Of course this article is going to draw the usual meddlers with an animus for transgender people . . . brace yourself for abrasive (and ignorant) caterwauling about sick, disturbed people mutilating their bodies, and how people are born as either men or women and never the twain shall meet . . . blah blah . . . I suggest just skipping over the bigots, so the rest of us may discuss this properly.

I am a male-to-female transsexual, now 61. I finally quit running from myself in my early forties, and of course -- of course! -- it was the best thing I ever did. Such a late transition cannot, however, erase the damage or replace the wasted years of my life. If only I had been able to at least think about transition -- and, oh! to halt puberty! -- when I was a child. It is perfectly obvious that anyone with this very strong desire should be allowed to go forward with it. Sure, delay surgery until 16 or 18, but for god's sake impede puberty and allow the person to grow up living in the proper gender.

I am somewhat fortunate, in that I am taken as a bio-woman (not seen as Trans) about 90% of the time. Not being 6' 4", with a lantern jaw, quarterback shoulders and a foghorn voice, I enjoy the social comfort of being treated well -- or as well as women are usually treated, anyway. I keep no secrets about my identity, but it's nice not sticking out like a sore . . . er, thumb.

My deepest admiration goes to those who *are* 6' 4", etc. I see them around town, and I know they are never going to "fit in" to mainstream society. Yet they go ahead anyway, declaring their true identities for all to see. I had to be brave for about a year, while in transition, during which I looked very "gender indeterminate". These folks have to be brave forever, which is heart-breaking. Brava to them!

But I digress! (I've always wanted to say that.) Point being, I missed all the experiences a girl and woman has while growing up, and instead had many decades of emptiness and bewilderment. I also had a childhood of abuse from my father, and boys and men in general, which unfortunately ingrained deep within me the idea that I am a repulsive reject, and can never be loved. So I am single, and work in a field where I can give love to others who need it (mentally handicapped people). If I can't feel love from others, at least I can give it.

So obviously, let this kid (and all others) attain her proper destiny. Only the crabbed of heart could stand on some invented principle and try to stop her.

I also dislike summer, and I don't have especially large breasts. (I really don't think this is a prerequisite for this attitude.)

I find summer banal. That is the worst thing about it, and it also encompasses everything that anyone can say about it. After the surprise and delight of Spring, and before the long bittersweet elegy of autumn, the long, monotonous drone of summer lacks all imagination and subtlety. Even plants are bored, just sitting there converting sunshine to chlorophyll and waxing dully pregnant with some orotund fruit.

People who like summer are just as banal and vegetal. It is a socially-acceptable thing to like, is summer, and no one needs to think of why they like it, because everybody does (supposedly). People who like TV and shopping malls and cars also like summer. It is a season made for middlebrow consumers. The unimaginative can accept that it is good to be hot and sweaty, and to occasionally plunge into water, and to eat really bad food, always served at the wrong temperature. If these people were not told what to like, they would not like anything at all, and would probably just stay home and stare at the wall.

So to summer I say Piffle. And when I say Piffle, I mean Piffle!