Pride

What a roller coaster this past week has been!  Wednesday was a holiday, Veteran's Day, so the kids were home with me instead of at school. We spent most of the cold fall day inside, and my two kiddos really enjoyed each other's company and enjoyed the time, space, and freedom to be themselves.
For my son, being himself sometimes means dressing up like Glinda and singing Wicked songs on his karaoke machine.  Which he did. While I painted his little sister's nails.

While my daughter's nails dried, he sat down next to me. "Mom, paint my nails too."
We have been down this road before, when Jude on The Fosters painted his nails, which of course lead to my son wanting to paint his nails.
"Are you sure," I asked.
"What if the kids at school make fun of me?" he considered.
"Well, that could happen. You could just tell them that they are your nails, and you like them this way. If they don't like them, then they should just be glad they aren't their nails."
"Yeah!  That's what I will do. I really want blue nails!"

So I painted his nails. And I genuinely didn't think that much about it after wards. I naively believed that the kids at school wouldn't notice or just wouldn't care. When he was crying when I got home, I couldn't even figure out what it was about.

My son didn't stand up to them like he'd imagined he would. He crumpled into a pile of sadness. Worse, he actually lied and told all the kids in his class and his teacher that his mother made him do it. Sigh. His teacher must think I am a sick woman.

That night I asked him if he wanted me to take the nail polish off.  Oddly, he didn't. He apologized over and over again, although I said he didn't have to say he was sorry or anything, that I understood why he lied, although I did wish he'd handled it differently. He insisted that the next day, if anyone said anything, he'd stand up to them and tell them he likes it.

Of course I spent the next day worrying about his nails, even though I hadn't worried at all the day before.  And of course it was old news, and no one said anything.

I wish all gay kids could know that about... well... almost everything that makes them different. Yeah, there are going to be kids who discover your differences and laugh. And run around telling everybody. And sadly, they're probably going to laugh too. Because different things make us uncomfortable, and for some odd reason, discomfort makes us laugh.  But then, as quickly as it happened, it's over. People don't laugh forever. The newest thing to laugh about becomes old news overnight. Annie was right; the sun will come up tomorrow.

But on Thursday, to make my son feel better, I'd asked him if he wanted to go to a local gay pride march I happened to know was happening on Saturday.  I'd been debating on it, since we are crazy busy lately and a little under the weather, but I decided that if he wanted to go, we would go. Of course he wanted to go.  "Mommy. Do you think those proud adults [he takes gay "pride" quite literally] ever went through stuff like this when they were little?"
"Like what? Getting made fun of?"
"Yeah. I am almost certain that they did."

Even within the gay community, I've seen some odd reactions to my tiny little gay kid. He looks younger than his age, so that doesn't help.  Since some of them spent years confused by social messages before figuring out that they truly were gay or bisexual or whatnot, some LGBT adults are not so understanding of my little gay son. I think some people even think I am trying to push this on him.

Why.... the... hell.... would I push this on him?  What mother wants to walk this journey? This journey that leaves me feeling alone, frustrated, confused, and scared so incredibly often?

Anyhow... for that reason, I am not a big fan of gay pride events. I feel like people are going to take one look at our very stereotypical hetero family and be like, "What are you doing here?"  But you know... things are changing, because that's really not how it is.

I registered us for the event, and I told the organizers my son's story. I told them we were going because he obviously needs proud adult gay role models.

So, we went. All of us.  Mom, Dad, and Two Beautiful Kids. And my two beautiful kids picked a sign that says "Gay is beautiful" to carry.  One guy who looked at us (probably assuming that we were just really awesome activist ally parents) said, "See, if more parents were like this, then we wouldn't need events like this." I assume he meant that if all straight parents raised their kids to truly believe that all forms of love are beautiful, then there wouldn't be a need to stand up and proudly declare sexual differences. That's true too. But we were there to support our son. Who needs pride.

At the event, one of the organizers remembered me and picked my son out from the crowd. He brought him up on stage and told his fingernail story and asked for anyone who has "got his back" to raise their hands.  As the crowd raised their hands and cheered, I realized my kiddo was a little bit of a hero that day.  It made his day. And mine too. What a journey.

 Most of these adults came into their own as teenagers or young adults, even though many of them say they knew as children, but the average coming out age in American is getting younger all the time.  It is currently 12 years old.  If that's the average, then someone has done their research, and someone has to have stated a younger age, or else it wouldn't be "12" if you average in the kids who still come out in their teens.

Which means my son is not alone. There are other gay kids out there. And their moms and dads are going through this too.  Yet I bet we all feel so alone.  If you are out there, please email me. We don't have to be alone. We can have each other's backs too.
lovingmygaykid@gmail.com

He said that F word in church...

We checked out a new church today, one known for valuing inclusion.  The church we currently attend is gay affirming, but there are only a few gay people at our church, and we talk very little about issues pertaining to the LGBT community, so we went to this other one, just to see what it would be like.

I should preface this with some truth that probably will not surprise you. I've been a Christian since I was a teenager, and I've spent most of those years watching the church judge and hurt every gay person unfortunate enough to attempt to believe claims that "all" are welcome. Although I have seen much progress in the church, the church as a whole has a long way to go. Even affirming churches are full of open and welcoming people who just don't understand straight privilege. It's progress, but we've a long way to go.

This church we attended was out of this world. Like seriously... this is what heaven will look like.

 If you had told me ten years ago that in 2015, I'd be sitting in a church with beautiful stained glass windows and a traditional pipe organ, listening to a gay pastor preach a message on inclusion, taking communion from a transwoman, feeling empathy for the lesbian moms trying to keep their daughter quiet, admiring the artistic Dia de los Muertos altars, and praying up front with a beautiful black woman, well, I'd just never believe you. But I swear, this is the truth. It happened. A gender-creative individual dressed like Elton John sang in the chorus. My kids didn't notice that the greeter, Alison, had a 5:00 shadow. They only noticed her awesome high fives.  And that the service was long. My daughter definitely noticed that. She was ready to go about halfway through, but she hung tight and played with the beautiful sunflowers they gave us as a new visitor gift.

The preacher was an amazingly charismatic Mexican man who talked about how difficult it is to forgive and come back to the church. In the middle of his message, he talked about coming out to his mom. My son perked up a bit then. When the preacher said, "I went to my mom crying and said, 'Mommy, help! I'm a fag! I'm a fag! I don't know what to do."

My son's eyes bulged out of his head and his jaw dropped. He looked at me with that a face that said, "Did he seriously just say the 'F' word? What the heck? Is he gay or what? Why would a gay man use that word?"  My son doesn't know much about gay history or culture yet, but he knows that word is not cool.

As if reading my son's mind, the pastor went on, "Yup, that's right I said it. Reclaim it folks. If we aren't afraid to say it, we take away it's power to hurt us." And then he went on the explain how his mother trusted their religious family members who eventually turned him off to church and left him on a hiatus for over a decade. He has obviously since forgiven the church, since he decided to serve in the church. As have all of the beautiful brothers and sisters who worship here. Reconciliation is hard. I can't even imagine how hard it is. I tip my hat to their courage.

But I sure am glad that they have forgiven the church, because the church needs their gifts. I feel like I got a glimpse of heaven today.

By high school, I figured out...

... that I did not get along very well with most females.

The first time that I saw that poster, my eyes filled with tears, and I just thought, "Yes, yes, yes!" My entire childhood, I loved shoving my hair up in baseball caps. I envied the fact that boys got away with boxer shorts as an excuse for "underwear" (let's be real, they add a layer, but other than that, seriously... what is the point?) while I had to wear tight, uncomfortable "panties." Even the word "panties" still makes me cringe. What a terrible word. I never use that word. The generic underwear is enough for me. But I digress.

As a kid, I was gifted so many Barbie dolls that I didn't want. I never really did manage to playing nice for play dates with the girls in my class, with whom I was supposed to be building friendships to last a life time. Occasionally, I'd find another tomboy who'd want to climb trees with me instead of playing "makeover party," but those friendships were few and far between, and for some reason, they just always got cutoff by moving to a different school and growing apart.


  But by high school, I was really just over the notion that, because I was a girl, my close friend group was supposed to be girls. The skater guys were fun. They listened to the music I liked. Instead of catty gossip, the conversations around the lunch table were about random fodder like who ever came up with the leap year concept (I am glad to have existed pre-Google, where we mused about this stuff instead of just Googling it). I pretty quickly got accepted as "one of the guys" and got invited to punk rock concerts and midnight meteor shower parties. These were some of the happiest memories I had in high school. And then there was this one guy who loved fishing and cooking, neither of which he was initially very good at. He also loved talking philosophy for hours, and didn't care if I showed up in my pajamas. And although I was straight as straight could be, these were pure friendships. I'd listen to them pine over girls who were way out of their league. And they'd listen to me cry about how whiny and emotional my boyfriend of the moment was being lately. (Why do I pick these kinds of guys? I don't know).

 I'd spent most of my childhood thinking I was just she who "doesn't play well with others," but eventually, by high school, I realized that I just didn't play well with other girls. But society pushes kids so forcibly into these gender segregated groups on the playground, it is no wonder that it took me 9 years of public school to figure it out. In neighborhoods all over America there are neighbor kids of opposite genders who rush off to play with each other every afternoon, but then ignore each other on the playground at school the next morning.

 My son is falling into the same trap. He misses the female friend who lived on our block but moved away a few months ago. At school, he plays with a group of boys who are younger than him, and I sense he is unhappy with it, as he says, "Well, I mostly played with no one," a lot. Yesterday, we went to watch football with some friends of ours, and they have two little girls. My son and daughter are almost the same age as their girls, and all four of them had a blast playing together. When it was time to leave, we could barely tear them apart. They'd rode bikes, they made up creatives games, they joined each other's Minecraft worlds and.... well... to be honest, I don't really know what goes on in Minecraft world, but they Minecrafted, I guess.

 On the way home, my son mentioned that the girl his age reminded him of his cousin (who is his best friend). "Well, kiddo," I ventured, "You know what they have in common? They are girls. Maybe you should try to find some girls at school to be friends with."
 "No."
 "Why not?"
 "Because... the girls play with each other."
 "So why can't you ask to play with them."

 Silence.

 "Well... what do they usually play?"

 "Sometimes they sit in a line in the field and do each other's hair."
 "That puts you in a great position. You could just be the back of the line. You like doing hair."
 "Well, lately they've been doing other stuff anyway."
 "So, just go ask."

      After much convincing, my son realized that I am right (of course) and vowed that he would bravely attempt to play with the girls at school the next day. It's a very small school, so there aren't many options. I hoped the handful of girls his age would accept him. I even prayed about it.

 He even admitted that he'd like a change. Right now, he plays with a group of kids a grade or two younger than him. Apparently there is a boy a couple of years younger than my son who seems to kind of have a crush on my son. He follows him around and says, "You're handsome!" all the time. I laughed when he told me that, but my son did not think it was very funny. "It's kind of cute, kiddo."

 "Mom, no. I don't want anyone at school to know I'm gay."

 "Okay, I get that, but it is just a compliment; this kid doesn't know you are gay."

 "Yes, he does. I didn't tell him. No one told him. But somehow he just knows."

 It's funny that this happens. It happens in teenagers and reluctant young adults (and apparently my son's tiny elementary school too). I know that many experts deny that "gaydar" is real, but it never seems to fail that the more "out there" kid will find the one who doesn't want anyone to know yet. It is the plot of far too many gay ya lit books, and as of now... my son's elementary school playground drama.

 These are not the mommy troubles I'd imagined having with a nine-year-old boy.

 I asked him today if he played with the girls. He didn't. He chickened out. One of them said something bossy to him before science class and he got irritated and lost his nerve.

 See - every man in my life is sensitive and moody. Even my own son.

Explaining the "F" word

"Mommy, what's a faggot?" he asked as he walked alongside me, wearing his backpack, holding my hand, crossing the street towards home. My heart sunk as I asked a question I feared I already knew the answer to, "Why?" "Because someone called me one." I am finding that the biggest struggle of being a mom to gay kid is the reality that I so frequently am faced with questions that I don't know how to answer. Questions that I haven't anticipated, sometimes, or more often questions that I wasn't entirely ready for at that moment. And so often it feels like I am put between a rock and a hard place in being true to my parenting style of honesty and openness, of not hiding my kids from the real world, while still protecting this little child who I know faces an uphill battle, and may not be developmentally ready to process truths that I cannot fully comprehend myself. Statistically, I know gay kids are at greater risk for depression and suicide. Mental illness runs in my family. My son already struggles with legit obsessive compulsive disorder (and no, I don't mean he is tidy, I mean OCD, for real, like occasionally requiring a therapist to navigate the anxiety associated with it). I worry about his mental state. I watch him change his behaviors, his friendships, his clothing choices, etc., all the time to try to attract less attention from his male peers. I just want my kid to grow up to be himself. Is that so much to ask? "It's a cruel, derogatory term used for gay people," I responded honestly. "Oh. Yeah, I thought so," he said. "It is never, ever okay for someone to call you that," I continued, "What did you do? Did you tell someone? Where did this happen?" "On the playground during PE, and yes, I told the teacher." "What did she do?" "She talked to him about it. He said sorry." "What did she say?" "I don't know, I couldn't hear her. But I think she just told him he couldn't say that and that he had to say sorry." I really didn't know what to do with this in my head. In all truth, I don't remember entirely what I said to my son in the moment, other than that it was absolutely not okay, and that it was a serious word that deserved serious discipline, and that I wouldn't stand for anyone calling him that and getting away with a "go say sorry." My forgiving and accepting little man told me that he thought the kid really meant it when he said he was sorry, and that he didn't think the kid even knew what it meant. I half agree. I am a highly educated person, and I know enough about child development and youth culture to know that for some reason, friendly male athleticism, particularly in youth, involves an element of "psyching out" one's opponents, and that it has become popular among teenagers to do so with trash talk and name calling. I sort of understand the trash talk, but I don't understand the trend of name calling, especially using terms that can relate deeply and negatively to a person's identity. I also know that the term "faggot", among young men anyhow, has little to do with same sex relationships and more to do with belittling a boy's masculinity. But really, that isn't okay either. My son does not have gender dysmorphia. He feels comfortable in the boy skin he is in, but he doesn't define "male" in the way our society has come to socially define men. I need that to be okay for him. I need him to know that he doesn't have to live someone else's view of life. I need him to be okay with living his own. Of course, when I told friends, there was an outpouring of support, even from unlikely sources. No one, not even the Christian conservatives, like to hear about little kids using hate speech to make other little kids feel bad. And you have to wonder where the kid who spoke it heard it. My children, especially my daughter, have unfortunately picked up a handful of curse words, and I know exactly where they got them from: Me. Because I curse when I am angry. But not words like that. Not words meant to belittle a person based on any portion of their identity. No, not those. I thought, I hoped, that we had moved past that as a society. But apparently we have not. Because I'm guessing that seven-year-old kids don't pick up words like "fag" from television. In the end, I think what matters most is that the adults in the scene do everything they can to be allies. And my son's teacher forced a private apology. But what about the other 30 kids who just heard the word used on the playground? How will they learn that this is not okay? Ultimately, I made the ironic decision to pull my son out of this public school to put him where we felt he'd be safe, which was ironically, in a Christian school. The local Lutheran school proved to be a strong safe place for my son. A few months later, during a class activity, a kid pointed out to my son that he was drawing his self-portrait too "girly" for a boy, and my son took issue with this. After we discussed the issue with the teacher, she took the issue on and spoke to all of the kids about being accepting of everyone's choices in their art work and how they see themselves. She handled it with the dignity, grace, and attention that it desrved. It didn't become a huge issue, but it set the tone, and that is too be appreciated.

Hetero Privilege is Real

I clicked on this "short film" and I rarely, rarely ever watch a YouTube video longer than 10 minutes, but this captivated me enough to go find it on the YouTube app on my television so I could watch it on the big screen, and so my husband could watch it with me. 

Why is it so difficult to imagine a world the opposite of what we know?  Why is it so easy to not think of what an LGBT person in the room is thinking or feeling in reaction to our comments?  I myself am far too guilty of just failing to really understand, and I am horribly self-conscious about it. 

The GLSEN group recommends in their "Safe Schools Guide" that when someone comes out to you, one of the things you should say is, "Have I ever done or said anything to offend you or make you feel uncomfortable?"  

Because we just don't realize how insensitive we can be, or what it would be like to be on the other side of the coin. 

 I'm glad the world is changing. My son's youth group leader at church is a proud gay man who is one of my son's greatest role models. Last weekend, he brought his new boyfriend to a church event, and as he joined the table to our kids and our friends and we all sat around laughing together and just talking about life, I got to know him a little bit, and he is just an awesome person. I'd love to spend more time with them, because this new boyfriend of his really has my sense of humor. I didn't think about it at the time, but I thought about it like a week later: my kid has totally normal gay couples as part of his every day life. He has gay role models. He has favorite television shows that have positive portrayals of LGBT people. Like really, the kid's gonna be alright. 

I hope. But I won't ever know what it's like to walk in his shoes. And admitting that is hard for me.  Everyone who aims to be any ally at all really needs to watch this video and remember: we, as allies, are just allies. We have hetero privilege, and some of us have white privilege. And privilege is real. 

When did toys become confusing in the first place?

The Target controversy is really silly in my book. People are acting like this is some move away from "traditional" values, but the silly thing is that the gender segregation of toys is relatively new.  I remember playing happily with legos all the time when I was a kid, and I even remember turning one of my girl dolls into a boy and putting boy clothes on it. It was my favorite doll, and his name was "Kyle," and I loved him more than anything. I dressed him in little football jerseys and striped shirts, which were very "in" back then for both genders. I remember having several long sleeve shirts with thin stripes on them. I think it probably had something to do with Bert and Ernie. I was Ernie for Halloween when I was three years old, but I don't think anyone acted like my mom was allowing me to experience gender confusion or anything like that. I didn't get confused because I couldn't figure out where the toys I was supposed to shop with were; I liked Sesame Street because we ALL liked Sesame Street. It was an everyone show, not a boy show or a girl show.

If people really want to go back to pre-baby boom, to before women were in the workplace, back when there were "traditional values," then they should go back to how toys were in the 1940s. I thought perhaps this 1940 Sears Christmas Catalog might shed some light on the matter.
Do you see those bears?  I wonder how kids knew which were for boys and which were for girls?  It must have been hard for Santa to figure out which one to give to which kid, you know before, they were made with pink and blue bows attached. And it almost appears as if that 3-in-1 play table may be designed for the boy and the girl to play with together. Can you imagine?  How confusing.  It's like the boy might accidentally forget he has a penis or something unless they paint it blue and put trucks all over it.

All of these toys from the 1940s are marketed pretty much gender neutrally. Because this was before people were obsessed with needing to buy their children's happiness I suppose.

 Kids shared rooms and toys were kept for a long time and passed on, and parents didn't get rid of stuff from one baby to the next if it was a boy or a girl.  These were people who remembered what it was like to live through the Great Depression, and they knew that hunger could be just around the bend, and they didn't need to waste money buying excess toys, just so that each child could have things specifically for their gender because really... toys are toys. The "toys" that we grown ups use every day, televisions and computers and such, they aren't really gender segregated either, so I don't know why everyone gets so upset about this.

Maybe it is because we just don't seem to have enough time for anything lately. And we are so "driven" as American people, our goals and our drive for success determine so many of our decisions. We move away from family to take better jobs in areas where houses cost less so we can have more space. For what, though? For our kids to fill with toys sent to them through the mail by grandparents who feel so disconnected from their grandchildren that they make comments like, "How will I know what type of stuff my grandson or granddaughter might like if the aisles aren't labeled?" Sigh. It makes me so sad.

I'd rather live in a tiny house near a family I love, and let me parents get to know my kids well enough to buy them toys that fit their personalities, which they understand intricately because of all the time they spend together. But living far apart sometimes happens no matter what, and my husband's grandma lived hundreds of miles away from him for his entire childhood, but she'd make the six hour drive to come see him several times a year, and every Sunday night for as long as she was alive they talked on the phone for like an hour. She knew her grandson so well. Just like my kids' aunt who lives in another state knows them so incredibly well that she figures out how to navigate the labels that have made most of what my son really wants to play with somehow unacceptable for him to play with, because dress up clothes are not "for boys" and he knows that.  I read blogs by other moms of gender creative kids, and I think it is totally cool that those boys are confident enough to rock Monster High costumes and stuff like that, but my kid just is too predictably impacted by labels. 

It isn't surprising. As humans, we are driven towards herd mentality as a leftover from our hunter gatherer ancestors who survived threats from predators simply by staying with the pack. When the pack says something is "safe," we subconsciously feel driven to the pack's label of "okay," even if we don't realize it. Some people are renegades, but my kid is not. Sometimes he is (like when he decided that he was going to be Maleficent for Halloween, regardless of any negative reaction), but most of the time, he is not.

Fortunately, people like my son's aunt have figured out that it is possibly to buy Halloween costumes year-round now, and buying popular fantasy and sci-fi characters in blue packages... totally possible. And so it was that for my son's birthday... he got a Guardians of the Galaxy costume. He doesn't even really know anything about it or the character, but the "Star Lord" apparently wears a pretty cool outfit, by any gender's standards.

We don't need labels to tell us what kids like. Kids can tell you what they like...  if you take the time to listen.

My Son's Best Friend Lives 400 miles Away

Shortly after I found out I was pregnant with my son, one of my cousins in another state called to tell me that she too was pregnant.  Our due dates were within just two weeks of each other, so we enjoyed comparing our pregnancies via emails and phone calls, and after I delivered my son a little early, I was eager to call and share my birth story. After she delivered her daughter, we of course talked again, and I was ready to head out and visit as soon as she was willing to have visitors, so our new little family packed seemingly half the house and set out on our first road trip as a family when my baby boy was just six weeks old.  The 400+ mile drive was a bit tough, but worth the bonding.  My cousin and I spent the weekend comparing breastfeeding woes,  shamelessly enjoying the hot tub and lamenting the loss of any pre-baby body confidence we'd previously had.  We set our babies down on blankets side-by-side. Despite being four weeks apart, they were practically the same size, and we thought that was just hysterical. At that point, they didn't really seem terribly aware of each other... but that didn't last long.

By the time we met up again when the babies were six months old, they were able to play with each other. I know they say babies at that age only parallel play, and that they don't really play with each other, and that was true for my kiddo with every other baby, but not his cousin. He seemed to really play with his cousin.

Over the years, the two have grown very close. It has never mattered to my cousin's daughter that her male playmate enjoys playing with her dolls as much as she did. Or that he enjoys putting on her princess clothes. These things have always just been okay. The two of them seem gender blind in their fun. It's like how childhood should be.

As the years have gone on, my cousin's daughter has gained many close friends, all girls, with whom she is very close. My son is involved in a ton of stuff, and enjoys the company of many children, but he only has a handful of friends, and he isn't very close with them.

It's hard for him at home. He figured out very early on (like.... in kindergarten), that the boys were supposed to hang out with the boys and the girls were supposed to hang out with the girls. I'd love to say that he's this renegade who rejects this societal pressure, but he isn't. He pretty much just likes to go with the flow and not make waves, so he just tries to find the boys he gets along with the best in any given situation. He'd probably be happier and have closer friends if he just tried to hang out with the girls, but he doesn't.

But his cousin is a permanent friend. She's a built in friend. And the two adore each other. When they were younger, they'd cry for like an hour when we'd separate them to drive home.  I'm pretty sure that she really is his best friend.

This summer, the one little girl who lives in our neighborhood moved away. My son really enjoyed playing with her, so this was kind of a devastating blow.  So, when it worked out this past week that I had the opportunity to take my kids along on a family member's trip out of state, my son got to see his cousin for a couple of days, and just a few days later, we had a big family reunion scheduled here in our state, so they actually came here to stay with us this weekend.

It's been a great week of reconnecting for the two of them, and they are two peas in a pod, as usual.

Loving My Dad and Loving My Kid

     When you read stories about other people's families, and they talk about hurtful things their family members say about or to their kids, it is easy to think, "If that was my family, I'd put them in their place! I'd never let them say that kind of thing to my kid!"

     But then it is your family, and it is your kid, and you realize how much more complicated it all is. But even a few words can do a lot of damage. My son is pretty secure in his gender identity, but he's always liked bling.  A few years ago, when my son was 6 years old, we were out shopping together, and she asked for a plastic princess crown at a 99 cent store. I went ahead and bought it for her.  We then went to pick up my son, and he was incredibly jealous. He wanted to know why I hadn't bought one for him too.  He dwelled on it for several days until finally, I just went back and bought him one too. He was delighted. He wore it all over for several days. We went to dinner at my parents' house one night, and my dad made a comment about it.

"Why are you wearing a princess crown?" he asks, "You aren't a princess." 

"I like it," my son said, very simply, as if that was enough, and it should have been.

"Dad, come on," I urged, "Let it go. He likes it, and he wanted it, so I let him have it. It's just a toy."

"But, like, he should wear a king's crown or something. He's a boy," my dad muttered.

     That was that. He didn't take it further, and he didn't say it in an angry voice, and my son seemed to barely notice or care. But later than night, my son came in and handed me the crown.

     "Here," he says, "You can take this back to the store or get rid of it. It makes grandpa sad."

     My heart broke.  I love my dad. I adore my dad. He is a great dad, and he really has never been a misogynist or anything. When I was growing up, he didn't care if I wanted to wear t-shirts and baseball caps, and he was glad I wanted to go fishing with him, and he pushed me to follow my dreams. He never acted like I should be prioritizing motherhood or childbirth (if anything, my mother pressed my buttons on that one) over my career and education. He wanted me to have the best education, and a great job, and it was always clear that he completely believed in me, and he wanted me to be a strong woman.

     And he's not even a stereotypical macho guy.  He is really artsy, and he didn't really play sports as a kid. From all of the stories I've heard about his childhood days in Boy Scouts, he basically hated all the roughing it, survival-type stuff. We glamped when I was a kid, and my mom is actually a little more rugged than he is.  My dad also knows how to cook, perhaps better than my mom. I wasn't raised with stereotypes.

     But there they were. Rearing their ugly head and hurting my son.

     I didn't know what to do. I really didn't. Part of me wanted to call my dad and tell him that he needed to apologize and tell my son that it is absolutely fine to have a princess crown. But I know my dad doesn't really think that. And I can't make my dad someone else. Just like I can't make my son someone else. I don't think my dad has ever thought about his preconceived notions of what is appropriate for each gender, or why we have those notions, or where they come from, and how illogical they are.  I am fairly certain that my dad, in his odd way, is trying to protect his grandson.  My dad was made fun of for being small and for being artsy, and he knows how hard it can be to be that kid.

So, I didn't call my dad. I just let my son pick out a king's crown online and ordered it. 

     Years later, recently, my son was telling my dad one day, casually, "When I grow up, my husband and I are gonna...."

     "Your husband?" 

     "Yeah. I want to marry a boy."

     "What? How could you know that now? There is no way you could possibly know that now."

     I wasn't there. So I don't know what happened after that, but I think it pretty much just dropped there.  My son doesn't like confrontation, so he avoids it when he can. Several days later though, he told me about it, and he was pretty upset. "Why would grandpa say that? What does he mean I don't know that? Of course I know what I want!"

     By now, my son is old enough to understand a lot more about people and life.  So we had a good long talk about it and my husband and I explained. "Grandpa just doesn't understand. He is not gay, he is straight, and he has never had to think about this stuff. And he knows that he was a lot like you as a kid, and he liked acting and dancing, and people made fun of him for it, and they probably called him gay. He knows that he wasn't, and he probably is afraid that you are just somehow making this assumption based on what people have said about you or something. He's just worried that people will make fun of you and make your life harder.  He loves you.

     Of course, my son thought that it was ridiculous that he would be getting this idea from other people.  But he understood that Grandpa loves him. Because Grandpa really does truly love him. He just doesn't understand.

     But it hurts being in the middle. I love my dad. I don't want to hide things from my dad. I don't want to tell my dad what he can and can't say to my son. But I also really, really don't want to see my son hurt.

    All I can do is believe that my dad's love for my son will prevail, and that he will grow to understand over time.

The Perfect Book

     When my son first "came out," (a term I hate using, but do for lack of a better term) his declaration was not about someone he liked or sexual feelings (no way, for heaven's sake, he was SEVEN). He expressed concern that he would not be able to have kids, because deep down inside, he knew he wanted to spend his life with another male, and he was old enough to know that men don't get pregnant, and that's about all he knew of where babies come from -- they come from ladies' bellies.

    Faced with difficult circumstances, people in my family, we don't talk about these things (at first). We don't look for movies about these things. We search for the perfect book. Because books have all the answers.  No, Google does not have all the answers, but Amazon... on Amazon, I can buy the perfect book. The perfect book will have all the answers. Then we can talk. About the book. And other stuff.

     When I asked my mom about sex when I was nine years old, my mom's answer was, "I saw something on the Today show... a book. I'll order it for you." And so it was that I learned the vast majority of what I know about sex from Dr. Ruth Westheimer.

    Thus, I was certain that the perfect book existed for this situation. I'd heard about these books. Sadly, I had heard about them because they occasionally make a media appearance when some crazy parents think that banning them from school libraries or public libraries is the key to making sure their kids don't end up gay. (News flash - Books don't make kids gay.  Biology does. But books do help those who are to not feel so alone in this great big hetero world).

     After lots of online research and reviews, I decided on And Tango Makes Three. It's about two male penguins in the Central Park Zoo who keep trying to raise a rock, but it never hatches, and so eventually, the zookeepers save an abandoned egg and give it to these male penguins. My son's first favorite movie was Madagascar, so I thought that the familiarity of the Central Park Zoo, and the fact that it was a true story, might really connect with my son.

     Gosh, was I right. When it arrived, we cuddled up together, and I read the book to him.  He was beaming from ear to ear. "Is this a real story?" he asked.

     "Yes, it sure is," I answered.

      Later that night, he wanted Daddy to read it to him at bedtime too. So he did.  And they bonded. And that made him happy.

     And the next day, he asked if he could bring the book to school to read during silent reading time.

    My heart kind of skipped a beat.  I wasn't sure what to say. Would the other kids ask about it? Would it start unnecessary drama? Would the teacher suddenly know we are those liberal parents that let their kids read this kind of stuff and suddenly treat our son differently?  (We live in a very conservative town, albeit in an otherwise liberal state).

     I tried to deter him with, "That one? But you've read it twice."  Sigh. That line didn't work with Belle in Beauty and the Beast, and it clearly wasn't going to work here either. I gave in and hoped for the best.

     That night, I got an email from my son's teacher.

     He'd asked to take a reading quiz on the book in their schools computerized reading system. He got 100%. It was the first time he had ever got a 100% on a book quiz before. The teacher could said she could tell that he really liked that book, and he was really proud of himself for that A+.

     As the rest of the year went on, this teacher proved to truly be a gift from God. He could not have had a more perfect teacher during this interesting time for our family.

We Could Play Rock, Paper, Scissors!

For the first few weeks and months after my son told me he wanted to marry a boy some day, life continued pretty much as normal, but suddenly he just seemed like such an open, talkative kid, when he'd been a quiet, keep-to-himself kind of kid for several months prior.  There were all kinds of questions, some of which we had answers to and some which we did not.

Meanwhile, my husband and I talked about other slightly more complicated matters. Like... how do we deal with the fact that several of our family members are way anti-gay? With our son, we'd taken the route of acting as if this was the most normal thing in the world, just another piece of information and something about who he is, which is how we truly feel about it in the bottom of our hearts, but we didn't want to let on that we were scared about how family members would react. We didn't want to tell him not to say anything to those family members. It's like... if he never really was "IN" a closet of any kind, we don't want to create unnecessary fear by giving him reason to believe that some family members may not take the news quite so well.  Since he'd been shy about telling us (and even had asked me initially not to tell Daddy, but changed his mind with much reassurance), we were pretty sure he wouldn't say anything to other family members, so we figured we'd cross that bridge when we came to it.

In the meantime though, relieved to be able to ask his questions, gay marriage and gay families became a frequent topic of family discussion. Since we are a crazy busy family,  we don't get a lot of time together during the week, and often when we do, it is by squeezing in dinner at a restaurant located centrally among our various activities.

I remember that we were sitting at a restaurant waiting for our food when he brought up an interesting conversation. "When girls get married, they change their last names to the man's last name," he commented, "So what do gay people do when they get married?"

This was an excellent question, and one which I hadn't really considered all that much. We know many gay and lesbian couples, but gay marriage had been legal in our state for less than a year, so most of them weren't legally married.  "Well, it's up to the couple," I explained, "Sometimes they just leave their names the same. Other times, they pick one of the two names."

My son's logic for how this was done was great. "I wonder how my husband and I someday will decide," he mused, "Hmmm. I know!  Maybe we could play rock, paper, scissors to decide!"

As we chuckled at the childlike playfulness of such a sweet comment, my husband chimed in, "Well, I bet sometimes they hyphenate the names. Even male female couples do that sometimes."

"Huh?"

"Like with a dash between the two last names," I explained, while drawing the dash in the air with my finger.

"Oh, I get it," so like "Blah blah DASH Blah blah. Yeah, some kids at my school have last names like that. If I marry someone who already has a last name like that, it would be a very long last name."

I smiled, taking in this moment, thinking about how crazy it is that my young son is growing up in a day and age when, knowing he is gay, he can actually think about his future in terms of family, much like any little kid does when they play house and imagine the future. Rock, paper, scissors. It's just so cute.

Some day, when my son does get married, I know exactly what to give them as an engagement present. I am going to box up and wrap up a very nice pair of scissors, a beautiful decorative rock, and a piece of paper that says, "Hopefully these things will help you make some important decisions."

Saved by Neil Patrick Harris

     My first kiss was technically a girl.  I was like eleven, and she was one of my first best friends, and my mom caught us "practicing" with each other.  My mom didn't ask if I was a lesbian. She didn't have to. I had been pretty much boy crazy since I was about six years old. My first crush was on a really cute little boy in my first grade class, and I told my mom everything, so of course she knew. She thought it was cute.  My mom was really active at my school, typical PTA mom, so she tried to set up for us to get together after school to play. (I suppose nowadays we'd call that a "playdate," but nobody used that term back then). I don't remember exactly what happened, but his parents I guess weren't into him playing with girls, because he never came over to play.

     But it wasn't just him.  In second grade, I pined over the same five boys as every other girl in 1989: the five boys in New Kids on the Block.  For my seventh birthday, I got NKOTB everything -- a set with sheets and a pillowcase and comforter (so they were literally close to my heart each night as I drifted off to dreamland), a sleeping bag, the dolls, videos of their concerts. My parents really made me the coolest kid on my block though when they somehow got me an autographed 8x10 glossy for Christmas. Not a print. The signatures were real, in silver and gold sharpie. I wonder where that photo is. I think I still have it in a box somewhere.

     And then, when I was ten, my dad's best friend started dating this divorcee with a really cute son. He had that surfer dude thing going on. He was almost two years older than me, which was cool right there, but the messy blonde hair and that "Dude!  Bro!" surfer talk. I was smitten, and I wasn't shy about showing it either.

       Mom didn't need to ask if I was into boys.  Clearly, we were just practicing. But she put an end to that.

      When I kissed the t.v. screen while Donnie and Jordan were "Hangin' Tough," not one person whispered, "Gosh, I wonder how she knows she likes boys at such a young age!" As I claimed that I would someday marry Joey McIntyre, no one gasped and talked awkwardly about how I knew about such things and could have such feelings at just seven years old.

      But when my seven-year-old son declared that he would someday marry a man, most of the few people I told responded, "How could he possibly know that at his age?"

      Because he knows. Because he has always known.  Because, we as people, are wired the way we are, and "sexual" orientation is really not primarily sexual. No, he didn't know what sex was at seven years old. Neither did I. But I knew, before I knew what sex was, that the boys on the covers of Bop and Tiger Beat gave me butterflies in my stomach, the good kind.

      And my son knew, at seven, that he would marry a boy. And I found out one evening when he burst into tears in my bedroom. It had been a really hard month, for no obvious reason. There were moments of near breakdown where he had an anxiety attack and wouldn't get out of the car to go to dance class (even though he loves dancing), or most frighteningly, where he was smashing his head against the wall and saying he wished he'd never been born.

     As I dried his tears and looked deep into his eyes I asked, "Sweetie, what is going on? What is wrong?" I did not expect the answer I got:

    "I'm just really glad I have a sister."

     Yeah, they are close, but not that close.

     "Why is that?"

     "Because at least someday she will probably have kids, so I will get to be an uncle."

I couldn't help but giggle. "Why wouldn't you have your own kids?" I chuckled.

     "Because I am going to marry a boy and only girls can have babies."

     No parenting book, magazine, or blog had ever prepared me for that moment or that response at that particular time. Although there had been little clues (like his "crush" on his day camp counselor), I'd wondered if perhaps someday when he was like 13, he might sit down with me at Starbucks and I'd be like, "So, how's it going?" and he'd be like, "Good. By the way, I'm gay," and by then, I'd of course be ready and know exactly what to say.

     But in that moment, completely unprepared, I said the first thing that came to mind, "Neil Patrick Harris and his husband have babies!"  An avid theatre fan, he of course knows who NPH is, and in that moment, Mr. Neil Patrick Harris kind of saved me. My son dried his tears, "Really? How? I thought men couldn't grow babies in their stomachs?"

From UsWeekly, "Celebrities Dress Their Kids for Halloween"

    "Well, they can't, I explained," and suddenly panicked with the realization that I was WAY not ready to explain the logistics behind where babies come from. I went for simple and hoped it would suffice, "Some very nice ladies helped them," I explained, and hoped browsing Google image photos of their adorably infamous family Halloween costumes would be a sufficient distraction. It was. 


   After further reassuring my son that someday he'd make a great dad, he let me tuck him into sleep, seeming calmer and less anxious than he had in weeks.

     But me on the other hand... well, I was a mess.

     I scoured the internet, which had seldom disappointed me in moments of parenting distress.  "Help, my seven year old just told me he is gay" didn't seem to be turning up many hits. Nothing really did. I'd somehow never felt so alone. Surely, I couldn't be the only one in this boat? Right?