Today, I’d like to talk about 

something that doesn’t get discussed 

honestly enough, 

and that is: 

What happens when your queer kid 

plays sports.

And I’m going to be a bit more 

on the serious side than usual 

because this hits home for me, 

and the experience was 

less than pleasant. 

So please bear with me 

as I try to explain.

On the outside, 

sports are supposed to be 

about teamwork, 

discipline, and character.

But for a lot of queer kids? 

Playing sports becomes a test 

of how much harm 

they’re expected to tolerate quietly 

and how well they can pretend 

it doesn’t hurt.

I’m going to share 

a piece of my own story here. 

Not to shock you, 

but to ground this conversation in reality 

through MY lived experience 

because this isn’t theoretical to me.

My oldest was an offensive lineman. 

And he was serious about it for a while 

in middle and high school. 

So much so that he spent years 

working with a college coach 

to develop his skills 

and improve his football I.Q.

At one point, 

he was even called a 

“prodigy of the game” 

in an Outsports article.

Not a “player prodigy.” 

But someone who studies the game 

more than most.

You’d think that would be a good thing. 

But it wasn’t. 

Because what followed wasn’t celebration. 

It was suspicion. 

The article actually made him a target.

Some of his teammates 

excluded him from locker room conversations.

Other kids said 

he wouldn’t even be playing 

if his dad weren’t an assistant coach.

One quarterback even refused 

to take snaps from him as a center 

because he was a … well, 

I won’t use the word, 

but he was called the “F” slur.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, 

his head coach mishandled 

the entire situation 

by seeing the article as undue attention 

instead of praise 

for being the first out football player 

in the high school’s history. 

Because the coach cared 

more about optics than safety.

Now here’s the part 

I want parents and coaches to hear clearly:

None of that was about sports. 

Not really.

It was about adult discomfort 

being placed on a child. 

And children always pay the price for that.

We talk a lot about safety here, 

and I’d like to describe to you 

what safety should actually look like 

in youth sports:

It’s locker rooms and dugouts 

that are actively supervised, 

not just being “checked on” 

when someone complains.

It’s slurs treated as violations, 

not “boys being boys”

It’s coaches who protect players 

instead of managing optics.

It’s talent evaluated on performance, 

not identity. 

And it’s zero tolerance 

for humiliation disguised as “team culture” 

because hazing with better branding 

is still harmful.

Here’s the truth: 

No trophy is worth a child’s dignity. 

Period.

And most importantly: 

no program gets to claim 

it’s about character 

if it teaches kids 

to endure abuse to belong.

I also want to say something to parents 

who are scared to speak up:

Advocacy in sports 

doesn’t make you or your kid “difficult.” 

It makes YOU responsible 

for their safety 

when the adults in the program 

are looking the other way.

And if a system only works 

when queer kids stay silent?

THAT SYSTEM IS BROKEN, not your child.

So if your queer kid plays sports, 

here’s what matters most:

Not whether they’re exceptional.

Not whether they’re quiet.

Not whether they “keep their head down.”

What matters is whether or not they are safe.

Because sports should build confidence. 

Not trauma.

That’s all for now. 

And don’t forget to take good care of yourself today.