There’s this guy I know, J. I’ve known him about a year, I guess. Likeable, a little shy, very sweet. Something about him always bothered me, though. His too-high voice seemed like an affectation, his curled-in posture seemed diffident. He just struck me as off somehow.
So a few weeks ago, he mentions, in the course of explaining this situation he’s in, that he’s transgendered. And I thought, “Oh!”
It was like, whoosh, the air went out. J. became normal to me. “Normal” because there was nothing off about a transsexual having a high voice or a chest that looked, well, post-op. The perception of abnormality came from not knowing, not being able to put the pieces together.