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Texas dad and son have first encounter with a trans woman, and dad sets a powerful example

It's a simple message that speaks volumes.

@oddragon226/TikTok

Sometimes allyship is simple

Now more than ever, the transgender community needs support. Particularly in conservative states in Texas, where bills that would dictate bathroom use, restrict funding for surgeries, and most recently, charge transgender people with “gender identity fraud," have been filed. Even if all of these proposed bills failed, damage has been done as it only fuels bigotry and extremism, endangering the marginalized individuals living in these areas.

Still, even if your heart is in the right place, it can be hard to know the best or most feasible way to even show up as an ally. And that's the beauty of this story. Sometimes it really is a simple matter to accept people as they are and treat all humans with dignity, kindness and respect, even if we don't fully understand them.

- YouTubewww.youtube.com

A dad shared his first encounter with a transgender woman in his small Texas town, and the simple lesson he taught his son inspired hope in others. James Eric Barlow (oddragon226 on TikTok) shared a video from his car describing how he and his son saw a trans woman in real life for the first time.

"We all know that there's people that are disgusted whenever they see a trans person," Barlow began. "And we all know of the people who don't care if they see a trans person. "But apparently, we're a third type of person (or at least I am, I can't speak for him)," he says, indicating his son in the backseat who chimes in with "I am, too!"

Barlow went on to explain how they had just had their first experience with a trans woman. It wasn't anything major—she just walked through a door behind them and Barlow held the door for her, just as he would any other person. He didn't even notice she was trans at first, but once he did, his immediate reaction was one we can all learn from.

"When I tell you how happy it made me," he said, beginning to tear up, "to be able to see somebody be out and open to the world here in small town Texas. You just gotta know how much bravery that takes. Right, Mikey?"

"Hell yeah!" the son agreed.

Barlow wanted to say something to her, but he didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable, either.

"But if you're a trans woman and you came here to the Landmark truck stop in Clyde, Texas, just know we're proud of you," he concluded.

@oddragon226 our first trans woman experience #trans #transwoman #transpeoplearepeople #transrights #translivesnatter ♬ original sound - oddragon neckbeard

Barlow's video was shared on Reddit, where it's received a slew of views and comments that prove parents set the tone for their kids' sense of acceptance.

"Indoctrinate your children with kindness, compassion, consideration and respect for others." - Toddthmpsn

"When I was younger I would get my hair cut by a woman named Liz. She spoke Spanish so it was hard for to understand her English sometimes. My dad spoke Spanish so would translate for her and me. I noticed Liz looked a little different then other women. But I never said anything, I never felt any differently about her. She never scared me, or made me question anything. She was just Liz. As I got older I realized she was a trans woman. And it literally changed nothing. She was still just Liz. Liz was always kind and treated everyone warmly. I havnt seen her in years but I hope she is doing well. I really liked her." - PerplexedPoppy

"This literally happened to me as a child in the 80s. A cashier at a store we visited suddenly started dressing in a feminine style and it appeared that they were transitioning. My mom explained to me in an age appropriate way that sometimes people decide they want to be a man instead of a woman, or a woman instead of a man. She told me that people would probably be mean to the cashier and it was important for us to remember that and always be polite to her, as we would anyway. This was way before trans issues were as mainstream as they are now, but my mom had seen an episode of Phil Donahue where trans woman discussed their stories, and she recognized it as a medical issue. Core memory for me." - ZipCity262

"As a trans woman, im deathly afraid whenever I have to go to rural areas. I can instantly feel physical tension when I walk into a gas station or a restaurant in these areas. Thank you for being supportive. Trans people need you now more than ever." – rainbow_lenses

As this dad and son showed, it's a simple matter to demonstrate non-judgmental acceptance in front of our kids so they hopefully will grow up without being bound by chains of bigotry they'll later have to learn to unload.

- YouTubewww.youtube.com

This article originally appeared two years ago.

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This powerful, candid speech by Lena Waithe shows why LGBTQ people need to stick together.

"We need to be united because Laverne Cox’s struggle may look different than mine, but the pain we feel is the same."

During her acceptance speech at the GLAAD awards, "Master of None" star Lena Waithe delivered an impassioned plea for unity.

Waithe won the award for Outstanding Individual Episode as the writer of "Master of None's" "Thanksgiving." Moments into her speech, she touched on a really sensitive subject: divisions in the LGBTQ community.

"A lot of people ask me why I say I'm queer," she said. "I say that because I think it's a big umbrella. I don't want to separate myself from my trans family, my non-binary, bisexual — sometimes we can be a little segregated. You know what I mean?"

Lena Waithe delivers a speech at the 29th Annual GLAAD Media Awards Los Angeles. Photo by Rich Polk/Getty Images for Ketel One Family-Made Vodka.

There are tensions within the LGBTQ community, and reluctance to discuss them only deepens the divisions.

It's hard being on the outside looking in and fighting just to have the same rights as anyone else. Throughout the history of the larger LGBTQ movement, there have been a number of attempts by some to cut out "undesirable" segments of the community for the sake of easing that fight for the rest.

Just a few years after the Stonewall uprising (one of the movement's defining moments), some of its most prominent leaders found themselves sidelined as the growing movement tried to give off a more palatable appearance to straight people — as if to say, "See, we can be normal, too!"

Trans women Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera were once banned from New York's annual Gay Pride parade. They were outsiders among outsiders.

Many of those divisions remain.

People march in the 1983 Gay Pride Parade in New York City. Photo by Peter Keegan/Getty Images.

"That's how come I've been walking for gay rights all these years instead of riding in cars and celebrating and everything, 'cause you never completely have your rights, one person, until you all have your rights," Johnson said years later, explaining why she continued to work so hard for a movement that sometimes didn't appreciate people like her. "I think that as long as there's one gay person who has to walk for gay rights, then all of us should be walking for gay rights."

Waithe's speech hammered home the idea that we can't leave anyone behind and that the LGBTQ community has to take an intersectional approach to equality.

"We need to be united, because Laverne Cox's struggle may look different than mine, but the pain we feel is the same," Waithe said. "Someone who may be asexual may have a different journey than mine, but ... there's things that we have in common."

[rebelmouse-image 19477531 dam="1" original_size="500x281" caption="All GIFs from GLAAD Media Awards." expand=1]All GIFs from GLAAD Media Awards.

She continued, "At the end of the day, we're already 'othered,' so why should we 'other' ourselves even more than we already are? We have to support each other, we have to talk to each other, we have to educate each other about our own individual journeys, because at the end of the day, we all we got."

"So let's hold onto that, hold onto each other. We gotta be one big family, because at the end of the day, we all got people trying to come against us. So when we stand together, there's no weapon they can form that can harm us.”

Injustice for one is injustice for all, no matter what form that takes.

Homophobia, biphobia, transphobia, misogyny, racism, ableism, and classism hurt us all. The LGBTQ community is relatively small in numbers, making it that much more important that those of us within it (and our allies) have each other's backs in the fight forward.

Whether that means fighting back against businesses that want to effectively say "No Gays Allowed," demanding that trans people can't be turned away by doctors simply for being trans, or acknowledging that yes, black lives do matter, it's a group effort.

Waithe's speech was a powerful call to action. Watch it below:

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The reason Perez Hilton hopes his son isn't gay is actually heartbreaking.

"I purposefully would not put my son in dance class because dance class might make your kid gay," said internet personality Perez Hilton during his March 27 podcast.

The shocked co-host, Chris Booker, gave Hilton the opportunity to walk back the comments or say he was joking, but Hilton was persistent: "I think dance class can make your kid gay."

It was a bizarre, stereotype-laden assertion, not particularly grounded in anything aside from Hilton's observation that a lot of professional male dancers happen to be gay.

The backlash was swift, and at least some portion of it was deserved. Dance Magazine's Courtney Escoyne wrote, "Are there gay men in dance? Yes. Did dancing make them that way? No." GayRVA's Marilyn Drew Necci pointed to Hilton as proof that "you don't have to be straight to be homophobic."

The idea that a parent's decision to let their child take up one hobby or another can influence the child's gender identity or sexuality is steeped in harmful ideas that makes up the basis of a lot of junk science-driven "conversion therapy."

It's obviously not something Hilton meant to contribute to, but nevertheless, he got a few rounds of applause from social conservatives.

"I would prefer if my son was heterosexual," Hilton continued in another particularly startling comment coming from an out gay man.

There's a bit more nuance to this one, however.

When Booker asked what's wrong with being gay, Hilton replied, "Well, nothing, clearly, but I would prefer if my son was heterosexual. If I had to choose, I would prefer to be heterosexual, too. It would be easier."

There, he actually has a great point: As much progress as has been made when it comes to LGBTQ rights and acceptance over the past several decades, there's still a lot of work left to do. Homophobia, sexism, and racism are still hardwired into our culture as well-connected systems of oppression, and it's completely understandable that a parent would hope their child wouldn't have to experience that.

Even still, dance class will not make a straight boy gay any more than playing football will turn a gay boy straight.

The world isn't hard because being LGBTQ inherently makes it so, but because society still chooses to make it hard for LGBTQ people.

According to the Human Rights Campaign's "Growing Up LGBT in America" survey, 42% of LGBT youth say that their community is not accepting of people like them, they are nearly twice as likely to have reported being physically assaulted by peers, and a remarkable 92% say they see and hear negative messages about LGBT people on a regular basis.

The problem isn't LGBTQ people: The problem is a world that still can't fully accept and respect their existence. A more accepting world can produce significantly better outcomes for LGBTQ youth.

For example, a 2018 study published in the Journal of Adolescent Health found that the simple act of recognizing and using transgender people's chosen names can reduce the likelihood of depression and thoughts of suicide.

"Many kids who are transgender have chosen a name that is different than the one that they were given at birth," study author Stephen T. Russell told UT News. "We showed that the more contexts or settings where they were able to use their preferred name, the stronger their mental health was."

UCLA's Williams Institute came to a similar conclusion in a 2014 study, finding that the effects of discrimination can increase the likelihood that a trans person will attempt suicide. A 2017 study in the American Journal of Men's Health found the same about gay men and suicide attempts.

"I never have really spoken in depth about how hard it was me being a gay boy in a Latino and religious family and school environment."

Like other parents, Hilton admits that he doesn't have all the answers. He hopes that the nuance needed to make his point shines through.

"Is what I said problematic? Yes! Is parenting and our past baggage and family dynamics complex? Yes!" he writes in a direct message.

He clarifies that he would sign his son up for dance classes if asked, adding that the example was a bit of a hypothetical and noting that if it were possible to "make" his son gay, having Hilton for a father would probably do the trick faster than any dance class ever could. But he knows it doesn't work like that.

"Parenting is hard," he says. "Being a gay parent is harder. Being a gay parent in the public eye is even harder. None of this is easy. But at the end of the day, the only opinion that matters about how I parent my children is my own."

Hilton with daughter Mia and son Mario. Photo by Matt Winkelmeyer/Getty Images for Santa's Secret Workshop 2017.

If we're to give Hilton the benefit of the doubt, it's because he just wants his son to live a happy and healthy life.

It's just sad that, for now at least, that means he hopes his son doesn't end up being gay. "So much would have to change," Hilton tells Upworthy in a Twitter direct message:

"Not just externally but also in the households, in the relatives' homes, in the schools. I never have really spoken in depth about how hard it was me being a gay boy in a Latino and religious family and school environment. It is still hard for young gay boys in those communities. Not for all, clearly, but for many. So communities have to change. And the country needs to follow."

It's a hard truth, but he's right.

Hopefully, eventually, all that will happen. But in the meantime, it's on all of us to tear down those systems of oppression in society and for us to realize just how harmful our actions can be to members of groups that face discrimination — both visible and invisible.

There's nothing Hilton can do to determine whether his son will be gay or not, but there is something we can do to help make this less of a worry for families across the country: Take a stand for LGBTQ kids, for women, and for people of color.

Hilton and his son Mario attend the 2017 GLSEN Respect Awards. Photo by Valerie Macon/AFP/Getty Images.

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A church put women and LGBTQ people first. Attendance surged.

This church is redefining the relationship between the Black church and queer people.

On a rainy day in Harlem, Rev. Kyndra Frazier, 36, works at her desk at in a quiet office. She’s visibly relaxed, self-aware, and youthful.

Yet her journey to becoming a leader of one of the largest, most historic African American churches in New York City and exuding such confidence wasn’t easy.        

Rev. Frazier was raised in North Carolina. Her family were leaders in the Church of God, so from a young age she found solace and enjoyment in her faith. But her teenage years were conflicted.  

Rev. Frazier is queer — a life the church was starkly against.  

She struggled to reconcile her sexuality and faith, fasting and praying, to no avail. Her parents found out about her queerness while listening in on a phone call between Frazier and her secret girlfriend.

“I recall being ashamed and embarrassed by what they’d heard, Rev. Frazier says. “They let me know that they couldn’t trust me anymore.”    

It took about eight years for her immediate family to accept her. It took even longer for Frazier to realize she could love who she chooses and be a faith-driven person.  

This duality drew Rev. Frazier to First Corinthian Baptist Church (FCBC) and its executive pastor, Rev. Michael A. Walrond, Jr.

Rev. Walrond enjoys preaching in jeans. Photo courtesy of FCBC.

Rev. Waldron, 46, leans into the common themes of Black church identity in his teachings: faith, community, and a dedication to justice.    

Unlike many Baptist clergy, though, Rev. Walrond has extended his message of tolerance and inclusion to a group typically excluded from ministry: the LGBTQ community.

“We as people of color have so many things that we battle with,” Rev. Frazier says. “For many of us, not only are we Black, ... we're also queer. Churches have to do the work that centers those folks and remind them that they’re valid and loved in such challenging times.”  

Rev. Waldron’s progressive nature breathes through every part of the church. Since joining as the executive pastor in 2004, he's surrounded himself with women leaders, a rarity in most churches. His preaching style is casual; he wears jeans — unusual against his suit-and-tie counterparts in Baptist churches around the nation. (He once told The New York Times, “I like being loose when I go out to preach.”)        

But his mannerisms and unique style of preaching connect congregants to the deeper acceptance of each churchgoer in the room. At FCBC, you’re at home, you’re welcome, and nothing — from clothing to sexual orientation — gets in the way of that.

All three of FCBC's Sunday morning services are typically filled to capacity. Photo courtesy of FCBC.

The inclusive efforts have been largely beneficial. FCBC's membership has grown from 350 to 10,000+ people.

Lines of people wrap around the street on Sunday mornings. During the service, gospel music echoes through the white ceilings lined with purple and gold. Churchgoers are each immersed in their own spiritual experiences inside this space that exudes warmth and solidarity.      

It was on a similar Sunday in 2016 that Rev. Frazier came out to the congregation, something nearly unheard of in most religious spaces. For the FCBC’s queer membership, it was especially incredible.

“To see her pronounce who she was openly gay in the pulpit was a huge thing for me to see,” said Olando Charles, a queer member of the church. “If she can make it, so can I.”          

Olando Charles is an active member of FCBC and the HOPE Center. Photo by the author.

Rev. Frazier's visibility in the pulpit likely couldn't have happened without Rev. Walrond constantly striving to bring people of all backgrounds to the church.

While Rev. Walrond's actions aren't surprising to many of his congregants, his outreach — and style of operating a church — are unusual in American church culture: Catholic churches have fired openly gay priests, several churches have removed queer musicians, priests have been fired for vocally supporting LGBTQ rights, and women overall still struggle to be viewed as viable leaders in churches all over the country.

The pastors of FCBC are needed now more than ever.

To reach the most marginalized in the FCBC and Harlem communities, Rev. Waldron opened the HOPE (Healing On Purpose and Evolving) Center to provide free mental health and therapy services.

The HOPE Center is just a few blocks away from FCBC. Photo by the author.

He tapped Rev. Frazier in 2016 to spearhead the organization. The two first met in 2012, and their professional admiration and relationship grew from there.

Before accepting the position, though, Rev. Frazier knew she needed to come out to Rev. Walrond. “He made it clear that it wasn’t an issue,” she says, explaining that Waldron embraced her and saw her sexuality as a gift instead of a problem. He believed she would be able to advocate for the Black, queer people of Harlem who felt unseen in their churches.    

Rev. Frazier continues, “For him to believe in me and trust me to have autonomy to create mental health space was huge and empowering.”  

The center works with those who have experienced or are experiencing religious trauma, loneliness, depression, anxiety, and/or chronic spiritual abuse.

“I remember going to the church and people telling me I didn’t belong,” Tanzania Stone, a queer FCBC member recalls. “It was heartbreaking. I loved God, but they made it out to seem like God didn’t love me because of who I love.”

Stone went through several periods of time when she wasn’t engaged with the church.

“To be a woman of color and to constantly know that you’re being oppressed in society, you want to find refuge in a church,” she explains. “And to go to this place that you’re being told is a refuge, but when they find out who you choose to love, you find out you’re an outcast or an abomination? That hurts.”

Tanzania Stone often participates in FCBC outreach. Photo by the author.

Stone eventually found her place in FCBC and HOPE. “To finally be in a place where I’m being told, no, you are a child of God, you’re worthy of God’s love, it was so liberating,” she told me.

Rev. Frazier says her own experiences with dissenting family members and frustrations in the church motivate her work.  

“My goal here is to create a space for people of color,” she explains. “The stigma has been so great for Black and Brown folks seeking mental health services; this space is truly designated for us.”  

And she says this is just the beginning. A ministry for LGBTQ people — just like there are for men, women, married couples in the faith — is an essential next step to affirming the group.  

Frazier hopes that FCBC will be an example for other churches across the nation because, historically, churches have failed to provide a safe space for queer communities.

Rev. Frazier knows role likely couldn’t have happened 60 years ago (much less 10), given the fraught history of queer people in Black history.

Bayard Rustin — one of the most brilliant and strategic minds of the civil rights movement — was virtually erased from history books about the era because he was gay. Though his influence was often kept behind closed doors, it’s documented that Rustin was one of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s most trusted confidants.

Even outside of the church, the work of queer Black leaders and thinkers such as Audre Lorde and James Baldwin were somewhat ignored and not brought to light in mainstream history until recent years due to pervasive, deep-rooted homophobia.                      

Churches like FCBC are working to change that.

With roughly 79% of Black Americans identifying as Christians — the largest group of Christians in the country — it’s a crucial time for religious organizations in Black communities to support their most vulnerable.      

“We take the teachings of Jesus seriously,” said Rev. Frazier. “Black churches have historically been involved in politically challenging times, and we must continue to do so. We can do that by clothing and feeding others and giving them the support they need to move forward.”

Charles and Rev. Frazier often work together at the church. Photo by the author.

As FCBC continues to grow and find ways to not only be more inclusive, but also more affirming, it’s clear that the pastors aren’t afraid to try ways to include people who’ve previously been left out of communities of faith.      

Rev. Frazier puts it this way: “Understand that working towards inclusion is a matter of who’s growing, not who’s right and who’s wrong. That’s how you move forward.”  

Rev. Frazier is currently fundraising for a documentary called “A Love Supreme: Black, Queer and Christian in The South.” You can watch the trailer here and learn how to support the project here.

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