To whom am I pointing?
Pride today is difficult. I appreciate the notion, the very idea, of having a month to celebrate our minority community. In fact, I think the existence of Pride Month is necessary for progressing the acceptance, recognition, and visibility of our community. I am not the type to suggest that progress hasn’t been made or that we are progressing backwards. I am positive that I, as a queer person, am afforded more opportunities, am more free, and am generally more accepted than my queer ancestors were. Even in the midst of anti-trans legislation, I can recognize the process and the progress. I understand it to not be linear. Transgender people and people of other diverse gender identities are also better off today than they were a decade or decades ago. Hiccups – in this case, of the life-altering and life-threatening kind – happen, but that doesn’t make them right.
I have trouble celebrating pride when trans people I care about are actively losing access to their healthcare. I have trouble celebrating pride when our governing officials debate the legitimacy of my right to marry. I have trouble celebrating pride when our ‘most lgbtq+-friendly president’ is committing a genocide. I have trouble celebrating pride when our alternative option is a fascist, felonious, dictator with even more gusto towards international-and-queer genocides. I have trouble celebrating pride when equality is lacking. And, I have trouble celebrating pride when equity has been deemed unnecessary.
Luckily, those are the exact reasons why pride exists. Stonewall – the 1969 riot referred to as the genesis of pride – is critical to understanding pride, but it is not what I am here to educate you on today. Instead, I want to apply pride to my aforementioned qualms with celebration:
Trans people were afforded healthcare through pride. Today, they face less violence (but still disproportionately more than other demographics) because of pride.
Same-sex marriage was legalized because of pride. It is our pride that will codify its existence.
The Palestinian Genocide will cease because Palestinian queers are our chosen family too. Our pride enables our defense.
Trump lost the last presidency, and will lose the current, because of our pride. Gays for Trump neither understand chosen family or pride.
Our pride furthers our equality; Our pride demands our equity.
Celebrating pride in these ways is tough. It is difficult and requires deep and intellectual thought, discussion, and understanding. Celebrating pride in this way is essential, but other celebrations exist too. Perhaps you’re an ally and fancy a small-town pride parade. You may enjoy a pride drag show or pride night at your favorite bar. Some enjoy a pride festival, overflowing with music, vendors, and kink-demonstration. Others celebrate by watching their favorite queer movies, donating to queer organizations, or educating themselves on our history. Celebration can include having more frequent sex, having a new sexual experience, or abstaining from it entirely. Pride celebrations can include any of these, all of these, or none of these. In 2024, I have partaken in a mixture of these celebrations, but my focus has been broader. I am not celebrating pride for the month of June; I am celebrating pride all year long on snstvdude.weebly.com, and it looks like you are too!
This week’s celebration is no different. Today, we celebrate a specific sect of my chosen family: Chicken Babies. I have no difficulty in showing my pride for them, celebrating my pride for them. The success of ourselves and of our various communities gives us pride.
*****
Chicken Babies was founded in 2014 – our eighth grade year – by means of our middle school musical: High School Musical Jr. My very first theatrical performance felt destined to be my childhood comfort movie. Furthering that destiny, I co-starred as Ryan to Sharpay, played by the girl who would later become my adopted sister, Peyton White. Nikky played Kelsey, Morgan was Ms. Darbus, and Sam and Amy ran tech. Them, amongst the greater HSM Jr. cast, and myself, were all dropped into an Instagram group-chat. As rehearsals went on and the show wrapped, members left the group chat, eventually leaving Chicken Babies and a few other stragglers. There was a clear distinction between Chicken Babies and the remnants of the larger group chat; A connection that, at that point, could not yet be explained; The formation of a new group chat was imminent.
Across many social platforms, our group went through many names: Shat the group chat, Nlech, Poop & Osman, among many others that don’t spark as much joy to me. Years of name changes would pass before we finally stumbled across the name that was undoubtedly correct. You see, one of Chicken Babies favorite activities during high school were our game nights. We would all arrive at Nikky or Peyton’s house where we would play games ranging from Settlers of Catan, to Betrayal at the House on the Hill, to Clue, to Kent. The game that spawned our name is called Catchphrase, where players are given a name/phrase and have to get the others to guess it without saying the actual words. That night, Sam received the phrase ‘carton of eggs’ near the end of the round. With haste and vigor, Sam yelled her clue, “A CARDBOARD BOX OF CHICKEN BABIES!” and the rest is history.
Game nights always included our core group, minus one or two depending on work schedules, but we also enjoyed extending our game nights to other friends and significant others. There were crossover episodes with other friend groups in our grade, surprise cameos, and guest stars. Even still, we always felt as though we were missing a member. All six of us could be in the same room, but a mystery hole still existed; Our secret seventh member. The secret seventh member took on a variety of names, characters, and personalities, but has never been concretely determined. Chances are that if you know Chicken Babies or have spent your time among us, you may have once filled the title of our secret seventh member without knowing it. Game nights were fun in their excitement and extension of our group, but perhaps more sacred than those were our trampoline nights.
Trampoline nights, as the name may suggest, were the summer nights in which our group would lay on Nikky’s trampoline – the very trampoline her and I used to play on as children – and discuss the nuances of life while looking towards the stars. It was there that we would discuss our ever-changing sexualities, past, present, and future partners, plans for college, and ideas for the next year’s theatre productions. The trampoline is where we discussed sex as we began having it, our family drama, and the changing dynamics of our friend group and of our grade as a whole. Our trampoline nights made our lives – my life, at the very least – into an actualized coming-of-age movie; our Sixteen Candles, our Juno, our Booksmart.
*****
I met the majority of Chicken Babies in the eighth grade, but one member, Nikky, I have known for much, much longer.
Nikky and I went to Shawnee Heights Elementary School together. We lived just a few blocks from one another growing up. She has a latina mom and white father, went to a catholic church, and was in the gifted education program – just like me. Well, kinda sorta. While Nikky is incredibly intelligent and absolutely deserving of being in the gifted education program, it was me that got her into it. You see, after Nikky and I became friends in what I think was first grade, we began to talk daily; Not always at school, but on the phone directly after. Shortly after getting off the bus and eating a snack, we would call the other from our home phones and chat until we were told to do something else. In the second grade, I was placed into the gifted education program, and Nikky questioned me about what I did for it. I explained to her the joys of stories with holes, trivia, extra math problems, and projects – independent studies – on whatever you dream of (from pencil toppers to turtles to Area 51). Shortly after that conversation, Nikky’s mom called our principal and had Nikky tried and tested for giftedness, which she passed with flying colors.
Nikky and I – even when we didn’t share the same teacher – would hang out during the school year, during the summer, on weekends, or weeknights. I don’t think we ever referred to the other as our best friend, but we certainly were. Then, finally, in the fifth grade we shared the same teacher. With our elevated intelligence quotients, we were always placed in the same reading groups or asked to help the other students with their math or writing struggles. Our teacher that year, Mrs. Jackle, recommended her and I read The Hunger Games. The book was too mature to read for school credit, but she knew we would enjoy it. Quickly, Nikky and I began racing to finish the series before the other. She beat me, but one thing was clear: we were both obsessed. When we’d call after school, we’d talk about the books. When we hung out, we’d cosplay as Katniss and Peeta. Eventually, while Nikky had a boyfriend of multiple years, a month before its release, I asked her to see the film in theaters with me on premiere night.
For the next month, I made her boyfriend’s life, and by proxy her life, a living hell. Nikky was my best friend, and regardless of if I wanted to date her or not, I knew her boyfriend wasn’t right for her. To this day, I still don’t quite know what she saw in him, but I apologize to them both. In any case, I won that battle. Nikky and her boyfriend broke up before our date – the first date I ever went on; the date where I spilled nachos across Nikky’s lap – and Nikky and I would date for a month shortly after. When Nikky and I broke up, we continued talking on the phone and chatting everyday. We still went together to see the premieres of each in the series. In 2023, we went on another date to see The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes together, and in a few years, I am sure we’ll have another to see Sunrise on the Reaping.
As we grew older, Nikky and I disagreed more and more. In fact, there were a number of times when I kicked her out of Chicken Babies or made her feel the need to leave herself. Through it all, she remained in my life and remained a member of Chicken Babies. Witnessing her trials, tribulations, successes, and accomplishments gives me pride. In a since-deleted youtube video from middle school, we cosplayed as catholic clergy, referring to each other as Sister Nicole and Brother Joseph. We were joking at the time, but Nikky is my sister just as much as any of my other sisters.
*****
The next member of Chicken Babies came into my life in 6th grade, the year in which I played in our district’s cross-school basketball league. One of my teammates was named Alex and came from Tecumseh North. Alex’s sister would attend our practices and watch from the sideline. That was decently typical, but it was odd that his sister always brought a friend… a puppet. A puppet that looked quite similar to the title character of The Boy. Our whole team feared her and her puppet.
Sometime in 7th grade, I would become friends with a girl who looked eerily familiar. Her name was Amy. In becoming friends with Amy, I found out that her brother is named Alex, was on my basketball team, and that the puppet-girl… was her.
Amy was latina, like me, but in a much different way. Amy’s parents were immigrants and she was a first-generation American. I felt as though I could relate to Amy’s ethnicity while learning so much more about our culture than my mom was able to teach me. Most notably, is the Mexican reliance on one’s family. My mexican-side was majorly fractured and failed to come together in the ways that I saw Amy’s family do almost every weekend. Though she is reluctant to admit it, Amy’s love and adoration for her family fills me with awe. I actively try to replicate Amy’s quality of care amongst my chosen family.
Amy doesn’t much vocalize that adoration because, like me, she is a scorpio, protecting her emotions at all costs. We are similarly secretive and enjoy similar forms of escape from the depth of our lives. What perplexes me most about Amy and I’s relationship is the very thing we share.
As scorpios, or just as people, Amy and I are not touchy-feely people. We don’t mind a hug or embrace when it’s called for, but most often we are reluctant to make physical contact with others; However, if you have ever seen Amy and I in a shared space – be it someone’s home, a restaurant, a class, or out in public – we perhaps give more PDA than even the most physical of people. Amy and I hug, cuddle, lean on the other, hold hands, and have given friendly kisses to each other on a plethora of occasions. Only my exes and my cat have received the same amount of physical affection from me that Amy has. Amy might even hold the title of my most intimate experience on Earth yet: biting the nails off her hand after I ran out of my own nails to bite.
What the actual fuck.
Without Amy, I would never have tried stage crew/tech. I have such fond memories of our auditorium’s light booth as we controlled spots for the talent shows or an alumni one-off performance from The Voice contestant, Kyla Jade. Amy broadened my horizons time and time again.
There isn’t a familial label that quite fits Amy and I, which prompts my pride in her. She’s like a sister but not quite; She’s like a mother but not always; She’s certainly a best friend but it’s deeper than that; She’s my Amy.
*****
On the polar opposite side of the spectrum, someone I am not sure I have ever even hugged, is Morgan, who I met in the seventh grade. We shared a few classes and I briefly had a crush on her. Fortunately for the both of us, we do not have a personality match and we especially didn’t back then. Morgan is the youngest child of our high school drama teacher and an elementary school counselor. Whether it’s in her genes or because she is born a natural-star, Morgan is one of the most theatrical people I have ever called my friend. She infuses theatrics into every action from an ultra-enthused raising of her hand to ask a question or wearing Heelys around school for months in preparation of a role that was meant to rollerskate. Morgan’s campiness was inspiring on stage as Ms. Darbus, as our lead Duloc Dancer, and as Emily in my favorite production of ours, The Marriage of Bette & Boo.
Our personality mismatch, though, caused me a lot of turmoil throughout high school. I shared so much of my time with Morgan, from multiple classes to marching band before and/or after school, from home games on Fridays to musical rehearsals during show season. By sophomore year, I was ready to leave Chicken Babies because I simply could not fathom talking to Morgan any more than I already had to. I loved her, but her excessive theatrics annoyed me. I hate that I hated that about her. Perhaps, if it weren’t for Morgan, I wouldn’t be so aesthetically inclined to campiness, as inspired by theatre, or as appreciative of living for one’s own joy.
Moreover, Morgan had always been a proud advocate for queer people. When her brother began transitioning, it was portrayed normally. Morgan and her brother presented transness not as a detrimental terrible event; they hardly even portrayed it as an event. I believe they both recognized the importance and/or pressure to tell people of the change, but to them, it was just another day. I was never and still am not close with her brother, but I feel grateful to have had that represented and portrayed to me in that way. While I was mostly accepting of my own queerness at that time, I wasn’t yet understanding or supportive of transness.
Similarly, though we knew Morgan to be some shade of queer, when she told Chicken Babies of her relationship with a woman, it was just another fact about her. To Morgan – and I think her family at large – queerness isn’t an event, explanation, or diagnosis; It’s simply a fact as a state of being. I take great pride in the many lessons Morgan has taught me.
With clashing personalities, Morgan feels less like my sister, but more like my favorite cousin; The cousin that has to be at the event for me to attend; The cousin you text like your sibling; The one you tell your secrets to, but don’t share your fears with.
*****
I met Peyton in the seventh grade, but she’ll tell you it was eighth – and she does have a stellar memory so perhaps she is right. The last thing I was told before I met Peyton was, “she has a massive crush on you… she thinks you’re really, really cute.” Our friendship has taken the most traditional form of development: gradual depth across a long period of time. For the most part, I would attribute this to our different interests and ideologies throughout high school.
While I was detaching myself from catholicism, Peyton was beginning to find her love in her faith. I was vocally anti-god and though she wasn’t quite as vocal, her love for god wholly opposed mine. Moreover, Peyton liked makeup, drag race, and Disney; all of which I was trying to distance myself from to further conceal my queerness from my family. Peyton’s family, unlike Peyton and myself, knew me to be a faggot though. The more Chicken Babies hung out at their home, the more comfortable I became in becoming myself. By our senior year, I was watching the same beauty youtubers that Peyton loved, even though I had no interest in myself in makeup.
Throughout high school, Peyton and I shared a similar path of receiving snub after snub for our schools musicals and plays. Still, I was honored to be the knight to her dragon in Shrek: The Musical, delighted to catch her cash in Little Shop of Horrors, elated to have her secretary be my toy in How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying, and jaw-on-the-floor-in-awe-and-inspired-by her performance as my aunt, Soot Hudlocke, in The Marriage of Bette & Boo. Should I ever return to the stage, Peyton will most certainly be my motivation.
Into college, Peyton and I became even friendlier. From socially-distanced hang outs at the start of the pandemic to forcing her to dress as Adele for one of my birthday parties, her crush on me died in the closet I escaped, and we have become so much closer since. As our friendship and my agnosticism grew, so did her christianity. Peyton’s belief and connection to god has never been stronger. More so, because of her natural connection to her faith, she has become even more accepting of me and of queers. Peyton’s faith is the faith that oppressive and judgemental christians claim to live by, only differentiated by Peyton’s actual effort to live by it. Like god, Peyton is not oppressive; Like god, she is non-judgmental; Like god, she loves others as she wants to be loved and in the ways she believes god loves them. In addition to her talent, Peyton’s faith gives me pride. In fact, her faith gives me hope for our future.
As I’ve mentioned in previous stories, Peyton is my adoptive sister. Her family has included me in ways that my parents would never so much as think of. Because of Peyton, I have parents I can love, people I can turn to. Peyton is my newest sister even though she was born just four days after me. Even further, Peyton afforded me another sister, her sister, Eden. Peyton has granted me pride in my willingness to stay alive.
*****
Sam and I met in 7th grade due to a few shared classes and a number of shared friends. Sam and I, though, share much more than classes or friends. For a while in high school and briefly in college, I’d refer to Sam as my twin flame — two halves of one soul in different bodies. While I do still believe that to be true, I may instead refer to her instead as my twin. So much of our beings — from personality to intellect, from action to intent — are the same, and they always have been.
Much like how my 7th grade gifted educator thought Kayla and I were on drugs for laughing in class, Sam and I have scared a broad number of our teachers with how eerily similar we are. Though she wasn’t in the gifted education program, Sam certainly has the intellect for it. In our classes, it became apparent that our learning styles reflected the other. Our perceptions of knowledge and of the educators sharing it, were identical. Most often, we either accelled or misunderstood together. Our favorite teachers were the same, and those teachers’ favorites were us too. For so much of our friendship, we were questioned by our peers and our educators on the nature of our relationship: are we dating, and if not, when will we date?
In fact, that coupling of us started shortly after we met. While we were into each other at that time, Sam and I chose not to have a real relationship, but to tell everyone that we were in one. We started the rumor that would follow us until I came out. If I remember correctly, we did date for perhaps a week during our freshman year, but chose to end it in fear of ruining the intense connection that we so clearly shared. Not to mention the fact that I’m gay and it wouldn’t have worked out anyway.
Within Chicken Babies and amongst our friends outside of it, there became a tensity — a tinge of resentment — for how well Sam and I got along, for how well we understood the other. I could not count the number of times that Sam has finished my thought, executed my joke, or verbalized something I wasn’t comfortable saying — and it goes both ways. Between teacher, parents, and peers, our sameness was observable, if not tangible. This is only emphasized amongst the people who are new to it, specifically and especially our romantic partners. It’s difficult for a lot of people to conceptualize how inherently connected we are without the variable of romance. Of course, that’s not to suggest that our romances also didn’t interact.
Sam and I share a few of our bodies, not by intent, but by the pure similarity of our existences. Whether it’s a kiss, a night together, or a long-standing situationship, a number of our partners have had the joy of experiencing us both. Again, in a lot of situations, this would cause resentment or tension, but the nature of our relationship allows our blithe. Our shared high school partners prompted our comfortability towards discussing the explicit. Whether about casual sex, romantic relationships, or trying something new, there isn’t a question we could ask the other that would result in uncomfortability. Further, we use the explicit as a means of education; questioning the other on anatomy, function, and change.
We share our motivation and lack thereof. Our humor mirrors the other’s. We are passionate about academia and the employment of knowledge. We know each other, and yet, we learn from the other. Her existence and her acceptance of our connection enables my pride. Sam and I are roommates, best friends, and she is my twin.
*****
And finally, the last member of Chicken Babies is myself. Born on October 23rd, 2000, it took me until August 10th, 2019 to finally meet myself. I look forward to sharing him with you next week; All of them.