The Kids Are Alright

PB & Me. Alexandria, VA. circa 2018. There’s music in the image. :)

My child ("PB") loves to dance. I have videos of him rocking to Shuggie Otis before he could even walk, and swaying his hips to "La Negra Tiene Tumbao" soon after taking his first steps. PB was raised in a home rich with Afro-Latinx and Caribbean culture—reggae and salsa playing, his Abuela singing while preparing a meal, and me, his Mami, spinning around to whatever song came on. His other parent ("OP"), a cishet white man and multifaceted creative, delighted in these moments when we were married.

I started taking Vogue classes at Broadway Dance Center around 2017 and ballroom culture became part of our home life. My brother-friend James, PB and I had playful “battles” in the living room. PB was just a toddler then, but expression through movement, music, and art was (and continues to be) a huge part of how we live.

OP didn’t raise concerns back then, but after our separation—and after I entered a same-sex relationship—something seemed to shift.

Suddenly, my child’s dancing was questioned. I was accused of "teaching him to move his hips in sexual ways." It’s possible that OP’s concerns developed as a result of having less access to my day-to-day life. Around this time (2020), OP made a unilateral decision to switch us into a parallel parenting dynamic. While I had hoped for a more blended, collaborative approach, what followed was a pattern: OP asked for details about my personal life, but shared little about his. When he got engaged and moved his fiancée in to his space (which shifted the living arrangement in PB’s second home), I found out through social media. The expectation seemed to be that I’d remain transparent, while he remained private. Needless to say, I quickly adjusted my boundaries—our communication has since been limited to text or email, and centers our son’s wellbeing. In other words, I’ve held up the structure he put in place.

At home, I focus on cultivating a space where PB feels safe to express himself. That’s shown up in many ways over the years—painting with watercolors, picking out his outfits daily, singing, and connecting with characters he loves. For a while, he was really into Frozen 2. He’d put on one of my billowy robes and belt out "Into the Unknown" while twirling in the living room. You could not tell that baby he wasn’t Elsa, haha.

Because I’m the primary parent, he often watches as I paint my nails, do my makeup, wear jewelry—you know, get dolled up. And like many kids, he wants to play dress up, too. He’s asked to paint his nails, I’ve helped him. it felt harmless, but OP took issue with these things.

PB—this sweet, expressive, curious kid—began to experience subtle shaming. A mermaid clip gifted by his art teacher was questioned. A sequined, hot pink skirt he found at a clothing swap became a concern. His painted nails raised eyebrows. He began feeling self-conscious about his innocent explorations and started to hide them.

One morning, I woke up to find that both of PB’s eyelids were faintly blue. In my groggy state, they looked kinda bruised. I asked him if he’d hurt himself. He hesitated and said "yes." Then I realized that it was highly unlikely for both eyelids to have the same “bruising.” I examined the scene further and discovered blue markings on his fingers, and a blue Crayola marker on his craft table.

"Baby, did you put blue marker on your eyes?"

"Yes, Mami," PB replied, lowering his head shamefully.

"Okay, why did you lie about it? Did you think I was going to be upset with you for putting it on?"

He nodded.

"You don’t have to lie to me about that, baby. If you want color on your eyes, I have eyeshadow—colors that are safe for your skin. Just ask me, and I’ll help you put it on. Please don’t lie to me about being hurt again—that’s not okay."

We made a pact that day. and The next day, he took me up on my offer. After coming home from the farmer’s market, he asked for eyeshadow. I swept a light pink shimmer on his eyes and he was feeling it. Then came a FaceTime call from OP—bursting his little bubble.

During the call, PB was discouraged from and shamed for wearing makeup. He was told it was “for adults.” PB called me in, distressed. Naturally, I stepped in and defended him. It was makeup. At home. With his mom. Nothing unsafe about that.

Since then, I’ve emailed OP, opening a conversation about how to support PB’s self-expression. I’ve yet to receive a response where that is concerned.

Not long after the eyeshadow incident, PB started parroting language that doesn’t exist in our home or his school:

“That’s not for boys. That’s for girls.”

When I asked where he heard that, he said, “My dad.”

So I decided to give him a mini lesson in pop culture. We watched Music videos by Prince, Rick James, and Bowie, and we reviewed images of Dennis Rodman’s most iconic looks. I explained that masculinity and femininity are energies—fluid and creative—and the rules around gender are made up. PB lit up.

A week later, he told me he had a conversation with OP. He posed a hypothetical:

“What if a kid got bullied at school for wearing makeup? How do you think that kid would feel?”

OP stumbled over his words, apparently.

Then PB said, “That’s how you make me feel.”

whew!!! The clarity?!? The courage?!? All him. That’s my baby!!!

Still, the confusion continues. PB RECENTLY received a sample of perfume FROM A LOCAL SHOP and CASUALLY mentioned THIS to OP WHILE PLAYING a game of chess on facetime. This led to a lecture about Perfume being "inappropriate” for kids—just like cigarettes, alcohol, and sex. He went on to ask PB “Do you know what ‘sexual’ means?”

I pulled him from the conversation immediately.

How did we get from fragrance—a sensory experience—to perversion? What is the correlation between PB’s perfume sample and things that are actually inappropriate for children? Like… who smells perfume and says “I need a glass of wine, a cigarette, and a good lay?” What The actual fuck?!?

All of this is especially confusing coming from OP, Someone who works in fashion—an industry shaped and driven by the LGBTQ+ community. Someone who has long been close to queerness, Blackness, Latinidad. Someone who was married to a queer Black woman. Who now shares life and business with yet another Black woman.

What does it mean to benefit from these identities in love and work, and then reject any semblance of them when they appear in your child?

Shame is usually passed down under the label of protection. Because I was once married to OP, there are things i know that aren’t mine to name. What I will say is there may be unspoken history that hasn’t been fully explored or integrated. Unresolved tension paired with fear can often show up as projection.

That said, children are here to walk their own paths. As parents, we have the sacred task of guiding them along the way. All we can do is our best to keep them healthy, happy and safe.

At a recent Mother’s Day pop-up, I met some really dope individuals— including a boomer who shared part of her story. She told us that she has a child who identifies as trans. When they came out, She admitted that her resistance put a strain on their relationship. They ended up going to therapy. With time, she said, “I started to see myself in my child. And I realized—it’s really not a big deal. They just want to be themselves, to exist.”

That story stuck with me. It reminds me that it’s possible for Resistance to soften into acceptance.

PB is growing—I’m not sure who he will become. But today, I take pride in nurturing this exuberant, imaginative, charming, thoughtful, empathetic, intelligent, kind and loving little boy.

I know he is and will be alright.