In this era of seemingly widespread gender dysphoria and psychological or surgical resolution, some of us senior citizens recall the good old days when we happily coexisted with a few “tomboys” and “sissies.” In my youth, Carole was a welcome addition to a boys’ pickup soccer game, while Richard studiously avoided any risk of physical exertion, competition or collision. They were accepted for who they were in terms other than athletic interest and participation – both good students with outgoing personalities. I’ve no reason to believe that either one ever thought seriously about gender identity or transformation. We now seem to have a new pandemic of self -doubt and sexual questioning. In introductory situations, I call ‘em as I see ‘em. If he/she, we/us on or they/them look and dress like a male or female, I don’t attempt to determine their preferences in advance. My choice of pronouns is determined by visual biology, not amateur psychology, and peeking under the hood is impolite. I fondly remember the good old days when “boys will be boys” and “girls will be girls.” You might now say I’ve been “pregnant” with the idea for this goofy message, but that’s as far as it goes. Phil Osifer