During the last semester of my senior year in college, I ran for Homecoming Queen.

Yes, you read that right: Homecoming Queen.

—–

Over a few beers, a friend joked that since there was no Homecoming King, I should throw my hat in the ring. After reviewing the rules, I realized the whole event was tied to a Title IX program—specifically men’s football. Since they didn’t offer a male equivalent, they couldn’t reject me based on sex.

All I needed was a sponsoring organization.

Another friend overheard and suggested I pitch it to the English Honor Society. I wasn’t a member, but they had a meeting the next night. Nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, I stood up and told a group of very confused English majors why I wanted to be Homecoming Queen. The President asked me to step out while they voted. A few minutes later, they called me back in.

I had a sponsor.

Word spread quickly. The Lesbian, Gay and Bisexual student group backed me. (this was 1994, long before the TQIA+ community was acknowledged) A fraternity and its sister sorority — who were forbidden from running a candidate due to Greek sanctions — decided I was their candidate too.

I attended the candidate orientation. Most of the girls assumed I was just there standing in for someone else. When I told them I was the candidate, all but one gave me the cold shoulder. One sweet young woman smiled like the sun broke through the clouds and wished me luck.

I paid for everything out of pocket—headshots by a local photographer (mine in a tux, everyone else in the standard drape), simple flyers with “Vote for Chris for Homecoming Queen” printed on colorful paper, and coordinated with friends across the dorms to plaster the campus.

The school paper, Sidelines, ran a full story. There was a photo of me on the football field with a tiara, a bouquet of roses under one arm, and a cigar in my mouth. Another showed me leaned against the stadium wall beside the women’s bathroom, roses threaded through the door handle. The article focused on one thing: I believed it was unfair there was no Homecoming King, and that was the real reason I was running. One of my friends called a local TV station to tell them that I was running. The TV Station said if I made the Homecoming Court, they’d send a camera crew to cover the game.

A friend of mine — grounds crew, rainbow hair, biker jacket, one side of her head shaved — agreed to be my escort if I made the Homecoming Court. She’d wear an evening gown. I’d wear a tux. Everyone on campus knew her. The thought of the two of us walking out together at halftime in full formalwear? That just made my candidacy that much more appealing!

Voting day came and went. The Queen’s Tea — where the court was announced — was held a few days later. The only men in the room were the University President and me. The cold shoulder from the other ladies was still very real… except for the same sweet young woman, who again wished me luck and said she hoped we’d both make the court.

We didn’t. Only she did.

At the Homecoming game, I watched from the stands as she was crowned Homecoming Queen of Fall 1994.

——

A few days after the game, I was having coffee with friends when one of them, who worked as a janitor in the Student Government Association office, pulled me aside.

“Chris, you need to know something.”

“Okay?”

“When I was cleaning the SGA offices the night of the vote, I found a paper in the trash with six names on it.”

“And?”

“The name in the #2 spot… that was the girl who got crowned. But the name at the top? That was you. You had about three times the votes she did.”

I was stunned.

The rules allowed me to request a vote monitor to make sure the process was fair. I hadn’t bothered. I didn’t think they’d cheat. I didn’t think they could.

Did I mention that the SGA President and Vice-President had both asked me to drop out of the race?

Did I mention they said I’d be disqualified for being male?

Did I mention I told them if they tried, I’d file a Title IX lawsuit and take it to court?

—–

I was the Homecoming Queen for MTSU for Fall 1994.

I just wasn’t crowned.

—–

Years later, my son and I attended an MTSU football game, and as luck would have it — it was Homecoming.

As halftime approached, I was preparing to tell him the story. Then the announcement came: the Homecoming Court would include both a King and a Queen.

I turned to my son and said, “THAT’S MY FAULT. THEY HAVE A HOMECOMING KING NOW! I RAN FOR HOMECOMING QUEEN WHEN I WAS HERE.”

We were seated next to the alumni section near the 50-yard line. Someone stood up and shouted, “I REMEMBER THAT!”

I raised my hand. “I WAS THE GUY!”

Laughter erupted all around.

—–

Sometimes the actions we take to right a wrong don’t pay off right away. Sometimes they take years. But that doesn’t mean they don’t matter. That doesn’t mean they’re forgotten. That doesn’t mean change stops.

Some of the things we do feel ridiculous, foolish, or even disappointing at the time, but can start changes that take root long after you’re gone.

Because one day, long after the dust settles, the world changes.

And we get to smile and say, I did that!

—–

Plant your seeds of change today, trusting they’ll grow in ways you can’t see and in timeframes you can’t yet perceive.