About 10 years ago, my family and I used to spend a week or so on Cape Cod at the end of every summer. We usually rented a house in Chatham, about halfway out, on the outside of the elbow. About 35 miles farther out, at the very tip of Cape Cod, lies Provincetown, or in the local vernacular, P-town.

Chatham is a quaint little tourist village, with a good choice of beaches for families, but for any serious whale watching, one must get a cruise out of P-Town.

In contrast to Chatham, P-town is what could be considered the Key West of the north. It is a funky and fun hotbed of counter culture, and more specifically gay culture. It is a haven for the gay community of both genders, and everything in between. And it is all on display, from the most suggestive of t-shirts, to the tightest of short shorts and thongs (and that’s the guys we’re talking about). It is Flame City, and has probably a dozen drag clubs on it’s main, well…drag.

So this particular summer, on our last night on vacation, Kate I took the kids for a 5:30 whale watching cruise. The boat arrived back at the pier at about 7 or so, and took a walk downtown, which is along the waterfront. Kate had 4 year old Sarah, while I strolled hand-in-hand with my 7-year old boy Zac.

At about this time, on most summer evenings, dozens of drag queens start making their appearance on the downtown street, mostly handing out their show’s mini flyers, hawking tourists to come see the show (This year’s main theme was Big-boned Barbies). The outrageous neon costumes, feathers and boas and 6″ platforms, with so much make up they actually do like like women, some even kinda……well, hot.

So we’re walking in the street, which is closed to traffic and is busy with people. Zac and I are walking, and about 30 feet ahead of us we notice 3 queens in full regalia strutting their stuff, handing out flyers. Zac says to me, “Dad! Look at those ladies!”

I look down at him and say, “Look at them closer Zac.”

He peers at them as they walk, and his gaze returns up to mine. He looks at me quizzically.

I smile and say in a low voice, “Zac, they’re not ladies.”

Zac’s eyes widen and he turns back to look at them again, and exclaims for the entire street to hear, “THOSE ARE MEN!?”

I can hear about 50 people crack up, all knowing exactly what Zac is talking about. The 3 queens all stop and turn on their heels, hands on hips, in cartoon dramatic fashion, like Ru Paul on a Paris runway. They spot Zac and all scoot on their platform sandals over to us. They all squat down and start fawning over Zac- how cute he is, blah blah blah- all while he’s looking up at me and Kate, who’s seen this all transpire and had just caught up with us. Zac’s eyes were a mix of delight and confusion, and we all just smiled at him while he absorbed this onslaught of attention.

After a minute, the queens said their goodbyes (air kisses!) and went off to continue their hawking. We continued our stroll, and not long afterwards, Zac asked me, “Dad, what’s with those ladies? I mean, men. Why do they dress like that?”

I told him it was for a play and it’s called burlesque. It’s supposed to be funny. “Did you think it was funny?” I asked him.

“Well yeah, kinda, but kinda weird too.”

I replied, “I know what ya mean, man, I know exactly what you mean.”

Later on, after Kate and I put the kids to bed, we started to pack for the ride home the next day. Kate mentioned that she was pretty sure that in second grade, they still write a “what I did on my summer vacation” essay pretty early in the year.

“We’re going to be getting a very interesting phone call come September.” she said.