The June 28 Recorder feature “LIFE’S A DRAG!” was interesting. I believe everyone deserves the right to express themselves, yet this right comes with the responsibility of considering potential consequences. My 80 years have shown me that multiple truths often exist side by side; life is unavoidably complex. Before I address the subject of drag queens, I’d like to offer my perspective as someone who for decades has lived outside the box.

My 60-year career (and counting!) as a French horn player began in the classical music world, which I soon found stifling, because I felt strongly called to play jazz. I was a young man with a family to support, so it was considered by some to be sheer lunacy when I quit the secure classical music world in favor of a far less stable existence as a freelance jazz player … on the French horn, no less.

Six decades later, I’m glad I followed my dream. Refusing to play it safe was incredibly scary, but worth it. I had unforgettable experiences playing with greats like Charles Mingus and Miles Davis, and I gleaned valuable life lessons during the years I toured with McCoy Tyner, Gil Evans, Carla Bley, and other brilliant band leaders.

I learned a lot in many situations where I was the only white player. Most people saw me as a regular white guy, while others were unsure during summertime when my skin darkened, thanks to my Dominican grandmother.

But in this society steeped in lightning-fast stereotyped assumptions about skin color, I’ve lived as a regular white guy in most contexts, which means I wasn’t always aware of my privilege.

Late one night, a group of us left a recording studio after hours of intense work. Taxi after taxi passed us by, until one of the cats said, “Hey, John: you get us a cab.” As my African-American friends stood in the shadows, I easily hailed a cab, and then they all piled in with me.

The driver looked apprehensive, but I said, “Hey, man. It’s cool. These are my friends.” It hit me how effortless some things were for me, while my colleagues regularly faced discrimination based solely on how they looked.

Years later, I heard about Rachel Dolezal, the misguided white woman in Spokane, Washington who wanted people to believe she was African-American. I thought about how twisted things can get when people don’t feel comfortable in their own skins. Dolezal’s ruse understandably offended people who’d actually grown up Black. It can have unintended consequences when someone blithely pretends to be something they’re not without checking in with people who’ve had difficult experiences due to any number of factors, including skin color, country of origin, sex, or class.

What does this have to do with drag queens? After I read the Recorder feature, I asked a number of female friends what they thought. It was interesting to note a common reaction, that of a woman first looking away, then sighing or shrugging.

One woman commented, “I was taught to be a nice girl and to keep quiet. I guess I’m programmed to just let it go.” As a man, I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to face many forms of sexism. I’m learning that some of the women I know find it offensive when men masquerade as stereotypical pin-up dolls. I wish people of both sexes felt free to wear whatever they wanted, without enacting caricatures. Perhaps if we supported that freedom, fewer people would feel confused or sad about the bodies they were born in.

Just as I didn’t really “get it” until that late night taxi ride, I wonder if men who amplify damaging stereotypes about women are willing to pause in their self-described fantasies to ask a key question: How might this affect the women around me?

John Clark lives in Heath.