Representation and visibility during Pride Month can inspire, inform and even save a life.
Pride Issue 2024
By City Weekly Staff
By Sarah Reale
It was a lovely Friday night at our growing tailgate at the Utah Royals game. I was setting up a television to stream the first preseason WNBA game—a game featuring Caitlin Clark, of course. As I was scrambling to make sure my subscription to the WNBA app was set, I started getting calls from friends—"How do we even watch the WNBA game?"—and I realized, yet again, how frustrating things can be for a women's sports fan.
Our tailgate is a hodgepodge of women who love women, folx who love women's sports and soccer-loving friends. If this group was a Venn diagram, we'd have a circle of lesbians on the left, educators on the right—and the crossover space in the middle? People who love women's sports.
It's no wonder Utah educators are fans of women's sports—they get it. They get what it's like to perform at your best, to be the most qualified at your job, take unsolicited heat and still be under-resourced.
Educators and female athletes see injustices, lack of funding, lack of respect and idiotic social media commentary around their work. They find solidarity in community as they fight to be respected, to do good work and to be themselves.
I was 13 when the Utah Starzz played their inaugural game at the Delta Center in 1997. Before the creation of the WNBA (in 1996!), I thought my only option to play professionally was to pull a Disney Channel Original- or She's the Man-style move and get drafted to the NBA. But that night at the Utah Starzz game, I got to see women playing professional sports—and it changed my life.
Another life-changing event happened a few years later when I, as a recent (and closeted) college grad, met then-Reps. Christine Johnson and Jackie Biskupski while employed by the Republican Utah Speaker of the House (and yes, they both saw right through me).
I'm not sure they know how important they were in helping me get where I am today as the first openly gay member of the Utah State Board of Education, but to see an elected lesbian in office was more impactful than they'll ever know.
These women were elected before marriage equality, before Glee, before Megan Rapinoe became a gay icon ... and they did it in Utah. Just like that very first Utah Starzz game, I was totally overwhelmed by feelings of inspiration, hope, drive and pride to see these bad-ass, powerful and queer women using their voices and uplifting the voices of others in their community.
And while—in some ways—everything has changed since that Starzz game 27 years ago, I'm reminded all too often of how far we still have to go in terms of representation.
The 2024 NCAA Women's Basketball Championship smashed viewing records, but at my Utah State Board of Education meetings, I sit two seats away from a woman who spends seemingly every waking hour of her life spewing hateful rhetoric about LGBTQIA+ students, educators and allies.
It's difficult to see our educators, families and students struggle with the weight of consistent, targeted and hateful "messaging" bills. Our teachers want to make our youth feel seen, heard and supported, but our classrooms are regulated to the point where they're afraid to do or say anything that might be considered "liberal," let alone the dreaded "equitable."
For many queer kids, life at home isn't safe, and sitting in that metaphorical closet can be a very isolating and lonely place. We live in a state where suicide is the No. 1 cause of death among young people. Sometimes a teacher with a flag on their desk, a neighbor with a flag in their yard, a movie with queer characters or an openly queer leader can inspire that same hope and possibility I saw in the Utah Starzz. And sometimes using someone's preferred pronouns can save a life.
This is why Pride is so important. And this is why, even with the progress we've made, we can't pull our foot off the gas this Pride month.
There is a through line here—between women's sports, education, being queer and Pride—and it's about representation. It's about seeing someone who looks like you, seeing someone who loves like you, and the hope it gives you of a brighter future. So many people learned that they are women's basketball fans this year. Imagine how many more fans the WNBA would have if their games were given the same exposure, support and respect as the NBA. You see my point?
Pride Month is where queer people from across the state come together to remind everyone and each other of how outstanding and powerful our LGBTQIA+ community can be. It's a vibrant visual representation of support, of who is fighting with you and for you, and who is reminding you that you aren't alone.
When we allow queer kids to see someone who is like them doing something they've always thought impossible, we give them hope. And while that hope is a small victory, these small victories have a ripple-effect in Utah's queer history, and their impact will be felt for generations.
This Pride, I celebrate those who came before me and the allies who support and uplift our community. I celebrate the folx who work tirelessly fighting injustices, and those who are brave enough to be open, to speak out and to be that light for others. I celebrate those who will continue the fight for representation.
Happy Pride, Utah—I celebrate you.
Sarah Reale is a resident of Salt Lake City and the first openly queer member of the Utah State Board of Education. She works at Salt Lake Community College would be happy to take a meeting with Ryan Smith to talk about bringing a WNBA team back to Utah.
The Utah Pride Center rebounds while the new SLC Pride bookends a monthlong party.
Too Proud to Fail
By Benjamin Wood
When Chad Call started his new job as executive director of the Utah Pride Center in April, he said he worried that he'd be greeted with "pitchforks and torches."
The center was teetering, having narrowly dodged financial collapse by selling off its headquarters in the Ballpark neighborhood and after multiple rounds of leadership turnover, staff upheaval and budget cuts left it with little more than a skeleton crew.
"I kind of felt that was going to be the case—that a lot of people were maybe anxious to see the organization fail," Call said. "And within three days, I was completely wrong on that reception. Even our most outspoken critics out there, they're outspoken because they want to see the center succeed. They want to see us move forward, and they want to see a path forward."
Speaking from UPC's new offices on the top floor of the historic McIntyre Building at 68 S. Main, SLC, Call said the organization had been through difficult times and has a long road ahead. But he noted that members of the local LGBTQ community had "stepped up big time," offering their time, support and encouragement as UPC regained its footing and prepared for its marquee event—the Utah Pride Festival, which runs Saturday and Sunday, June 1 and 2, at Washington Square.
"I guess there's just this real humbling moment when you think about everything that the Pride Center has gone through and how our community is still unwilling to let this fail," Call said. "It's a big deal—they haven't walked away from it, they haven't moved on. Our community still wants Pride, they still need Pride, and we're still gonna have Pride."
In fact, far from losing the local Pride festival, Salt Lakers will have two festivals this year with the addition of SLC Pride at the end of the month, June 27-30 at The Gateway. Bonnie O'Brien, SLC Pride's festival director, described the event as a hyperlocal counterpart to the larger state festival—one where youth can attend for free, where community performers and organizations will be highlighted and where the ability of attendees to relax, spend time and make connections will be prioritized as much as, if not more than, the booths and commercial spaces offered by vendors and festival sponsors.
"With 3 million people, basically, along the Wasatch Front, we have the ability to really create a sense of a month-long celebration," O'Brien said.
O'Brien and several others involved with SLC Pride had previously worked for the Utah Pride Center and Utah Pride Festival, and she said they were interested in experimenting with new formats and styles for a city-focused Pride event. O'Brien was adamant that the two Pride festivals are intended to complement each other on opposite ends of the June calendar, and that SLC Pride was not born out of any bad feeling or hostility toward current or previous Utah Pride Center management.
"It's hard to be mad at a building when it's completely new people," O'Brien said.
Call echoed the sentiment of partnership, saying he has long hoped to see the entirety of Pride Month celebrated in Utah and that SLC Pride will add to, rather than detract from, UPC's programming.
"We support Pride everywhere, and we support as many Prides as possible," Call said. "Obviously, as an organization, we don't have the resources to put on a celebration all four weekends in June. But that's the great thing—our community partners do, and we support them anyway we can."
Unity in Community
UPC will kick off the Utah Pride Festival with an interfaith service at Congregation Kol Ami on May 30 at 7 p.m. The festival runs from 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. on June 1 and from noon to 7 p.m. on June 2. Saturday will also see a rally and march from the state Capitol to festival grounds, while the annual Utah Pride Parade will take place Sunday morning at 10 a.m.
Call said the cost of booth registrations has been cut back to 2022 levels—the first in-person Pride following the COVID-19 pandemic hiatus—which has helped to maintain participation levels by sponsors, vendors and community organizations as well as the festival's overall footprint.
"We're putting all of our resources where they have the most impact," Call said. "We'll still be taking up all of Washington Square and a little part of Library Square as well, as well as the street between."
UPC organizers chose a theme of "Building Unity Within the Community" for this year's festival, and Call said he appreciated how that messaging reflects the history of Pride as a major event in Utah as well as the many different ways that people approach Pride month.
"Pride is a space where people come out. Pride is a space where people propose. Pride is a place where allies can go show their support," Call said. "It's becoming more of a family event in Utah, where families are going to support their brothers or their sisters or their children or their parents."
O'Brien also noted how families are increasingly attending Pride together, including straight couples who want their children to know there is a community of support available to them, no matter their orientation. "That didn't used to happen, and now it really is," she said.
SLC Pride will feature a youth zone at its festival at the end of month, and the weekend will kick off on June 27 with GenderFuq, an all-ages event with performances, concessions and a queer market. The festival itself will run from 3 p.m. to 10 p.m. on Saturday, June 29, and from 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. on Sunday, June 30.
O'Brien said most of the vendors and sponsors will be oriented toward Rio Grande Street, with the open area around The Gateway's Olympic Legacy Plaza hosting a performance stage as well as unstructured space donated to community organizations to program as they choose.
She said community partners have been asking for that kind of latitude, and participating organizations are being encouraged to think outside the box of a typical booth setup. That could be as simple as building a lounge area for attendees to hang out in or offering direct connections with resources and service providers.
"This really is a space, that circle area, where we're trying to create a sense of community beyond buying something. This is where we could go gangsters, or it could bust us," O'Brien said. "You curate your space and make it happen in a way that serves your people in a way that you know it needs to be served."
SLC Pride organizers set a goal for themselves of 14,000 tickets sold and 20,000 guests overall, O'Brien said. She emphasized that the festival is free to those age 17 and younger, which not only makes the event more accessible but also allows for youth to participate with or without the support of their family.
"One of the most heartbreaking things is sitting on the outside of the Pride festival and watching people not be able to get in—and they're always, always kids," O'Brien said. "How easy is it for a kid who knows about the festival and knows it's free to say, 'Hey parent, I'm just going to go to the movies.'" O'Brien said.
In addition to its programming at The Gateway, SLC Pride is partnering with Sugar House Pride to host additional events at queer-owned businesses in the city.
"Knowing that the bar is the original sort of community center for queer folks, it's nice to be able to tie those in as well," O'Brien said. "Club Verse is shutting down part of the street. Sugar House Coffee and the Locker Room are trying to build off of their back patio."
Among those extra events is a tongue-in-cheek 0.5K race on June 8, in which participants will gather at Sugar House Coffee and then travel across the street to The Locker Room. O'Brien said the 0.5K will feature many of the traditional elements of a 5K fun run, like a selfie station—with spray bottles to simulate the sweat of exercise—and T-shirts that play off of the winner finishing first while the runners-up are "sloppy seconds."
"Do you really want to run? Or do you really just want brunch?" O'Brien said. "If you really truly just want to pay to watch, you can get a shirt that says, 'I pay to watch.' We about peed ourselves coming up with how funny that is."
Bouncing Back
In the past, the Utah Pride Center relied heavily on the revenue generated by the Utah Pride Festival to sustain its year-round operations. Call said that left the organization financially vulnerable when anything from bad weather to a global pandemic could see attendance drop or evaporate entirely during any given year.
As the new executive director, he said UPC will be looking to build out a more sustainable structure as it rebuilds itself over the next several years.
"I think sustainability is on the forefront of our board's mind right now," Call noted. "It's challenging when your largest influx of cash in an organization like this comes from an event that's contingent upon weather, contingent upon participation, contingent on pandemics. There's a lot of factors that are completely out of our control and it's difficult to build a program that is so dependent on high performance in an environment that you can't control all of the factors."
But there's no denying the recent setbacks experienced by the Utah Pride Center, most notably the loss of its headquarters at 1380 S. Main St., just south of Smith's Ballpark. The building was donated to the Utah Pride Center, and Call said the cash infusion from its sale is what kept the center afloat, with roughly one-third of the building's equity used to retire debts.
"If the Pride Center hadn't had an incredibly large owned asset, they would have had to foreclose," Call said. "It's the reason why the center is still functioning right now, because we've had that capital to leverage."
Call described the loss of the building—and what it represented for UPC—as "devastating." But he added that members of the LGBTQ community have lifetimes of experience regrouping and rising to a challenge.
"It's an incredibly resilient group of individuals," he said. "Coming back from a setback, that's not something our community is unfamiliar with. We know how to navigate it—we navigate it every day, and I think it's inspiring to see so many people who want to see the center move forward."
On the topic of resilience, SLC Pride's O'Brien noted how far Utah's queer community has come in terms of its visibility, safety and inclusion. She said more and more people are able to create space for themselves, without fear and with a larger umbrella of support. But she added that those gains have not been universally felt, pointing to recent laws and rhetoric targeting transgender Utahns.
And while big fights over legislation and debates of the political moment might draw the most attention, O'Brien said that much of the life-saving work within the LGBTQ community is done by small, unsung organizations that don't get the recognition they deserve. It's those local heroes, O'Brien said, who SLC Pride is designed to champion and celebrate.
"They are raging, and they're celebrating, and they're healing their own communities, because there wasn't a space for them within these larger organizations," O'Brien said. "The goal, the hope, is that SLC Pride brings these people together, is able to highlight—on stage—the work that they're doing, the community leaders who are sacrificing paid time at their real jobs to make sure community members are getting moved out of a bedroom and into a safer space."
Salt Lake artists, entrepreneurs and events to check out during Pride month.
Loving Local
By Cat Palmer
If you know anything about me, you know that I love to celebrate all things local. I also love my queer community. We have a thriving local scene!
June is here and I wanted to highlight a few locally queer-owned companies, queer artists and queer-organized events here in the City of Salt. Take a moment to give them a follow on social media and, better yet, check out what they have to offer!
Aqua Underwear is an undie brand that celebrates gender and body diversity. All garments are made in Salt Lake City by Mel Martinez (they/them), a nonbinary sewist of color. They make things like—but not limited to—gender-inclusive boxer briefs, packing undies, compression undies and crop tops, and they have garments ready to buy right off the rack in adult sizes XS-4XL but also offer custom sizing at no extra cost. They use cozy fabrics like cotton and bamboo as well as fun and sexy fabrics like mesh and lace.
Aqua Underwear's first collection was launched in July 2020. We love that they started during the pandemic and survived!
While primarily an online store, AU has a rack at Under the Umbrella Bookstore in downtown Salt Lake City and at Genderbands in Orem.
The main thing that makes AU unique is their ability to customize garments. Say you see something at an artisan market or on the website you like but you wish the legs were longer, waist higher, hips more snug, or there simply just isn't one in your size—they're happy to make it to your specifications via a custom order at no additional cost. This was such a cool feature that I had to try it personally and had Mel measure me and ordered a pair of mushroom underwear.
When I asked Mel what sets them apart from other underwear, this is what they had to say: "As a queer person of color myself, AU is also proud to celebrate and prioritize BIPOC, especially QTIBIPOC [Queer, Trans, Intersex, Black, Indigenous and/or People of Color] whenever possible. You'll probably notice nearly all of our models are BIPOC, for example. We also offer a standing 20% off discount to all BIPOC, all the time, and have a BIPOC Community Program where folks can apply for free gender-affirming underwear. Of course, we accept donations for that program via the website."
As a teenager, Mel learned to sew from their dad, a sewist in the Air Force. Together they'd hem the family's pant legs and shirt sleeves because they're all shorties. Mel's passion for sewing grew from there.
Aqua Underwear
AquaUnderwearSLC.com
AquaUnderwearSLC@gmail.com
IG: @AquaUnderwear
The Locker Room is a queer-owned sports bar, and they're teaming up with SLC Pride and Sugar House Pride to host 21-and-older events this year. The Locker Room's weekly events vary, but Monday is generally Monday Night Football, Tuesday is Drag Karaoke, Wednesday is College Night with beer pong and $3 pizza, Thursday is often Vinyl Night with a DJ who selects from his collection of records and Friday is often live music. The schedule is anchored by the Drag Tailgate Brunch on Saturdays.
I talked with Roberto Lopez (one of the organizers of SLC Pride) and Emily Potts (owner of Sugar House Coffee and one of the organizers of Sugar House Pride) to find out what is happening this year. This is what they had to say: "Our goal is to bring Pride to all the people in our community. Keeping it local and smaller, it's important, more now than ever, to make sure that Pride events are accessible for everyone.
"Between both events, there is something for everyone. SLC Pride, also known as the Salt Lake City Pride Festival, will be an annual event celebrating QTBIPOC/LGBTQ+ pride and diversity in Salt Lake City. We're about keeping it local only—with local voices, local organizations, local businesses, local artists and entertainment. We want to make it financially accessible, grassroots focused and with a high dedication to ADA accessibility.
"It's taking place this year June 29-30, and its inaugural celebration will mark the 55th year of remembrance of Stonewall, serving as a platform for the QTBIPOC/LGBTQ+ community and its allies to come together, celebrate and advocate for equality and acceptance."
The Locker Room
1063 E. 2100 South, SLC
801-463-9393
IG: @thelockerroomslc
Anna Bugbee grew up in Logan and is now based in Salt Lake City. Bugbee received a BFA in printmaking from New York University in 2015. After graduating, she worked at a fine-art screen printing studio in Brooklyn, New York, for three years before taking time off to travel and work as the studio assistant for art workshops at craft schools across the U.S.
Since moving back to Utah, she has embraced her love of plants by working in the greenhouse at Red Butte Garden and as a gardener and landscape designer. She now works full-time as an artist, selling her work at local markets, teaching classes and doing custom commissions. She created Anna Bugbee Studio to share her botanical illustrations and pieces inspired by her love of the mountains. We have one of her beautiful pieces on our dining room table, and it brings us joy.
Her work often features local flowers, pollinators and mountain landscapes, inspired by her adventures in the Wasatch and beyond. She is inspired by geology, ecology, meteorology and the intricate systems at play in our world.
Bugbee hand-dyes and prints all of the textiles she makes in Salt Lake City. Her blue color comes from indigo, and the other colors are made with fiber-reactive dye.
The bandanas and tea towels are screen printed, and the totes are printed with a hand-carved stamp. Something fun and random about Bugbee is that she plays classical guitar, bass and piano. She really loves taking in classical music and playing music with friends whenever possible.
Places that carry Bugbee's work: Salt and Honey Market (926 E. 900 South, SLC), The Hive Market (602 E. 500 South, SLC), Atelier (337 Pierpont Ave., SLC), Ogden Nature Center gift shop (966 W. 12th St., Ogden). She will also be participating in the Downtown Farmers Market in SLC most Saturdays.
I asked Bugbee what she loves about Pride and she said, "I love being surrounded by other queer people and not feeling like the minority for once. I usually feel like I am the only gay person when I am in a group of people, so it feels good to be in a group where I am part of the majority."
Anna BugBee
annabugbee.com
annabugbeestudio.etsy.com
IG: @annabugbeestudio
Catch a flick under the stars with Utah Film Center's free Summer Outdoor Film Series, returning July 12 through Aug. 9 at Salt Lake City's Liberty Park. This curated film program is unlike any other in the valley.
The Summer Outdoor Film Series is a cultural beacon where nostalgia meets inspiration, making it the perfect activity for a warm summer night. Its exciting summer lineup of independent films is sure to entertain.
The film lineup also highlights Utah Film Center's yearly programs and festivals such as Tumbleweeds Kids Film Festival, Black, Bold & Brilliant and the Utah Queer Film Festival (formerly Damn These Heels), as well as the Artist Foundry Utah Filmmaker Showcase. Screenings also include post-film discussions for those wanting a peek behind the curtain.
But it's more than movies—it's a vibe. The Summer Outdoor Film Series welcomes Sweet Hazel treats for audiences to munch on while watching! Join your vibrant community and connect with local businesses before the film begins. Pull out a favorite blanket, gather your friends and family and discover why outdoor movies are the ultimate summer delight.
The Utah Queer Film Festival [editor's note: Cat Palmer serves as UQFF's programming director] will be screening Everybody's Talking About Jamie, on Aug. 9—a delightful musical about a teen drag queen from the U.K. This is a family-friendly film with catchy songs throughout and based on a true story.
The UQFF itself will be held later in the year, between Oct. 25 and Oct. 27 at the Rose Wagner in Salt Lake City. Make sure to mark your calendar—the "HalloQween" theme will be fun for all. The films we've been screening are top tier—the festival is not to be missed.
Summer Outdoor Film Series screenings begin at dusk and are free to the public.
Utah Film Center + Utah Queer Film Festival
utahfilmcenter.org/outdoor
IG: @utahfilmcenter
Facebook: @utahfilmcenter
Twitter/X: @utahfilmcenter
Mama Dragons and Dragon Dads offer support to their own LGBTQ children and to other parents.
Breathing Fire
By Carolyn Campbell
Staci Vernon hopes that no one else will act like she did. When she first heard her teenage son, Skyler, talking with another boy in romantic tones, she took his phone away.
"In this house," Vernon remembers telling him, "we pray away the gay."
Years later, when Skyler was 18, Vernon heard him talking to a boy again, and the two "got into a huge fight," she recalled. Vernon grabbed her son's phone and threw it out the front door, where it landed in the dirt. Skyler took off after it, pushing his mom down a flight of cement stairs. She then turned toward her son and "kicked him in the privates."
"His boyfriend was still on the phone," Vernon said. "He thought I was holding my son hostage. He called the police."
Both mother and son were charged with domestic violence. The police told Vernon she should leave the house and so she slept in the family RV that night. Vernon remembers calling everyone she knew—her parents, acquaintances and Skyler's siblings. She told each person, "If you support Skyler in being gay, you aren't part of my life."
Looking back today, she says, "Luckily for me, my family rallied around him."
After their fight, Vernon and her son steered clear of each other. As weeks passed, Vernon says she grew to understand the complexity of sexual orientation.
"It's not a choice—that's how they are born," she said. "Still, it was six months to a year before I could tell someone I had a gay son."
Vernon would go on to join the group Mama Dragons—a support and advocacy group for the parents of LGBTQ children—after learning about them through a post on social media. Today, she considers herself an ally, helping other moms to understand that "you don't have to pray away the gay," Vernon said.
She said she and her son reached a point where Skyler would call and ask for dating advice. When Skyler married a man, Vernon celebrated the wedding and embraced the term "son-in-law" for Skyler's partner. Mother and son now share a close relationship, she said, and another of her children has since come out.
"I announced his boyfriend's tattoo shop on my Facebook page," she said.
Although she feels embarrassment for the story of her earlier fight with her son, Vernon hopes that telling it can help other moms, which is what Mama Dragons is all about. And while Vernon has been a member of the organization for about seven years, organizers say its numbers have grown exponentially in recent years.
Former executive director Celeste Carolin said that Mama Dragons' growth speaks to the needs of the parents it serves. "It's growing because more people are struggling," she said.
'A New Level of Protection'
The Mama Dragons name originated when blogger Meg Hendrix wrote that she had "always been a mother bear." But after her son's coming out, she wrote, "that didn't seem a fierce enough title. There is a whole new level of protection that has come over me. I now call myself a Mama Dragon."
While the primary focus is North America, there are now Mama Dragon members in 12 countries who find support groups, parenting classes and a community of more than 10,000 mothers learning to better support, affirm and celebrate their LGBTQ children.
It all began in Utah, when a mom named Gina Crivello blogged about creating a Gay Straight Alliance club for a high school in American Fork. Co-founder Jill Hazard Rowe recalled how Crivello was seeking help for a student who was struggling.
"She brought in a few of us to answer questions," Rowe said.
Mama Dragons originated with eight Latter-day Saint women privately messaging each other on Facebook. They supported that first student and after, they continued to look for ways to help others.
"It became a nightly thing with us, sharing our sorrows and pain, not only about kids but also about our church," Rowe said.
It was a place to vent where the women felt truly safe, where their sisters had their backs. The group spread by word of mouth and on social media.
"Mothers in the thread would know someone else who could relate, and they would add their friends," Carolin said.
The thread of private messages became so long that they created the Mama Dragons Facebook page. Moms continued to encounter other moms with similar issues.
"In a couple of weeks, it grew to 50 people," Carolin said.
Today, roughly 25% of Mama Dragons live in Utah and 25% still identify as LDS in some way, Carolin said, whether practicing or not. Another 25% are from other Christian-based faiths. "Their stories are similar to the LDS story," Carolin said. "They are told that their LGBTQ child is broken or is not coming to heaven with them."
Mama Dragons assist other moms who feel that "this beautiful child they know is not evil," Carolin said. Carolin explains that Mama Dragons is one of few organizations that is not founder-led, and during her time as executive director, she was rarely seen out front. Rather, it is many groups of women who are all helping each other.
Their podcast, In the Den With Mama Dragons, was listed as one of the top 25 podcasts last year. Today, they partner with their 1,800-member men's organization, Dragon Dads. They are planning their first in what will be an annual conference on Oct. 18 and 19.
"The biggest benefit of Mama Dragons is that we find out we're not alone," said longtime member Lisa Warburton Glad.
'Who He Was Supposed to Be'
Kathryn Potter's 8-year-old son came out as transgender to his parents. "He felt like he was in the wrong body, but he didn't know there was a name for how he felt," she recalled.
Years earlier, he had insisted on wearing boys' underwear while being potty trained. While Potter had supported the LGBTQ community in regards to friends who were gay and lesbian, she had never been around a transgender person before.
"It was a new experience for us, and it was hard for him, but once he changed his name and wore boy clothes, it was like he was who he was supposed to be," she said. "Things moved quickly to where he could wear whatever he wanted, and we took him to get his hair cut."
When Potter took her son to a therapist, she stumbled upon Mama Dragons.
"It is a good support forum for people to educate themselves and learn how to support their children," she said. "You learn about topics that aren't talked about a lot and navigate areas where there isn't a lot of research."
Today, Potter has learned that being supportive "doesn't make your child more trans or more gay." She says her son experiences rib pain at school from wearing an uncomfortable binder. He was scheduled to undergo top surgery until Utah's SB16 passed last year, prohibiting minors from getting gender-affirming surgery. This summer, the family plans to move to a place where their son can have the operation.
"He still experiences some body dysmorphia but knows that he has an end in sight," Potter said. In the future, "he wants to become a plastic surgeon to help other people who feel like they don't belong in their bodies."
As the dad of a transgender son, Drew Armstrong can relate. Armstrong clearly recalls the day he found his then 3-year-old child in the master bedroom closet with a pair of scissors. "Why did you cut off your pretty hair?" Armstrong asked. "I want to be a prince, Daddy," was the reply.
He recalls learning that transgender behavior includes "consistent, insistent and persistent acknowledgment and affirmation that the person is of the other sex." He feels this statement applies to his own transgender son.
When he was in fourth or fifth grade, a teacher dragged him out of the girls' restroom and into the boys' because she was sent to "get the boy out of the girls' bathroom." Armstrong recalled. "After that, he didn't pee at school for the next four years. He didn't drink water from the time he went to bed until after school."
The boy suffered bladder and kidney infections. When their family visited Zion's National Park, Armstrong didn't understand why his 10-year-old wouldn't take a drink of water. He responded that he had already checked the trailhead information and seen that no family bathrooms were available.
Armstrong admits now that he "was a clueless parent" before he realized the full ramifications of his son's situation.
Armstrong's son had top surgery at 17 and has since changed his name. "He is so stealth that many of his friends don't know he is transgender," Armstrong said.
Liz Welch was a campaign and faith-based engagement strategist for ACLU National when her organization was loosely affiliated with Mama Dragons.
"I have a huge amount of respect for moms who advocate for kids," Welch said. "It's an interesting space to reach out from mother to mother, to ask questions you might not be able to ask in other places, then to take that forward to advocate for your child."
Welch became the new Mama Dragons executive director in April, following Carolin. Mama Dragons speaks to her heart personally as the mother of a bisexual child. She hopes to support current Mama Dragons programs and expand them so that other mothers and parents will have opportunities to offer support.
"It's essential that people can speak from their values, heart and experience," she said. "Mama Dragons is uniquely positioned to do that."
She adds, "When a bad policy impacts a person, nothing changes the heart of others more than the mother who has their child's point of view. There is immense room for a mother to share the experience of a child coming out—not only the angst and fear but being who they really are and embracing it."
Boarding houses, brothels and stage performers show how Utah's LGBTQ community has been here all along.
Gay History
By Babs De Lay
On the north side of Liberty Park stands a fairly nondescript Victorian Eclectic-style home that was known as the Chapman Boarding House in the 1920s. Edith Chapman inherited her father's home at 615 E. 900 South, in what is known now as the East Side Historic District, after her parents passed.
Boarding houses were a common and affordable option for adult students and working class folks here up until the mid-1900s. Generally, men and women did not live in the same property, so they were men-only or women-only facilities, where bathrooms were often shared by the occupants.
According to the Lost Womyn's Space blog: "We know about Edith Mary Chapman's boarding house because it's mentioned in an article on Mildred J. 'Barry' Berryman (1901-1972), a Salt Lake City lesbian who came out publicly while still a student at Westminster College in Salt Lake, sometime before 1919." The blog goes on to explain how, according to gay historian Connell O'Donovan, Berryman's coming out was a scandal and the trauma of the experience led her into two failed marriages with men, though she did pursue a relationship with violinist and music teacher Mae Anderson for roughly a year and a half. "Mildred's attempts at finding another 'ideal companion' proved unsuccessful," the blog states, "and yet another marriage was attempted. However, Mildred left her husband right after the wedding."
Berryman reportedly decided to devote her life to writing and science. In the 1920s, however, she met Edith Mary Chapman, a U of U graduate and elementary education instructor. Like Berrymen, Chapman had sworn off love after her own unsuccessful relationship ended. "Though Berryman and Chapman had a 16-year age difference between them (Chapman was the older one), they 'fell desperately in love,' Lost Womyn's Space describes.
After the death of her mother, Chapman opted to turn her property into a boarding home for other LGBTQ women. Among her tenants were Grace Nickerson, a teacher at the LDS School of Music, and Dorothy Graham, manager of the Coon Chicken Inn.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—like so many Christian faiths—has a long history of discrimination against LGBTQ members of the community. In May 1842, church leader John C. Bennett was accused of "buggery." A few months later, a local paper reported that the apostle Orson Pratt had accused church founder Joseph Smith of engaging in same-sex activities. In 1851, the Utah Territory Legislature passed a law that banned any man or boy from "sexual intercourse with and of the male creation."
In 1858, the first reported instance of gender non-conforming dress in the Latter-day Saints community was reported of one Almerin Grow. Then-church President Wilford Woodruff dressed in a bonnet and women's dress to hide out from the authorities who were enforcing anti-polygamy laws.
And in September 1892, LDS First Presidency member and future church President Joseph F. Smith spoke out after hearing about same-sex sexual activity by saying "get the names of all of them and cut them off the Church."
Local distiller Odgen's Own created Madam Pattirini Gin to commemorate B. Morris Young—the founder of the church's Young Men's program and son of Brigham Young—who performed in drag as "Madam Pattirini" in the late 1800s and early 1900s here. He/she sang opera at church social events on the public stage and was extremely popular.
The world-famous actress Maude Adams—who was born here to Mormon parents—was known to be in same-sex relationships. Brothels were a common business in the 1800s and early 1900s, and there were several downtown in our red-light districts of Chinatown, Regent Street and Plum Alley, as well as periodic raids that would glean male prostitutes serving male customers. In 1897, four of them were arrested in the mining town of Eureka at their brothel.
Members of Utah's LGBTQ community can easily say, "We're here, we've been here all along!"
Babs De Lay is the principal broker at Urban Utah Homes and Estates and has been a Realtor for 40 years in Utah.
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