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Johnson another puzzled look."Sure, if she wanted to, but why would she? Her clothes are much nicerthan mine." Well, one reason might be that boy's clothes are usually looser fittingand more comfortable than girl's clothes," she suggested. "Beth doesn'tget dressed up when she's at home, does she?" No, you're right. She usually wears jeans and a pullover top. Butthey're still girl's clothes," I insisted.Mrs. Johnson smiled."For the sake of our discussion, let's pretend that she did borrow yourclothes. If she wore them, would that make her a boy?" Of course not!" I responded emphatically."Why not?" Mrs. Johnson asked me."Why not what? I don't understand the question." If you are a girl when you wear Beth's clothes, then why isn't she aboy when she wears your clothes?" Because," I tried to explain, "because she was born a girl. That's whoshe is. I, well, I should have been born a girl too, Mrs. Johnson, it'snot fair. I am a girl and when I wear girl's clothes that makes me feellike. Now I had a whole new pile of shit to wade through! How could this happen? How much more could I take? I needed a plan. There was one absolute, and that was Marisa was staying with me and the kids, regardless of Liz's condition!As I drove home, I began to see a silver lining in the mess I was facing. I could do nothing for Liz and that was bothering me a lot. I felt useless and afraid. She needed something I couldn't give her. I was helpless. I had always been able to protect my family and shield them from serious harm. Now my wife was in a coma and there was nothing in the world I could do for her. That had thrown me into the throes of depression.Now some bastard had declared war on me! That was something I understood. My family was under attack and I would respond as men have responded since the beginning of time. I would fight back and I would not lose, regardless of what the consequences were. Of that, I was certain. Now my life had meaning and purpose. Some jackass had picked the.
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