Madison Dragon: Why Pride matters, as a gay, foster kid

As a gay person living in today’s world, I have many privileges that often are overlooked as “normal things”, such as being comfortable openly discussing my weekend plans, how I celebrated my birthday, and my goals in life. These are things that most people don’t have to consciously make a decision to talk about openly or not... but it hasn’t always been that way.

For me (and millions of other people), growing up as a foster kid was a rough ride; I had to face a lot of adult situations at a very young age. When I was six years old, I started to watch the chemical reaction occurring in my parents’ brains known as addiction, forcing them to prioritize obtaining drugs over making sure my basic needs were met. I vividly remember the times no one came to pick me up from elementary school, the rides on the cold plastic seats in the back of a police car, sitting in the busy lobby of the police station for hours into the night waiting to be told where I’d be sleeping. Fast forward a few years, a few moves, a few schools, and no understanding of what it’s like to have a home. I was embarrassed at school and in any other public setting, but not because of those circumstances. I felt different. I was different. And I longed to just fit in.

Being a boy named "Madison" provided school bullies enough ammunition to fire their shots at me. When my uncontrollable, more feminine-like behavior started to develop, they seized the opportunity to add that to their arsenal. They called me “Fagison”, “gay boy”, “queer”, mocking me in the hallways as I kept my head down, desperately trying to go unnoticed. But they noticed. At this point in my life, my last name wasn’t Dragon (I hadn’t been adopted by the Dragon family yet... that comes later in the story), it was Guyotte. As you can imagine, the school bullies were resourceful and used that against me too, calling me “Fagison Girlotte”. I denied any and every attack in which they called me gay... but I knew I was... and I hated that about myself.

As I walked from school to the bug-infested, one-bedroom apartment my parents and their friends were all sharing, I told myself, “The only way you’re going to survive is if you hide this part of you, no matter what.” I remember laying on my mattress on the floor, overhearing my parents and strangers in the other room using drugs, I planned out the life I knew I needed to live to be safe: “I need to marry a girl, have kids, buy a house with a white picket fence, and live forever with this secret. There’s no other way.” I accepted this fate.

Time progressed, I changed schools and the torment continued with each one I went to, my parents got arrested on drug-related charges and child neglect, and then I was placed into foster care. The first few foster families were nice but didn’t use the money they got from the state to actually take care of me, they used it for gambling and alcohol. I was moved and they had their foster licenses taken away. Even though I didn’t know where I was going to sleep, which bullies I’d have to face, and if anyone would love me, the most persistent thought in my mind was hiding my sexuality. “Who could love me if I’m gay? That’s obviously why everyone hates me,” I thought to myself. But then I saw something at one of the schools I attended. Something I hadn’t ever seen before. I saw a pride flag. It intrigued me but I approached learning about it very cautiously, I didn’t want to raise any red flags (pun intended). I talked to the teachers who had this flag in their classrooms, and they made me feel safe, for the very first time in my life. The pride flag was a beacon of safety; when I was in its presence, I felt safe. It was intentionally put there to signify that people like me can exist and are even supported.

As I developed relationships with gay allies at my school by joining the Gay Straight Alliance Club, I slowly started to tell people that I was gay. This spread like wildfire in the school and somehow word got back to the foster family I was living with. They never addressed it with me, but their attitude turned, and they got... weird. I could tell something was different, but I did not feel comfortable enough to speak up about it. Something I’ll never forget is the framed picture they had in the kitchen of the family a mom, dad, and two sons. A few months into me living there, they replaced it with an updated version to include me; that made me feel loved in a way that I hadn’t ever felt before. Fast forward to when things got weird... they replaced it with the old photo. That feeling of love I just spoke of was shattered. I called my case worker and she removed me; it wasn’t a good fit. I was placed with a different foster family and three days in they sat me down on their couch and said “So we saw you’re a part of the gay straight alliance at your school. Are you gay?” I was in pure panic but reluctantly said “Yes, I am.” They explained that their religion would prevent them from being able to support me and that I needed to leave. Another call to the case worker and another foster home. I was off to a temporary one, because finding a foster home for a teenage boy, who is gay, is very difficult in New Hampshire.

At this point I had been with six foster families, changed schools 11 times, and was failing all my classes. I couldn’t bring myself to focus on schoolwork when I didn’t know where I was going to be sleeping, who I was going to live with, and try to combat this gay curse I had been stuck with. I was skipping class and laying low in the library. This girl named Sarah chatted with me and allowed me to vent about my situation. Her immediate response was, “My mom and dad would take you. You should come live with us.” This was a once-hopeful option that had been presented to me many times throughout my life after telling people my situation, but my case worker always told me that families need to be licensed and it’s not possible to just move in with people. Sarah called her mom, who immediately called the state of New Hampshire. They brought out the police and fire department to their house that day to do an inspection and issued them an emergency foster license, so they could start the official foster parent program right away.

Instantly this family and I clicked. They knew I was gay and embraced it. After the minimum amount of time required by the state (one year), and the surrendering of my biological parents’ parental rights, they adopted me. I was now a Dragon. A few months later they brought me and the whole family to a pride event. The emotions that I felt were overwhelming — safety, belonging, and optimism. Never had I been with a family who not only cared for me, but cared about me. They cared about my future and my happiness, something that previous caregivers claimed (and I naively believed) but ultimately proved to be untrue. Bringing me to a pride event was a sign of unconditional love.

There are millions of people who struggle with their sexuality, and most of my story is not unique to the children who grow up in the foster system. In fact, many are faced with significantly more dangerous and crazy situations. I was given a one-in-a-million opportunity when I found the Dragons, and it is extremely rare that this is the outcome for a gay, foster child.

Having a dedicated month to honor and celebrate the strength of the LGBTQIA+ community is so much more impactful than many folks may be able to comprehend, especially if they have not been forced to overcome challenges and barriers caused by their sexuality. Pride is a beacon of hope for people who are struggling and who have struggled. Pride symbolizes a movement created by warriors who laid their lives on the line to fight for the future population. A mere 60 years ago (up until 1962), same sex relationships were considered a crime in all 50 states. Can you imagine it being a crime to love the person you love? For many abandoned, unloved, struggling queer people, pride is the only thing that gives them a reason to move forward. A reason to live. A reason to be proud of the challenges they have overcome.

For me, pride is one of the reasons I’m comfortable talking about my weekend plans, how I celebrated my birthday and my goals in life... because those all include my boyfriend. A topic I was not always comfortable talking about, in fear of being kicked out of the home I was living in, in fear of being tormented, in fear of being unloved forever. Pride is the reason I’m sharing this little insight of my life story with you, as my upbringing and struggles around my sexuality are things I don’t tell many people about in my adult life. Though these situations I've described were difficult to handle as a child, they truly are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the many reasons I’m grateful for pride. I hope this sheds light on how impactful a movement like pride is on people's lives. It has greatly impacted mine.

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Madison Dragon lives in Laconia.