I was maybe ten, ready to play the lead in a school play for the first time. A hydrochloric anxiety had dripped through my brain for weeks, through the entire rehearsal process, until in desperation I shared them with my daddy on that walk: what would people say when they saw the play, and saw me? Peter Pan is meant to be white. The things parents have to hear. The leaves were a blur on the ground as he spoke, but the air was clear. Neverland isn’t a place on Earth, so Peter Pan can look like anything, he told me. You can be anyone you want.
