Ricky "Taffy" Colón

At just eighteen, Ricky Colón, known to most as Taffy, because of his renowned flexibility, walks the streets of San Francisco with the resilience of someone twice his age and the bravado of a star whose stage is the sidewalk. Flamboyant, effeminate, and unapologetically Puerto Rican, Taffy is a fierce swirl of eyeliner, sass, and survival, drifting between the dim lights of Polk Street and the neon glow of the Tenderloin. By night, he is a part -time drag performer and rent-a-boy, spinning fantasy and flirtation to make ends meet; by day, he’s a young man trying to rewrite the ending of a story that began with rejection.

Just under a year ago, Taffy arrived in San Francisco from Florida with little more than a dream and the trauma of being cast out. His family, unwilling to accept his truth, disowned him and sent him packing with a warning to never return. Homeless and alone, he spent six hard months on the streets, learning quickly which corners were safe and which smiles were not. But Taffy, ever the survivor, found a sliver of salvation at the Valencia Street Shelter, a place that offered more than a warm bed, it offered a first chance, not a second chance because Taffy has never had a first opportunity in his life.

Though he never finished high school in Florida, Taffy knows that without an education, his dreams won’t survive. Through the shelter’s transitional program, he’s just begun working part -time at the Safeway on Church and Market, a job contingent on his commitment to finish school. Just yesterday, he enrolled in classes at the John Adams campus of City College, taking his first formal steps toward stability, dignity, and a future of his own choosing.

Taffy can’t pass for straight, nor does he want to. His femininity is not a mask but a flame, bright, unrelenting, and often dangerous in a world that would rather see him dimmed. He is laughed at, whispered about, sometimes shoved off sidewalks by men with clenched fists and clenched fears. But Taffy doesn’t bow. He struts. He flips his hair, tosses a wink, and refuses to make himself small. Haunted still by the weight of stigma and shame, he remains determined to rise above them.

His name is Taffy. And though the city has not yet made room for boys like him, he has carved a place for himself with glitter and grit and a heart that refuses to harden.