Monday, January 28, 2008

Priscilla King of the Kindergarten

See what happens when lesbians raise children...

So there we were Bets and I at a fairy princess birthday party in the enormous home of a school friend of Betsy's. We arrived late thanks to an earlier party at an ice-skating rink. The ice-skating party was a funky affair at an outdoor rink where Fat Boy Slim was blasting through speakers and kids and parents were falling all over themselves on the ice.

Walking into the fairy party was like stepping into another world. Middle-aged women dressed as fairy princesses were leading a parade of no less than 30 little girls each - with a musical instrument - around the house. A sweet friend of Betsy's took her hand and wove her into the parade. That left me alone in the manse with nothing to do but attempt to mingle with the other parents.

For me mingling with other parents is one of the hardest parts of parenting, harder even than sleep deprivation, diarrhea and snow days. I swallowed hard and headed for the kitchen.

There they were. Suffice to say it's a multi-million dollar crowd. No joke, our entire condo is the square footage of several of these family's foyers. It's just like that. Because it was an all-girl party none of the other lesbian moms were there. Even though there are six lesbian families in Betsy's class, they're all moms of boys. So there I was, the lone poor white lezzie in a crowd of heterosexual$. And my pants were damp and stained from skating all morning.

Hi everyone.

A dad approached me. The dads are frequently more forthcoming than the moms. Could be the moms are freaked by a lesbo, could be the dads are titillated. I'd seen the dad in question before, he's a short and serious fellow, goatee, crew cut. We got to talking. As we talked about carpool and sleep schedules I couldn't help but notice this man was even shorter than me (and I'm no tall drink of water at only 5'3"), that his voice was, well, high-ish. He looked at me with such an unblinking penetrating stare, I found myself squinting as if to read between the lines.

Blah blah blah about homework and camp.

What's different about this man?

Blah blah blah about after school.

There's something familiar about him.

Blah blah blah about language arts.

Something small and slight and wait a minute!

Blah blah about wood shop.

This man is a woman or was a woman! And I thought I was the odd girl out.

Around us were the straightest, most mainstream gazillionaires. Did they know? We finished our conversation. Our daughters came in for cake and raced away again. We each mingled with other parents and then everyone said their good-byes.

You never know is the moral of this day. The ice skaters with their funky Peruvian hats and beat-up Hondas in fact were all straight and blue-blood. While among the nouveau riche there was a transsexual.

You'd think that'd make mingling fun. But I still shudder at the thought of it. Maybe next time I'll go as a guy.

6 comments:

Ms. Moon said...

Mingling is never fun. It's awkward, artificial and weird, I don't care if you're rich, white, straight, gay, transgendered, whatever...
I always hated that part of child-rearing. I once tried to get my daughter to leave a Brownie function with me to go get tattoos. She wouldn't go but insisted on staying there with all the other kids and moms while I squirmed and wished I was ANYWHERE but there.
Darn her.

Ms. Moon said...

Uh, you know I was joking about the tattoos, right?

Are You My Mothers said...

oh we love tattoos here, temporary and otherwise. did not blink an eye.

Ms. Moon said...

Phew. Good. Now if that had been one of my other children, she would totally have jumped up and said, "All right!" This, however, was not a tattoo kid. She's more a nose-piercing kid.

Sara said...

oooh. we're very big on tatoo's in our family. Walter is covered with 'em. well, if he's in a suit, you have no idea. but a tank top- whoa nelly.

he's a great role model though. my honorary daughter said, I'm going to get a tatto and he said NO. not until your 25.

why?

you don't know who you are until then. and it's like getting married...

how did we get from transgender folks to tatoos?

Ms. Moon said...

Uh- because in some worlds (not saying mine, just saying) they definitely coincide.