I Don’t Know if Frosty the Snowman Was Queer
But his hat was
Around this time every year, I descend into my creepy, damp Midwestern basement to retrieve my extensive collection of Christmas decorations. My last name is Yule, so I have collected a multitude of items displaying various Yuletide sayings. “Make the Yuletide Gay” has long been popular in my house.
I have childhood trinkets, defiled religious ornaments, and mementos of girlfriends past. My favorite holiday trimming, however, is my handmade contribution to the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree/Island of Misfit Toys tradition, which is itself an essentially Queer holiday trope doubtlessly formative for generations of fledgling Queers. It was hastily made from an entire roll of aluminum foil unraveled and twisted, with multi-colored twinkly lights coiled around its length, tied in place at regular intervals with red velvet ribbons. It’s meant to be a garland. And just like Rudolph’s nose, it alone holds the perfect magic that guarantees Christmas in my house.
I made it in 1993. I was twenty-three years old. I had a pretty girlfriend and a pretty apartment. I was working on my bachelor’s degree and I had a full-time job in a warehouse, driving forklifts and trucks and handling heavy things. I was living my best baby butch life.
