When people ask when Max transitioned, I have a hard time answering that question. Because I don’t think it’s Max who transitioned — he has always known who he is, and has always been given the space to express that. Rather, I think it’s more appropriate to say that I transitioned. I was the one who found the resources I needed to put the pieces together. His dad and I were the ones who trained ourselves to use different pronouns when referring to our son. His friends were the ones who learned how to call him by a new name. We all transitioned together. Max has always been like the eye of a hurricane: calm and steady, while the rest of the world swirls madly around him. Wherever he goes, we follow, with our energy, our controversies, our struggle for equality. But Max is oblivious to much of that, affirmed in his identity, confident in his abilities, and assured of our unconditional love for him.