Dear Family, 

If you are reading this, you may have noticed a couple of things.

First and foremost, I have not written a letter since April. I swear I’ve been meaning to, but I only ever manage to find the motivation in the middle of a month, at which point I think, “Well, I should just wait until the end. That way, I’ll have some semblance of a schedule, even if I skip a month.” As you can infer, that has not been working out for me.

The second thing you may have noticed is that I’m writing (and hopefully posting) over a week before the end of the month. For aforementioned reasons, I have decided that I’m not going to worry too much about adhering to a strict schedule. I want to publish these at least approximately once a month, but if I get too hung up on doing it the “right” way, that won’t happen. So, you might be getting future letters in the middle of the month. We’ll see how it goes.

This letter is going to be long. You probably aren’t going to read to the end. That’s why I’m posing this very important question here: What do you call these things? I need to know for reasons that I shall enumerate in a future letter. 

Alright, that’s out of the way. Onward!

Work

Gosh, where do I even start? The end of last school year? Summer camp? Should I do this in chronological order? That’s probably the best way to do it, right? 

I won’t, though. I’m going to start with yesterday. Or, rather, the work I’ve been doing for the past couple weeks in preparation for yesterday. See, we had a “milk and cookies social” during aftercare for parents to come in during KAH to meet us staff, and such. Chris (the director) was planning to just buy a bunch of oreos, but I, being both a show-off and a creature of hubris, volunteered to make the cookies for the event. I have brought large batches of home-baked desserts to share with the kids before, and I like to think that I have something of a reputation.

Chocolate chip cookies are the classic milk-and-cookies cookie, so of course I had to make those. Here’s the thing, though—everyone’s had a chocolate chip cookie before. Most people already have personal preconceived notions of what a chocolate cookie should be. Some prefer chewy. Or soft. Or fluffy. Or crunchy. No batch of cookies can live up to all those expectations at once. As a result, I’ve been hesitant to bring them in the past and instead gone with less conventional options, such as double chocolate cookies with spooky eyeballs in October, pumpkin spice snickerdoodles in November, and ten chocolate cream pies on Pi Day. Like I said—I’m our center’s resident baker. I’ve got to uphold my reputation. That’s why I decided to also make some jam sandwich cookies. Surely, if my chocolate chip cookies failed to meet someone’s prior expectations, these would make up for it. 

And it worked. 

I showed up to work yesterday with the 350-ish cookies (I think? I lost count around 250) that I had been working on for over a week. (Dad was kind enough to drive me, as my other option would be pushing them the uphill half-mile walk in a wheelbarrow.) Chris had also purchased eight packs of Oreos—he clearly hadn’t expected me to make as many as I had. Parents started coming in around 5:30, at which point one coworker and I started distributing the cookies to everyone. 

Under my veneer of pride-bordering-on-arrogance, I was squirming with anxiety. I hadn’t tasted the cookies yet. I couldn’t bring myself to, out of fear that they were terrible. Had I over-browned the butter in the chocolate chip cookies? Had I accidentally omitted the baking powder from the jam sandwiches? Was the small batch of vegan, gluten-free chocolate cookies (which I had made and set aside for the kids with allergies) even remotely edible?

Then people—kids and parents alike—started coming back for seconds. And thirds and fourths. They complimented them. They said I could start a business. They asked if they could bring a couple home to save for later. Of course, I initially assumed that they were just being polite, but after a while, the anxiety ebbed away. 

Despite all this, we only got through about half. I had greatly overestimated the number of attendees. Anyone want some leftover cookies?

Okay, now for a roughly-chronological summary of the rest of the past five months:

I taught some kids how to make flower crowns out of the little white clover flowers that grow in abundance around the school. It started a trend. Some made chains that were several feet long and tried to use them as jump ropes. It didn’t work.

In May, I led the Secret Agent Club. Several of the activities I planned for it completely flopped. One ended with me having a panic attack in the closet. Others went incredibly well! The treasure hunt I organized got some of the kids who hadn’t even wanted to participate at first asking if I could make another one when they were done. I’d go into more detail, but I just spent about 500 words on cookies, so I shan’t. 

During summer break, I worked at one of KAH’s several camps, Explorers. It’s a nine-week program where we take rising second- to fourth-graders on a different field trip every day. We went to a lot of beaches and waterparks, as well as rock climbing places, hikes, and ropes courses. You know, things that are a lot more fun when you’re not supervising a whole bunch of children. I had to spend over five minutes trying to talk a kid through the process of climbing down a ladder from the ground when we were getting ready to leave the ropes course, which was… frustrating. But that was also the day I got to help a girl face her fears and go from openly weeping at the prospect of getting on a zipline to excitedly leading the way to the next obstacle, so I guess that’s one of those sweet, rewarding moments. 

A similarly rewarding moment happened while we were at the pool. As I was getting out of the water to head to the restroom, I came across a group of people—some Explorers, others not—clustered around a huge beetle near the pool. It was really cool, and since I don’t have quite enough faith in the general public to believe that no one would try to squash it, I joined them and suggested we move it to the bushes. Issue was, the beetle was very clearly a pinchy fellow, so no one wanted to pick it up with their bare hands. So a kid in my group who I shall codename Entomon (for obvious-ish reasons) went over to grab her towel. 

While she was doing that, I heard a teenager behind me say, in a tone of absolute disgust, “Ugh, why’s it so big?” That got me feeling a little defensive of the beetle. It didn’t ask to be big! Heck, it was probably wondering the same thing about us! So I said, without really thinking about the implications, “I don’t know, why are you so big?” 

I swear, it wasn’t my intention to be nasty. I was using the word “you” to mean humans in general. I don’t even know if the person I was addressing was big by human standards—I was too busy watching the beetle to look at them. It was awkward.

Anyway…

Entomon returned and picked the beetle up with her towel-covered hand, and we brought it over to some bushes at the edge of the pool property, joined by a random girl from a completely unaffiliated camp. Both of them asked if I could text a picture of the beetle to their respective moms, and I obliged—a little reluctantly in the case of the second girl, since it felt a little strange to text the parent of a complete stranger. I’m glad I did, though, because her mom texted me back with excitement and appreciation. I think it’s really sweet that this kid would see this beetle and think, “Oh man, Mom would love this.”

I brought one of my mermaid tails to the beach a couple of times, figuring the kids would get a kick out of it. I was right, and I learned later that it appeared on KAH’s Instagram story

The last day of Explorers was a trip to Medieval Times, followed by a movie. For several years, tradition has been to dress up for this trip. Not necessarily medieval clothes, just fancy. And, well, it may be the wrong century, but what’s fancier than a top hat? 

I was informed by kids that I looked like:

• a magician
• a prince
• the Monopoly man
• a banker
• Willy Wonka 

and, my personal favorite:

• the government

Actual Vacation

We went to Oglebay for a Willis family reunion in August and to Portland for my Aunt Carrie’s wedding this past month. You can read about those in Dad’s letters, because this one is already far too long and is only getting longer.

Surgery Preparation 

Now that the life-consuming baking endeavor has come to an end, I can finally focus on other tasks. Most notably, the tasks I need to finish in preparation for my upcoming surgery.

As you may or may not be aware, I am nonbinary, specifically agender. I identify as neither male nor female. Related to this, I experience dysphoria regarding my chest. Fortunately, that shall soon be no more. On October 11, I am going to undergo top surgery, also known as chest masculinization (though that latter term doesn’t feel like it fits for me, since I don’t identify as male). 

As is the case with most surgeries, top surgery recovery is a pain. I will have to stay home from work for about two weeks. I won’t be able to shower for about one, and it will be a while before I’ll be allowed to raise my arms above shoulder level or lift more than five pounds. 

I’m taking a lot of preparatory measures to keep myself healthy and sane during recovery. I’ve been trying to clean my disaster bedroom and batch cook some meals to freeze. I’ve compiled a wishlist of recovery supplies that I’m asking for as birthday gifts, since that will be six days before the procedure. 

I’m excited beyond belief. I scheduled the consultation back in February, at which point the soonest availability was May. Then the soonest availability for the surgery was, of course, October. This has been months in the making, and it’s finally happening. 

Hobbies

I’ve started scrapbooking! Now I have a use for all my stickers, and even the plants I’ve pressed! I’ll eventually share some pictures, but not today. 

I think this letter is over now, so I guess it’s time for a conclusion. This is always the hardest part for me. How do people end letters? Do they summarize everything, like in an essay? Do they share an inspirational quote? 

Hey, actually, that’s an idea. Here’s your kid quote of the month (or past several), courtesy of a second grader codenamed Mastermind, in reference to me:

“He—she—this mystery was helping me first.” 

Who says transgender topics are difficult for kids to grasp? 

Love, 
Ari