Spice Up Your Life

Children are not angels. They are animals—creatures made of flesh and pure instinct. I know because I used to be one—specifically the kind that tends to be on the receiving end of other children’s most unbridled dispositions.

You see, my queerness was printed all over my social and physical being—a girlish face, a skinny body that refused to bulk up when others’ shoulders and jaws squared up with time and testosterone, a voice that clung to improper octaves, making a mockery of maleness. Yes, I was one of those and—of course—everyone could see it.

Children are only innocent in the original meaning of the word. That is, they do not know things, at first, but don’t you dare think they do not learn quickly because they do.

The year was… well, it’s really none of your business but I was twelve. On Sunday afternoons, after all traces of the family lunch had been swept from the dining room, my younger sister and I would push the table and chairs out of the way and wait anxiously for one of our favorite programs—the Top Hits of the Week! She and I would take turns singing the lyrics! Yo, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want! So, tell me what you want, what you really really want! Look. I suppose I aged myself after all… Oh well.

I refuse to get into the sappy details of how free I felt at home where I could simply engage in the choreographies of all the songs I loved without being closely monitored—every flick of the wrist dissected; every high note picked apart; every gyration of the hip judged by eyes that expected only a certain type of expression from me. I will not go into the social cost of my failings as a pretend boy. It was socially expensive—I must admit to that—but also… my tongue was quite sharp; and, on the rare occasions they dared attack in broad daylight, I gave these bitches hell.

Okay, I lied. Maybe I’ll tell you just a little bit about the way things felt, just so you can have a better understanding of the weight of what happened next. What I just described was the relative freedom I had at home but none of this translated outside of the house. So, as far as my body and my true nature allowed, I conformed. I avoided spaces where I knew I was unable to perform gender “correctly”—anything sport that was not dance or gymnastics. I also avoided spaces where my expression of self would be acceptable but where there would be unwanted witnesses—anything sport that actually was dance or gymnastics.

To make a long story short—especially since I am not paying you for this session—one Monday after lunch, I was on a bus, going on an excursion with school, sitting in the back, with my girls, reaching a socially adequate compromise—rapping to Missy Elliott while they sang. This tall guy from my class (who shall remain nameless) stood before me and handed me a flat, square package—obviously a CD.

“I couldn’t come to your birthday party but here’s your present.”

I was speechless. I stared at him then at the package. You know teenagers. I had hundreds of questions. Did he like me? Wasn’t he taking a huge risk by spending precious social currency handing me this present in public?

“Thanks. You didn’t have to.” I tried to be cool and hide my excitement. I’m pretty sure I failed at that too. Oh well.

“I hope you like it.”

“Thanks.” I know. I had already thanked him but what else was I supposed to say?

I am quite proud of myself for not opening it right away and instead sliding it in my backpack between two notebooks so it wouldn’t get crushed. (You know how we did.) I waited patiently all afternoon to get home so I would open it. It was the Spice Girls’ album. I felt so seen, so understood.

Now… Let’s not pretend that it changed my life and that sunshine and roses followed me everywhere, making my days in school a whole new experience. But someone had let me know that it was okay for me to just be me and I could fully enjoy whatever I brought me joy. And no, it was not a cruel prank. Do you know how much CDs used to cost at the time? Bay-bee! This guy was not rich and he was actually my friend. I still have the CD, many years later. It reminds me that children are indeed animals who learn social structures and rules from adults around them; that sometimes, they can be cruel in the way they enforce those rules. However, that CD also let me know that some people can and do break from the herd to celebrate even skinny, girlish, queer little pretend boys. You know what? I’m about to play it right now.

A few moments years later