Protect Trans Youth

Forever fearful of the sanctity of his home, Trump is super into toilets. On February 22 Press Secretary Sean Spicer was asked about the administration’s plans regarding “transgender bathrooms in schools.” You can read the press briefing here, but Spencer concluded his answer with, “I’ve made this clear and the President has made it clear throughout the campaign that he is a firm believer in states’ rights and that certain issues like this are not best dealt with at the federal level.” Not surprisingly, this in opposition to what the administration Obama was saying last May, “Under Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972, schools receiving federal money may not discriminate based on a student’s sex, including a student’s transgender status. The guidance makes clear that both federal agencies treat a student’s gender identity as the student’s sex for purposes of enforcing Title IX.” Those opposed to these guideline’s revocations have made a call to ‘Protect Trans Youth’.

Even more recently, in Texas, a transgender boy wins the girls state wrestling title after being denied the ability to compete in the boys state championships. A Toronto Star article reports, “Beggs fell to his knees for a moment after the win as a mixture of cheers and boos rained down on him. He then hugged his coach and left the mat.” Of course Mack Beggs should have been allowed to compete with the boys. But there are those claiming he is taking testosterone in order to cheat (Eye. Roll.)

Some Canadians like to point and laugh at the U.S. claiming we do not harbour such bigotry here, they’re wrong of course. Right now Bill C-16, and act to amend the Canadian Human Rights Act and the Criminal Code by adding gender identity and fender expression to the list of prohibited grounds of discrimination, stands stalled in the Senate. The wait music are the hateful words of people like University of Toronto professor Jordan Peterson and Conservative politician Pierre Lemieux. Tune their bigotry out with the typing of your keyboard and write to these Senators to discuss Bill C-16 on Gender Identity and Expression.

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‘Queer parenting info’

I saw this pamphlet, titled ‘LGB Parenting for Family and Friends: Queer Parenting Info’ and picked it up to share its resources. I will leave the comments on for this post, feel free to add your experiences with these places, or if there are some you know of that should be added xo

LGBTQ Parenting Network, Sherbourne Health Centre

Queer Parenting Programs, The 519 Community Centre

Rainbow Health Ontario, Sherbourne Health Centre

Children of Lesbians and Gays Everywhere (COLAGE)

Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG)

Gay Fathers of Toronto


Proud Parenting

GQTGParenting – Trans and Genderqueer Parenting

T.O. Parent – Ontario LGBT Parent Matchmaker

Family Equality Council

Families Like Mine

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Excerpt from Theory as Liberatory Practice by bell hooks

I love reading bell hooks, I love children, I love questioning the things that do not feel right. This is an excerpt from hooks’s Theory as Liberatory Practice.

“I came to theory young, when I was still a child. In The Significance of Theory Terry Eagleton says:

‘Children make the best theorists, since they have not yet been educated into accepting our routine social practices as ‘natural’, and so insist on posing to those practices the most embarrassingly general and fundamental questions, regarding them with a wondering estrangement which we adults have long forgotten. Since they do not yet grasp our social practices as inevitable, they do not see why we might not do things differently.’

Whenever I tried in childhood to compel folks around me to do things differently, to look at the world differently, using theory as intervention, as a way to challenge the status quo, I was punished. I remember trying to explain at a very young age to Mama why I thought it was highly inappropriate for Daddy, this man who hardly spoke to me, to have the right to discipline me, to punish me physically with whippings: her response was to suggest I was losing my mind and in need of more frequent punishment.

Imagine if you will this young black couple struggling first and foremost to realize the patriarchal norm (that is of the woman staying home, taking care of household and children while the man worked) even though such an arrangement meant that economically, they would always be living with less. Try to imagine what it must have been like for them, each of them working hard all day, struggling to maintain a family of seven children, then having to cope with one bright-eyed child relentlessly questioning, daring to challenge male authority, rebelling against the very patriarchal norm they were trying so hard to institutionalize.

It must have seemed to them that some monster had appeared in their midst in the shape and body of a child-a demonic little figure who threatened to subvert and undermine all that they were seeking to build. No wonder then that their response was to repress, contain, punish. No wonder that Mama would say to me, now and then, exasperated, frustrated: ‘I don’t know where I got you from, but I sure wish I could give you back.'”

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Dancing dads

nofairMy daughter is a performer and can’t get on stage enough. I have attended many a recital and seen more than a few ‘dancing dads’. Recital organizers will sometimes ask dancers’ dads if they want to learn an easy routine and perform it in the recital to add a bit of comedy. These acts are cute and show a dad’s involvement, cool. But, there’s always a but.

These dances operate with a man/woman binary, right away excluding families living outside of cis heteronormativity. It also sends the message that dads are the fun ones. Listen, I am totally fun. I am a fucking hoot. I get jealous that as a mom I don’t get to let loose. I am not allowed to be comfortable enough with my body to look foolish. I am expected to move gracefully and with ease. People would more likely evaluate the size of my belly before cheering me on. It is assumed that as a ‘good mother’ I am already involved, I don’t need any prodding. There is this assumption that when fathers parent it is a treat to be celebrated and rewarded. It is assumed that Dad will be goofy and mess it up, leaving a mess for Mom, which she will merrily clean up. This isn’t good messaging. Also, men dancing are supposed to be hilarious because dancing is girly and frivolous, that’s really not good messaging.

What if the dancing dads act is open to everyone? Would it be assumed to be a mom’s job? Would it add more labour for Mom and take away a socially acceptable way to join in for Dad? This issue is a symptom of gender binaries and patriarchal motherhood.

Back to how I am not allowed to be hilarious. You know, the real meat of this issue. Comedian Louis CK, an affluent white man, gets on stage, calls his kid a ‘cunt’, and is showered in approval and cash. If I did that I would not be a ‘good mother’. If I did that there would be a fucking petition going around and perhaps an awareness raising hashtag. I just want to swear and be asked to dance.

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I can’t afford to be honest

Truth is, I am actually Geena Davis, playing the role of Barbara Maitland.

There are aspects of my life that are considered to be morally wrong under dominant narratives. I am living off my student loans and am unmarried. I have an invisible disability and a past that many people seem to file under ‘white trash.’ My daughter has ADHD, but since there is such a crusade to discredit this diagnoses a lot of the time I hear whispers, if not to my face, comments about how I am a bad mother. There are things that I shouldn’t hide, and since I go back and forth between ‘playing the game’ and using my stories to bring light to social issues, I find that I sometimes police myself.

A big thing I go back and forth on is how upfront I am about the abuse I lived through with my daughter’s father. On one hand, I want to speak up because a huge reason domestic violence is so prevalent is because people are forced to stay silent. I am in a position now where I am safe to speak about it. I am white and in university so people seem to listen to me more now than when I was Oshawa ‘white trash.’* I am aware that my privileges afford me credibility, as sickeningly problematic as that is. I am also in a position where I feel I am able to discuss this abuse with an articulation I previously did not have as I was still on the mend emotionally. My support system is also stronger these days. On the other hand, things are not finalized legally and the stronger a hold my ex has on my family, the more danger this imposes.

Everything is a different kind of risk when a little one is involved, where do I draw the line between what is right and what is dangerous to her? When she is late for school because of my own illness, I don’t feel comfortable disclosing this reason with the office while getting a late slip. If I am mentally ‘unwell’ how can I possibly parent? This is the same reason why I referred to the food bank as the ‘free store’ while using it. I was terrified that if her school found out we were using a food bank, or if her dad found out, children’s aid would be called. That is wrong, and ridiculous, but it is true. In an article I have cited before, ‘Free-Range Parenting is a Privilege for the White and Affluent‘ writer and mother Stephanie Land says, “I am white, but because I am poor, the thought of police entering my life for any reason makes me fearful.” This quote speaks to me. I have been failed by police and children’s aid so often in the past, and though things have been easier lately in this regard, it is because of the effort I put into performing middle class in certain situations. For example, we’re white, so ill fitting clothing is alternative and eccentric, not necessarily poor – again, so fucked up and indisputably racist. It is all about survival.

My daughter is eight now and we haven’t used the food bank in a couple of years. We are more comfortable now in a as-long-as-nothing-goes-wrong kind of way; and in a, let’s face it, while I am living primarily off student loans and grants kind of way. I have since told her what it is and I get sad I ever called it a store in the first place. Having had to use the food bank ourselves, she understands poverty and the need to engage in fighting against it for others. She is good about donating what we don’t use or need. This all sounds really nice on paper, and we could be Liberal poster children, but in life, this is frowned upon. Poverty is still equated to deviance. And though I can try to perform ‘appropriately’ when forced to, there are still times when she will talk in public about how daddy’s roommate stole bedding from a hotel. And though I am not ‘daddy’s roommate’ I am still the woman who had a child with a guy whose roommate will do that kind of thing, and mother blaming is a national pastime.

I police myself, and I hate it. I regret doing so at times and I regret when I don’t at others.

I am sure I have fucked up and will continue to do so. So will all of you in life, but I, for whatever reason, have dedicated a blog to my art of mothering fuck ups so it is all very public. It looks like I’m not all that good at policing myself as I hit ‘Publish’ after every confession.

*I do not use white trash as an insult but am using the term as I was called this so many times from co-workers, community members, and various authority figures in order to dismiss my experiences of violence.

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What am I doing with my life?

Image from Tattered Cover Book Store

A lot of people use the New Year as a reason to evaluate their lives. We look at the things we would like to change, the successes we have had, and where we would like to be. I live in a constant state of incompleteness; I convince myself that everything will come together after I lose ten pounds, write the perfect article, ace my next assignment, and have sparkling floors. In my mind, as soon as I get my shit together, I can start going out without having to worry about whether or not people actually enjoy my company. It will all be OK, once I finish this one last thing. I worry about a lot of things, but my mothering isn’t one of them. Of course I think about my role as Mother. I have made mistakes, and there are certain values I try to instill in my daughter. I evaluate but do not worry, I am really comfortable being my daughter’s mother, so comfortable I forget how much of a job it is.

I am a mature student, and like many post-secondary students I am often asked what I am doing with my life. The work that a university degree involves is ignored as is the fact that it is helping me as a writer, helping me heal from past trauma, and teaching me how to help others do the same. I am learning more about what is, and is not, important to me. I am succeeding in school and this has done wonders for my self esteem, as a kid I was told I should be held back, and in high school I was told that people “like [me]” do not graduate. I never had high standards for myself, and now I have a system where I do and am accountable to maintain them. Universities are indisputably problematic, they are unaffordable for most and products of neoliberalism. But, this is what I am good at and I think this degree is a tool I personally need in order to help others, this is my currency to use as nepotism and family money is for others.

“So, what have you been doing?”

“I’m a published writer, am invited to speak at academic conferences, and am organizing and volunteering all over the place. I am getting top marks in my school and my child is happy and active! I am really busy but also very happy!”

“When are you going to do something. The neighbour girl married a rich guy so we are going to attend five parties in her honour and buy her various objects made of crystal.”

Why didn’t I get this education earlier? Well, in addition to dealing with the fallout of a tumultuous childhood and teen years, my twenties were spent escaping not only an abusive relationship but the shadow it cast. These experiences are what they are and they have shaped the path I am now on. I am finally comfortable and happy. Yes, I could have earned this degree in my 20s, but what many – including myself- tend to forget is I was working hard in raising an amazing child and am continuing to do so. Additionally, the reason I am doing so well is because of the time management motherhood forces and the drive to inspire my little one. It is discouraging how little this labour is valued, but again, it is what it is. I will use this blog to inspire different thought patterns from those that all-too commonly mother shame, and that is all I know to do for now.

I am happy and comfortable with where I am and how I am raising my daughter. Since working on my self-perception, and my degree, I have met inspiring women and femmes who make me set my goals higher. I am so grateful to have these friends in my daughter’s life. My kidlet is watching me grow and will learn from both my mistakes and triumphs. I am confident that wherever we end up, I will continue to do my best for us. If others can get on board, that would be ideal, if they can’t, that’s OK too.

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Grown man versus children everywhere


It takes about two hours for me to get to school because Toronto’s public transit system is underfunded and embarrassing for a major city. It was nice to have my commute’s monotony broken by the mischievous smile of a six-year-old. He took a seat beside me at the back of the bus, while his mother sat down near the front, holding onto a stroller with another lil one resting inside. The mother and I exchanged smiles and I let her know it was OK for her son to sit with me. She looked as grateful for the break as I was for the entertainment. The kidlet and I told each other jokes and chatted about our lives, I told him about my daughter and he told me about how he was dressed like a Ninja Turtle. It was a lovely time save for the grown man sitting parallel to us. The adult kept passive aggressively mumbling for my little buddy to shut up. The first two times this GROWN ASS MAN did this, I ignored him. But his loud groans were becoming unbearable and I told him to calm the fuck down. My buddy was unfazed and continued merrily chatting with me until the bus reached his stop and he skipped off with his mother.

The adult then proclaimed loudly, gesturing with his arms all about, that kids “that age” should not be allowed out of the house. This grown up went as far as to say his mother should not leave the house either. I asked how they were expected to get food, go to the bank, and do all the things that a lot of us generally go outside for. He suggested that, “She should have thought of that.” I laughed, as people watched us, containing their own laughter, and shrugged. With a defiant face he told me that the only reason I seemed to love kids is that I have one. He looked really smug, like he unearthed a secret that I was a mother, and that it wasn’t obvious all along that he had been listening to the lil one chatting and me. I responded that I am a mother because I love kids. We got to our stop, I wished him better days, and we never saw each other again.

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