No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks ... 

Summer is here which means yet another school year has passed and all of the little unsuspecting queerlings survived the excitement, terror, romance and sheer chaos that comes with being in grade school.  It also means that my partner, who's a teacher, is off for the next two and a half months ... a fact that still annoys me after 10 years together, but I digress.

School for me was never about learning and bettering my mind, it was about talking and bettering my social standing.  Okay it so wasn't, but if I had been a more self-aware gay pride youth, it seriously could have been. 

Not a single report card went home from kindergarten to graduation that didn't have some variation on "Dan talks too much in class," which after a while my parents learned to accept and embrace.  I didn't excel in Math or English but rather in the science of being a social butterfly; always a tell-tale sign that your little boy might be boy-crazy, but that's not what this tale is about.

In elementary school there were a couple ridiculously embarassing moments that were far from macho, or at least what I envisioned macho to be at 10 years old. 

In 3rd grade there was a talent show and, don't ask me why, but I chose dance as my talent.  It's not like my Mom was a dance instructor or my Dad was Baryshnikov; I was a scrawny little kid with zero training but a mad appreciation for Fleetwood Mac.   

Imagine my surprise when our teacher announced that everyone had to work in pairs.  Knowing that every Fred needs a Ginger, I went with the flow.  My partner was a short-stack zaftig girl named Katie, far from light on her feet and no Ginger Rogers, let me tell you.  

For a week we practiced in Katie's back yard and quickly learned one thing: At 45 lbs. soaking wet, there was no way I was going to be able to lift my portly partner. And at 10 years old, it wasn't a dance unless there was a lift!

When the curtain opened on our 3rd grade talent show, Katie and I took the stage.  We swayed, twirled and danced like there was no tomorrow.  When it came time for the lift we parted ways.  I could feel every eye on me, wondering how on earth my spaghetti arms were going to lift that meatball... 

I took a deep breath and ran across the stage.  Like Baby running into Patrick Swayze's arms, I lept into the air and Herculean Katie thrust me over her head and spun in double time.  Every parent in the auditorium clapped and howled with laughter; it felt great to be up there with the wind in my hair and Stevie Nicks on the sound system but it did nothing for my social standing.

I'd like to say that every kid in class thought it was as funny as their parents did but I took some razzing.  Performing the more traditionally feminine role was embarassing and in class I played it off like we were forced to do the dance together once I got called a "fag". 

I felt some shame for masterminding the routine and choreographing every step so I downplayed my role around the other kids.  Let's face it, I knew it wasn't the most boyish thing to do and I knew I'd be made fun of, but no one likes to be called gay, queerbait or homo ... at any age.

Thankfully most of the kids really enjoyed it so after a day or two I found that approval empowering.  I shrugged off the lingering barbs and laughed it off because the way I saw it, I made lemonade out of lemons and kicked every kid's ass out there on that stage.

It was one of the building blocks to my eventually becoming a class clown and not caring what people thought of me.  If I hadn't been thrust into the air and spun like a top there's no telling how introverted and self conscious I would have become.  Sometimes being teased and bullied has its advantages, but thank god we grow up.