Chapter Text
Peter stood in the doorway. He was giddy with excitement and wanted nothing more than to show his new device to his best friend. “Hi Mr. Stacy. Look what Aunt May and Uncle Ben got me!”
George smiled at him. “Hey kiddo, that’s awesome. Michael! Peter's here.”
Michael peered around the corner of the kitchen Peter. A smile crossed his face and he ran to his friend at the door.
“Michael, look!” Peter held up the shiny new camera.
“Woah. For your birthday?”
“Yeah, Aunt May is gonna take us to the park so I can take pictures!”
George ruffled his son's hair, to which Michael scrunched his nose and stepped out of his reach. “As long as Mike’s back before two. He’s got a haircut today.”
Michael despised hair cuts. He wanted to keep his hair long, but his dad always said it looked too unkept. Almost all the girls had their hair long. Michael just wanted to be like them.
May smiled at George. “Oh, it’ll only be for like an hour or so. I have to be at the F.E.A.S.T. shelter by one to help distribute food.”
Michael put on his jacket and they set off through the apartment. Aunt May opened the door of the apartment complex to reveal bits of melting snow on the sidewalk. They walked down the street, May guiding them while Peter talked about his camera.
“It’s called 'Polaroid.' You put in these squares called film, and when you take a picture, it prints it right out of the camera! The film has to be kept cold, though, that’s why I brought the lunchbox. Oh, but Aunt May and Uncle Ben made us PB&J’s for lunch, too.”
The park was cold and snowy, and the still air was sharp on their throats. The green playground May always took them to had snow over it's bridge and steps. The big curly slide had melting snow on the very bottom, so whoever slid down would be greeted with a freezing need to change their pants. Two girls in their early 20s lounged around the structure chatting. One had short black hair and sat on the bottom of the shorter slide, eating a cupcake. She had pink frosting over her smiling lips, trying not to laugh at something her friend said. She wore all black, with a carabiner on her belt loop that held her keys and a band with blue, pink, and white stripes. Her friend sat on top of the metal tires that Michael used to climb on when he was younger. She wore baggy blue jeans with a fluffy, fleece winter coat and a rainbow striped scarf around her neck.
Peter looked up at Aunt May. “There are people there.”
“You should ask them to share.” May patted his shoulder.
He looked at Michael, who understood. Peter wasn’t exactly the most social person in the world, so Michael took it upon himself. Plus, Michael was curious. Dad always taught “stranger danger,” so why was May encouraging them to talk? Clearly she didn’t see them as some type of threat, so Michael approached them with Peter on his trail.
“Hi.”
“Oh shit—” the girl on the tire covered her mouth, “I mean, shoot. Hi, sorry, we’ll leave.”
“It’s ok, we can share. I like the colored stripes on your scarf, they’re cool.”
The girl on the slide wiped her face with a napkin while the girl with the scarf responded. “Thank you.”
Michael had seen the rainbow stripes on multiple occasions, and sometimes the blue, pink, and white stripes alongside it. They had an important meaning, as he saw how people at church reacted to it, but no one ever bothered to clue him in. “What do they mean?”
The girl with the striped keys stood from the slide and walked over to her friend, leaning against the tire. “They are pride flags, because we’re proud of who we are. That one is the all-inclusive one.” She pointed at her friend's scarf. “It means that we should love everyone as they are. It tells other people that they are welcome to be themselves around us without fear of judgment or hate. It means that we shouldn’t bully people for who they like, or the way they dress.”
Michael nodded. That seemed easy enough. Why didn't anyone tell him that at church? It seemed like the kind of thing the church goers would do, teaching about kindness and all. But why were so many of them arguing with those people that day? Michael was left in the dark about the events that unfolded, but the people with the rainbow heart on their shirt left for good, with George escorting Michael out shortly after.
Peter reached his hand out and offered something to the girls. “I took this photo. It’s not very good, but it’s my first one ever. I hope to get really good one day and take better ones. You can have it, since you’re in it.”
The girls smiled at each other, embarrassed. The girl in all black took the Polaroid picture and her face lit up. The other girl looked at it and she did the same. “Thank you, you are too sweet.”
Michael looked at the blue, pink, and white band. “What does that one mean?”
The girl in all black looked down at it, then back up at him. “It’s the transgender flag. It means that people thought someone was either a boy or a girl when they were born, but as they grew up, the person told them they were wrong. Like, growing up, the doctor thought I was a boy. When I was really small, I couldn’t tell them who I was. But when I got older, I finally had the words to tell them they were wrong and that I was a girl.”
Peter was fiddling with his camera, half listening, but Michael was paying more attention than he ever would in class. That sounded similar to how he felt. Like he was being forced to be a boy with his haircuts, while all the other girl’s hair grew out naturally. Michael shifted his weight on the thin layer of snow that hadn’t yet melted. “How did you know you were a girl?”
She laughed, slightly embarrassed. “Well, as I grew, I could feel something was wrong. It felt like I was a girl, trapped inside a boy's body. Like I was forced to be a boy by my body and everyone around me. It hurt me inside, like all the boys looked at girls and thought ‘I like them,’ but I looked at them and thought ‘I wish I looked like them.’ A lot of people didn’t like what I said, but I didn’t care what they thought and decided to dress like the girl I always have been. I wasn’t hurting anyone, so I decided to be who I wanted to be, not what other people wanted me to be. Now I'm much happier than before, and I don’t listen to the mean people.”
“Why are people mean about it?” Peter spoke up, looking around for a good picture.
“People don’t like those who are different.” Her friend slid off the tire and put her arm around the other girl's shoulder. “They were taught that if someone called you a boy, you had to be that forever, even if they were wrong. Same is true with girls. And they were taught that only boys could love girls, and only girls could love boys. But that’s not true. They were scared into thinking something bad would happen if they didn’t follow those rules. But we know better now… most of us do, at least.”
To Michael’s surprise, she kissed the girl on the cheek. “Love whoever you want, act however you want, and dress however you want. As long as you aren’t hurting anyone, you’re good to go.” The girl with the rainbow scarf looked down at the Polaroid one more time. “Playground’s yours. Thanks again for the photo.” They started to leave.
Michael thought about all the times in class he felt uncomfortable being lumped with the boys. All the times he was told he couldn’t do ballet because it was for girls. “Wait a minute. How do I know if I’m a boy or a girl?”
“Think about it, kid. Take some time, really think, ‘Am I a boy? Am I a girl? Am I both? Neither?’ You won’t figure it out overnight, it takes time. You’ll know when you know, trust me.”
The two girls left Peter and Michael standing together by the tire in silence. A beat passed, before Peter broke it.
“Those are probably the nicest people I’ve ever met, other than Aunt May and Uncle Ben.” Peter said, sitting on the short slide. He pulled out the peanut butter and jelly sandwich and offered it to Michael. “Lunch?”
Michael gladly accepted it. Aunt May made good sandwiches, but he could tell Uncle Ben made this one; he knew to put more jelly than peanut butter.
“I didn’t know there was a name for it.” Michael started after swallowing his bite.
“Lunch?”
“No. Transgender.” He enunciated. “Trans means to move or change, and gender, well, if you are a boy or a girl. So that means to change whether you are a boy or girl, or neither or both, I guess.”
“Oh. I think it’s cool. Bullies suck. Good for them for being brave and being themselves,” he said, peanut butter sticking to his mouth. Aunt May definitely made his. “You say that like it applies to you.”
“I mean. I hate when the teacher divides the class into boys and girls, it feels wrong to be with the boys. Although it’s nice to be with you I guess. No offense to you or anything, you’re cool.”
Peter kicked his legs. “None taken, we’re both awesome. Do you think you’re a girl?”
Michael was quiet for a long moment, even after he swallowed his bite. “She said she felt like she was trapped in the wrong body. It felt like she knew my thoughts. It felt like she knew my biggest fears about myself.”
May came up and sat on the edge of the slide. “They’re called insecurities.” She smiled warmly.
“Hi Aunt May.” Peter said, offering her the other half of his sandwich.
She shook her head for him to keep it. “You two talked with them for a long time. Were they nice?”
“Very. I think they liked my photo.” Peter looked at the camera that hung around his neck. “I only have a few left. Uncle Ben said I had to use them wisely. They liked it, so it was probably a wise picture.”
“I think it was, though you should ask before you take pictures of people.”
“Aunt May?” Michael started.
“What’s up, dear?”
“Did you know they were safe people because of the stripes?”
She nodded. The kids weren't all that social, so she'd take every opportunity she'd get to get them to socialize.
Michael looked up at her. “How did you know you are a girl, Aunt May?”
She thought for a minute. “Well, let’s see. Growing up, I was very content with who I was. I knew the type of person I wanted to be, and I didn’t need to change anything about myself to be happier with myself. I tried, of course, but it didn’t make me happy, not really. I always went back to what made me happy, and that’s who you’re looking at now.”
“Can I take a picture of you, Aunt May?” Peter asked her.
“Of course.” She smiled and Peter took the picture. “What matters the most, Michael, is that you do the things you need to do to be happy with yourself.” She leaned forward on her knees, pointing in a random direction. “Not to make others happy, but to make yourself happy.” Aunt May placed a finger on his chest. “Making others happy comes through actions, not through changing yourself or sacrificing your own happiness.”
Michael hugged her. “Thank you Aunt May.”
“Can I take a picture of you, Michael?” Peter asked.
Michael laughed. “Sure.”
He clicked the photo. “That was my last one.” He offered it to his friend.
“You can keep it Peter. You can show Uncle Ben.”
The three of them hung out at the park until the last bit of snow on the big slide had melted through. Then they started on their way home. As they walked, Peter sorted through his photos while Michael was lost in thought.
‘Sacrificing my happiness? I don’t want to get a haircut, does that mean I shouldn’t get a haircut? It’s not hurting anyone. If anything, it’s helping; I get to have long hair, and it saves Dad money. Does that make me a girl if I have long hair? No cause Flash has longish hair and he’s still a boy. I still want long hair.’
“Aunt May?”
“Yeah kiddo?”
“I don’t want to get a haircut today.”
A warm smile formed on her face. “Does your dad know that?”
Michael shook his head. It would save his dad money, sure, but his dad was the one who wanted to schedule it anyway. He tried to do girl stuff as a kid, but George would always discourage him, and the last thing Michael wanted was to disappoint his dad.
“Well, I think you should tell him that. Soon. If you do it late then he might be mad.”
“Right when we get home?”
“If you want to, that would be a good time.”
“And what if he says no?”
“How about you tell him, stick to your word, and I’ll talk to him after.”
“Just that, ok? Nothing else.”
“I promise. Peter, why do you show Uncle Ben all the photos you took?”
“Don’t have to tell me twice, I want more film to take more!” He rushed out of the elevator and into the front door of 64.
Michael pushed the door open to his apartment, 65. He really didn't want to upset his dad, but Aunt May seemed to be on his side. Maybe she could help convince him?
George was relaxed on the couch watching the news. He muted it when they came in. “Hey bud, how’d it go? It wasn't too cold out there, was it?”
“No, it was ok.” Michael reached up and set his jacket on the coat rack. It was many times smaller than his fathers, and wasn't nearly as cool as the police jacket. “Hey Dad?” he started.
Lieutenant Stacy took his shoes off the coffee table and sat forward. “Yeah kiddo?”
Michael took a shaky breath, looking up at Aunt May who smiled at him in support. He wanted to say it so badly. Something told him not to, like his dad would be mad, the same way he was when Michael wanted to take ballet. No, not mad, just disappointed, dissatisfied, let down, confused. But he knew he had to ask. If he was ever going to be happy in his own body, it started here.
“I don’t want to get my hair cut.”
“You never want to get your hair cut.”
“I mean it. They always cut it too short. I want it long, like Flash has. It will save you money too, so you don’t have to pay for it. It’s not hurting anyone.”
George sighed. “You got me there, Mike.” He looked up at May. “Did you put him up to this?”
She smiled. “Nah, just teaching him to speak his mind, it’s good for him.”
“So can I keep it long?”
He stood. “Yeah, bud, you can keep it long.”
Joy filled in Michael’s heart and a huge smile washed across his face. He ran up to his dad and hugged him. “Thank you. I love you.”
“I love you too, Kiddo. Go read your book, I wanna hear what happens to Percy after they get stuck in that Hotel place.” He ruffled his son's hair.
Mike, with no objection, ran off to his room. He shut his door behind him, sitting on his windowsill for a minute to calm himself. He never did anything like that. But he was proud. He was happy, really happy. Not because his dad seemed irked, but because he stood up for something that made him happy.
“What’s this all about?” George spoke from the other room. He wasn’t upset, but he was certainly surprised and confused.
Michael looked up at the door. He was no stranger to listening to his dad. He talked too loud on the phone so it kept him up at night. Not Mike’s fault.
The voices of the adults were muffled through the door. “They’re getting to that age where they gotta start learning more about themselves and the world around them, George.”
“So…?”
May shrugged. “Michael doesn’t want his hair cut, simple as that. I just told him that it’s the little things he does for himself to make him happy. Having long hair isn’t hurting anyone, and he’s right, it makes him happy and saves you time and money.”
“I guess. I was the same way when I was a kid. My dad didn’t let me do anything. But what happened at the park to cause all of this?”
May took a patient breath. “They met some young adults.”
Lieutenant Stacy scoffed.
May immediately went to reassurance. “Not anyone bad, don’t worry. I watched the whole thing.” She stepped toward him and put her hand on his shoulder. “The two of them are getting to that age, albeit younger than I expected, where they can no longer ignore the world around them. They have their own desires. Their own thoughts and feelings and emotions. Not because they don’t understand the world, but because they’re growing up. They may be kids, but they’re people too, you know.”
George laced his hands behind his neck and wandered. He couldn't help but think of all the times Michael asked for long hair and ballet classes. “I know, May. I just… I go out there every day and deal with every type of person. I deal with good people who get their cars broken into, but then I turn around and deal with people who break into cars. So many of them aren’t actually bad people, they’re just people who were misguided or poorly raised teenagers whose parents don’t seem to care. I don't want to mess up and have Michael turn out like that.”
“George, honey. Giving your child room to grow isn’t the same as not caring. Mike asked you if he could keep his hair long, not if he could break into cars. If he asked you to break into cars and you said yes, that would be not caring.” She laughed. “You care about your child, George. I know you do, you don’t have to prove it to me, nor Ben, nor Helen. All I’m saying is that he’s learning more about who he is. You can’t control that. What you can control is how you react, and how you support him. That doesn’t mean saying yes to everything, but it does mean that if it’s not hurting anyone (or your wallet) and he’s happy, then he should be free to be himself. Hm?”
George was quiet for a moment when he faced her again. “Thank you, May. You’re right. Helen would know how to handle it.”
“Helen would be proud of what you’ve done so far.” She fixed his shirt.
"I just didn't expect the two of them to grow up so fast." George glanced to the wedding photo on the wall.
May followed his gaze. She lingered on the picture for a moment before adjusting his collar again. "The two of them are incredibly intelligent. The fact that we can have meaningful conversations with them just doesn't happen in other kids their age. They're gifted, extremely, gifted. And I agree: they grow up too fast, both in the mushy parent way and in the literal way. We'll have to look at getting them put into a more advanced program." She smiled.
"I don't even know if the school has one." A sad smile washed across George's face. "They're good kids, even if they can never get their damn noses out of a book."
May laughed silently. "Be glad he's only asking for long hair, he could be asking for another book."
George's sad smile grew just a little bigger. "A library card would be a good investment for them."
He smiled at the decorative spiked sun on his son's door, a gift from his wife 4 years ago. The mood dropped for a minute as they stood together in silence.
“You think I should reconsider Ballet?”
May shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt to have another hobby. It would certainly get him out of those books a bit, but as long as you can afford it. You’re still dad, after all.”
He sighed. “You’re doing a good job too, you know?” He smiled at her with raised brows.
“Thank you, George.” She hugged him. “So are you.”
Michael pulled away from the door. ‘I FINALLY GET TO DO BALLET?!’