My dad's name is 'The Drag Queen.'

"My dad’s name is ‘The Drag Queen.’" Thus spoke Bob the Drag Queen, artist, comedian, and philosopher of laughter and identity. In these few words — playful on the surface, yet profound beneath — lies a meditation on legacy, self-creation, and the redefinition of family. It is a statement that both honors the past and transforms it, claiming power through humor, and truth through art. For to say, “My dad’s name is The Drag Queen,” is to declare that the parent of one’s spirit is not always the one of flesh, but the one of courage, of creation, of chosen identity.

Bob the Drag Queen, born Christopher Caldwell, is a child of transformation — both literal and symbolic. His mother, Martha Caldwell, was herself a drag performer, a woman of strength who owned a drag bar in Georgia and encouraged her son’s early love for performance. In this home, glitter and grace were not sins but symbols of freedom. Yet when Bob declared, “My dad’s name is ‘The Drag Queen,’” he spoke not only of lineage but of rebirth — the father figure not of his blood, but of his becoming. For “The Drag Queen” is no single person, but a spirit — the fierce, defiant archetype of self-expression that births countless souls into authenticity.

To the ancients, such a statement would have been understood as myth. In the Greek tales, heroes often had two fathers: one mortal, one divine. Hercules had Amphitryon of earth and Zeus of heaven. So too does Bob the Drag Queen’s saying echo this duality: one parent of origin, another of destiny. His ‘Drag Queen’ is the divine progenitor of selfhood — the god of transformation who teaches that to become oneself is to honor all that you are, even that which the world would deny. It is as if he says, “I was born from man, but raised by art; born into life, but raised into truth.”

Drag, in its truest form, is the act of creation through contradiction. It mocks and celebrates, exposes and conceals, exaggerates and reveals. It is, like all great art, a mirror turned toward society and self. Thus, when Bob calls The Drag Queen his “dad,” he is naming the force that fathered his confidence — the theatrical divinity that taught him to rise above shame, to wield laughter as a sword, and to crown himself when the world would not. For drag, to its children, is both armor and altar — a way to survive and a way to shine.

The story of such spiritual parentage is not new. Consider Oscar Wilde, who once said, “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” His “father” was not the stern figure of Victorian propriety, but the spirit of art itself — that same creative fire that Bob the Drag Queen inherited through sequins and satire. Wilde, too, wore his truth like a costume and paid the price for it, yet his legacy birthed generations of artists who refused to hide. Every age has its Drag Queen — a figure who, through beauty and audacity, teaches others to embrace the parts of themselves once exiled by fear.

Bob’s declaration also redefines family — a concept the ancients held sacred, yet fluid in meaning. For family is not only blood, but bond; not only inheritance, but initiation. The modern child of art and identity often must build their lineage anew — forging a family from those who understand the soul’s language. In this, Bob the Drag Queen’s “dad” stands for every mentor, artist, and trailblazer who made it possible for the next to live freely. It is a lineage of love that transcends biology — a chosen genealogy written in courage rather than DNA.

So, my child, learn from this: you are born twice — once by birth, and once by truth. The second birth, the one that gives your soul its name, often requires courage greater than the first. Whether your “dad” is an artist, a teacher, a belief, or a calling, honor that force which fathers your becoming. When the world demands conformity, remember Bob’s words: that one’s truest heritage lies not in the expectations of others, but in the courage to name oneself, to define one’s own legacy.

For as Bob the Drag Queen reminds us, we inherit our greatness not from blood, but from bravery. To say “My dad’s name is The Drag Queen” is to proclaim: “I am the child of self-expression, of laughter and light, of beauty that refuses to bow.” Let all who hear this teaching remember — your lineage is written not in where you came from, but in who you choose to become.