During my pre-school years, my brother and I shared the spare bedroom in our paternal grandparents’ home as our parents fought in court for custody. Being the devoted Lutherans that they were, my grandparents sent me to a Lutheran pre-school down the street from their house. During that time, my favorite playtime activity was role-playing characters in the life-size dollhouse. I was a shy child who stood alongside my classmates but did most of the role-playing in my head. While the other girls dressed up in the donated clothes from the cedar chest and gave themselves pretend names and roles to play, I quietly occupied as little space as possible while still being in the dollhouse. In my imagination, I was always the mom. Living with our paternal grandparents, we saw our father on occasion—despite the court ordering against it. But, for a while, I didn’t have a mother.
While I was secretly the mom, Danielle, one of the meanest girls in the class, always called first dibs on the long cobalt blue summer dress with a motif of tiny faded red flowers. The Mom Dress. Danielle had a very different idea of what a mother would be like because she bossed all the other girls around, even the ones who weren’t her children. The Mom Dress gave her power and she abused the power to stay in command.
One day, as the teachers freed us for playtime, Danielle decided to go outside to the playground instead of bossing around all the girls in the dollhouse. I watched all the other girls grab their outfits from the cedar chest, praying that no one would claim the Mom Dress. Once the girls were all happy with their roles, I grabbed the dress and pulled it over my head. I buttoned the collar as I felt the power start to take over me. I glided to the kitchen and began piecing together plastic recipes for a dinner that I wanted to cook for everyone in the dollhouse. A few of the girls laughed that Matty was wearing a dress. I laughed with them. But I had never felt as beautiful as I did while wearing the Mom Dress.
Once dinner was cooked, I told all the girls to take a seat at the tiny table and I began serving their plates. During our dinner, Danielle stormed in from the playground and demanded that I give her the Mom Dress. Afraid of Danielle, but more afraid to lose the dress, I began to cry. I told her that I wanted to be the mom that day, just for once. She said no, she was the mom. She threatened to tell the teacher, and I froze. I sat at the kitchen table with tears falling onto my dinner plate, unable to express how badly I wanted to the dress. All the other girls stopped their conversations to see what would happen next. Danielle ran to the teachers, braided pigtails swinging side to side, and told them that I was wearing her dress and pretending to be the mom.
“Matty,” one teacher said as she approached the doll house, “that dress is for the girls. You need to take that off and give it to Danielle.”
Danielle stood beside her, with a grin sent directly from the devil himself, hand stretched, awaiting the Mom Dress. I unbuttoned the collar, unable to stop the tears from running down my cheeks. The teacher just stood there and watched as I pulled the dress over my head and handed it to Danielle.
“Thank you Matty,” the teacher said, “now go play on the playground with the other boys.” I ran to the playground, but I didn’t play with the other boys. I sat in the shadow below the curved slide and hugged my knees as my body shook with silent whimpers.
The next day, Danielle went outside for playtime again. The Mom Dress was unclaimed, so I took it upon myself to pull it over my head and make dinner for the other girls again. Like déjà vu, Danielle stormed into the dollhouse when she was done outside and demanded the Mom Dress. I said no. She told the teacher.
“Matty,” the teacher said firmly as she towered over our dinner table, “I told you yesterday that you cannot wear that dress. This is for girls and you are a boy. Take it off.”
I stood up from the dinner table with my head hung in shame as all the other girls stared in silence. I unbuttoned the collar and pulled the dress over my head before handing it to Danielle again. This time I was unable to look at her devilish smile.
“You need to come with me to the time out corner,” my teacher said.
I kept my head down to hide my tears as I followed her off the carpet, across the cold tiled floor, to a metal chair. The teacher sat far behind me and finished her lunch. Beside the time out chair was a large container of uncooked beans for children to stick their hands into when they weren’t being used for arts and crafts. Despite being in timeout, I played in the raw beans. The teacher was busy watching other students as she ate her lunch. After pushing my hands in and letting the cold beans rub against my bare arms, I found a toy buried deep inside the pile. It was a plastic water toy of The Muppet’s character, Miss Piggy. She was wearing a purple bathing suit with matching purple sunglasses and heels while reclining on a purple floaty bed. The Muppets was my favorite movie from the VHS drawer because I loved Miss Piggy. My actual favorites, the tapes with female leads—The Little Mermaid, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, etc.—were locked in my Grandma’s closet and only allowed to be watched on special occasion, like a birthday or a holiday.
I was careful to keep Miss Piggy buried deep enough in the raw beans that the teacher couldn’t see what I was playing with if she happened to look over. I didn’t care anymore that I was in timeout because I had Miss Piggy and my imagination. I pushed her and her floaty through the raw beans, imaging it was the wide-open ocean. I made up a story about how she fell of the cruise ship while vacationing with Kermit and the other Muppets.
After class, my teacher asked my grandparents to stay for a conference about my absurd behavior. Two teachers, Grandma, Grandpa, and I sat in a circle and the teachers explained that they caught me wearing a dress and pretending to be a mom two days in a row. They told my grandparents that because I deliberately disobeyed them, and that I was put in timeout. My grandparents were embarrassed and ashamed, and they lectured me in front of the teachers, making me promise that I would not play with the girls anymore.
When the teachers announced playtime the next day, Danielle ran straight for the Mom Dress and she made sure to catch my eye contact to stick her tongue out as she pulled the dress over her head. Instead of joining the other girls, I walked across the room to the raw beans and dug around for Miss Piggy. I covered the diva with both hands as I hurried out the back door and ran onto the tanbark ground. I sat in the shadow of the curved slide and lifted Miss Piggy to the sky. I tuned out the preschool and escaped to the open sea with my friend, Miss Piggy.
Matty Heimgartner is a California artist and writer whose surreal paintings and personal essays tend toward the introspective and reflective. Heimgartner often participates in art shows around the San Francisco Bay Area, and their art has been featured in the magazines CreativPaper, Beyond Words, Content, and Artist Portfolio. Their nonfiction appears in Reed Magazine, Thanks Hun, The Romp, and Beyond Queer Words. Matty holds a BA in art and is currently earning an MFA in creative writing. MattyHeimgartner.com / IG: @fabulousmatty / Twitter: @fabulousmatty_
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