We’re  probably watching CSI:Miami or a marathon of Criminal Minds or Storage Wars cause they stopped running the Miami marathon a few weeks ago. You’ll complain cause you hated that they cancelled the marathon of your favorite show.

I’ll have just washed the dishes and am laying at the foot of your bed. No doctors appointments. No nurse to visit. Just us and the tv.

After the umpteenth rerun you’ll notice I’m nervous. You could always read me like a book.

Your raspy voice will call to me, breaking my inner musings. I say it’s nothing and head into the kitchen to make your lunch.  

You and Spanky will follow.  He was always acting like a weird little shadow.

We’ll settle into the living room now. Criminal Minds droning on and on and you’ll watch me from your recliner while I’m sprawled out on the couch. 

I’ll try to ignore it, going and cleaning the bathroom to occupy my time and calm my nerves.

After I’ve cleaned everything I can clean and as yet another rerun starts to play I’ll finally sit back down. 

A heavy sigh that leaves my lips will draw your attention from an awkward quip Spencer says and I’ll start to tear up because I’m always extremely emotional about these kinds of things. 

You’ll ask what’s the matter and reluctantly I’ll say what’s been my mind all day,

“I’m trans.” I’ll bow my head though I feel your eyes watching me. Calm to my emotional storm brewing. 

You’ll probably laugh cause I’m being silly. 

“I know.” Because I knew you knew. I would light up when someone would call me your grandson. Smile when someone would say ‘mistake’ me for a guy. You noticed. You always noticed.

I would just nod. Why would I expect anything less?

“You’re no different now than you were before. You’re still my grand-baby. I still love you.” 

You would have known before my mom, before my dad and brothers and sisters, and cousins and friends. Because yours and my girlfriend’s reaction would have mattered the most. HURT the most.

We’ll continue to watch our marathons like this never happened. Like nothing’s changed. 

Except something did. You’ll call me Lee and when I decide my name is Andrew you’ll call me that too. 

You’ll continue to support me and encourage me.

Imagining is all I have left. I miss you and I miss your guidance. I miss your support and definitely miss your love.

I wish I would have listened to your stories more. Just listened a little more. A little longer

Rest in paradise grandma, continue to watch over me and my family.

Sunrise: Nov 3, 1943 Sunset: Jan 6, 2015

Thanksgiving 2013


I hate that I can’t articulate my thoughts in a blog as well as I can in a story. I’ll hate a. Really good idea for a blog and then poof when I start writing it goes away. 

Then I’ll see someone else’s blog and think ‘Damn I wanted to write the same thing’, yet I can’t find the words and it frustrates me.

Maybe it’s because I’m somewhat private about my life, private to the point where writing about it for the public to see is uncomfortable. 

But I want to break out of my comfort zone. Be open and honest with anyone who asks.

I wanted to be a writer because I wanted to share my stories with other people. I didn’t do it because I wanted fame and fortune. I did it because maybe, just maybe, someone would like my story as much as I liked my story when I wrote it.

I’ve made a new resolution to write just a little more. Hopefully publish my second novel by years end and a get out a few upcoming short stories.

I wanna start to blog a few experiences coming up as a black transman. But I think it’ll be easier for my to write it as a short story from another’s point of view.

Just anything to clear my mind and open my heart to the world.


Me and my girlfriend were at PetSmart with our 3 month old puppy. And of course he got misgendered because he is a very gorgeous dog. 

But my thing is, why when a dog or cat is misgendered, people are so quick to fix it when you correct them.

But when you say it about your person, they get defensive. Like its not possible to misgender a human as much as you do a dog.

When will we live in a world where people will be as quick to fix their gender mistake with a human as they would an animal?

Maybe one day.

Premonitions 1

Premonitions 1

My chest, flat and smooth, not a blemish in sight, scars of an incision underneath both breast.

My children and my wife were calling on me but I stopped to stare in the mirror.

My reflection, happy, calm, a permanent smile must be on my face, if the lines were evident. Something I don’t do.

I couldn’t feel the fog of dysphoria clouding my mind, only a sense of serenity.

My fingers twitch with excitement as I traced the scar. My battle scar; a battle I finally won. It was a moment I contemplated and wished for.

The skin tingled, sensitive to the feather like touch. Tears prickle my eyes. I felt it all.

Joy, insurmountable joy.

The funny thing is, I knew it was a dream. But… I also knew I would be there one day.

I feel it on the tips on my fingers that one day I’ll be there. And I’m okay with knowing.

Being a writer I learned you have to dream and plan, before you can make reality.

When I woke, I was running my finger  where my scars would one day be. And I smiled, turned to my fiancée and spooned.

Sometimes dreams are premonitions just waiting to happen.

And I know this is something I will have déjà vu of in the future.



Call me

Call me

Call me Andrew, when we’ve lost contact and you see me in public.

Call me sir, when I’m next in line.

Call me Mr. Dright, when I’m at the doctors office.

Call me man when you’re shouting at me on the street.

Call me their nephew when we’re at family reunions and your introducing me to long lost family members.

Call me son when we talk on the phone and we’re saying our goodbyes and I love you’s.

Call me your brother when we’re sitting at the table. 

Call me Andrew when we’re reminiscing about Alyssa’s past.

Call me he/his when speaking about me.

Don’t call me Alyssa to be spiteful.

Don’t call me she to be hateful.

Don’t call me your sister to hurt me.

Don’t call me your niece to be rude.

Don’t call me your daughter to show me you don’t care.

Don’t call me lady/ma’am/miss to purposely remind me of my anatomy. 

But most important, Don’t call me anything if you can’t respect what I am asking.

Call me what I ask you to call me. Not what you want to call me.

This is me taking MY life back. Me taking my pronouns and reminding you what they are.

Don’t tell me how to feel. You do not know my internal hatred and fear.

Don’t let the media fool you. We are normal people. Who want normal rights. 

We are your neighbors, your mailmen, your cashier, your banker, your nurse, your doctor, you CNA, your cousin, your mother, your father,  your brother, your sister, your niece, your nephew, your grandchild, your student, your teacher, your counselor, your therapist, your friend, the person standing in line two people ahead of you. We’re open about our transition and we’re private about it too.

We’re asking for simple things. Basic human things. Compassion, love, acceptance.

We love, we hate, we cry, we fight.

We live. We breathe. We’re silent. We’re loud.

We’re humans with feelings. Respect ours and we’ll respect yours.


All I do is think about writing. Even in my sleep, different stories come to mind. Most of them I can’t even remember. But even the ones I do I store them away and work on them on my phone. I love to write and read.

Working on my stories brings the best joy, I can let my mind run free and wild. Nothing can be wrong, everything and be fixed and reworded and striken from the page. I am in control and no one can change that.

Every once in a blue moon I get a writing streak, where I will literally write and write and write and write. Non stop, pages upon pages of pure. Utter. GIBBERISH. But it can be reworded and contexts can be fitted.

I can create my world and tear it down. Break barriers and taboos and make it work. For me and hopefully for my readers.

My journey is a map, I take life lessons and make stories of fiction out of them.

My transition, my family, my love, My hopes, my dreams, they fall somewhere into my stories. And I hope just one person will relate to something and be inspired to do something they love as well.

Coming Out

Coming Out

I came out (transman) late; I’m 24(25-July), and it was hard and easy. But then again, is telling your parents  something serious ever just easy?

They are a major part of my life, and I hate disappointing them. It was easy because they are understanding and caring, and supporting. It was hard because I was afraid that they wouldn’t accept me and my change but, I don’t think it was a shock to them when I said it. Just like they waited for me to announce my lesbianism, I think they waited for this one as well.

They weren’t the first people I told. No, that coveted spot went to my wonderful girlfriend of 2 1/2 years. She is my rock, my boulder(because when I’m down I can lean on her without us both falling), she took it in stride. And as well as any girlfriend could/should. I think she believed it was a long time coming. I thank her for that.

Next was both my two sisters and my sister-in-law (separate occasions). Easy as pie. Love and support from the beginning. Then my brothers; they’re slowly coming around. One more than the others. I have to press them; break 24 years of familiarity for the unknown, something they don’t really understand.

Next was Facebook, it started with a simple name change post; Asking if anyone didn’t like it, the delete button was always available. Luckily, most of my friends are apart of the LGBT community or very accepting in general. I’m sure a few people deleted me but I’m too happy with myself to care.

My closest family besides my parents and brothers and sisters were also accepting, most admitting they knew it was a long time coming. I’m glad. It breaks the ice, the tension that cuts me like a saw. It feels invigorating.

I think the hardest thing is trying to get people, family included, to use my new name. To correct complete strangers in on my gender pronoun. To see the looks and hear the whispers. But if the overall outcome is happiness then so be it.

I go to therapy and most importantly I talk about it, I don’t brush it aside. I’ll always be Alyssa Dright; Alyssa paved the way to the man I am today. She will always be apart of me. She is He and I am She.

I came out late; but like they say: BETTER LATE THAN NEVER!