What is "Kid Friendly" Gay Culture?
Is There a Right Kind of Queer Education for Children?
One last Pride Month essay, and it’s a long-ish one. Stay with me! So….
A dear friend of mine, a gay man of a slightly older vintage, recently expressed uneasiness about my stance on Drag Queen Story Hour. Like many kind hearted, liberal minded people, he sees nothing harmful in a man donning exaggerated makeup and costume, to read Mother Goose to tots. Sounds benign to me, too. After all, kids just see a clown, right? It’s all in good fun! I asked him if he’d done a YouTube crawl and perhaps seen the more lewd exhibitions that pass for “story hour:” the dick jokes, the bouncing bare silicone titties, the go-go back up boys twerking, the little kids sent tottering up with dollar bills to stuff down Miss Whoseywhatsit’s faux cleavage. My friend hadn’t. All he’d heard was that far right homophobic a-holes were trying to legislate against drag queens for a little good clean “Once Upon a Time” with the kiddies. And so, my point: there shouldn’t be any calls for anti-drag anything—if adult gay culture wasn’t being imposed where it needn’t be.
When I was a child, the closest things to drag I was exposed to…? Mother Ginger, with her giant hoop skirt concealing a corps de ballet of children in The Nutcracker. Or the Ugly Sisters in pantos of Cinderella. Danny Kaye and Bing Crosby in White Christmas, prancing about with feather fans, lip-synching to Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen. Or my all-time favorite—Bugs Bunny as Carmen Miranda! And yes, of course—I was the kid fascinated by the allure of gowns and makeup. When the dressing up box came out, I made a beeline for the sparkles and the tutus.
Little children are curious and playful. Picking something pretty at playtime? Innocuous. What hurt as a wee gay boy was the bullying from other boys who teased me for being girly. The lines were quite clearly drawn, back in the early 1970s, as to what was boy stuff and what was girl stuff…at least until Marlo Thomas and Gloria Steinem and the Ms. Foundation came along, and started giving tomboys and sissies permission to redefine the binaries. I’ve written about the wonderful album and TV special I grew up with: Free To Be…You and Me—check it out.
The well-meaning but imprudent progressives who conceived Drag Queen Story Hour believe that they’re giving young prospective gays, lesbians, non-binarians and other queer folk of the future “positive” LGBT-etc+ influences by bringing the sashay shante into elementary schools. The trouble is, their perceptions of what is gay or queer are based on adult gay cultural paradigms. The art of drag—an art form I love, and know inside out and backwards—in heels—is an adult gay art form. Drag emerged long ago as a subversive expression for a subverted and subterranean culture. Granted, it’s mainstream now, and go girl, go!—but it’s still tethered to its ribald roots and flamboyant defiance of norms—and that’s why we love it! To quote Jerry Herman: “I bang my own drum— some think it’s noise: I think it’s pretty!” I have no doubt at all that the drag performers who read to kids are lovely people who mean well, and that the more vulgar spectacles are the exception, not the rule—but we all know those spectacles get the most air time, and inspire angry backlash.
I could go off about the threats to LGBT civil rights and all our hard-earned gains, brought on as the result of actions taken by those with poor judgment and worse taste, who seem oblivious to what we went through to prove to the bigots and homophobes that we’re not a danger to kids. It might be fun for some Moms and Dads to sit around the children’s reading room at the public library with their progressive friends, snapping and hooting “Work it, girl!” at some fanny-shaking drag performer; or coo “awwws” and “ohhhhs” as little Billy tips the diva a sweaty dollar bill. But they’re deluded if they think that’s providing some kind of positive or affirmative sense of gayness or queerness that will shape those kids into the uber-progressive, liberal, post-gender generation of inclusive, kumbaya humans of the future. You’re just making things tough for the folks who fought for those future adults’ right to marry the person they love; to live out and proud without fear of persecution.
So, here’s a question:
What would pass muster as age appropriate, gay/queer KID’S CULTURE?
We could free kids to play with gender, to try on “girl stuff” and “boy stuff” without shame, bullying, confusion or conclusions. Instead of Drag Queen Story Hour, how about letting the kids act out the story? Do it as a little read-aloud play, and allow the children to play whatever parts they want, be they boy or girl…or frog. Little Matthew gets to play Snow White this time. Or wee Becky dons the eye patch and the parrot to “ARRR” her best Long John Silver?
How about we introduce kids to dress-up traditions that they might not have heard of? When Purim comes around, for example, the Jewish kids could share the fun of the Purim spiel at school—and everyone gets their pick of costume: Queen Esther? Or King Ahasuerus? Just getting first graders to say “Ahasuerus” would make for hours of hilarity! When the kids reach their tweens and teens, introduce them to the gender-bending joys of Shakespeare. How about exploring some Japanese culture, by sharing the traditions of Kabuki Theatre and the artistry and beauty of the onnagata?
The most important thing is to let the kids be kids for as long as possible. My Mom knew I was gay from a very early age. Fortunately, she didn’t try to “butch me up,” or squelch my sensitivity and creativity. I’m sure she suffered, watching me be picked on and excluded every single day. Isn’t that the stuff today’s kids shouldn’t have to go through? Bullying like that is called out and punished now, right? If the little sissy boys can dig around in the skirts and tiaras without fear, and the tomboys can rough and tumble with abandon, then in time, sure, some might come to realize that they’re gay, or lesbian, or non-binary, or maybe they’ll find they were just kids trying something on for size, and their sense of self leads them down a more “traditional” route.
I don’t know if it’s easier in 2023 to teach kids about where babies come from, and give teens going through puberty honest and healthy sex education. I’ve heard a great many stories about kids sexualizing too young: scared, insecure girls in middle school performing oral sex for popularity points; young boys accessing hard core porn online, reaching adolescence mimicking violent, degrading behavior they think proves their manhood.
Young gay boys like me, back in the day…? You might have found yourself in a little innocent circle jerk with some buddies in a tent, after lights out at sleep-away camp. But more likely…you were lured into secret “moments” with your camp counselor. Or your priest. Or you were offered a ride home from school by some kindly man…who took a detour first. One that changed you forever.
Should kids be taught about gay and lesbian sexuality while they’re learning about the birds and the bees, and rolling condoms over bananas? I think so. But, parents should always be in the loop when it comes to their minor child’s sex education. I can’t begin to know what it must be like to parent a child or an adolescent in this current culture…I have a couple of friends with teen and pre-teen kids, and most of the time they look like they just crawled out of Patty Hearst’s closet.
But parents are the parents—not teachers. A teacher has no business coaxing a child into a secret confidence about their gender or their sexuality, and keeping Mom and Dad in the dark. It’s not a teacher’s job to steer a confused and vulnerable kid toward one identity or another, driven by their personal ideological convictions; to burden them with adult concepts of sexuality or sexual orientation too soon; or exacerbate feelings of alienation from their own beautiful body. Great teachers can illuminate one’s childhood, fostering a sense of curiosity and pleasure in learning that carries them with confidence throughout life.
The best recommendation I could make to schools and youth organizations who wish to introduce positive images and narratives about, and for, LGBT+ kids? Screen the film Everybody’s Talking About Jamie for your middle schoolers and high school students. Based on the true story of a gay teen in an English industrial town who dreams of becoming a drag queen, this fresh and optimistic pop musical is still touring around the UK, set for a return West End run in 2024. The first time I watched the film version, I wept from start to finish. When I was a little boy named Jamie, such a movie would have been unthinkable. The story tackles bullying, and depicts parents who accept, and also, sadly, reject their gay kid. Jamie finds a mentor in a veteran drag queen (played wonderfully by Richard E. Grant) who educates him about the history of drag, and the rough road he walked in his stilettos: the battle for LGBT rights, and the devastation of AIDS. Jamie ends his journey in triumph—and a dress—as prom becomes a celebration of all young people expressing themselves with joy.
I’ll leave you with one of my favorite stories about my Mom. In 1982, I was about to graduate the early college Simon’s Rock, and planned to move in with my Mom in Boston, to begin my four years of acting training at Boston University. I had blossomed in so many ways at Simon’s Rock, and I’d experimented, tentatively, with my sexuality—with girls and boys. But after all the years of bullying and abuse, to actually come out and admit I was gay—which in my mind, at seventeen, meant admitting the bullies were right…? I wasn’t ready for that. My Mom just wanted me to be happy. Her very best friend was gay; she ran a theatre company, for crying out loud. She wanted me to know before I moved home that I could be open with her and find love and acceptance. But how to open that conversation…?
It happens that in 1982, a movie called Making Love had just been released. It was the first mainstream American film that dealt (somewhat) frankly with homosexuality. It starred Kate Jackson, of Charlie’s Angels fame, a handsome actor named Michael Ontkean (whose career would be destroyed because of this film), and a hairy-chested hunk named Harry Hamlin (whose career, interestingly, was not destroyed because of this film). The story’s about a lovely 30-something married couple living a lie: the husband (Ontkean) is deeply in the closet. It will take a swaggering, sexually promiscuous stud (Hamlin) to pull him out of it. The two men have an affair, Ontkean falls in love with Hamlin; he comes out to his wife, shattering their perfect suburban life. Hamlin, feeling trapped, abandons Ontkean, leaving him desolate. But all is not lost! In a somewhat contrived epilogue—one that was quite progressive for the ‘80s—we fast forward to a rosy future, where Kate has remarried, Ontkean has found a straight arrow to be his gay partner (more than three decades before marriage equality), and the two couples remain friends, bringing casseroles to each other’s picturesque suburban homes, as Roberta Flack coos the title song, and the credits roll.
Now, this was an R-rated feature, that I knew nothing about. My Mom took me to see it while I was home on vacation. There was no one else at the screening. As the story unfolded, I began to squirm with discomfort. Then the scene came where Hamlin and Ontkean have their first clandestine tryst. It was the first time I had ever seen two men kiss. I’m pretty sure I blushed over my entire body. I was horrified and titillated at the same time. After the flick, we left the theatre without a word…I was so flummoxed I couldn’t even look at Mom. We got in the car and drove silently home. After a bit, she broke the silence. “Isn’t it great that they both found someone to love? And that they were able to stay friends and accept each other?” I wanted to sink into the floor. “Uh-huh,” I murmured. We didn’t discuss it further. A year later, I officially came out to her.
I will never forget her beautiful, awkward, loving, hopeful attempt at finding a way to get her gay son to speak his truth. My seventeen year-old self was mortified to be sitting beside my mother when I saw two guys kiss for the first time. But my adult self looks back at that moment with immense gratitude that I had a Mom like that, who cared enough to try and share something grown-up and gay with me. Parents—you know? You will most likely fail more than you succeed. You will. You’ll embarrass the hell out of your kids, and they’ll be horrified by you, and swear never to forgive you, as they stomp to their rooms and slam their doors. But mark my words: they will someday be filled with love for the flawed, ungainly attempts you make. Don’t let activist teachers, or Woke neighbors, or drag queens (fabulous though they are), or their angry conservative detractors, or Tik Tok raise your beautiful children, gay, straight or other. Do it yourself. To quote John C. Maxwell: “Fail early, fail often, but always fail forward.”
Bravo! This is one of the best essays I've ever read. I'm upgrading to "Paid" to support your work. Happy Pride!!!
Your fine writing and expressive talents tell me a wonderful book is waiting under your pen. A very close friend, F, came out to us in college; "I hope this doesn't hit you like a ton of bricks," he said, "but I'm gay." We replied over our glasses of beer, "We hope this doesn't hit you like a ton of bricks F, but we've known you were gay since kindergarten." This was the late 70s where a broad acceptance of gayness seemed to be happening. We had a very open and interesting conversation; "Ask me anything," F insisted. One thing F said that stayed with me: "You lust after whoever you're going to lust after."