I don't use pronouns about people who don't want it. No one should. And the "he"s and the "she"s who have chosen their pronoun, are respectfully called by their choice.

Many people tell us "Oh, I could never do that! It's much to complicated! It's just the way it is! Language!" As if language could never be changed.

It is surprisingly easy: One simply puts one's mind to it.

Language as an excersise in change is easily attainable. Language is there. It is used, misused, bent and reinvented, contantly in flux. I have always loved language, it's turns and twists a playground. I was still thrown onto an unknown part of that playground when I met Caro. "Impossible!" said a friend when I told him about Caro not wanting either "he", "she" or other varieties such as "s/he" or the Norwegian "hin". Just nothing. No gender. No pronoun.

I do it. I use no pronoun; I read no gender.

I speak differently now. I even think differently; certainly about language, but also about people. Language is a powerful link to our history, but it is also a pair of binoculars making out the vivid soon-to-be. It constantly indoctrinates us, it eases us and sends us into war. Language is all.

And they say it can't be changed!

Caro has broad shoulders, a bare chest, long legs. The neighbours in our communal garden vary in using "he" and "she", the lesbian identified often choosing the "she", the heterosexual identified "he". The explanation of why both are wrong often too big a project to enter. Most of our friends try to get it right. Most of them fail.

The pronouns are naturalized signs of a rather arbitrary oppressive categorization. They are part of the production of difference, oppositions, limitations. In our family we choose to do better. It's easy. It could be for everybody.