20/09/2026
My Son’s a Q***r (But What Can You Do?) ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Every so often, I see a piece of theatre that connects unexpectedly with something I have been thinking, writing and talking about.
My Son’s a Q***r (But What Can You Do?) was one of those shows.
First and foremost, this is a beautifully crafted piece of theatre.
It is funny, joyous, intimate and incredibly moving.
Rob Madge takes something deeply personal — his childhood home videos, family memories, dressing up, and discovering who they were — and somehow makes it feel universally relatable.
I was particularly struck by the audience. Yes, as you’d expect, there were clearly many LGBTQIA+ people there, but the audience was hugely diverse in age and identity. Different generations were laughing at the same moments, becoming emotional at the same moments and recognising something of themselves in a story that, on the surface, might not look like their own.
Reflecting on why this might be, I believe that this is because Rob’s story is about being different, and feeling like an outsider.
It’s about the labels we’re given, the expectations placed upon us and the social conditioning that begins early in life, quietly teaching us what is considered “normal”, acceptable or expected.
And it’s about belonging.
These are themes I spend a great deal of time exploring through my work and, especially, while writing Never Blend In. One of the things I’ve increasingly come to understand is that fitting in isn’t the same as belonging.
Fitting in can mean learning which parts of ourselves to edit.
Which parts to make quieter.
Which parts might make other people uncomfortable.
Which parts we’re supposed to hide if we want to be accepted.
Belonging is different.
Belonging says: you can be here as you are.
And sometimes growing into ourselves means recognising that we don’t fit in — and discovering that this is absolutely OK.
We don’t have to spend our lives trying to squeeze ourselves into spaces, expectations or identities that were never designed for us.
There can be enormous freedom in finally understanding that the goal isn’t to become more like everybody else. It’s to fully know, love and accept the unique and wonderful person you already are.
But perhaps the aspect of My Son’s a Q***r that affected me most was the love running through it.
We watch a child exploring who they are, surrounded by family members who don’t appear to be trying to correct, diminish or redirect them.
They actively join in; making the costumes, learning their lines, holding the camera.
And, most importantly, they allow that child to explore who they are becoming.
That love and unconditional support feels incredibly significant.
Children are constantly learning about themselves through the reactions of the people around them. When they show us something of who they are, our response can help shape whether they learn to associate that part of themselves with pride and possibility — or with shame, fear and concealment.
Not every LGBTQIA+ person grows up surrounded by that kind of acceptance. Many of us have experienced, in different ways, the pressure to conform, to monitor ourselves or to work out which versions of ourselves are safest to reveal.
Perhaps that’s one reason watching this family say, essentially, “This is our child. Let’s celebrate them.” feels so powerful.
And I think that’s why the show reaches far beyond the LGBTQIA+ community.
You don’t have to share Rob’s identity or experiences to recognise the fundamental human need underneath them:
To be seen, loved and encouraged to become fully themselves
I came away thinking about something I’ve been learning repeatedly through writing Never Blend In: despite all the messages telling us who we’re supposed to become, perhaps many of us eventually discover that we were good enough all along.
We didn’t need to become better at blending in.
We needed spaces where we felt safe enough to stand out.
***r