It's the 1993 March on Washington for Lesbian, Gay and Bi Equal Rights and Liberation, and the full-length turquoise chiffon he's bought from San Francisco is too warm for the weather.
Finally we get together an ensemble: a short black jersey skirt, a black lace-trimmed camisole, my yin yang earrings and Stuart's blue plaid high tops. He takes forever putting on his red lipstick, blue-green eye shadow (would have been perfect with the turquoise dress), and he borrows my eyeliner for that perfect beauty mark over the right cheek bone.
"At least she's wearing sensible shoes," someone yells as we walk down to the Washington D.C. Mall to meet the PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) contingent.
The next day I begin to question the advisability of marching with our queer son in drag. Was this good for the media to see? How did the other PFLAG parents feel about my son in drag? Were we feeding into the right-wing hate mongers with their anti-sodomy and Bible signs? Should I ask the other parents what they thing?
As I've heard my son and his friends say often, "Get over it!"
The truth is that the diversity among PFLAG parents is as varied as the opinions of men and women in the gay community. Not every parent is comfortable with their son in a dress or with the word "queer." But we are united in spreading the word that our children are perfect the way they are. We are united in ending hatred and bigotry. We speak to schools, religious institutions, family and friends.
We are not all the same and need to rejoice in our diversity. We are full of complexities and contradictions. My husband Howard, for example, is a chemical engineer and a folk dance teacher. He's danced in skirts and still refuses to return my silver earring cuff. I work in a library, lift weights, and appreciate women with all shapes of bellies.
Once my son asked me why I couldn't be a normal mom, stay home and bake chocolate chip cookies. But deep down I know he is anxious to see the red Gunne Sax dress with the white satin trim and pearl buttons that I found for him in a thrift shop. Deep down I know he loves me just the way I am.
Laura Siegel, Copyright 1993
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