Transcriber: Mariano Carrasco Reviewer: Michael Nystrom
My family and our home life have always been pretty typical.
We have our joys, our challenges, our embarrassing moments.
However, while you have probably kept
your family’s most private moments private.
I, on the other hand, have made a living by exposing mine.
For over 20 years, I’ve been known as the “Mommy Comic,”
sharing stories about family dysfunction and daily chaos on the stage.
Who among us hasn’t bribed a kid for good behavior?
We promise candy, later bedtime, more TV.
When I was eight months pregnant and desperate for sleep,
I promised my two kids they could name the baby
if they let me take a half-hour nap.
(Laughter)
I was happy. They were happy. Baby Aladdin, not so happy.
(Laughter)
And all this wasn't an act. This has been my life.
During the day, I was managing three kids, a dog, a bird,
helping an elderly neighbor, a husband who traveled.
Oh, I’d get everyone fed, sitter paid,
pull the curlers out of my hair on the way into the comedy club,
and then hit the stage.
It was about eight years ago when a personal bombshell struck.
Now, on this particular day,
I was running errands,
and I was flying out to a big corporate event that night.
But first, I arranged to get some quality “mom time” with my college boy.
Everything was going great, going as planned, on schedule.
I gave him homemade cookies and a big hug and a kiss goodbye.
And just as I’m pulling away, he asked me,
“Hey, Mom. Do you know what transgender means?”
I remember nodding “yes.” I mean, I watch “RuPaul’s Drag Race.”
But still, this was such an odd question.
I was trying to process what he said, and he continued,
“I’m that.
I’m transgender.”
And with those four words,
everything I knew about my son was shaken to its core.
I was processing as fast as I could.
What was my son telling me?
He’s a she? She’s my daughter?
My mind was racing; my heart was pumping,
and I had so many questions.
But I had to get to work, and there just wasn’t time.
You see, for everything I didn’t understand,
there was one thing that I did.
My child made sure I would not have time to ask any questions.
(Laughter)
Wasn’t that strategic?
As a mom, I was really frustrated.
As a comedian, I was impressed with my kid’s timing.
(Laughter)
So that night, at the same time,
I’m telling jokes from my standard setlist about my all-American family
and our all-American dysfunction.
Everything I knew was slipping away.
My body was performing my show without me while my brain was off somewhere else,
wrapping itself around what had just happened.
What I wouldn’t give for those old worries:
bad grades, skipped school,
smoking cigarettes.
Okay, smoking cigarettes isn’t ideal,
but I could parent that.
My daughter, who now calls herself Olivia, had revealed her true gender.
And as it turns out, I was the one about to have an identity crisis.
My heart was broken, and I withdrew from family and friends,
afraid they would judge, even oust me.
Stand-up had always been my refuge, but now there was no refuge.
No part of my life was insulated from this.
So for the next few months and even years,
I continued with my old act
because I could just not see the funny in where I was now.
(Sighing)
Every day, I get on stage
and recite my act beat by beat, line by line,
leaving the kids the ages and stages where they were.
(Sighing)
I felt like an imposter.
Like the 30-year run of “The Simpsons,” where nobody ever aged.
(Laughter)
There were times on stage when this secret was bubbling up inside me
so much that I just wanted to heckle myself.
Oh, you think raising little kids is a big deal?
Wait till you see what's coming your way.
I gave all the appearances of someone who was doing just fine, but inside,
I was a hot mess.
But I had to continue. I had to go on with it.
I journaled. I talked to family members. I googled for answers.
Tried support groups. I needed to talk to somebody.
I finally took the big, brave step of finding a therapist.
Well, mostly because my youngest daughter, Pilar,
said that if I was going to continue to use her as my therapist,
I’d have to Venmo her a $40 co-pay.
(Laughter)
Therapy was a game changer.
I found a therapist that specialized in LGBTQ relationships
and offered so much insight.
Most importantly,
there are a lot of moms in this situation.
1.3 million American adults
and over 300,000 youth identify as transgender.
I was not alone.
My time in therapy was, well, therapeutic.
I began to feel better and ready to focus on my professional life.
Most folks don’t talk about their personal issues at work.
In fact, HR looks down on that.
But my job is completely different.
Talking about the struggles we experienced as a family
helped put the down payment on my house.
How was I going to make my modern family funny?
In comedy, people like Olivia are the brunt of jokes,
and that was never going to happen in my act.
Enter my 16-year-old daughter, Pilar,
who, until that moment, I thought knew nothing
beyond the world of High School Musical.
She insisted that I learn LGBTQ terminology,
which would help me gain a better understanding
of Olivia and her community.
She said, “Let’s start with gender identity.
You are cisgender.”
I was shocked, and I shook my head and said,
“Oh, I don’t think I’m that.”
She said, “No, Mom, you’re cisgender, and so is Dad.”
“Oh, maybe we shouldn’t tell Dad.
You know, he has been through a lot with this.”
And she said, “Calm down.
All that means is that your gender identity and your body agree,
that you are a woman and that Dad is a man.
Cisgender, super simple.
Now, Olivia is transgender.
She identifies as female, but was born into a male’s body.”
She continued down a rainbow laundry list:
genderfluid, genderqueer, pansexual, asexual.
And I have to admit, I was getting overwhelmed.
But there are certain words that parents react to -
you know, words that get our attention.
Words like “fire.”
“We have a warrant.”
(Laughter)
And “sex.” “Sex” was a word that will always get our attention.
And I heard “asexual.”
“What is asexual?”
“Oh, that’s someone who doesn’t want sex at all.”
“Oh, my God. That’s me.”
(Laughter)
She said, “No, Mom, you’re just tired.”
(Laughter)
And we looked at each other, and we laughed out loud.
Great big belly laughs.
You know, the kind that just take over your whole body.
And it was the first real laugh I had since this journey began.
I didn’t think it was possible, but this was funny.
This gave me the courage to tell my 85-year-old mother.
But I still struggled.
When I was done over-explaining,
she was quiet for a moment, and then she said calmly,
“Oh, mija, I like the transgender people.
I just don’t like the Kardashian one.”
(Laughter)
My mom and I laughed through tears.
My comedy has always gotten me through tough times
and this was no different.
The next time I got on stage, I tried out my new material about my modern family.
I started the bit with,
“I am the proud mother of a transgender daughter,
and that makes me a transparent.”
(Laughter)
The act resonated.
They laughed. They weren’t about to judge or cancel me.
They were ready for more, and I was ready to deliver.
For example, the name change thing.
Now, she had been changing her name every day and not cutting me any slack.
Now, my kids know that I’ve called them by the wrong name
or combined their names to make brand new ones,
or even called them by the dog’s name.
(Laughter)
So have a little patience with me if I can’t remember your name
after the fifth change this week.
How about this, if I’m looking at you,
guess what?
I’m talking to you.
(Laughter)
Or how I wondered if, early on,
I had done something to make her transgender.
Was I too hard? Was I too soft?
Was it the culottes?
(Laughter)
And talk about hormones.
Woo! I have one daughter in constant PMS.
I’m living in “menopausal hell.”
And we have a trans daughter taking estrogen.
Woo! The mood level in my house was off the chart.
Women were just blurting things out like, “It’s hot in here.”
“I need chocolate.”
“Don’t touch me.”
“Where’s Daddy?”
“Daddy left. He said something about buying a motorcycle.”
(Laughter)
In August of next year, I will be celebrating 30 years in comedy.
(Cheering)
I've traded in my high heels for flats and no longer touch up my roots.
And I traded my minivan in for a motorcycle helmet.
(Laughter)
And my comedy, it’s authentic and updated.
And that family in my comedy -
the one frozen in time while I struggle to figure out the funny -
are right where they belong,
in photo albums.
I’ve reclaimed my comedic voice -
not by talking about or making jokes about Olivia.
Instead, I talk about and make jokes about my experiences, the struggles,
the challenges, and the learning.
Honesty and being transparent on stage is working for me.
I am having so much fun, and so are the audiences,
and I am not looking back.
Thank you.
(Applause)