My son, 9, is crying right now because a kid at the pool keeps telling my son that he’s a girl.
My son—who grew his hair past his shoulders during the pandemic—has had people mistake him for a girl probably 500 times in the past year.
My son has always identified as a boy & has also always loved pink clothes & bright sparkly clothes. He’s known for his pink suit and floral sneakers.
He doesn’t feel like it’s an insult to be called a girl; he says it drives him crazy that people have gender stereotypes that
…mean they assume he’s a girl because has longish hair and sometimes wears a lavender face mask.
Usually he stays quiet when people greet me and my son and daughter with, “Hi ladies” or call my kids “your daughters.” But I see his eyes cloud with disappointment
Today I had the honor to escorting my 104.5 year-old friend Ruth to vote.
She was born before women had the right to vote.
Her 1st vote was for FDR.
Her dad died of the flu during the pandemic of 1918, when she was 2.
This is her voting story today.
Here she is with her walker, crossing Broadway towards Lincoln Center where she’s lived since the Nixon administration.
A voting official led the way (along with my son.)
Raise your hand if you’ve had a miscarriage or been a partner to someone who has had a miscarriage 🖐
Sharing grief makes us human
If you don’t have unequivocal compassion, you are less than what it means to be human
In my stage solo show, I talk about my miscarriages.
The audience is silent except for a few people crying. Every show. Sometimes there’s a small audible gasp. I have seen couples reach out to grab each other’s hands.
It is a communion.
Your stories are generous and heart-aching.
Thank you for sharing them with each other.
I’m so profoundly sorry for your losses, every single one.
🙏