untitledson’s daycare center recently began offering dance class. For an extra fee, your child can get two 45-minute dance lessons each week. When I first saw it advertised, I passed it up, since he already attends a weekly music class. Don’t want to overprogram the three year-old, only to have him use the karate moves he learned in kindergarten to strongarm the car keys away from me when he is 16, just so he can pick up his weed and his 34 year-old stripper girlfriend.
After the first class, his teachers informed me that he threw a hissy when he wasn’t able to attend dance class with the other children (OK, girls). To be precise, the note on his daily report said, “He REALLY wants to go to dance class.” I told his teachers to let him go to one class, so he could try it out. I figured he would either dig it, or he’d find it a bit offputting that he was the only one not wearing a pink tutu and toe shoes.
Now, I’ve always said my son can grow up to be whomever he wants. I won’t mold him or shape him — I will simply give him enough pizza, applesauce and organic skim milk so he turns out however he was meant to turn out. If I see him tucking his shirt into his underwear, chewing his toenail clippings or huffing his own farts, I might straighten him out there. But other than that, I want him to grow up to be himself.
So why all of a sudden is this crazy homophobic fear gripping me? The pea-sized primordial part of my brain keeps saying, “If you let him attend dance class, he’s gonna go GAAAAAY!” Yeah, I know. It’s ridiculous. You are either born gay or straight — you can’t gay anyone up, just like you can’t straighten anyone out. What’s more, gay is normal, just like brown eyes and curly hair are normal. If he grows up gay, well then by god, he is gay. If one day, he sits me down and says, “Mom, I’m gay,” I’d thank him for being honest about it, and I’d tell him that very few people in this world are courageous enough to be themselves. Dammit, I would LOVE MY BIG GAY SON! I would prepare him, tell him it’s not always going to be easy, given all the ignorant fools out there. But in my home, he’d never feel anything but love and acceptance.
All this being said, I’m still concerned about dance class. Don’t get me wrong — I am going to support and encourage his interest. I just felt the need to come clean and put my dirty rotten thoughts out there. I mean, no one ever talks about it, but don’t we all have thoughts like this sometime? Ever hit the automatic door locks when rolling through a po’ neighborhood? Or do you look into the fat chick’s grocery cart to see how many Ho-Ho’s she’s buying? We need to be honest with each other. Maybe by hanging our horrible thoughts out on a line like a pair of holey underwear — the kind with racing stripes — maybe then we can truly get past it.