In 2021, Beatrice Cox confronted her father in anguish. “Why can’t you f**king talk to me? Why can’t you look me in the eye? Why can’t you call me by my name?”
Her father, Danny Cox, then 58, stood silent, torn between his love for his child and the rigid teachings of his faith. A Catholic-turned-Evangelical pastor, Danny had long been taught that transgender people were sinful or broken. Now, his daughter was standing in front of him, pleading to be seen.
A Clash of Faith and Family
Beatrice had come out as trans six months earlier, but Danny resisted, refusing to use her name or pronouns. Though he reminded her of his love, his theology left him unable to accept her identity.
“I looked at my wife, and I’m like, ‘What do I do? Because I don’t understand this,’” he recalls.
This tension is not unusual. Surveys show that 87% of white Evangelicals believe gender is determined by sex at birth, and 61% believe homosexuality should be discouraged by society. Unsurprisingly, nearly half of LGBTQ people report estrangement from their families.
For Beatrice, raised in conservative Christian schools, coming out felt terrifying. “To be uncloseted was to lose access to everything that mattered to me,” she says.
Breaking Point
Beatrice had first come out as gay, a moment Danny remembers responding to with warmth — even as he prayed not to have “a trans kid.” When that prayer went unanswered, his support crumbled into confusion.
The two grew adversarial. Danny admits he grieved the “version of Beatrice” he had known, while Beatrice felt abandoned.
Everything shifted during an argument when Danny broke down in tears.
“‘I’m sorry, Bea. I’m sorry, Bea. I’m sorry, Bea,’” he repeated — using her name for the first time.
That apology opened the door. Danny confessed that his rejection came from fear, not hate.
“The top fear was for her safety,” he says. “And then I had my own fears: What does this really mean?”
For Beatrice, the moment was transformative.
“In that instant, all the bulls**t shed away. We were just human people, seeing each other as human people. And that’s worth a lot.”
From Pastor to Ally
Since then, their relationship has healed. Danny left his Evangelical church and is now being ordained in the Episcopal Church, where LGBTQ+ people have long been embraced.
He now calls Beatrice his daughter, proudly uses her pronouns, and affectionately calls her “Bea.” Together, they co-lead The Open Table Collective, a ministry helping families and churches navigate faith and queer identity.
“I can’t think of a word other than ‘ferocious’ that describes what he’s done,” Beatrice says. “It’s extraordinarily brave and extraordinarily beautiful.”
Danny still feels guilt for his delay, but his message now is clear:
“Parents can either shun the person, or they can say, ‘This is the person I love, and I need to reevaluate my life.’ If there’s even a crack of curiosity, love can prevail.”
