My child loves drag story time, but the uptick in shooting threats make me afraid to go. I'm sad to say goodbye to it.
- When I became a mom, I was excited to take my kiddo to drag story times.
- Now, along with school and even church shootings, story time no longer feels safe.
I've known about drag queens since I was about 6. I'll never forget the night my uncle Greg took me for pie at a greasy spoon where queens hung out before and after shows. I was taken by the big wigs, the big heels, the big personalities, and, of course, the sequins.
I still associate drag queens with community and comfort during the ravages of the AIDS crisis. They fawned over me and gave me a rhinestone necklace. I felt loved, seen, and safe in that diner booth, expressing curiosity and asking questions before moving to our own table for the promised pie.
By the time I had a child of my own some 25 years later, drag queens had moved from the gay gathering spots to the more public parades and drag-queen story times.
I was excited for my child to know something from my childhood while engaging in an experience that encourages literacy and learning
We are no strangers to story times. First, we went to weekly baby storytime at our local library when my child was only a few months old. Soon, I knew which day was English only, which day was bilingual in Spanish, and which librarians were our favorites. But finding a story time with drag queens or kings was also something I wanted to add to the mix.
Our first drag storytime was at a children's bookstore for their first Drag Queen Story Hour event. I was surprised, but delighted, to squeeze in with a crowd of more than 200 parents and kids to watch multiple storytellers read books, sing songs, and talk to tots at their level.
Next, we tried out a different independent bookstore that advertised more frequent drag-queen story times. We fell in love with the queen, whose alter ego was a teacher by day, and also enjoyed catching free events at other businesses or during our local Denver Pride.
I noticed that though drag story times became harder to get a seat at, they also became harder to come by at all
Story time with drag queens was only something we could find every quarter or so, at most. The ones I did find often sold out quickly. And the bulk of drag story times seemed to happen during Pride Month, with crickets the rest of the year.
I also noticed this programming often made the news, and not in a good way. Even during Pride Month, organizers often canceled planned drag story hours due to protests, or worse, death threats.
Having seen kids get up close and personal with the performers, including neurodivergent kids whose pointed questions were greeted and welcomed, I'm sad to see that the peak of safe story times seems to have been pre-pandemic.
Drag queens, like librarians, help kids want to be present and participate
As with any story time, drag story time was simply an avenue to literacy and engagement with material. Research has shown time and again the importance of reading to children and babies; educators and researchers alike are now encouraging "pre-literacy" activities like story times to introduce and incite a love of reading from the earliest ages.
My kiddo enjoyed the performance of drag queens reading books, but also often responded most strongly to the librarians we saw every week because they were able to establish a relationship and rapport.
The point of story time is to get kids involved and to participate. My favorite queens use drag to shine a big disco ball on literacy, empathy, play, and all the other benefits of a standard story time. But it's also true that attending a drag story time isn't as simple as just deciding if this is something we want to fold into our week.
The moral panic over glitter and glam now has consequences too great to ignore. Our community is reeling from the recent mass shooting at Club Q in Colorado Springs, and my brain can't help but connect the dots that anyone can walk into a library building and make incomprehensible choices to do harm.