truly my kids

I spent a couple of hours last night as a facilitator (Facilitatrix?) for the trans youth support group at Lambert House. Usually there's only one adult there, but this time my colleague G, who's been doing it for a couple of years, was there to hold my hand. Lessons:

1. You don't have to like all of them. See previous entries on my Lambert House tag for why I might not; it's verboten for me to get specific.
2. I think I have trouble not inserting myself into the discussion, but G says I did OK.
3. Gotta remember the ground rules: no gossip and therefore no names, and what's said there stays there.
4. The ones who don't irk you are so cute - the way kids are cute - and have so many struggles. G & I had a chat afterward. You know how I have that argument with myself about when I should have transitioned? G has it too, and we agree that it's easier once you've got a job, etc.
5. G's way cool. And cute. And wears motorcycle leathers to group. Down, girl, down.
6. All of the facilitators in that group are trans. That's a good thing, and not just because we get it. There's also all kinds of transition nitty gritty of which only trans people keep a complete set in their heads. It was a little unfortunate that last night, all the youth were trans boys and the facilitators were both trans women. I don't know, for example, what testosterone is likely to do to one's voice.