‘I don’t understand their viewpoint - it makes no sense. How do people walking around in human bodies think they’re not human, or that they’re something else?’
She paused for a second, thinking on how to begin. This was not the kindergarten of her childhood, and this was not the world she grew up in. ‘You know how a dinosaur’s a dinosaur?’ she asked, looking at him.
‘Yea, it’s got a dinosaur shape.’
‘Okay, and how do you know a star is a star - ?’
‘Yea, same thing. That’s what I said - a human’’s got a human shape.’
‘Okay,’ she paused again, not wanting to fumble this for him. ‘There are tiny tiny bits of us - that make up our shape, and how they’re sewn together can alter the shape, or how the shape thinks. That’s called DNA.’
He paused, waiting, trying to understand.
‘Okay - so most of a girl or a boy you can see, and that’s what gives them their shape, but some people, their brains have a different shape, or the tiny bits inside them have a different shape, or something changes, like how scissors can take a long dress and turn it in to pants -’ she paused again and showed him the sewing samples from her work area. “It’s the same fabric, in a different shape. Sometimes the outside doesn’t match the inside; sometimes that DNA is changed as a person grows. As long as no one is trying to change YOUR shape, and who you know you are, you can just let people be.’
He nodded slowly. She knew they’d have this conversation many times, as he got older. But this was a start.