My Unexpected Father

The annual sixth grade dance at the end of the school year is pinnacle to any middle schooler. It begins to set a precedence to what type of social being they are going to be entering 7th grade. How one behaves at the dance can make or break any student’s popularity. While it is not as heavily weighted as high school dances, the importance of this rhythmic ritual is very evident. For me, it was my chance to step into manhood and impress the one girl I had my eyes on: Debbie Washington. Similar to other sixth graders attending, it would be my first social dance outside of normal academic hours. Back in elementary school, there were fun dances held during the school day in our normal school day attire and participate in regular group dances like the Hokey Pokey or the Macarena. This presented a new problem in a content area I was unfamiliar with: prepping for a social gathering.

I was living with my mom, a single parent, who had been raising me since my father performed a disappearing act when I was in second grade. My mom has always been very supportive of me, but becoming a man reached beyond her expertise. What would she know about entering manhood when her whole aura emits femininity. I have found YouTube to be very resourceful in learning how to become a man, instead of conferring with my mom. YouTube influencers have been helpful in designing school fashion and harvesting ideas for what I needed for the dance. One idea was putting a new blue and white striped polo shirt with a collar and jeans. I had received the shirt at Christmas and kept hidden for this moment. Complementing the shirt would be my favorite pair of black jeans and white Nike Airs to bring it all together. All I had to do was come home and change, then I’d be off with mom to the return to the school for an evening of fun. Before that, there were some minor grooming issues that had recently caught my attention. I sat on my bed with my phone preparing to dive into male grooming tips when I heard my mom enter the house with her girlfriend, Isabelle.

My relationship with Isabelle was still developing at this point in time. There was very little I knew about her in spite of my mom dating her for over half a year. It was beginning to seem more like a serious relationship, but they still had not made any official announcements. As they walked into the house, I greeted both of them from my room shouting the usual, “hi mom! Hi, Isabelle!” Shortly after they acknowledge my greeting I was ready to continue my research.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on my bedroom door. I looked up and Isabelle was standing there. “Oh hi, Isabelle.”

“Hey,” she announced, “may I come in? I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Confusion peaked my mind. “Sure,” I muttered, perplex about her reason for being in my room.

She walked in. “Are you ready for the dance?” Of course, the dance. Mom must have informed her about it.

I explained to her my excitement and my whole entire fashion ensemble. She stood by my bed listening intently, nodding indifferently to my ideas for my appearance. I shared how I was about to look up shaving and other grooming tips.

“Trevor, you don’t need to google how to do that. I can help you with shaving,” she suggested.

A puzzled look took over my face as the gender conundrum rendered me speechless. She’s a woman. Her background is wearing tampons, maxi-pads, and dresses (granted she was wearing a sports jersey and jeans and had a masculine appearance).

“I know you’re thinking there’s no way I can help you with this night, right?” She must have read my facial expression. “But, you’d be wrong. What you don’t know is I come from a home with two older brothers and a younger one.”

“Wait, you have three brothers?” This simple fact alone slightly eased my worries about her.

“Yep, my older brothers wanted me to help my younger one when he became of age, so they showed me their skills and strategies for a clean shave and how to dress to impress. I know a thing or two about manhood. I’m telling you, if you want to impress your lady friend, you are going to need a shave. You have uneven patches on your face that needs to be cleaned up.”

She had a strong point regarding my face. I had the dark underlining color of a growing mustache that I was proud of, but there was hair sporadically growing on my cheeks and under my chin. I looked like a budding chia pet without a doubt. “Isabelle, I think I could use your help then.”

“Iz. You can call me Iz,” Iz quickly guided me to the bathroom. Let’s get started.”

She instructed me on how to use hot water to help with making the facial hairs stand up. Followed by applying the shaving cream over my face and using the razor in the direction of facial grain for a cleaner and closer shave. Though I was initially against shaving off my mustache, she shared how many young girls would not appreciate seeing the caterpillar of fuzz resting on my upper lip. It convinced me to release the fuzz. When we were done, I looked at my reflection and felt one step closer to becoming the man I wanted to be, thanks to the power of shaving.

“Is that my face?” I exclaimed.

Iz nodded in satisfaction. “You did a remarkable job for your first time. You just need to remember to keep grooming. Grooming is a part of self-care. And, if you ever do decide to grow a mustache, it will help it grow out evenly.

I nodded respectfully in agreement.

“Next, we need to consider what you plan to wear tonight. To impress this girl, you need to make sure you present yourself better. A T-shirt and jeans looks too much like you’re in school, not at an outing,” Iz stated, walking slowly to my closet.

A smile of confidence flashed across my face. “I got this covered. I’ve been saving a shirt for this occasion since Christmas.” I pulled out my polo shirt to show her. “See, this shirt will impress her easily.”

Iz stared at the shirt and then gave me a look that read, “are you serious?”

“What? What’s wrong with this shirt? It has a collar. It’s not a T-shirt.”

“Trevor, while yes, it’s a nice shirt, I can promise you that a lot of sixth grade girls are going all out for this event. We’re talking make-up, dresses, heels, and more. Unless your girl hails gender-fluid or non-binary, you are going to have to go beyond a polo shirt.”

I stood in silence, half believing what Iz was sharing. How could she know? She’s from my mom’s generation. Why would a girl go through all of that for a dumb old dance?

“I know what you’re thinking,” she began, “you think there’s no way I could possibly know what girls are doing today? That I’m some old lady who’s off her rocker. Right?”

She was good. I nodded guiltily in confirmation.

Iz smiled gently. “Trevor, I know because I was one of those girls in middle school. We don’t really change that much, you know. Before I realized my true self, I was trying to impress my crush, just as you are trying to impress yours. When I went through all my prep, it included make-up and dresses. I even wore heels.”

I had to gawk at the fact that Iz wore heels. I thought her masculine persona and appearance was with her since birth. “You wore heels?”

She laughed at my reaction before continuing. “Yeah, heels, I know. Not as enjoyable as I had hoped. Anyway, I was trying hard to impress Tommy Peterson. What a dream I thought he was at the time. Actually, I think I was just influenced by my friends who thought I had a crush on him. Peer pressure, you know. But, you see, this is a big deal. It defines you as a person. What you wear tonight could resonate for the rest of your life.”

Maybe Iz had a point. I thought about Debbie. I remembered how she presented herself in school. She was quite glamorous and fashionable in her daily life, which means she is most likely going to dressed up for the dance as well.

“What do you suggest then?” I was nervous about her answer. I was still pretty limited on my wardrobe and hoping I could wear the jeans.

“The jeans are fine. In today’s fashion, jeans have become widely acceptable for this social occasion. The polo shirt, while nice, should probably go. I mean, if you really want to wear it, you can. It’s new, but…” she paused to see my reaction. Admittedly, I was disappointed about not being able to wear my polo shirt. I had gone 4 months saving it for this particular night. Iz seemed to empathize. “If you really want to wear it, I am not going to say no.” I let out a heavy breath of relief.

“You could consider a button down shirt with a tie and a jacket.”

A tie?! Is she crazy? I thought to myself. I did have a tie that I had not worn in a while. If she was serious, I could look for it and wear it to the dance.

“Trevor, I’m not going to make you wear a tie if you don’t want to. It’s ultimately your dance and your choice in how you want to present yourself. I just want your outfit to be fire. Most of the boys are not going to show up wearing a suit and tie. It will separate you from them and make you look mature.” Iz had a strong argument in favor of the tie.

I shook my head. “I’ll look dumb if I’m the only one wearing a tie.”

“I don’t think you will be the only one. Other boys want to impress the girls just like you do.”Iz was confident in her suggestion of my school dance attire, which was impressive. She never been to my school, how could she know?

Still feeling defiant, I looked back at Iz. “Fine, let me find my tie then.” I breathed heavily. Though I was reluctant, I began scouring my dresser drawers for the tie. Within in a few seconds I found it. I fished it out of the drawer and flashed it in front of Iz. “Behold, my tie!”

The navy blue pin-on tie also had criss-crossing green lines and was about half the size of a normal tie because it was made for a small child, not a growing prepubescent tweenager. Regardless, my face was beaming, while Iz’s eyes dropped. She slowly put her hand over her face before chuckling silently and shaking her head with disapproval.

“Trevor,” she breathed, “no shade, but you can’t, in good faith, go to the dance with that. No girl will be impressed by that lame piece of fabric.” Her words broke my heart.

“Hey, this is the tie my dad bought me when I was in second grade!” I spat out in anger.

Iz picked up on my emotional shift quickly. “Trevor, I don’t mean any disrespect to your father,” she calmly started, “but he left you and your mother when you were seven. It’s been well over five years and he’s not coming back anytime soon. The tie is a nice, but truthfully, it’s way too small for you now. Furthermore, it’s a pin-on. You need to learn how to wear a real tie.” Iz suggested.

“Well, I don’t have a real tie, unless you plan to take me shopping?” I shot back sarcastically. “Besides, you don’t know if he’s not coming back.” I knew she was right about my father abandoning us, but she also had no right to speak down on him.

A stiff wall of silence suddenly formed between us. Iz, without breaking the silence, produced a bag in front of her and was handing it to me. Though I was still filled with anger, the mysterious item caught my attention, persuading me to speak first. “What’s in the bag?”

Without uttering a word, Iz motioned for me to accept the bag. I took it and peeked inside. I could make the outline of a dark colored fabric, but it was still hidden by tissue paper. I reached in to free the item from its paper prison. There in my hand was a real black tie. I pulled it open to admire the full length. Though it was black, it had colorful miniture musical notes raining down the front of the tie. How Iz knew I liked music was an enigma, but I quickly hung it around my neck. It draped down past my waistline. “It’s great and all, but it’s too long!” I cried in a huff. “How do you make it shorter?”

Iz calmed me down to explain how to tie it around my neck, though it took me a couple a tries before I had it mastered. By the time we were done, I had created the four-in-hand knot. She also explained that there are many variations to knots, but this was the easiest one. She completed the look by lowering the collar of my white shirt and adding a black suit jacket. I stood in front of a mirror to scrutinize my reflection. The clean face. The suit and tie. I stood in silence, Feeling like a model in GQ magazine. Though I knew it would make me appear weak, a relentless tear formed in the corner of my eye. I was overcome with emotion at the young man who stood in front of me. “I wish,” I started, but caught myself.

Iz, sensing what was I going to say, “you wish your father was here, don’t you?” She completed. “Look, I know I’m not born a man, but I am as much of a man as most men are. You are not alone in the journey into manhood. I promise you, I am more than willing to be here to guide you, if you’ll let me.”

I looked over toward Iz. She stood optimistically strong in her statement. I rushed over without thinking to give her a hug, tears flowing with joy and acceptance. As we stood hugging each other, she whispered, “and for the record, it’s ok for men to cry.”

As I grew older, I consider that moment as the beginning of my manhood. Without Iz, I would have been clueless and the dance would not have been as rewarding as it should have been. Since then, Iz has kept her promise to be the father figure I needed. She has helped me on many topics regarding how a man should be in the society we live in today. A father can be anyone and should not solely be associated with being male. A father can be a person who is willing to help a young man determine their own definition of being a man. Luckily, Iz will always be there for me (she did marry my mother after all).