I thought they knew I was queer. I was acting all queer, the way I always do, and they are definitely queer, with their cute outfits and queer presentation.
“Oh, I miss the kids from when I was the advisor for the QSA!” I said, looking smiling into their eyes.
“What’s a QSA?” they asked.
What just happened? I think my age and femme invisibility won out over any queer markers that I might have, and the young person just couldn’t line up Queer/Straight Alliance with this old gal, just another of the many old gals in the chorus for which they play piano.
I let them know the meaning of those three letters, we laughed, and moved on. And. I still don’t know if they know that I’m queer. Maybe just a nice straight ally? That’s awesome! Way to go! Thanks for your support! Grrrr.
Or, even worse, my queer is perhaps seen to be defanged – what would an old lady like me be doing with radical politics, anyway? Oh, precious. Think of the support and holding that’s lost if you don’t see me! If we don’t see each other across the ages.
This young person is such talented musician, writing a piece for our chorus on homeless queer youth, out there working with youth, representing. Darling, we, too, were once queer youth, and we, too, went through all manner of hardship.
Years ago, with the QSA mentioned above, we were part of an intergenerational event where older queers told their stories, coming out and otherwise. Afterwards, a couple of the dykes confided to me that they’d kept some of the most difficult facts out of the conversation. They didn’t want to upset the kids.
Oh, my sisters, how can we help each other see each other? How can we older queers make ourselves known to our youth, who are necessarily s consumed with their own affairs? How can we become part of those affairs, not because we’re there to simply cheerlead and praise (although we are, of course we are!) but because we know. We have invaluable resource and information to pass one.
Today, break down a barrier, my loves, my queer femme bombshells. Reach across a divide. Write a letter, make a picture, post something, catch someone’s attention for just long enough that there’s a spark, an understanding.
Don’t we know it? Don’t we know how deeply, desperately, decidedly we every single one of us, all across the ages, need each other?
Now and now and now. Forever.
Every Monday, I offer a Meditation for Queer Femmes, in the spirit of my maternal grandmother, Mimi, who was fabulous, and from whom I inherited her Meditations for Women. Would you like to offer up a Meditation of your own? I would love that! Send it along to me at thetotatalfemme@gmail.com.
Since 2016, I here at The Total Femme have done my best to post thrice a week: Meditations for Queer Femmes on Monday, Pingy Dingy on Wednesday, and Femme Friday on you know when. I’m pulling back the reins now, darlings, and going down to once a week, this Meditation. This doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear from you. Send me your poetry, your musings, your art, your wonderful you, and I will love you and hold you and feature you right here. So let me hear from you! thetotalfemme@gmail.com. And stop by on Mondays for a bit of sacred femme space.
The Total Femme 