200 10 3176 https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/files/original/7a833a70573ca7fcacc3be879cc008b3.jpg 43c82e91fbfa44c80b239c03feaa7b4e Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Article in the Globe and Mail on October 16, 1993, about the Toronto Sun's sponsorship of the AIDS Walk for Life. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource AIDS Walk Toronto Subject The topic of the resource Items related to AIDS Walk Toronto and AIDS activism in Toronto. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1981-2021 Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Newspaper article Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Controversy hasn't hurt AIDS Walk Description An account of the resource Article in the Globe and Mail on October 16, 1993, about the Toronto Sun's sponsorship of the AIDS Walk for Life. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Globe and Mail Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived AIDS WALK Canada - Toronto, Vertical File, The ArQuives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1993, October 16 Language A language of the resource English AIDS activism AIDS Walk Toronto Toronto https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/files/original/94242f330318f535f277e71f3a9c5594.png e315fbccaa74001aa39947104437fd2b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Subject The topic of the resource The Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project was spearheaded by Sadie Epstein-Fine, creative and operational lead with community support from Makeda Zook in 2021. The goal of the project was to provide participants of all ages with one or more LGBTQ2+ parent(s) a way to explore aspects of the queerspawn experience through digital content creation. Over the course of 5 months, the Queerspawn project participants met virtually to share space and build community. They explored different ways to get into their stories and experiences. The project included 13 participants, who created video, art projects and installations, audio stories, podcasts and essays, exploring how their identities and life experiences have intersected with their queerspawn identity. The Queerspawn Project was made possible through the International Centre for Arts for Social Change’s FUTURES/Forward Program and The ArQuives: Canada’s LGBTQ2+ Archives. Description An account of the resource The fonds contains records from the Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project dating from 1942 to 2021. It includes photographs, art installations, artwork, podcasts, audio stories, essays and video created by the thirteen project participants. Project participants were based out of Canada, the United States and Australia. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project fonds (F0196) Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1942 - 2021 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Canada, United States, and Australia Still Image A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Multiple drawings, paintings Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Roots and Rainbows Subject The topic of the resource Queerspawn, Aviva Gale-Buncel Description An account of the resource "Roots and Rainbows" is a compilation of rainbow art by Gale-Buncle throughout the years. The art pieces were first featured in <i>Spawning Generations: Rants and Reflections on Growing Up With LGBTQ+ Parents,</i> edited by Sadie Epstein-Fine and Makeda Zook (Bradford: Demeter Press, 2018), p. 123. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Aviva Gale-Buncel Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn fonds, F0196-01-010-003, The ArQuives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [201-?] Relation A related resource <a href="hhttps://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/exhibits/show/queerspawn-digital-storytellin/aviva-gale-buncel">Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project, Aviva Gale Buncel</a> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource "Rainbows 2", PNG image, 6MB, Hard Drive https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/files/original/8399b0c0f05993d6d50f5b0818c444ea.pdf a3b756d87f60a05fb6f15d36b42c2572 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Subject The topic of the resource The Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project was spearheaded by Sadie Epstein-Fine, creative and operational lead with community support from Makeda Zook in 2021. The goal of the project was to provide participants of all ages with one or more LGBTQ2+ parent(s) a way to explore aspects of the queerspawn experience through digital content creation. Over the course of 5 months, the Queerspawn project participants met virtually to share space and build community. They explored different ways to get into their stories and experiences. The project included 13 participants, who created video, art projects and installations, audio stories, podcasts and essays, exploring how their identities and life experiences have intersected with their queerspawn identity. The Queerspawn Project was made possible through the International Centre for Arts for Social Change’s FUTURES/Forward Program and The ArQuives: Canada’s LGBTQ2+ Archives. Description An account of the resource The fonds contains records from the Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project dating from 1942 to 2021. It includes photographs, art installations, artwork, podcasts, audio stories, essays and video created by the thirteen project participants. Project participants were based out of Canada, the United States and Australia. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project fonds (F0196) Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1942 - 2021 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Canada, United States, and Australia Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Rainbows [poem] Subject The topic of the resource Queerspawn, Aviva Gale-Buncel’ Description An account of the resource Aviva Gale-Buncel’s a poem entitled "Rainbows" Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Aviva Gale-Buncel Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn fonds, F0196-01-010-001, The ArQuives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [201-?] Relation A related resource <a href="hhttps://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/exhibits/show/queerspawn-digital-storytellin/aviva-gale-buncel">Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project, Aviva Gale Buncel</a> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource "Rainbows Poem", 1 Microsoft Word Document, Hard Drive https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/files/original/5d8960b3a65f377c201d61e786e51679.jpg c028695a2e6457e7ef78495996bdb251 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Subject The topic of the resource The Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project was spearheaded by Sadie Epstein-Fine, creative and operational lead with community support from Makeda Zook in 2021. The goal of the project was to provide participants of all ages with one or more LGBTQ2+ parent(s) a way to explore aspects of the queerspawn experience through digital content creation. Over the course of 5 months, the Queerspawn project participants met virtually to share space and build community. They explored different ways to get into their stories and experiences. The project included 13 participants, who created video, art projects and installations, audio stories, podcasts and essays, exploring how their identities and life experiences have intersected with their queerspawn identity. The Queerspawn Project was made possible through the International Centre for Arts for Social Change’s FUTURES/Forward Program and The ArQuives: Canada’s LGBTQ2+ Archives. Description An account of the resource The fonds contains records from the Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project dating from 1942 to 2021. It includes photographs, art installations, artwork, podcasts, audio stories, essays and video created by the thirteen project participants. Project participants were based out of Canada, the United States and Australia. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project fonds (F0196) Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1942 - 2021 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Canada, United States, and Australia Still Image A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Painting Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Roots and Rainbows Subject The topic of the resource Queerspawn, Aviva Gale-Buncel Description An account of the resource "Roots and Rainbows" is a compilation of rainbow art by Gale-Buncle throughout the years. The art pieces were first featured in <i>Spawning Generations: Rants and Reflections on Growing Up With LGBTQ+ Parents,</i> edited by Sadie Epstein-Fine and Makeda Zook (Bradford: Demeter Press, 2018), p. 123. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Aviva Gale-Buncel Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn fonds, F0196-01-010-002, The ArQuives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [201-?] Relation A related resource <a href="hhttps://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/exhibits/show/queerspawn-digital-storytellin/aviva-gale-buncel">Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project, Aviva Gale Buncel</a> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource "Rainbows 1", JPEG image, 3.5MB, Hard Drive https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/files/original/3aab77b1929c15680d2c38a89b793a6d.jpg c918905497bf7204e696a58fe06bb9cb Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Subject The topic of the resource The Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project was spearheaded by Sadie Epstein-Fine, creative and operational lead with community support from Makeda Zook in 2021. The goal of the project was to provide participants of all ages with one or more LGBTQ2+ parent(s) a way to explore aspects of the queerspawn experience through digital content creation. Over the course of 5 months, the Queerspawn project participants met virtually to share space and build community. They explored different ways to get into their stories and experiences. The project included 13 participants, who created video, art projects and installations, audio stories, podcasts and essays, exploring how their identities and life experiences have intersected with their queerspawn identity. The Queerspawn Project was made possible through the International Centre for Arts for Social Change’s FUTURES/Forward Program and The ArQuives: Canada’s LGBTQ2+ Archives. Description An account of the resource The fonds contains records from the Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project dating from 1942 to 2021. It includes photographs, art installations, artwork, podcasts, audio stories, essays and video created by the thirteen project participants. Project participants were based out of Canada, the United States and Australia. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project fonds (F0196) Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1942 - 2021 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Canada, United States, and Australia Still Image A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Makeda Zook, Mary Annette Clough, and Krin Zook at Toronto Pride 1992 Subject The topic of the resource Queerspawn Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn fonds, F0196-01-009-002, The ArQuives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1992 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource 1 JPEG image, Hard Drive Relation A related resource <a href="https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/exhibits/show/queerspawn-digital-storytellin/makeda-zook">Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project, Makeda Zook</a> https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/files/original/8a05e9d9f8caa6485b187b98d3075003.mp3 0cdc1cb6308e488b1ebb5184f2193386 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Subject The topic of the resource The Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project was spearheaded by Sadie Epstein-Fine, creative and operational lead with community support from Makeda Zook in 2021. The goal of the project was to provide participants of all ages with one or more LGBTQ2+ parent(s) a way to explore aspects of the queerspawn experience through digital content creation. Over the course of 5 months, the Queerspawn project participants met virtually to share space and build community. They explored different ways to get into their stories and experiences. The project included 13 participants, who created video, art projects and installations, audio stories, podcasts and essays, exploring how their identities and life experiences have intersected with their queerspawn identity. The Queerspawn Project was made possible through the International Centre for Arts for Social Change’s FUTURES/Forward Program and The ArQuives: Canada’s LGBTQ2+ Archives. Description An account of the resource The fonds contains records from the Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project dating from 1942 to 2021. It includes photographs, art installations, artwork, podcasts, audio stories, essays and video created by the thirteen project participants. Project participants were based out of Canada, the United States and Australia. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project fonds (F0196) Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1942 - 2021 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Canada, United States, and Australia Sound A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds. Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 6 minutes, 39 seconds Transcription Any written text transcribed from a sound In my mind, I have started hundreds of first words and opening sentences to this speech. How do I begin to distill down all that Krin, my one and only Krinny, meant to me, still means to me? Will describing how her plaid shirts, baggy cargo-jean shorts, and bright-red skater shoes ever capture the ways her spirit was both playful and butch? Will smells of lemon mixed with lavender ever recreated the calm experienced when I would bury my nose in her thick head of hair? I ask myself, how will I ever be able to express through words the completeness of the way her hugs felt, or the way in which her spontaneous laughter illuminated beauty, or the way her lightness of being and her silliness taught me strength? Words can never capture and hold these feelings as they once existed in the form of flesh and blood, but words can help me remember those feelings. Words can help me feel the emptiness that has been left in the wake of her absence, and at the same time, they can help me feel the fullness of the imprint she has left on me. Since Krin’s death, I’ve heard many times that her legacy lives on through me, yet I feel filled with more questions than answers about what that means. The responsibility feels too big for one person to carry because how can I ever live up to her in the way that she fought for justice, the way that she opened her heart to relative strangers, or the way that she built and surrendered herself with community? Thinking through these big questions, I feel the fullness of that imprint, and I’ve begun to think of her imprint on me also as an inheritance—I’ve inherited a great deal. Perhaps the most important gift I’ve inherited from Krinny is the ability to glimpse that almost imperceptible space-in-between. Krin was always playing with the space-in-between—whether it was the space between genders or the space between the physical and the spirit world—she was at ease in her curiosity of the unknown and at ease in her self-exploration. This space-in-between is where I most often feel her now in that uniquely omnipresent, uniquely Krinny way. It is a feeling that is intangible and fleeting. It is like the blurry space when the ocean meets the shore—not quite water and not quite land, but permanently moving. It feels like the space between heart and break. That Krin was a part of me is an understatement. I was also a part of her—I came from her. I came from her clear blue eyes: the colour of ocean. I came from the waters of her womb. I came from the smallest things that she found funny, and I came from within that big, ever-widening laugh—the one that catches you mid-thought, disarming and drawing you in like you are hearing it for the first time. My grief feels so big sometimes, so all-consuming. It’s like trying to catch the millions of stories, sounds, feelings, and wisdom that Krin often unexpectedly imparted in a laugh, in a question meant to spark a meaningful conversation, or in a random thought that popped into her brain. Krinny showed me the beauty of the unexpected, her “why the heck not?” quality taught me that challenging expectations and pursuing the unexpected were not something to be afraid of; instead, they were something to embrace as an opportunity for self-discovery. Today, she wanted us all to feel what we need to feel without expectations and without script. For me, I began to question why we try not to cry in these times of mourning. Is it because we want to protect others from the sharpness of our own grief? Or is it simply because when our hearts are this broken, we are afraid that we’ll never stop and that our hearts will keep breaking open over and over again? Krin wanted today to be appropriately sad. She knew that this would be the only way to move through the grief, to live it fully, to feel it fully, to welcome it, embrace it with ease and care—not too tightly, but just right. Krin told me in her last week on this physical earth that the grief would be extremely painful but that without the bad, we cannot have the good, or rather, we cannot appreciate the good. She helped me see the beauty in the seemingly small things without inflating the absolute shit with false hope, pretense, or platitude. These seemingly opposing forces of beauty and shit drove her activism and spirituality. Balancing these opposing energies was never about holding onto positivity as w way of masking the shittiness and injustices. Instead, it was about helping her remain curious about what is right in front of us waiting to be seen—whether this be the fullness of a sky bright with stars that have already died, or in the ways that being an effective activist means being open to all you may not intimately know or understand in the bones of your experience. When people talk about death, they often talk about dying words, but the last two days of Krin’s life, there was only breath. In the last two weeks, there was poetry. She spoke of making her “big transition” as “being able to listen to the stars in the sky and being able to hear the songs that they sing.” At first, her very last words felt meaningless—void of the poetry of previous weeks, and without the drama that Hollywood tells you is real. But as the weeks grow since her death, the more her last word stands out. She opened her eyes and said “hello” with all of the curiosity and openness of a child, but without any of the vulnerability. This word, her last word, has begun to take on form and meaning because of the way it captures her presence both in her life and in her death. On the night that Krin died, she walked into the full moon with an openness as purposeful as it was soft—full of love for her life, yet without hesitation of the unknown. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource In Between Heart and Break Subject The topic of the resource Queerspawn Description An account of the resource “In Between Heart and Break” was originally spoken at Makeda’s mom Krin Zook’s memorial service in 2016. It was then published in <i>Spawning Generations: Rants and Reflections on Growing Up with LGBTQ+ Parents</i>, which was co-edited by Zook and Sadie Epstein-Fine in 2018. “In Between Heart and Break” touches upon mourning and grief associated with losing a parent. Makeda Zook is a queerspawn who was born in 1986 to her two lesbian feminists moms Mary Annette Clough adn Krin Zook. She was raised in a mixed-race family surrounded by anti-oppression politics and her OWLs (Older Wiser Lesbians). She grew up in Toronto going to dyke marches. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Makeda Zook Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn fonds, F0196-01-009-001, The ArQuives Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource 1 MPEG-4 audio file [00:06:39], Hard Drive Language A language of the resource English Relation A related resource <a href="https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/exhibits/show/queerspawn-digital-storytellin/makeda-zook">Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project, Makeda Zook</a> Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2016 https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/files/original/aad2694a63a375735fb8f45320e26202.mp4 fdec5291e0a76d8bf86fea11dd46b4d2 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Subject The topic of the resource The Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project was spearheaded by Sadie Epstein-Fine, creative and operational lead with community support from Makeda Zook in 2021. The goal of the project was to provide participants of all ages with one or more LGBTQ2+ parent(s) a way to explore aspects of the queerspawn experience through digital content creation. Over the course of 5 months, the Queerspawn project participants met virtually to share space and build community. They explored different ways to get into their stories and experiences. The project included 13 participants, who created video, art projects and installations, audio stories, podcasts and essays, exploring how their identities and life experiences have intersected with their queerspawn identity. The Queerspawn Project was made possible through the International Centre for Arts for Social Change’s FUTURES/Forward Program and The ArQuives: Canada’s LGBTQ2+ Archives. Description An account of the resource The fonds contains records from the Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project dating from 1942 to 2021. It includes photographs, art installations, artwork, podcasts, audio stories, essays and video created by the thirteen project participants. Project participants were based out of Canada, the United States and Australia. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project fonds (F0196) Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1942 - 2021 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Canada, United States, and Australia Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Father, Maria Callas, and Me Subject The topic of the resource Queerspawn Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Mary Annette Clough Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn fonds, F0196-01-008-001, The ArQuives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2011 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource 1 MPEG-4 movie [00:07:10], Hard Drive Relation A related resource <a href="https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/exhibits/show/queerspawn-digital-storytellin/mary-annette-clough">Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project, Mary Annette Clough</a> https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/files/original/853209a4236fe9ae2a927d7e9d143858.jpg 76c4d1caf896091a7b375de0da2c64b0 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Subject The topic of the resource The Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project was spearheaded by Sadie Epstein-Fine, creative and operational lead with community support from Makeda Zook in 2021. The goal of the project was to provide participants of all ages with one or more LGBTQ2+ parent(s) a way to explore aspects of the queerspawn experience through digital content creation. Over the course of 5 months, the Queerspawn project participants met virtually to share space and build community. They explored different ways to get into their stories and experiences. The project included 13 participants, who created video, art projects and installations, audio stories, podcasts and essays, exploring how their identities and life experiences have intersected with their queerspawn identity. The Queerspawn Project was made possible through the International Centre for Arts for Social Change’s FUTURES/Forward Program and The ArQuives: Canada’s LGBTQ2+ Archives. Description An account of the resource The fonds contains records from the Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project dating from 1942 to 2021. It includes photographs, art installations, artwork, podcasts, audio stories, essays and video created by the thirteen project participants. Project participants were based out of Canada, the United States and Australia. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project fonds (F0196) Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1942 - 2021 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Canada, United States, and Australia Still Image A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Dad and Lisa Deanne Smith Subject The topic of the resource Queerspawn Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1982 Type The nature or genre of the resource 1 JPEG image, Hard Drive Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn fonds, FF0196-01-006-002, The ArQuives Relation A related resource <a href="https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/exhibits/show/queerspawn-digital-storytellin/lisa-deanne-smith">Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project, Lisa Deanne Smith</a> https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/files/original/0fdb8583bdbe32cf3920a1667e295b9f.mp3 0c1b032096b81bb2989b441384944eac Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Subject The topic of the resource The Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project was spearheaded by Sadie Epstein-Fine, creative and operational lead with community support from Makeda Zook in 2021. The goal of the project was to provide participants of all ages with one or more LGBTQ2+ parent(s) a way to explore aspects of the queerspawn experience through digital content creation. Over the course of 5 months, the Queerspawn project participants met virtually to share space and build community. They explored different ways to get into their stories and experiences. The project included 13 participants, who created video, art projects and installations, audio stories, podcasts and essays, exploring how their identities and life experiences have intersected with their queerspawn identity. The Queerspawn Project was made possible through the International Centre for Arts for Social Change’s FUTURES/Forward Program and The ArQuives: Canada’s LGBTQ2+ Archives. Description An account of the resource The fonds contains records from the Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project dating from 1942 to 2021. It includes photographs, art installations, artwork, podcasts, audio stories, essays and video created by the thirteen project participants. Project participants were based out of Canada, the United States and Australia. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project fonds (F0196) Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1942 - 2021 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Canada, United States, and Australia Sound A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds. Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 27 minutes, 51 seconds Transcription Any written text transcribed from a sound My father died on September 3, 2012. He was seventy-four years old and a gay man. The following June, my daughter, sister, and I spent a weekend going through his belongings, a bittersweet task. As we decided what to do with his leather pants and cap, I thought about the queer community and how it has changed since my father came out in the late 1970s. Back then, it wasn't easy to be a gay man or a gay father, but it was possible--barely. It had only been legal to participate in consensual homosexual acts in Canada since 1969, although George Klippert was arrested in Northwest Territories just before the law changed as "incurably homosexual" and a dangerous sexual offender for admitting to having consensual homosexual sex with four separate adult men. He was not released from Canadian jail until June 1971. I was six years old at the time and had no idea how much my father was struggling with his sexuality. Coming from a large Catholic family, near the village of Harvey Station, New Brunswick, being openly gay wasn't an option. In fact, even pondering the idea of whether or not he might be gay was something that his conscious mind could not afford. Thinking back to discussions with my father, it was evident that from a young age he was searching for something elusive--he didn't know what he needed, just that he didn't have it.  I don't have any memories from when my parents were together, as they separated when I was three. What I've learned has come through discussions with each of them over the years. My mother is also from New Brunswick. She grew up in the village of Fredericton Junction, a forty minute drive from my father's home. Being a talented basketball player, my mom played on her high school team. When she was fifteen, she played an away game at my dad's high school, where he was the scorekeeper. They noticed each other and hit it off. My dad looked like Sal Mineo, 1950s singing icon and actor in Rebel without a Cause, and my mom was "pretty as a china doll" as my dad liked to say. They dated on and off throughout their teenage years. On the day of my mother's high school graduation, while sitting in his car, my dad offered her an engagement ring. She told him she didn't want it, but he convinced her to "just try it on." And, just like that, they were engaged. Time passed, but no wedding date was set. My father moved to Toronto, and my mom remained in New Brunswick. Recently, my mom told me that she proposed to him through a letter which said "either we marry this Christmas or not at all." She thought he would say he couldn't as he had just moved to Toronto. But he didn't. Newly married, they began their life together under the bright city lights of Toronto. After a few years, they bought their dream home in the suburb of Brampton and began a family. My dad, always friendly and charming, worked in sales at Copp Clark publishing, and my mother, smart as a whip, held various office jobs, including the bank of Nova Scotia, Bell Canada, and finally with Air Canada (which she remained at for over thirty-two years). When I was a baby, my father accepted a yearlong work transfer to Vancouver. He loved that city. He must have sensed something satisfying for himself there. After returning to Brampton, he thought about Vancouver often. My mom and dad began to argue, and found fault with each other in the trivial details of life. A year passed in our suburban home on Roberts Crescent, but ultimately my father quit his job and took a new one in Vancouver. My twenty-six year-old mother was left on her own to raise two daughters under the age of six. It was very difficult for all of us. In my father's later years, he sometimes mentioned the guilt he felt about moving across the country. But it was difficult to weigh the guilt against the exciting life he had discovered in the west end of Vancouver. I didn't know when my father officially came out. I assume it was a process as I remember meeting a girlfriend of his in Vancouver when I was around six, but as the years passed, the women in his life were just friends. We met many more close male friends, a couple boyfriends, and a few that became family.  Meanwhile my mother, older sister, and I moved back to Toronto leaving the suburban home we could no longer afford. We were confused and heartbroken. Being three years old, I wasn't rational. I felt as if it was my fault. I felt as if I wasn't good enough for him to stay. We settled into a low-income apartment complex behind a strip mall in north Etobicoke, alongside many immigrant families and others making a fresh start. It was a vibrant, diverse community. Three twelve-story buildings framed a large open area with a park, playground, and swimming pool, where a pack of forty or so rambunctious kids ran wild. My mother worked long hours. She was tired all the time. Through watching her, I learned the value of work and the necessity of a powernap. She met all of our needs, helped with homework, and encouraged our talents. I would like to say that everything was terrific--that having a father who lived on the other side of the country, who we saw an average of twenty-one days a year, didn't bother me at all, but it did. I longed for him. As a child I was often anxious when I went to visit my dad. I wanted him to come back to live with us and thought he would if I was good enough, funny enough, and pretty enough. The first time my sister and I flew to Vancouver to visit him, I was four, and my sister was seven. I remember feeling I would burst with excitement. My sister and I left home gussied up in matching velvet dresses. Upon arrival, due to my nervousness, I ran to my dad wearing only my crinoline as I had thrown up all over myself on the plane. At one family gathering, a few years later, I remember clinging to him for hours. I wrapped myself around his leg, like a baby orangutan, and wouldn't let go. The time we were able to spend with him was precious. We were ecstatic to be together and savoured every moment, smell, and touch of one another. I can still hear the warm baritone of his laugh. I can still smell his freshness and feel his soft, faded jeans. We tried our best to please him, and he us, because we wanted our time together to be perfec.t NO child should be that far away from either parent. Unfortunately, my father was only comfortable exploring his sexuality as a gay man and eventually coming out at a distance from everyone he knew, including my sister and me. When we were growing up, homophobia was common. I often wonder if it hadn't been so widespread in the sixties, seventies, and eighties, would my father have chosen to live closer? Could he have been himself and helped to raise us? A great deal of pain may have been avoided. At age six or seven, I developed anger issues. Day to day, I was a pretty happy kid, but sometimes I exploded. Once, while alone at home, I broke a few pieces of my mother's fancy china. I took them out of their cabinet and smashed them, one by one, on the floor. When my mother came home, surprisingly, she was very calm and concerned. She asked me why I did it. I thought deeply about her question and felt scared because I had no answer other than to admit that a huge uncontainable rage welled up inside me. Looking back, I've realized that I was furious with my dad for leaving us, but at the same time, I couldn't express my anger to him as that would have ruined our precious time together. Over the years, I grew to understand the intense pressures my father lived under as a gay man. I eventually expressed my anger toward him, and it finally dissipated. My father loved my sister and me, but the societal norms of the times caused scars for us all.  I began to clue in that my father had boyfriends, not girlfriends, when I was about fifteen. At the same time, my body was rapidly changing. Sex was constantly on my mind. With the Toronto bathhouse raids in the news, I learned that people of the same sex got together in many different manners. I fooled around with both women and men, as I began to discover what made me feel good. As I was engaged in discovering my own sexuality, it dawned on me that my father was gay. This discovery made me happy, as I had always sensed a hidden side to my dad, and now I knew what it was.  At the time, my anger found an outlet through hating the life I felt was prescribed for me. I hated high school, corporations, racism, governments, disco, Dorothy Hamill, work, authority, Ronald Reagan, war, nations, Farrah Fawcett and John Wayne--basically anything that represented mainstream society. I quit school and left home. Searching the streets of downtown Toronto, I quickly found punk rock and explored different ways of being in the world. I packed in a lot of living. I worked two North American tours as a roadie for MDC, a hard-core political punk band from Texas--one being the infamous Rock Against Reagan tour in 1983 with the Dead Kennedys headlining. I lived in squats from San Francisco to Berlin, producing fanzines and LP covers; I was often hungry, and sometimes I supported myself by begging on the streets. I tried out my French in Montreal, but was much more successful at eating bagels and partying. I felt that having a gay dad was cool, as it also didn't fit into what was considered normal at the time. It created a special bond between us.  My father and I both liked to paint the town red, and we made a great team. In Vancouver, we would start a night out at the Luv-A-Fair on Seymour Street. I danced to punk music while my dad warmed up with a few drinks. One night a young man tried, unsuccessfully, to hit on me. After my lacklustre response, he turned to my father and asked, "Why is she with you old man?" My father replies slowly with his warm smile, "Because I've got the money, honey!" We both chuckled and left for John Barley's in Gastown. The club would be packed to the rafters with sweaty, musclebound men and a few women. My father knew almost everyone there. It was a trip: his friends treated me like a queen, well since I really couldn't compete with many of them for that status ... maybe more like a princess! All night, my drinks were free. I was feted, and I danced until early morning to loud disco, which I learned to love, but, at the time, only in the atmosphere of sweaty, muscular, leather-bound gay men. I relished in the safe and distinguished status I felt as my father's daughter. It wasn't common that one of the leather boys and his daughter had so much fun together. Often I lost myself on the dance floor, once in a while finding my dad with my eyes and a smile.  I don't remember my dad formally "coming out" to me. It happened gradually through our interactions. One day while on my own in my dad's Vancouver apartment, I rifled through his bedside table. I found a soft black leather wristband with flat silver studs and adjustable snaps and promptly put it on me. When he returned with his boyfriend, he noticed it and asked, "Why do you have that on your wrist?" I watched as the two men exchanged horrified, awkward looks and I realized what it was. "Ewww," I thought as I gingerly unsnapped the leather and handed it back to my dad.  My father eventually returned to Toronto and moved into a white high-rise apartment in the heart of the gay village. Toronto Pride became a family event for us. We adored the beer gardens and together pranced up a storm. One year, my dad and his friends created a float for the Pride parade. Dressed as Cleopatra, my father was displayed like royalty. It was hot, and he managed to survive the heat by being fanned by a harem of frond-waving men. My heart swelled with love for him. I didn't know anyone with a gay parent at the time, and it empowered me to have a place to openly celebrate our family. The late eighties rolled in with intensity, which brought the AIDS crisis and the deaths of many of our friends. It was scary and heart wrenching; the air was full of fear and lies. My lifestyle led to regular testing for AIDS. The wait after a test was frightening. At the time, AIDS was a death sentence, and frequently, the media alluded to the disease as payback for depraved activity. My results were always negative, making life that much sweeter, for a while. Anonymous testing was illegal at the time, but I went to the Hassle Free Clinic on Church st., as they provided it anonymously, despite the law. My father lived close by, and I'd visit him, fill him in, and pester him to get tested. He always refused. He hated illness of any kind and instead spent hours at the gym. He was buff, but still, he was scared--we both were. It was a very dark time. Activism erupted in response to the way the epidemic was being handled. It galvanized the community, and the fight for access to healthcare, dignity, and respect changed the lives of the next generation. My father remained steadfast in his decision not to get tested until the late nineties when antiretroviral treatments became available in Canada. One day, he called me out of the blue to share his results. He got lucky: they were negative. Many weren't so fortunate: in 1994, there were 32,995 Canadians living with HIV.  One night, in the same neighbourhood where the two of us had shared many Pride parades, my father walked home after enjoying a dinner party with friends who lived in the sister apartment building. It was a short jaunt through the park between the two buildings. As it was his neighbourhood, the gay-bourhood, he didn't think twice when three young men called him over with a seemingly friendly question. They jumped him in a premeditated gay bashing. My father was hospitalized. The hate he experienced shook him to his core. He was left full of anger, shame, and a sense of powerlessness. A recurring dream developed in which he turned into a superhero, fought back, and exacted revenge on the men who stole his sense of safety. In a strange way, this experience brought my father and me closer. I was an Ontario College of Art student at the time and had invited my dad to come to my first gallery exhibition. Had I not demanded he come, I might have never known that he was hurt, as he kept the experience hidden from most people. But he said "no" and insisted I come visit him instead. I still feel sad remembering his lumpy black and blue face. He was wounded by the cruel prejudice of his attackers as much as he was by their fists. His pain came pouring out when I visited. He hated that he couldn't come to my show. We both hated the hate. It was, and still is, incomprehensible. No one was ever charged for the crime.  Soon after his physical recovery, my dad bought a house in Crystal Beach, Ontario, with two of his oldest friends. They left Toronto's gay village for small-town life--a town that has an active queer community in which they could retire gracefully and in style. My daughter, sister, and I always loved visiting their impeccable homes. My mother came sometimes too--as we grew older, my parents rekindled their friendship, and we spent most holidays and special functions together. Although queerness wasn't, most often, directly discussed with the immediate or extended family, we all knew and accepted that my father was gay. None of us accepted homophobic comments, and at one point, my mother had a boyfriend who wasn't able to adjust to having her gay ex-husband around, and it contributed to why that boyfriend didn't last.  My father and his two roommates became family to us. I often joked that they should have made a sitcom of their household. Of course, it would have been called The Golden Boys. Outwardly, all three of The Golden Boys seemed to become more conservative as they aged, although their witty banter at dinner parties was still drier than a martini from the Park Hyatt Hotel. My father and his Golden Boy roommates started going to the Catholic Church across the street. Pies and muffins were often baked for fundraisers. Red wine still flowed freely with dinner, but his leather pants and leather cap stiffened up with neglect. The Golden Boys loved when we came to visit. They lavished us with attention, humour, and impeccable good taste. My daughter and I would make an adventure out of it and pitch our tent in their backyard. Although they never said a word against my girl's grubby hands, I could see them all relax when it was time to move our adventures to the tent or even further afield to the beach. It was as if my daughter had three doting grandfathers. And although I felt many judgements from mainstream parenting communities concerned with my decision to breastfeed my daughter until she was almost four, not once were my dad and his roommates disturbed. Their acceptance of me and how I chose to live my life in politically subversive ways throughout the decades was absolute. These men, who had felt the pain of intolerance, were among the most inclusive and compassionate people I have ever known.  I remember the little girl I once was, the one that clung to my father's leg afraid that if I let go, I'd never see him again. That day came when my father died at the age of seventy-four from lung cancer. I lay with him in his hospital bed, holding his hand, as he took his last breath. My daughter was in the next room sleeping, and my sister had just arrived after a panicked, nonstop journey from Quebec. Earlier that day, my dad and I had listened to Marvin Gaye sing "What's Going On," one of our favorite songs from the 1970s. The lyrics capture the deep concern, frustration and love we share about society and its effects on our lives: "Oh, you know we've got to find a way to bring some understanding here today." Since my father died, I've spent a great deal of time reflecting on how our communities have shifted over the last thirty-five years. We no longer can find one label that comfortably fits the LGBTQ, QPOC, transgender, two-spirit, agender-gender fluid, gender non-binary, queer, lesbian, pansexual, bisexual, and gay communities. My fourteen-year-old daughter expresses her impatience as I struggle to find that elusive, all-encompassing label while writing this. She doesn't yet understand the past work and activism that have created an atmosphere in which it is normal for her to have non-cis-gender-identified friends. At the brink of maturing sexuality, she and her friends are just beginning to identify sexual preference. Recently she told me, "Mom, you are so uncool trying to label everything." I responded with how vital I believe it is for people to have an individual voice while still supporting the need to have terms that bring communities together in solidarity, movement building, and political activism. It is liberating for her generation to have so many possible options--things of course are not perfect, or even easy, with so many pressing issues of hate and intolerance to transform--but it is a very different world from the one my father and I grew up in. Resistance, like leather, is a beautiful thing.  Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Resistance, Like Leather, Is a Beautiful Thing Subject The topic of the resource Queerspawn Description An account of the resource Lisa Deanne Smith reads her essay, "Resistance, Like Leather, Is a Beautiful Thing." Essay was published in <i>Spawning Generations: Rants and Reflections on Growing Up With LGBTQ+ Parents</i>, edited by Sadie Epstein-Fine and Makeda Zook (Bradford: Demeter Press, 2018), p. 190-198. Lisa Deanne Smith is a curator who explores issues of voice, embodied experience and power. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Lisa Deanne Smith Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn fonds, FF0196-01-006-001, The ArQuives Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource 1 MPEG-3 audio file [00:27:51], 66.9MB, Hard Drive Relation A related resource <a href="https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/exhibits/show/queerspawn-digital-storytellin/lisa-deanne-smith">Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project, Lisa Deanne Smith</a> Language A language of the resource English https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/files/original/639197b8a94f9e994f98ba407c8986da.mp3 327efbda4c3f83c6a232f70170f73160 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Subject The topic of the resource The Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project was spearheaded by Sadie Epstein-Fine, creative and operational lead with community support from Makeda Zook in 2021. The goal of the project was to provide participants of all ages with one or more LGBTQ2+ parent(s) a way to explore aspects of the queerspawn experience through digital content creation. Over the course of 5 months, the Queerspawn project participants met virtually to share space and build community. They explored different ways to get into their stories and experiences. The project included 13 participants, who created video, art projects and installations, audio stories, podcasts and essays, exploring how their identities and life experiences have intersected with their queerspawn identity. The Queerspawn Project was made possible through the International Centre for Arts for Social Change’s FUTURES/Forward Program and The ArQuives: Canada’s LGBTQ2+ Archives. Description An account of the resource The fonds contains records from the Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project dating from 1942 to 2021. It includes photographs, art installations, artwork, podcasts, audio stories, essays and video created by the thirteen project participants. Project participants were based out of Canada, the United States and Australia. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project fonds (F0196) Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1942 - 2021 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Canada, United States, and Australia Sound A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds. Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 24 minutes, 59 seconds Transcription Any written text transcribed from a sound A friend of mine has a toaster oven on her shelf, decorated with rainbow tissue paper and sparkles. She received it after she started dating her girlfriend. She was her girlfriend’s first girlfriend. I grew up knowing this was a tradition. They’re not always covered in rainbows and glitter, but if you are a lesbian who “converts” a straight girl, you must receive a toaster oven. The newest generation of lesbians doesn’t know this. Lesbians between the ages of twenty and thirty think a toaster oven is just a toaster oven. I have always known differently. Until recently I thought that the toaster oven joke came from the Ellen show. Not the talk show where everybody gets presents and Ellen hangs out with Justin Beiber, but Ellen’s 1997 ABC sit-com where she made history by coming out on television. She came out in the “Puppy Episode” on 30 April 1997, screaming into an airport sound system, “I’m gay.” The first version of this essay credited the Ellen show as originating the toaster oven joke. One of the reviewers commented that she came out before that episode aired and had already been making that joke with her friends. In my current understanding, the joke began in the 1970s when banks would give new customers common household appliances, often toaster ovens, as gifts for joining. In 1977, anti-gay activist Anita Bryant warned that gays were out to convert young people to their sinful ways. In response, gays and lesbians joked about receiving a toaster oven if you brought in a convert. Ellen was referencing this joke, making an inside joke as part of popular culture. “The Puppy Episode” aired in the show’s fourth season. The network cancelled the fifth season, and Ellen did not work for three years after the episode aired. Laura Dern, the woman who facilitated Ellen’s coming out on the show, did not work for a year. It is Laura’s character who made the toaster oven joke. In the episode, Laura comes out to Ellen as a lesbian. This makes Ellen wildly uncomfortable, and she warns Laura not to “recruit her.” Laura responds: “I’ll have to call National Headquarters and tell them I lost you. Damn, just one more, and I would have gotten that toaster oven.” At the same time that this episode aired and the media scandal that followed was breaking, I was having my first coming out. It was the winter of 1998. I was in grade one, and my best friend Jane and I were rolling around in the snow. Out of nowhere, a voice sneered, “What are you, lesbians?” We looked up and saw a group of big grade eights towering over us. They were massive, and we were antlike. I felt fear, but also anger. It was the “fuck you: feeling I get now, but I wasn’t using that word then and I didn’t know how to name it. Jane looked confused, and I jumped up as they were walking away, laughing. “Hey!” I yelled, “That’s mean! My moms are lesbians!” I don’t think they looked back. Maybe they weren’t used to a six-year-old girl defying them. Jane asked me what lesbians were, and I told her that lesbians are when two women love each other. And I told her that my parents were lesbians and that I was conceived through a sperm donor that my mommies got from a sperm bank. I’m not sure how much Jane took in on that sunny winter day, but I know that she loved my parents and continued to love them through childhood, into adolescence, and now as an adult. They were the ones who gave her in-depth sex talks, which included personal stories, which I was mortified to hear. In the decade that followed, I became a spokes-child for queer parenting in Ontario. I can’t count how many newspaper articles, radio shows, and television clips I’ve been part of, depicting how normal my life is despite having been raised by two lesbian moms who split up when I was ten, yet remained friends. There is one television clip I particularly remember filming. I was twelve or thirteen, in the midst of middle school, and my hair was growing out at funny angles, which made me think I was the ugliest person alive. I wore my favorite green sweater, but watching the clip later, I wished I had worn something more form fitting that didn’t make me look like a dirty, sweaty preteen. But that is the outfit I chose, and the film crew arrived at seven o’clock in the morning. They filmed the same clips over and over. They wanted two shots: one of me crossing the street from one of my houses to the other (at that time my moms lived across the street from each other) and one of my moms helping me get ready for school. I stood in the middle of the street and walked to my front door at least ten times. I was already late for school and walking up to my door had lost its pizzazz. By the last take, I felt as if I were in acting class, and I had to redo the scene because I hadn’t placed the hair on the right mark. My mom and I never had developed a morning routine, probably because I am a bit of a scatter brain, and she is often absorbed in her own work, but the film people were determined to find one. As I performed putting the apple into my lunch bag for the fifth time, I hoped that we were somehow normalizing queer families. When the clip came out a week or so later, my mom and I watched it; we hated what we looked like and laughed about how chipper we sounded. My mom couldn’t get over how straight our life looked. Following our clip was a man with a binder who claimed that the research in that binder concluded that children raised in homosexual families would not fare as well as children raised in heterosexual families because they were missing either a mother or father figure. Although he kept referring to the binder, he never opened it, and at one point, my mom pointed to the screen and laughed. “There’s nothing in it!” Even though the angle of the camera almost masked the black hole where there should have been important papers, for the rest of the interview, all I could see was the empty binder. I stared at this outrageous flaw in his argument and wondered how anyone could give credibility to his opinion. To remember the specifics of these media clips, I did a Google search of myself. I expected that information about me would be interspersed with television clips from the family channel show, Naturally Sadie, or news about the death of a beloved Jewish Bubby (Sadie is a popular name for Jewish women). Instead, when I entered my name, the first three pages were solely about me, and three quarters of the hits documented my experience being raised by queer parents. Even the few articles documenting my budding theatre career focused on my upbringing. In 2014, I acted in Freda and Jem’s Best of the Week: a lesbian love story gone wrong, but now they have two kids, and the breakup affects everyone. The play was written by my mom, and I played the angry nineteen year-old daughter. One reviewer, pointed out my history as an LGBTQ parenting posterchild, writes, “Epstein-Fine’s experience has helped shape public understanding of the realities of children with queer parents for over a decade” (Hoile). I try to think about the ways in which I have shaped public understanding. I know I have been shaped by the interviews and the variations on the same question being asked of me over and over again—“What has it been like being raised by queer parents?” Every time, my answer is always some variation of: “Awesome. It has been awesome.” When I was younger, when I was first asked about my family, I answered these questions thinking this was normal, that every child went through this. I didn’t really think, as I was playing the fairy or bird game with my friends at recess in grade three, that I would later have to recall those same recesses to assess whether or not I had been bullied. I didn’t register then how my family was subject to public investigation and criticism. As I got older, I began to notice the scrutiny and I became acutely aware of the microscopic lens we were held under. In 2005, my family was involved in a Charter challenge against the Government of Ontario to make it legal for two women to put their names on a birth registration. When I was born, thirteen years prior, my parents scratched out “father,” replaced it with mother, filled in my non-biological mom’s name, and attempted to give me a hyphenated version of their surnames. They checked off the box for “cultural reasons.” The birth registration was rejected, and I grew up with only one of my moms legally recognized, with the surname of only my biological parent. At the time of the Charter challenge, I was thirteen and able to advocate for myself. Since the other children whose parents were involved in the challenge were too young to speak, my affidavit held a lot of weight. I remember sitting in our lawyer’s office trying desperately to think of the negative implications of homophobia has had in my life and how having both my moms as legal parents would change that. I kept saying, “I think I’m the wrong person to interview. I’ve never really been bullied.” I had grown up at progressive alternative schools where the questions on our math tests read something like, “In the 1950s, eighty percent of the population believed that homosexuality was wrong. In the year 2000, forty percent of the population believed that homosexuality was wrong. If homophobia continues to decrease at this rate, what year will homophobia cease to exist?” But I knew that for many raised in queer families, harassment and bullying, sometimes severe, were a reality. I felt a responsibility to advocate for the people who did not have a voice. My final affidavit was not untrue. But when the judge read it in court, my mom had to nudge me to tell me it was being read. I didn’t recognize my own words. My moms like to say that my story helped win the case. I looked at my non-biological mom, who had tears in her eyes when the judge called her a mother. This meant she could take me on a plane without my other mom having to sign a document. I wouldn’t have to lie while crossing the U.S. border if the border guard asked which one was my mom. I don’t know how our victory has helped other queer families, and I know for certain that bullying still exists on playgrounds. But I do know that I would write that affidavit one hundred times over and tell whatever story needed to be told in order to see my mom and other non-biological parents, who never thought their child could bear their name, called a mother by a court of law. After the court case, I was asked to do more interviews, and I was frequently asked to sit on queer-parenting panels. Bullying was often a focal point, and I was a constant reassurance to new or prospective queer parents. My sexuality was also a frequent point of discussion. Everyone, including queer parents, wanted to know if queer parents raise queer children. I turned this question into a joke: “I grew up surrounded by too many women; I do not need any more in my life.” Everyone laughed. It didn’t matter who my audience was. The laughter was tinged with relief. It’s not that the queer parents would have rejected me if I were queer, but I was the projection of their hope; I was the practically-perfect-in-every-way-daughter who proved that queer people can raise children and they can turn out all right. I got good grades; I had too many extracurricular activities (drama, dance, improve, social justice club). And in my down time, I got crushes on boys. On those panels, I never talked about the messy and hard parts of my life because that wasn’t the point. I had to give those prospective parents, many of whom thought they would never have children, hope that they would not fuck up their future children and that their queerness was a gift, something of which their children would be fiercely proud. I started dating boys in high school. Obsessing over boys might actually be more accurate. I seemed to developed crushes on the unavailable boys who I thought could never like me back. After middle school, I grew my hair long and wore more makeup than I did when I was onstage. I went to a uniformed public school, so I rolled my kilt and tied up my polo shirts so my midriff was just visible. I liked one boy on my high school improv tea, and at sleepovers, I would show my friends his profile picture on Facebook and recount little tidbits about him, such as the fact that he shares a birthday with Shakespeare. When it came to actually talking to him, I was hopeless. I could perform an improv scene with him, but when we weren’t onstage, I was stammering and blushing. Once I took him to my mom’s birthday party, which had a queer singles theme. I’m not sure why I thought that would be a good idea. I think I wanted to show him my world. On the streetcar on the way to the party, he was excited to witness a full-on lesbian party. I don’t think he was prepared for the real thing. As we approached the house, we saw many women on the porch smoking and/or kissing. We went inside but couldn’t move because of the bodies taking up every inch of floor space. The music was blasting, and people, ranging in age from mid-twenties to mid-sixties were grinding. Surrounded by all these grinding queer women it looked as if he were about to implode, so I rushed him upstairs to my room. I had to remind myself that a room full of lesbians was not comforting to most people and that most teenagers would not blend easily into that crowd. Although I could always blend into gatherings at my house, I noticed an increasing distance between myself and the larger queer community. Every year since I was little, I put together a special outfit for Pride. The most memorable ensemble involved a rainbow tutu and a sparkly fairy wand. As I walked down the street holding my moms’ hands, people bent down to tell me how cute I was. We had many pictures taken of us, and once Mayor Barbara Hall invited me to have tea with Queen Elizabeth, whom she was meeting the next day. Pride was for me what Christmas was for many of my peers. As a teenager, I would still put together a Pride outfit, but I was too old for people to tell my moms how adorable I was, and I wasn’t getting nods or winks from queer youth walking down Church Street. I didn’t know whether to stay in the Family Pride area or wander the streets. I didn’t feel like I belonged in either space. At the end of grade ten, my mom took me to a show created by Gender Play, a theatre program for queer and trans youth. The play was circus-themed, and through the metaphors of tightrope walking, juggling, disappearing acts, and flaming hoop jumping, the participants told stories of not belonging, feeling lost, hating themselves, and finding places where they could be themselves. I cried through most of it. After the show, as we walked to our car, I couldn’t stop jabbering to my mom about how much I related to the performers and how inspired I was. My mom suggested that I join Gender Play. My heart leapt at the idea of being part of a group that I could relate to and might feel comfortable around, but I was worried they wouldn’t understand why I was there. On the first day of Gender Play the following September, I was sweating profusely in my blue skinny jeans and my favorite pastel-green cardigan. Each person who walked in was queerer than the last. Suddenly, I was embarrassed by my long blonde hair that I had worked so hard to grow. They wore baggy pants, combat boots, ripped jeans, and leather jackets. Everyone’s hair was either asymmetrical or dyed a funky colour. I looked around and saw every colour of the rainbow on top of heads that pierced everything. They were many tattoos poking out of shirtsleeves, collars, and sock lines. The final member of our group walked in late. “Jaq!” everyone squealed, and this person was drowned in hugs. I was reluctant to get up because I was afraid people would see the puddle of sweat on my chair. Jaq broke out of the hug and looked at me, the only new kid in the room. Their eyes were the warmest brown. They were tall, maybe five foot nine, and they was by far the queerest one in attendance. Heavy boots, graphic t-shirt, army green button up, undone. Their hair was swooshy and dyed blue or purple; they would be perfect for the Tumblr page “Lesbians Who Look Like Justin Beiber.” Except Jaq didn’t identify as lesbian because they identified as genderqueer. Which I thought was fabulous. Jaq said “hi,” and I blushed. I don’t think I could get a “hi” out. My throat seemed to have closed. I think I smiled meekly. All year I struggled to create my personal piece. I knew that I wanted it to involve dance, and I knew that it had to do with being my parents’ child. I didn’t even know where to begin. Everyone else’s piece seemed to lead somewhere. They were in a bad place, something changed, and then they were in a different place, sometimes good sometimes bad. I watched them as they expressed their pain, anger, and sadness through a multitude of disciplines, and I was in awe. I had spent so many years talking to queer communities about how proud and happy I was to have queer parents that I didn’t’ even know how to name the complexity of emotions I felt about how my admission to queer community was linked to my parents’ identity, and I didn’t know if I was welcome without them. In all of this turmoil, the year slipped by. Suddenly it was March and the Gender Play intensive weekend. The weekend looked like this: We arrived on Friday afternoon and didn’t leave until Sunday afternoon. We ate all our meals together and weren’t allowed to leave the building. We all slept in the rehearsal room. I was both shaking with excitement and petrified for the weekend. The other members of the group excited me, and I loved hearing about their lives. The thing was that they barely knew anything about mine. On Friday night, the entire group was a mass of limbs piled on one couch in the rehearsal room playing Truth or Dare. Of course, it was only Truth. Nobody wanted to Dare when truth meant we could learn everyone’s secrets. All the questions were about sex and sexuality and what people had done or hadn’t done. It was my turn. “Truth,” I said. I knew what they were going to ask. This girl Shana piped up, although they were all thinking the same thing. “How do you identify? We’re all confused.” Clearly, they had been talking. Just like on the panels I knew what the right answer was. But this answer was different than the one I had always given. Here my friends didn’t want to hear how well I functioned in society or how normal my life was; they wanted to hear about the messy parts. Jaq was sitting across from me and looking at me with warmth and kindness and those soft brown eyes. My breathing became deeper, and blood rushed hot through my body. I told them I was bi. I still don’t know if at the time I thought my answer was a lie. I was looking down when I said it. I looked back up at Jaq, and too many emotions flooded my system. It was something I hadn’t felt for all those boys, but wanted so desperately to feel. It was tinged with fear but also comfort in the way that a room full of grinding lesbians was comforting. I joined Gender Play in 2008. In the following decade, North America saw a massive change in relation to LGBTQ public policy and social attitudes. Everyone loves seeing Ellen dance on her show in her fitted vests and matching dress pants. Her wedding to Portia De Rossi was featured on the front page of People magazine. When Kathleen Wynne ran for premier of Ontario in 2013, I voted Liberal for the first time in my life. I am a die-hard NDP-er. When I told my mom’s friend how weird I felt voting Liberal, she said, “You didn’t vote Liberal; you voted lesbian.” Apparently a lot of people voted lesbian because we made history by electing the first out lesbian premier in Canada. At the 2013 Golden Globe Awards, Jodie Foster described coming out many years ago to close family and friends, but feeling as if she could not come out in the public eye. She must have closely monitored the fallout after Ellen’s pioneering episode. But in 2013, the audience laughed when Jodie joked about how every gay celebrity was supposed to have a reality show, where their private life was made public. Elliot Page came out publicly on Valentine’s Day in 2014, as the keynote speaker at the Time to Thrive LGBTQ conference. They talked about the pressures starts like them still face in the industry. Moments later, the clip was up on YouTube, and my Facebook page was littered with praise for Page. Later, they made an appearance on the other Ellen’s talk show, where they both exchanged their feelings of relief after coming out. Page commended DeGeneres for coming out at a time when the zeitgeist was not so accepting. Beginning in high school, I followed these stories with a reverent obsessiveness and watched as the world showered these celebrities with praise. Of course, I also agreed with the critics who were not so impressed because for them, wealthy white women coming out was not revolutionary. What of the racialized, marginalized, trans individuals whose stories were not warming the public’s hearts and who faced violence, incarceration, and death? What of the gay men being targeted by a serial killer in Toronto? Although we haven’t achieved queer or trans liberation, there has been a change---just fifteen years ago, making a joke about a toaster oven was enough to get you booted out of the public consciousness and pop culture. In my own life I saw queer positivity become trendy. The Queer-Straight Alliance at my school was cool. It was called Students against Stereotyping Sexualities (SASS), and I became an organizer for most of the club’s events. In my Grade 12 year I helped to organize a conference called Upstream: Moving against the Current. It was run by our anti-oppression coalition, and I was in charge of the LGBTQ section, under the guise of my parentage. After that fateful Truth or Dare session, I did not hang my identity on any word from the queer alphabet. My image as the child who proved men with binders wrong and made queer people feel like they could have children and not damage them had to be upheld at all costs! I had put too many hours in and had made too many impassioned speeches. I still though of those warm brown eyes, but I replaced them with Adam’s apples and patchy facial hair. However, the day my school’s prom posters went up, all I saw were brown eyes. I wanted to imagine nestling my cheek against facial hair, but all I could think of was the face rash I would likely get. That night I called Jaq and told them my prom theme was “I’m On a Boat,” because our prom was on a cruise ship. We tried to guess how many times “I’m On a Boat” by The Lonely Island was going to play. I whispered that I didn’t know who I was going with. They said, “Wouldn’t it be funny if we went together.” I had told them how straight my school was despite its pro-gay attitude. My heart sped up, and I was sweating profusely with the phone pressed into my ear. There was no other answer but “yes.” As Jaq and I boarded the boat, everyone stared. I was wearing a black mini dress with chains down the front. Jaq wore a chain-wallet hook, and their button up pocket was bedazzled with mini chains. The day before, in a fit of “I don’t know what to do with my hair!,” I had shaved off one side and dyed it bleach blonde. Jaq and I gathered with my friends to take pictures on deck while the sun was setting. In one of the photos, I have the biggest smile on my face, and I am staring adoringly at Jaq. There are no other pictures of me in high school where I look that happy. We left the ship after a long night of dancing (they played “I’m On a Boat” six times, we counted) and I walked Jaq to the street car stop before my friends and I departed to the after party. As we waited for the streetcar, we didn’t talk much. We just smiled huge, dorky smiles and looked into each other’s eyes. The blood rushed through my body was the hottest it had ever been. Finally what seemed like an eternity, Jaq leaned in to kiss me. It was warm and kind and soft. At that moment, I didn’t think of all the unknown, nameless people I was disappointing, or all of the stereotypes I was fulfilling. I was kissing the person I had wanted to kiss since the first time I saw their blue or purple hair. From behind me, I heard cheering and realized that my entire grade was watching from their various limos and party buses. My entire history had hurtled me toward this moment, and in this moment, I didn’t care about the big grade eight bullies, I didn’t need to win a court case, and I didn’t care about turning out all right. The moment was fleeting, and as Jaq pulled away to get on their streetcar, they had no idea that I owed them a toaster oven. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Sweating the Gay Stuff Subject The topic of the resource Queerspawn Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Sadie Epstein-Fine Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Queerspawn fonds, F0196-01-005-004, The ArQuives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [2018-2021] Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource 1 MPEG-4 audio file [00:24:58], Hard Drive Relation A related resource <a href="https://digitalexhibitions.arquives.ca/exhibits/show/queerspawn-digital-storytellin/sadie-epstein-fine">Queerspawn Digital Storytelling Project, Sadie Epstein-Fine</a> Description An account of the resource Earlier version of the essay published in <i>Spawning Generations: Rants and Reflections on Growing Up With LGBTQ+ Parents</i>, edited by Sadie Epstein-Fine and Makeda Zook (Bradford: Demeter Press, 2018), p. 176-86. Sadie Epstein-Fine (they/them) is a second-generation queer, Jewish, artist, and activist. They work mostly as a theatre director, playwright, and creator, passionate about musical theatre and making work for young audiences. Sadie has been a queer family and queerspawn advocate/activist for almost 20 years.