In my neighborhood, when I was a little, there was another kid, a gentle, kind kid whom I’ll call Casey, who was born, biologically, a boy but always wanted to dress as a girl and to cook and sew and play with dolls. We other kids totally accepted her because we were too young to know that we were “supposed to be” intolerant. Well, when Casey grew older, she encountered the full force of “grownup” and official Midwestern gender prejudice and took her own life. How I wish she had been born into a world with lasting compassion and tenderness toward transgen kids! I remember her cooking, in her white summer dress, at the Easy Bake play oven that her ahead-of-her-time mother bought for her, and the memory breaks my heart. Casey was sweet and delicate and pretty, like a flower.