David Minerva Clover

David Minerva Clover

Bio

David Minerva Clover is a queer and transgender writer, covering everything from parenting to why dinosaurs are awesome. His work has appeared in The Washington Post, New York Mag, The Establishment, and many other places. He lives in beautiful Detroit Michigan with his spouse, one child, and an embarrassment of animals. Check out his blog at Postnuclear Era or follow him on twitter at @dm_clover.

David Minerva Clover Articles

My family relies on having our food delivered specifically because of our less-than-ideal financial situation. We don't do this because we're rich.

Why Grocery Delivery Service Is The "Luxury" My Low-Income Family Relies On

My family relies on having our food delivered specifically because of our less-than-ideal financial situation. We don't do this because we're rich.

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image credit: Thinkstock

I’ve Experienced Fat Shaming And Thin Shaming And I Can Tell You Which Is Worse

It is worse to be fat shamed because thin shaming is often just fatphobia in disguise. Let me say that again for the people in the back.

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In this family, those figures traditionally made of three snowballs stacked atop each other — they’re called snowpeople.

In This Family, We Say Snowperson 

People might raise their eyebrows when they hear me say “snowperson” for the first time. But it makes perfect sense. A man is just a kind of person.

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Teeth are inseparable from class in this country. Image: Thinkstock.

How An Exploding Tooth Made Me Confront My Own Classism

Teeth are inseparable from class in this country. I have gotten by in life largely by being able to “pass” as middle class, by being white and articulate and confident. People meet me and assume that I must have gone to college. Middle class people talk to me like I’m their peer. But I am not their peer. I will never be their peer.

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Once I realized that I could embrace the parts of femme that I liked (lipstick! frilly skirts!) and reject the ones that didn’t work for me (shaving! heels!) things got a hell of a lot easier.

I'm A Queer Femme — And It Only Took Me 30 Years To Embrace It

Faced by the extreme pressure to conform to impossible beauty ideals, I followed my instincts (and my budding feminism) and rejected them wholesale. I wasn’t going to play like that; I wasn’t going to let my gender require that I wear makeup or perform a certain way.

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I mess up and do things very differently than I want to sometimes. When that happens, I have one rule for myself: I stop and apologize to my kid.

Why I Apologize To My Kid Each And Every Time I Screw Up

I mess up and do things very differently than I want to sometimes. When that happens, I have one rule for myself: I stop and apologize to my kid.

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It sucks for the parents, and it sucks for the kids. But fortunately, there are options to feed a toddler.

How To Feed A Toddler Without Totally Losing Your Grip

Here are six tips that can serve as a basic outline of how most parents can strategize to help feed a toddler and to calm the heck down.

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I am an adult woman, and guess how many dollhouses I own? Two.

Tiny Houses, Tiny Things

I am not middle class. Tiny houses are touted as an affordable solution, but they’re still more house than I can afford.

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My epidural made me stop wanting to die. Image: Thinkstock.

Whether Or Not Someone Gets An Epidural Is None Of Your Business

We compare birth stories like war stories. Twelve hours of labor, 32 hours of labor, three hours of pushing, we fall into the trap of trying to one-up each other. So yes, I can see why, to a parent-to-be who is enthusiastically anticipating pain relief, the refusal of an epidural might seem like a bit of a hero complex. And maybe for some people it is! But it’s none of your goddamn business.

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In two days, I am taking my 1 year old on a road trip, and camping with him in the middle of Indiana to listen to a bunch of weird punk bands and hang out with a thousand strangers. Image: Thinkstock.

I'm Taking My 1 Year Old To A Camp-Out Punk Festival

[W]hen tickets went on sale for a DIY punk music festival that my wife had attended several times before we were married, and she lamented that there was “just no way” that she’d be able to go, a light bulb went off in my head. “What if we just all went together?” I said.

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