Recently, as I was leaving the elementary school of my daughter, a fellow parent called out to me, “Are you always here?” She leaned across the front seat of her van, and I had to admit, she was right. My presence at the school is quite frequent. I walk my daughter to class daily, volunteer weekly in her classroom, lead an after-school program, and do my best to attend as many school field trips and events as possible. I’ve made it a point to connect with the principal, my daughter’s teachers, and her friends.
As my first grader walked ahead of me, I poked my head through my friend’s van window and said, “It certainly feels that way.” She praised my dedication and patience, which was nice to hear. However, I shared my deeper motivation for being so involved: “Someone has to show these kids what queer looks like.”
She chuckled, understanding my point. In our relatively accepting community, my children are still unique among their peers as the only ones with two moms. I often get mistaken for their father, and my gender-nonconforming appearance is something that initially confuses the kids. But I’ve learned to embrace this confusion.
For every child who thinks I’m my daughter’s dad, or who whispers to a friend questioning my gender, I see a chance for a meaningful conversation. I can affirm their observations and teach them about diversity beyond the typical curriculum. I tell them that there’s no right or wrong way to express gender, and that what matters is respecting how people choose to present themselves. Just by being there, I’m reshaping what they see as normal. I’m not only helping them with their writing projects but also normalizing our queer family and my masculine presentation.
I also volunteer for kids who might be influenced by less accepting views at home. For example, there’s a boy whose dad wears an NRA hat and an All Lives Matter T-shirt. While I respect that he loves his child just as fiercely as I love mine, I can’t help but feel that he might harbor some closed-minded beliefs. I noticed how he looked at me with judgment, yet I still smiled and waved, reminding myself why I’m there. I am the representation I lacked as a child, embodying the queer culture and diversity I want to see more of in the world.
There are children in that school who will eventually come out and need to identify with someone like me. Whether I show up or not, there are students silently seeking the courage to embrace their identities. I recognize that I may be their only exposure to a more varied and open perspective. I might even be a source of hope for closeted kids who aren’t sure where to turn.
While I want to help them learn how to write, what’s more important to me is supporting them in finding self-acceptance and understanding the beauty of differences. As a child, I didn’t have that representation; all I saw was bigotry and reasons to hide. I eventually found my way out, but I wish I had known earlier that people like me existed.
Sometimes, you have to be the change you wish to see in the world. So I continue to show up, day after day.