One day, as I sat with Casimir in his room, we came across the matter of gender roles. “You know,” he said, “I deem I still would’ve been called a pansy, if I saw other people on a regular basis. I may not be gay, but I dare say I’m effeminate.” He put one perfectly manicured hand on mine. “But you’d stand up for something that really mattered, wouldn’t you?” I asked. “I’d sure try to,” he replied. “Like if someone was picking on you. Quite frankly, though, I don’t think I’d do much good if I were standing up to another boy. He’d probably just knock me down, and they’d have to carry me away on a a stretcher,” Casimir responded, somewhat wistfully; yet earnest too. I blushed. “As long as you tried,” I giggled. His face got serious for a moment. “It isn’t typical for boys to have eating disorders,” he said grimly. “And most kids don’t have homosexual parents,” I replied. We sat there for a moment, in silence. “But everything will be okay,” I said. Though it was hard to believe, it had to be true.