Fits Like a Glove…on the Wrong Hand

It’s funny how I fit into the straight parenting world. I’m not comfy with “the moms” but it’s not like I feel totally in sync with “the dads.” Again, I cannot help but ponder on the differences, albeit slight, in being butch.

Take my son’s t-ball practice. I took him to his first one and my fiancé joined me – a family affair with his sister, too. I was very excited. I have a not-so-secret desire for my kids to excel at something. I don’t really care what – school, sports, the arts – just something (although if I were to pick one, definitely school). In addition to being great, kind, loving people, I hope for excellence in something. T-ball is the first opportunity for this excellence to peek out from where it might be hiding.

So, I was excited to take him. He was excited. His uniform is so cute, all baggy in the butt! (This is the mom in me.) We headed out to practice all suited up, but I forgot to bring him water. (The dad in me.) Of course, every other boy on his team had a lovely mom there with him – and his very own bottle of water. Great job, mom! I felt so dumb. I had a soda on me by chance and so, at each water break, my boy got a nice refreshing sip of pure … diet soda.

Anyway, there I was (when it wasn’t a water break) taking pictures of my boy all over the field and standing near him watching for any signs of skill – a dad move, right?

In the meantime, my beautiful fiancé is in the dugout chatting with all of the boys’ moms. When I came back to sit down, she carefully introduced me to each mom, describing their sons as well. (I made notes, by the way, to keep everyone straight – so to speak).

She was very comfortable in their world in the dugout. I was comfortable on the field – kind of in between. Not coaching or talking to the dads, but not sitting down with the moms. Of course, it was worse because I felt so lame forgetting the water.

It is not that I am shy, believe me. I just notice sometimes that I can let myself be apart because of being butch – neither stereotypically feminine or masculine.

Note: This only really applies to bigger groups of folks. I am comfy talking to anyone one on one or in a small clump.

Obviously, I cannot give in to this hesitancy to join in. I don’t. I just stop to ponder it every now and then.

At the end of the day, we are much more similar than different, you and I (no matter who you are). But there is nothing wrong with honoring those small differences – as long as we don’t let them divide us.

It’s butch to join in. Be butch.

About Tristan Higgins, aka Butch Jaxon

I am a butch. This blog is about what I think. If you do not know what butch means, you are probably on the wrong blog. In the interests of inclusion, though, I can tell you that “butch” means a lesbian that is big, strong, tough, more macho, less girly. Of course, there are no hard and fast rules – which is an ongoing theme in my blog (and in the comments), but those are the basics. A butch will most likely not wear makeup. A butch is often referred to as “sir” by someone who is not paying attention. What else? I am, after all, not just a butch. I am happily married to the most amazing woman ever, and the mother of two fantastic kids. I am also a lover of, in no particular order, beer, bow ties, breasts, movies, hiking, bookstores, travel, dogs, geocaching, polar bears, the gym, music, gadgets, and more. By day, I am an intrepid corporate entertainment lawyer. Although I try hard not to be labeled as such – sporting a bleached Mohawk, for example. Think more entertainment and less corporate. By night, bring it all on! In my blog, I talk about things from a butch perspective, but this is not just for butches. We all love our femmes. Please do not let me offend femmes, mine in particular! If you like what you read here, I hope you will comment and let me know what you think. If you do not like what you read, well, what the hell do I care? Start your own blog. Be Butch. View all posts by Tristan Higgins, aka Butch Jaxon

4 responses to “Fits Like a Glove…on the Wrong Hand

  • Bejai

    Straight Moms screw up too! I remember when my daughter had softball practice and announced that I was responsbile for that days snacks. I dont have much kitchen savvy so I stopped at a bakery and bought all kinds of cool European pasteries. They had different corlors of icing, fillings, and flowers on the top. When I opened the box with a flourish (better at that than the kitchen stuff) the kids were flummoxed. They wanted, needed, and expected freshly sliced oranges. My daughter just looked incredibly embarrassed and blurted, My Mom runs a company. As if that explained my utter lack of softball mom expertise! Sign…


  • Judy Carpenter

    Just be you, a caring parent. I probably wouldn’t have thought of the water either. No labels. I’m getting ready for a no-label world. There are black Dems and black Repubs. Senior Dems and senior Repubs. Hispanic TG Dems and Hispanic TG Repubs. What’s important is that each of our progeny is cared for as best as we can pull it off. xoxo


    • ButchOnTap

      Judy, I so agree with you. Labels, albeit natural and kind of innate, are not helpful when it comes to getting through differences. By the way, what is “TG”? I am glad to hear that I am not the only one who would forget the water!


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