Being the [Drag] Queen Mother

If we’re FB friends you probably know that Aa has jumped with both heels into the world of drag. It wasn’t much of a stretch for my attention seeking performer to combine his loves of dance, costuming, and makeup and take it to the stage/runway.  Aaron’s been choreographing his own numbers since he was about 5 including costumes and props, this is just another venue for him to explore.

After a few short months, he has a following, a small entourage, and the other night he was assembling back up dancers.  He’s working on becoming InstaFamous.  I have no doubt that will happen.

There is nothing about the drag culture that doesn’t appeal to him – it’s literally as over-the-top as you can get.  And well… that’s just Aaron.

Being a DQM is not always easy – especially when said mother is battling serious anxiety.  1) Aaron is a slob and I find his shit EVERYWHERE.  The bathroom. UGH! 2) I don’t wear makeup or do my hair.  I wear jeans or yoga pants and flip flops or Converse EVERY DAY – glamour is not my thing.  Never has been. 3) Frankly, I worry about him going out.  Every day I read about people being shot or beaten because they are different.  I don’t want my son or his friends to end up another statistic.  4) He steals my stuff.  ALL of my glitter, rhinestones, sequins, and feathers have disappeared from my office.  “Well you weren’t using them.” Yeah, I kind of was.  5) He’s broke and drag is costly.  6) Songs on repeat.  7) There is glitter freaking EVERY WHERE!

But, it’s pretty fabulous, too.

He’s living his authentic self.  He’s found an outlet for his creativity.  He’s pretty damn good at it.  He’s learning to be resourceful – even if that means pilfering my craft supplies.

Last month, I took him to DragCon.  WAY outside my comfort zone because SO MANY PEOPLE.  But we had a blast.  He got to meet his favorite queen, Miz Cracker.  He walked the runway.  He was repeatedly complimented on his homemade eyelashes – crafted from junk mail. #dragonadime

Monday night, I got to see him perform live on stage for the first time complete with deathdrops and two leaps into the splits.  ALL DONE IN HEELS!  The talent in that room was a-maz-ing! It was awesome seeing the crowd cheering and oohing and literally in awe of MY KID.  The judges commented that the boy can DANCE – he’s going places! He’s got work to do, room to grow, a look to develop, and moves to smooth out.

Me, I’m still trying to come to terms with him coming home with a stack of singles (tips).

I can’t help him with makeup or fashion, or let’s be honest, dance but there is something I DO know a bit about – marketing.  The plan is to start building a social following, somewhere he can share his tips & tricks for creating on a budget, promote his appearances, and eventually build a brand.

More than that though, I can just be there.

I scream about the mess, and where did THAT come from when you have NO money, and stop taking my craft supplies, and turn down the music, and FREAKING glitter everywhere, and…

But I also listen to his Drag Race recaps.  I TRY not to go down the dark hole of fear and worry every time he goes to the club.  I am “mom” to the extras that come through the house that don’t have that kind of support system at their own homes.  I go and yell and clap and proudly let people know he’s mine.

Acceptance starts at home.

So what’s on the horizon for the diva dude? College classes in dance, makeup, theatre, fashion design, and costuming.  So far, he’s done most of this with zero training – imagine what he can do with some professional guidance? WOW – just WOW!

And for the Queen Mother? More trips to HM’s that’s for sure.  The vibe was fun and the Happy Hour menu made for a cheap night out with friends, and well… DEEP FRIED TWINKIES!  Yeah, I’ll be back – even if it is a bit late for this old broad.  Next time, with all the amazingly supportive people that can’t wait to cheer Luna on.

Now if we could just get the glitter under control. Seriously, it’s FREAKING EVERY WHERE! #craftherpes

Follow Aaron and/or Luna La Fierce on Instagram

What’s in a Name?

I’ve been asked to be a facilitator at an upcoming equity & multiculturalism workshop.  Eric questioned what expertise I have in this area, something I’ve questioned of myself over the last two years.  What can a middle aged, white girl from the San Fernando Valley bring to the table?

For one thing, I can bring my name – and the stories of the names around me.

I came into this world with not one, but two names.  An English name and a Hebrew one.  Growing up with mostly non-Jewish friends, my Hebrew name was something used only by my grandparents and my Rabbi.  (To this day, I hear “Shayva Rivka” in my grandfather’s Eastern European accented voice.)  It was a name chosen by my mother to honor the memories of people important to her – an Ashkenazi tradition that I continued with my own children.  So why be ashamed?  Growing up, I just wanted to be like everyone else.  Eat the same foods, celebrate the same holidays, have sleepovers on the weekends.  Having another name was just another reminder of how different I was and as a kid (and even as an adult) that was just not cool.  It took intensive cultural training for me to explore this and convince myself that being different was what made me… me – and that was certainly cool.  My Hebrew name and my mother’s wedding ring are the two strongest ties I have to her now that she is gone.

My mother gave the same gifts to my children, selecting each of their Hebrew names even though she knew it was highly unlikely that they would ever use them.  Oddly enough, the most unexpected of the boys does.  My mother named Anthony, Chaim Velvel – Life Wolf.  A name that he has embraced.

Ironically, Anthony’s name is the only one we did not choose.  It came with him – at 3 already a big part of his identity.  It was a part of him and the idea of taking that away never crossed our minds.  We added his middle name in a nod to my father.  A reminder that some things are within our control and somethings are not, and that’s (generally) ok.

28 years ago I gave up my father’s name in lieu of Eric’s. At the time it allowed me strip away years of personal heartache as well as the cultural stereotypes that come from having a “Jewish last name” (remember I was pretty intent on assimilation). I now carry a surname that I have little connection to. A name I often have to correct the pronunciation and spelling of. I am not German like Eric’s ancestors and when asked “what Herchenroeder is” (an odd question in the first place) my first reaction is to be snarky and answer “my husband’s last name”. My connection to the name is in the context of Eric and the boys – TOGETHER we make H5. I have been a Herchenroeder longer than I was a Weisman, and it was only recently that I began using my maiden name publicly in an attempt to find childhood friends (thanks Facebook). After nearly 3 decades, my connection to Weisman is tenuous at best – even my 1st cousins spell it differently, yet another name story.

Having a name that is constantly mispronounced has made me conscious of my spelling and pronunciations of others’. So much so, that I recently took a Spanish course specifically to help me with pronouncing Latino names. I still often butcher them, but I’m trying.

The most amusing (and annoying) part is when a stranger says, “Herchenroeder? Do you know…?” Umm how many of us locally do you really think there are that I wouldn’t be related to all of them? Seriously? It’s not Smith or Brown or… It’s fricking Herchenroeder! And while we’re on the topic complete and total stranger, yes it IS long and no, my children did not struggle to learn how to say or spell it.

When I buried my mother, I made the decision to engrave all of her names on her headstone; her Hebrew name, the name everyone knew her by (Bubbe Malka), and her English name including all of the last names she carried through her life.  Her ties to her childhood, to my father, and to Dan who she cared for in their final years.  Each of these names was a piece of her, and made her who she was – both to herself and to the world.

My grandfather’s last name was Kohen, with a K. His children were all Cohens, with a C. I always assumed he changed his name to avoid the law or a jilted girlfriend, he was a bit of a sketchy character. When I found his naturalization certificate from 1926 I was shocked to see his name spelled with a K. Another name story, this one likely lost forever.

When I started at Chaffey, my boss asked me what I preferred to be called.  Sheri.  “Sorry, that name is already taken by 3 others.  Go by Sheryl – you’ll be the only one.”  So, for the first time in my life someone other than my mother, a school official, or the IRS was calling me Sheryl. It took years for me to realize they were talking to or about me. Now, once again thanks to Facebook, Sheryl is how most people know me.

I have a friend whose daughter is transgender.  As part of her transition, she has changed her name and that got me thinking about how strange the whole idea of naming a child is.  Names are determined by people who have never met you, often long before your entry into the universe.  That name is yours for all your days – and beyond.  How strange is that?  Like something out of Lois Lowery’s The Giver. When people refuse to use a name that a person has chosen for themselves, what are we saying to them?  Your randomly assigned designation is more important than how you see yourself, who you have developed into.

I’m not perfect by any means.  My oldest friend has selected a name for herself.  I call her Omi, because to me that is who she is.  When I introduce her to others I call her by her chosen name, or at least I try to.  I need to be better about that.  I need to honor what she wants and I need to be more diligent about it.  Because, when you love someone that’s what you do.

You can judge what circle someone knows me from based on what they call me. So many names… Sheryl, Sheri, Sher, SherBear, Mrs. H, Mom, Mama. I even have a friend that calls me Herchenroeder – easily the oddest choice. It’s pretty comical when the circles intersect and people are genuinely confused. I get it. I get confused, too.

So who am I? As I near the mid century mark, I’m still figuring that out. Whether that’s in the context of birth name, cultural name, maiden name, married name, or nickname – each has helped to build the woman I am and each is important in its own way.

Right now, THAT is what I bring to the conversation. No longer assimilating – celebrating ALL that I am and each name THAT represents. Hopefully my story inspires my colleagues (and now my followers) to be understanding and empathetic, to address people in their chosen way, to be respectful of cultural differences. To never, ever, rename someone simply out of their own convenience.

And yes, you can still call me Sheryl.

Guard Dude 1 or “How I Became a Band Mom”

I married a trombonist. A proud high school band geek.  Early in our marriage he played his trombone for me. My reaction? SO LOUD. In the closet his horn sat.

Years later, in hopes of another generation of Herchenroeder horn players, Anthony played trumpet in the elementary school band. Two. Long. Years. Then he wisely decided sports was more his (and my) thing.

J never had interest in music; for him it was science and nature.

Then came Aaron, and E’s hopes for a band kid were rekindled. (After all, this is the kid who taught himself how to play the piano watching YouTube videos.) So, when he came home from school the newest member of the Osos Regiment, we weren’t really surprised. But it wasn’t music that caught his attention, it was guard.

And just like that, Los Osos had its first male guard member in school history. Guard Dude 1. And I became a Band Mom. Yay.

Looking back, it totally made sense. He’d been choreographing his own dances for years. Costumes? Kind of his forte. Center of attention? ALWAYS.

So here we are 3 years later. He’s the most accomplished member of the team. He spends most of his free time spinning, tumbling, leaping,  choreographing, dancing. He has his own arsenal of sabers, rifles, and flags. He’s one of the only male guard members in our fairly large school district.  Guard and dance are EVERYTHING!

Marching band is definitely not my thing. But it’s Aaron’s (and Eric’s) so I sit proudly in the stands trying to keep track of where he is on the field.

I’m pretty proud of him. Not because he’s good, that’s not even debatable, but because he bucked the stereotypes, shot down the Mean Girls (and boys) and followed his passion. I hope someday he understands how truly amazing that is.

Most of the time, Aaron doing what Aaron wants is a challenge for the house. (To say the least.) But that determination and self confidence are also the character traits that will propel him to great heights. Keep leaping for the stars, Bug.

Mom of the Year Moment – REDEEMED

Saturday, 7am Aaron wake up: Mom, did you order my flowers for tonight?

Oh. Shit. 

Homecoming’s tonight and I need TWO boutonnières. TWO. 

In my defense, I DID message my florist friend earlier in the week. I just kind of dropped the ball and never followed up. 

So what’s a crafty mom to do? Turn to YouTube! I mean, seriously, how hard could it really be? (Overconfidence.  Usually my first mistake.)

She says it’s easy. She wouldn’t lie, would she?

So, Lisa and I jetted off to Michael’s after lunch (can’t craft on an empty stomach) and bought wire and floral tape. Pins were $6! Six freaking dollars for pins? I don’t think so!  Lisa had rainbow organza ribbon and threw together some amazing bows. Stopped at the market and picked up flowers. Two hours until the dance… let’s throw this shit together. 

Holy crap – she was right! Damn easy! The total cost $16 for TWO plus enough wire and tape to start my own business and a jar of misc leftover flowers on my table. Why didn’t I start making these years ago?

The boys loved them even if I had to use like 6 pins in each to hold them up (probably should have bought the long pins at Michael’s). 

Mom of the Year – redeemed!

Jman – my amazing unicorn

How do we celebrate this one’s 20th bday? At an equality event, of course! I love his passion and I’m so proud to stand with him. Love is love! Happy birthday Jman – keep being the amazing unicorn that you are!

#United4Love2 at Memorial Park – Upland, CA