We all have vague memories of our former five-year-old selves—plopping down next to our exhausted parent, squirming and bouncing excitedly as the living room lit up in a soft blue hue, violins soaring as the Disney castle came to life. This is what you have been waiting for all night, the glimmering promise of watching the movie that made you pinch your nose and swallow every steamed beet on your plate. You get around an hour and 45 minutes of a compulsory heterosexual love story, of a damsel and distress and a hyper masculine prince, and your parent basks in the well-deserved silence.

Even with the film long over, the subconscious messages weasel their way into your sleeping brain. You dream of what you internalized to be real: that love is straight, between a man and a woman.

For those of us who grew up cisgender and straight, cartoons and films were surface-level entertainment. We didn’t have to work too hard to identify with characters on the screen, and we’re doing just fine. I’m worried about the children who discover from an early age that they are a part of the LGBTQIA+ community, but the world around them and the media they see does not represent them.

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