I'm yawning. "I suppose that any distraction is good. Yes, let's give her a page or two, since it's getting pretty late." I reach for Karen Wilson's memoir, and turn to the book mark.
"In residence they gave me a private room with ensuite bathroom, which has now become standard in seminary, but in this case they were giving special consideration to my "delicate" condition, since no one really knew whether I pee standing or sitting down, and still no one is going to know such salient or prurient details concerning me. It is simply nobody's business And that has been really my toughest battle while transitioning. Not the stigma, not the ignorance, or the prejudice, and not even the transphobic hate, but those stupid, invasive and nosey questions. Completely inappropriate questions that not even certain theology students or teachers appeared completely immune from asking. Sometimes I like to wonder what it would have been like if some of us were sharing the bathroom. I can almost imagine the curiosity coming from roommates every time I go to the bathroom, and how manfully they must have to resist sneaking in after to see whether or not I left the toilet seat up. One young man I appeared to be becoming friends with asked me one day following pastoral strategy class, if I intended to keep my penis. I asked him whatever would you ask me that for? He replied that he was just wondering if I would go on needing it. And I snapped back at him that it might even be that I will have more use for mine that he would ever have for his. Needless to say, our friendship died on the spot, and following classes he would make every effort to avoid having to talk to me...
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