"So, do you want to transition?"

That's not exactly a normal question you would hear at the family dinner table.

But then again, we didn't have what I called a normal family.

The head of our family unit was my sister, the 24-year old brainy, attractive psychology grad student, Kelsey. Then, there was "our" equally attractive, brainy, 24-year-old pyschology grad student roommate, Avery.

There were "our" cats, Thema and Louise. Well, they were actually Kelsey's and Avery's before I moved in.

Then there was me, Reagan Tyler Vaughn, who was hurled into their lives in September 2011 thanks to Islamic terrorists. I was 11 when the airplanes slammed into the World Trade Center.

My sister and Avery were experiencing independence for the first times in their lives, living in a loft apartment while attending NYU. Avery and Kelsey met and became friends when they were undergrads. She was from upstate New York. Her parents ran a country store.

Our mother worked for an accounting firm in the north tower. Our father was a firefighter. By 10 a.m. on 9/11, Kelsey and I were orphans. We had an 80-year-old grandmother who lived in a home on Long Island, and a few aunts, uncles and cousins who lived all over the place.

There was never any question in Kelsey's mind who would take care of me. We had an aunt and uncle in Indiana who offered to take me in and raise me with their brood.

Kelsey refused. I was her responsibility, and she moved me in with her and Avery. Avery was just as gung-ho to help raise me. They threw themselves into converting a study room in the loft into my bedroom.

I became their "special" child. I wasn't your typical "boy."

Kelsey introduced me to her friends as her artsy brother. I loved to paint. I danced. I played the flute. Avery got me involved in drama and had her parents bring her piano to the loft so she could teach me to play.

They doted on me, babied me. Neither of them missed many school functions or recitals. They made costumes, took tons of photos of me with Thelma and Louise. They doted on me so much, their boyfriends were a little jealous.

Kelsey established family dinner time. No eating dinner in front of the television or at the computer. We made the meal together, sat down and talked about our day.

Somehow, shortly before my 13th birthday, we got into a conversation about a subject Kelsey and Avery were involved with at school, working with transgender people and gender varient kids.

"Would you guys hate me if I told you I think I'm transgendered?"

That was the question that would lead to the other question during our family dinner.

The usual 90-words per minute discussion completely came to a halt.

Kelsey put her hand on mine. And Avery started running her fingers through my still blondish, curly hair.

"You're serious?" Kelsey asked.

I shook my head yes, and trying not to cry, thinking I'd done something wrong.

"You have my heart," Kelsey replied. "We will always have your back."

It began an interesting discussion on how my behavior suddenly made sense to my sister. She told Avery about the few times I'd dressed up like a girl.

But really, it wasn't a whole lot.

Avery disappeared for a couple of minutes and then brought back a photo in a frame that sat by her computer.

"My favorite picture of all time," she said of the photo of me sitting on the steps next to a jack-o-lantern, holding Louise. I was dressed in an old leotard and black tights that belonged to Avery. She turned it into a cat costume for Halloween. I wore cat ears. Avery drew whiskers on my face.

"I told Kelse you were almost too pretty to be a boy," Avery said. "You were such a good sport."

"A couple of friends thought you were a girl when we took you took you Trick-or-Treating that night," Kelsey said.

I admitted I pretended to hate wearing that costume.

We talked more about my feelings. Kelsey said she feared it was because I was lived with two young women, and maybe that influenced my feelings.

"Oh no," I said. "I've always wanted to be a girl ..."

I stopped when I said it, that word, a girl.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Avery insisted.

I told Kelsey I couldn't possibly tell mom or dad, especially dad, since he was a firefighter.

But deep down, I was fortunate. My dad was in a manly profession. But he never pushed me to be more manlier. I tried sports, but it wasn't my thing.

But I could never tell him I wanted to be a girl.

So I kept those feelings inside until that night.

Which is what led to Avery's somewhat awkward question that would eventually change my life.

It caught me off guard.

I wanted to say yes, but was afraid of what Kelsey might say.

Kelsey sensed my apprehension.

"I think we need to take things one step at a time," Kelsey said. "And not make rash decisions. But I do want to take him to see Dr. Broder and see what she thinks."

Dr. Emily Broder was the head of Kelsey's and Avery's department at school. She was their supervisor.