentment by my peers.

My home life was not any better. I was being abused at home, and so when I was 19, I wanted to die and I wanted to kill myself. Luckily, I found a way to save myself, but I still remember how horrible the bullies in my life made me feel. While others were out at homecoming, I was home alone wishing to die. While others were at the prom, I was thinking of ways to kill myself. While my peers were enjoying their teen years, with friends, I was dealing with so much other crap – issues of gender, the thought of dying from surgery, family abuse, that I have no real happy memories of this time.

I really hate to hear kids suffering in ways I can understand, to the point of feeling they deserve to die. How can people be so cruel? Bullying is a form of TORTURE. How can another person torture someone else? I just cannot comprehend how these people think.

This is what a bully does to a person. Were you a bully and if so are you sorry? My pain is not unique. My story is not unique. I am just one who managed to survive. I have moved past this, and yet, for every lucky one like me, there is another child who isn’t so lucky…a child who does not make it.

Over 85% of disabled kids are bullied in school. LGBT youth are four times as likely to commit suicide than their heterosexual peers. These are staggering statistics. Now what are we going to do to stop this epidemic?

Technorati Tags: bully, LGBT, harassment, bullying, transgender, disabled, disability, fat, school, high school, tease, pick on, mean, suicide, teen, teen suicide, youth

So, I’m starting a campaign to email members of the Ohio House of Representatives to try and get this changed. Here is a basic email I am sending out. Please feel free to change it to suit your situation. Also, even if you are not transgendered, we need your support. If you were born in Ohio or live there now PLEASE consider emailing your current or former representative and asking them to change their birth certificate rules.

Go here to find your Representative (or the one you had when you lived in Ohio): Ohio House of Representatives Listed by Zip Code

Here is the basic email:

Dear Rep. _____________________,

I am writing to you as a former/current constituent of the district you represent in the Ohio House of Representatives. I was born and raised in Ohio, and therefore, my birth certificate comes from this state. This means that any changes that are made to my birth certificate are based on the laws of Ohio.

Did you know that Ohio is one of only TWO states in the United States that does not allow transgendered residents to change their gender designation on their birth certificate? This means that 48 other states, even the most Conservative of states, are a step above Ohio when it comes to gender equality. Also, when anyone changes their name in Ohio, a new birth certificate is issued with the old name crossed out. This is not only unwise for those changing their name to reflect a change in gender, but also anyone changing their name to protect themselves from harm.

By allowing anyone who sees the birth certificate to see the crossed off, former name, Ohio is opening transgendered individuals up to harassment and outing them, even when their physical appearance dictates the gender with which they perceive themselves. For example, a bushy faced man named Jim faces the fear of discrimination and hatred by those who happen to see that his name used to be Susan on his birth certificate. By sealing the old certificate and re-issuing a new one with the new name, as many states already do (i.e. Michigan), Ohio is showing it cares about all of its residents regardless of their gender.

I implore you to consider changing these grossly unfair birth certificate rules and regulations. They will benefit more than just your transgendered constituents. They will also benefit women and children trying to escape abusive situations with a fresh start (changing names can be just the way to do that and to protect the children). Please consider proposing that Ohio change these practices, so this great state does not get left behind.

Thank you for your time!
Your Name

UPDATE: I also emailed Governor Ted Strickland with the same message above.

You can email him to by going here.

Technorati Tags: contact, Ohio, House of Representatives, Gender Equality, Transgender, Birth Certificate, Ohio Law, Lawmakers

Gay and lesbian soldiers are already serving in the U.S. armed forces. They are already bunking with, showering with and defending with heterosexual counterparts. They just cannot reveal who they are, who their partners are, and they have to go into a hectic, mind-wrenching profession keeping up the facade that they are heterosexual, too. It is draining enough to be in the military, especially those who are deployed, but to constantly be looking over your shoulder to make sure nobody finds out about you? It adds a level of pressure to a gay/lesbian soldier heterosexual soldiers won’t endure.

Sure, I’ve heard the arguments about bunking and showering with “gays”, which, by the way, is absolutely ridiculous. Just because a lesbian soldier likes women does not mean she is hot for ALL women. It does not mean she wants to have sex with ALL women. Many homosexuals serving in the military have partners back home, and they are often in monogamous relationships. Just like straight couples, this means the gay soldier loves their partner and wants to have sex with their partner. They aren’t looking for booty calls or quickies. Further, the military has so much going on. who has time to think about sex? Oh yeah, I imagine if I were out in the 100+ degrees sun, hot, sweaty, smelling of stench with weapons all around me and bombs blowing up all around me, the first thought on MY mind would be to get it on with others in my unit. Did you catch the sarcasm there?

I have a message to all those straight soldiers out there who think their gay/lesbian comrades want to jump their bones.

Guess what, cupcake. You are NOT the bees knees. Frankly, you are most likely unattractive to the homos in your unit because they ain’t feelin’ you that way. So, get over yourself. Worry about doing your job and not about whether other soldiers are looking at your butt. Most likely, they aren’t.

Ok, now that I have gotten that out of the way, I really have to ask: WHY DOES IT MATTER IF GAY SOLDIERS SERVE?

DADT needs to be repealed because soldiers can get fired if they are outed. Higher ranked officers cannot acknowledge their partners nor let them celebrate military achievements in public, the way spouses of heterosexual soldiers can (and are expected to do so).

It needs to be repealed because gay and lesbian soldiers have fought JUST AS HARD as their straight counterparts in equally as hard jobs. They have been found in every sector of the armed forces, at multiple levels and at numerous ranks with multiple job titles. The gay soldier IS THERE. They deserve the chance to be protected from being discharged. The military needs these soldiers NOW more than ever, while we are still at war and in need of more soldiers at home and abroad.

It needs to be repealed because gay and lesbian soldiers have died, are dying and WILL DIE for their country. Their partner is not informed initially of their passing and gets no say in medical or funeral arrangements. These soldiers deserve to die with the dignity afforded to all straight soldiers and their partners/spouses.

These soldiers have DIED protecting a nation that does not treat them equal. They fight to uphold a system of government that wants to deny their very existence. They serve a country that professes it is fighting for freedom, yet these soldiers have their freedoms denied. Still, they fight.

So, why not give them the chance to fight, serve, and protect with pride in themselves, their lives and their country? It is not going to harm the military, because gay soldiers are already there and already serving. They’ve just been forced to stifle the freedom they deserve of being who they truly are.

Technorati Tags: DADT, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, Homosexuality, Military, Gay, Serve, Protect, Repeal, Soldiers, Gay Soldiers

***Photo Copyright rharrison. Available under Creative Commons.

The latest was some guy on Twitter running his mouth about Glenn Beck. Supposedly Beck compared the “Gay Agenda” to the “Muslim Agenda” with a primary goal of taking down Christianity. I know many a gay Christian. In fact, the majority of religious gays and trans folk I know are indeed Christians. So, why would they want to take down a group they belong to? It makes absolutely no sense to me.

Also, I don’t want to take down Christianity. I just don’t want Christian dogma shoved down my throat. I want to be able to practice the religion of my choice without fear of oppression or hatred. I have family and friends who are Christians who respect this and I love them dearly.

Since I have no idea what this agenda that I am supposed to have is, I thought I’d tell you about my day today. Perhaps if we put all our heads together we can figure out what my agenda is, against the world, since I am transgendered and therefore complete the T in GLBT.

So, without further ado, my family’s day:

Ash woke up at 9 AM. CT was up. She gave him his medicine (no not his gay agenda brainwashing meds – he has Aspergers, Bi Polar and ADHD). She made him breakfast, helped him pick out his clothes, and he got dressed. He also brushed his teeth and combed his hair.

I woke up around 11:30. Ash started CT’s Life Skills/Health Class. He did a selection of worksheets including:

Homework Worksheet: Study Guide B
Homework Worksheet: Word Bank
Homework Worksheet: Achieve Your Dreams
Reteach Worksheet: Life in Balance
Reteach Worksheet: Are You a Good Manager
Reteach Worksheet: Getting a Handle on Life
Activities Worksheet: Can Neat and Messy Get Along?
Activities Worksheet: How Stress Affects Relationships

He also did his Chapter Review (Vocab and Key Concepts) in his Glencoe Life Skills 2010 book. He has his Chapter test tomorrow and he’ll start the following chapter after his test.

While Ash was teaching, I was getting a copy of An Episode Under the Terror and The Executioner, both by De Balzac. Earlier this week, he read The Mysterious Mansion by De Balzac, in his Classic Horror Stories textbook from Glencoe. I read through both stories and made up an accompanying worksheet for An Episode Under the Terror. Once I was done with that. I got to work reviewing movies for my website LI Reviews.

We ate lunch after CT finished his first subject. I had egg salad on fresh rosemary bread, kalamata olives, and fresh salsa and chips. It was a GOOD meal. CT went into the living room to read a book, watch TV, and play with the dog. His choice of entertainment was his grandmother’s soap operas, unfortunately for him.

Ash did some leg massage and exercises on my legs and hip. Then she took a shower. After her shower she taught the Horror Classics Stories Class. CT was given a homework assignment relating to the original De Balzac story. It is a writing assignment due in a week. As they did schoolwork, I worked on our websites, resized pictures and the like.

Then I went on Facebook to check my farm and say hi to friends. After that, I headed over to Twitter for the Glenn Beck rant fest. The son is now tucked in bed. We ate dinner (andouille sausage, spinach and a salad), he took his bath, and he brushed his teeth. He took his night meds and it is slumber time for him. So, here I am writing this blog post.

Does it sound like I (and my family) have an agenda? No…we are just average joes living our lives…AS A FAMILY.

Tomorrow, we’ll do it all over again only this time it is Algebra and Life Skills.

So, that is the GLBT agenda.

IF there is any GLBT agenda or gay agenda, it’s simple to understand.

WE JUST WANT TO LIvE OUR LIVES KNOWING OUR CHILDREN AND PARTNERS ARE HAPPY, HEALTHY, AND PROTECTED.

So, Glenn Beck, put that in your pipe…and smoke it.

Technorati Tags: gay agenda, GLBT agenda, Glenn Beck, transgender, family, homeschool, Aspergers, live life, kids, family

Bill O’Reilly has started that if gay marriage is allowed, next people will want to marry ducks. This is a common “slippery slope” argument. It isn’t accurate though since ducks cannot consent to being married to humans and the whole purpose of legalizing gay marriage is to allow two, adult, consenting same sex partners to marry.

Well, Pat Robertson had to talk about ducks, too. He doesn’t like the fact that a bill is on the table that would protect sexual orientation under the status of hate crime. If we protect the “gays” what’s next? Should we protect the guy who wants to have sex with a duck? Should that guy be protected under the status of hate crime?!

Seriously, Pat. Are you that stupid? How can you compare duck love to same-sex love? That’s just silly.

Apparently, two pro-gay marriage actresses agree. They’ve come up with a video response/parody. It’s quite funny.

Sex with Ducks is the brainchild of Riki “Garfunkel” Lindhome and Kate “Oates” Micucci. I think it’s hilarious. How about you?

Technorati Tags: Sex with Ducks, Gay Marriage, Slippery Slope, Riki “Garfunkel” Lindhome, Kate “Oates” Micucci, Video, Funny, Pat Robertson, Bill O’Reilly