I wore my spiked jacket out to town and a young mum with her 4 year old son complimented me on it. She then turned towards her son and said “that’s how mummy used to dress, before she was opressed by THE MAN” I love that woman
1. What’s your favourite band?
2. What was your first gig?
3. Favourite pizza topping?
4. Name a band you haven’t seen but really want to.
5. Favourite live band?
6. Put your music player on shuffle and name the first 5 songs.
7. What do you hate about your town?
8. What is your opinion on Sheep/posers?
9. Neck deep or The Story So Far?
10. If you had a band, what would you name it?
11. How do you tell a girl you want to kiss her?
12. How many times a week do you feel navy blue?
13. Do your parents understand you?
14. How many band shirts do you own?
15. Chuck Taylors or Vans?
16. Ever experienced a time you met a band? What happened?
17. How many picks/drumsticks have you caught?
18. Throw down or punk jumps?
19. How many gigs have you been to?
20. Knuckle Puck tho?
Made a little questionnaire game thing.
Get on it homies ✌
I KNOW I SAID I WAS DONE FOR TDOV BUT I NOTICED SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT: We see a lot of young trans people. We even see trans kids. But you know what I almost never see pictures of?
…and I am a trans dad. It matters to me. Being a trans parent is super scary. There are all these fears about how people will treat your kid because of you, whether or not your kid will accept you, what people will say about you as a parent, and whether or not you will lose access to your child some day because someone out there knows you are transgender and doesn’t like it.
But my son accepts me. I’m as much a man to him as any other, and he loves me. He’s turning out so much like me that people often accuse me of forcing him to be “weird”, and sometimes people even try to force him to be more typical, so that his weird queer trans dad won’t corrupt him or something. I roll with the punches. We both do. We’re punk like that. From the moment he was born, I made sure as much of his life was un-gendered as I possibly could, and I know he is my son because I asked him, and he told me who he was because he never felt unsafe being himself with me. I always ask him. I defend his right to be who he is, he sticks up for himself because he knows he can, and what’s so much more incredible is that he sticks up for me. With more fire than I ever could have imagined. I’m so proud of him. I’m always proud of him.
But I’m also proud of myself. Because I have to be a mom while I am being a dad. Because to some people, I can only ever be a mom now. Because when people try to use my wonderful child as a means of putting me in a box, I fight against theminstead of hiding him. That’s not always easy. Sometimes it’s an absolutely tear-filled hell, and it’s just getting started.
So from one punk trans dad to every other trans parent out there: Never give up. It will be hard, but we can do this. We are just as valid as ever. Love your kids, and fight the extra battles you need to fight to keep them safe and happy. I believe in you. <3
desc; punk!phil takes care of his boyfriend, dan’s, son while dan is at a meeting. dan’s son comes home from school crying and its up to phil “on some level im deathly afraid of children” lester to save the day.
a/n; thank you to @andromedalester for betaing this 2am explosion of words and dubbing it ‘SO GOSH DANG SUTE’ i love u v much em ty or helping me out <33
gender rolls are the only bad type of bread
The door swung open and hit the doorframe with a resonating crack. Phil perked his ears up from his bowl of cereal and looked over, just in time to see Finn crawl onto the couch next to him. The kindergartner snuggled into his arm and Phil made sure to set the bowl away.
Finn almost never touched him, still not understanding why Phil had moved in with him and his father, Dan. He hadn’t expected a smidge of affection this early on – being the stranger, in Finn’s home – and made sure to wrap his tattoo clad arms around the somber boy.
Declan and I were waiting in line at the grocery store. The guy in front of us looked to be about my age, and he was there with his son, who looked to be about the same age as Declan. He looked pretty nondescript—baseball cap, t-shirt, cut-off denim shorts. Then I noticed his battered high-top Chucks and his tattoos. It was when I saw what some of his tattoos were that I realized he and I had a lot in common.
I wanted to say something, like: “Hey, nice squatter’s rights tattoo. Let me show you my anarchy symbol tattoo.”
I wanted to say something, like: “It’s weird, isn’t it? We were punks and anarchists, squatters and trainhoppers, and now we’re at the grocery store with these tiny humans we are responsible for. We’re still punks, still anarchists, but no one can tell anymore unless they look closely at our tattoos.”