When I was around 7 or 8, there was a little kid I used to see in the nursery of our Southern Baptist church. I’ll call him Avery. Avery was about 4.

This was the early 70s in a small Texas town, typical Baptist church. Avery’s parents were decent and very active. I think the father was a former preacher.

When adults asked Avery what he wanted to be when he grew up, Avery would say, “I’m going to be a princess and have a pretty dress like Cinderella.”

You could tell it bothered them. “No you’re not. You’re going to be a handsome young man and have beautiful children.”

Avery would argue back. “No, I’m going to have a pretty dress like Cinderella.” As long as I knew Avery, the answer never changed.

I’m not one of those people who calls himself an “ally.” What the hell do I know about trans issues? I’m old. I used to be on the “wrong” side of politics. I use the wrong pronouns half the time.

But I know being transgender is not made-up, or sinister. I remember Avery and I know what I saw. I’ve since met other trans people – and they’re people, with hobbies and interests. They just want to live.

When I see all the cruelty directed toward trans kids and their families, I think of Avery and wonder if they’ve had a happy life. I’ll never know, but I hope Avery got to wear that dress and feel like a princess if that’s what Avery wanted.