I stand 5 feet tall in my stocking feet. I am a Japanese-American mother of a transgender son, and I want the world to be safer and more accepting for my child and all lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) individuals. Every day, I try to do something, even if it is small, to create that safer world for my son and others. However, when I have been called an activist, I have looked back with both horror and puzzlement. Me, an activist? I don't think so! I am not loud enough, strong enough or trained enough for this role. But quietly, I realize I have been traveling down the path of activism and taking notes along the way. There are activists who carry bullhorns, and activists who are willing to stand toe-to-toe and face-to-face with strong voices. Sometimes that kind of activism is necessary, but that is not me. And so I continue to look around for ways I can use my voice, my passionate, determined but soft voice, to make changes. Recently I heard a story that made me stop, pull out my pencil and paper and begin to take notes.
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