January 15, 2019

Two classes today, now all classes met. My freshmen were bright eyed and eager to participate, far more diverse in mien and background than I am used to. Several shook my hand and thanked me after class. One student whom I had known as Patrick appeared in what I would have called full Stevie Nicks drag, long straight wig, peasant skirt, high heels, and asked to be called Virginia. “Why Virginia?” says I. “After Virginia Woolf.” Brava! Another student had turned from Michael into Marcella, her dress the only apparent change from when I taught him as a boy. A baritone with a dark wig and five o’clock shadow. Transgenderism confuses me. What confuses me most was where was it erewhile? Did people suppress it through the years? Before it came into public consciousness, did people have those feelings but not know what to do with them? Is it a kind of fad? Is it more political than I understand, a radical protest against “toxic masculinity”? Anyhow, on we go, me scratching into the margin of my grade book female names for people I knew as boys. It does go the other way, girls becoming boys, but not yet this semester. I catch myself lamenting when a handsome boy turns into a homely woman, or a striking woman into an odd looking man. Just shows my shallowness, or the degree to which I think that, when offered choices, one should go with beauty.

Hour long conversation with Mickey in Costa Rica. Brought all that back. Spent a significant part of the time hearing about all the Asheville people with whom she had affairs I never suspected. Nearly everyone with a penis. I don’t see the illicit until it’s pointed out to me. My days, in comparison, have been serene.