I sit in the GP’s office. He asks: “So, when did you know?” I say: “Always.” Because I’ve heard that simplicity gets results. It is one phrase that has spanned my lifetime. No matter what setting, country or occasion, it remains undefeatable. Like a cockroach that refuses to disappear, it doesn’t care which part of my life I am in; it will always emerge: “So, when did you know?”
People always ask me this, or, if I am not around, they will ask my mother, or a friend, or even a teacher I haven’t seen in years – “So, when did Travis … you know?” The “you” and “know” will come with verbalised italics. If an emoji could appear out of thin air, it would be the eyes darting to the side of the room accompanied by a vague hand gesture, as if to say: so, when was it clear Travis would become a cross-dressing deviant who is straying from God’s path?
