Recently, while leaving my child’s elementary school, a fellow parent called out to me, “Are you always here?” She leaned across the front seat of her car, clearly curious. Indeed, my presence at the school is frequent. I make it a point to walk my child to class every day, volunteer weekly in the classroom, lead an after-school program, and chaperone various field trips when possible. I strive to connect with the principal, my child’s teachers, and their classmates.
As I walked alongside my first grader, I leaned into her friend’s car and replied, “It certainly feels like it.” She praised my patience and commitment, which felt good to hear. However, I shared a deeper reason behind my involvement: “Someone needs to show these kids what diversity looks like.”
She chuckled and nodded in understanding. Although I’m fortunate to live in an accepting community, my children are often the only ones with two mothers among their peers. I am the mom who’s frequently mistaken for a dad, the one whose appearance doesn’t conform to traditional expectations. With my short hair and gender-nonconforming style, I often surprise the kids. But I welcome these moments.
For every child who assumes I’m my daughter’s father, for those who ponder my gender, I have the chance to engage in meaningful dialogue. These interactions allow me to challenge the narrow narratives presented in the typical curriculum. I can affirm that I don’t fit the mold of the women they usually see. I celebrate my appearance and emphasize that there is no single way to express gender. What’s essential is that we appreciate what makes each person feel comfortable. By merely being myself, I help reshape these children’s understanding of normalcy. My regular assistance with their writing projects becomes a way to normalize our queer family and my masculine identity, demonstrating that being different is perfectly acceptable.
Moreover, I volunteer for those children who may come from homes with less open-minded views. For instance, I remember a boy whose father donned an NRA cap and an All Lives Matter shirt. While I respect his commitment as a father, it’s clear he may hold some outdated beliefs. I noticed him giving me disapproving looks during an after-school program, but I responded with a smile and a wave. It’s a reminder of why I invest my time in volunteering: I represent the diversity I lacked as a child.
Some children grow up in environments that may not accept people like me. There are students who will eventually come out and identify as part of the LGBTQI+ community. Whether or not I show up, these kids are already navigating their identities. I’m acutely aware that I might be the only example of openness and diversity they encounter. My presence could offer hope and strength to those who feel unseen.
I want these kids to develop their writing skills, but more importantly, I want to help them learn to embrace themselves and appreciate the differences in others. When I was young, I didn’t have role models to look up to; I was surrounded by negativity that pushed me into hiding. Eventually, I found my way out, but I wish I had known earlier that people like me existed.
There’s a saying that sometimes you have to be the representation you wish to see in the world. Thus, I continue to show up. I’m always present.
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In summary, my commitment to volunteering at my child’s school stems from a desire to provide representation and support for diverse identities. By being actively involved, I hope to foster an environment where all children can feel accepted and valued for who they are.