(I have just come out as transgender to my extended family. The reaction is both positive and confusing but neutral. The funniest and helpful reaction is, however, my paternal grandmother. I used to live with her and her late husband for three months every year as a child and my father is a single dad.)

Grandmother: “So, how did you finally figure it out? I already started thinking you were a boy when you were four!”

Me: “What?”

Grandmother: “You’ve always had tantrums when someone had you look and act like a girl. You didn’t want to wear dresses, you wanted very short hair, and you wanted cars, not Barbies.”

Me: “Well, yeah, but that sounds like a tomboy. I know many women like that. How did you think I wasn’t that?”

Grandmother: “You also wouldn’t go to the toilet with me. You went to the gents’ with your grandpa. Then, you complained when you got too old for that.”

Me: “Maybe the lines were long? I still hate that. Or habit? I actually never went to the ladies’ except at school until I was older because I only had dad.”

Grandmother: “No, you tried the boys at school when you were six.”

Me: “What?”

Parents: “When?”

Grandmother: “I picked her up that day. The teacher told me she complained and asked why she couldn’t be a boy.”

Me: *astonished* “I don’t remember that…”

Grandmother: “Well, you did! And when you were twelve and growing boobs you told me you didn’t want them. And you complained that the bras were so girly. You made me cut all the laces off. And you would never wear a dress anymore.”

Me: “Well, yeah. So, you pretty much always knew I was a boy?”

Grandmother: “Yes! I didn’t know how to actually ask you about it. But finally, I knew last year that you started figuring out yourself.”

Me: “Last year?”

Grandmother: “Your boobs were going from very obvious to barely visible. Your hair started looking boy-short, not girl-short. And you also stopped wearing even plain shirts with the buttons on the girl side. Your face even started looking like a boy.”

Me: *still astonished* “Wow. You noticed?”

Grandmother: “Of course I did. And I noticed when you went into my makeup one day without asking…”

Me: “How did you? That was one time!”

Grandmother: “You had no idea how to use it at first. Still looks a bit weird. Let me teach you. And what is that black smudge on your jaw?”

Me: “Um, an attempt at one-day stubble? Kind of?”

Grandmother: “Eww, no, it isn’t. I did grandpa’s beard; I can do yours.”

Me: “Grandpa’s beard?”

Grandmother: “Did you really think it was that full and thick? No, it was patchy in spots. Now, are we going to talk and have everyone staring at us or do you want that makeup fixed?”

Me: “I–”

Grandmother: “Come on. Let’s go.”