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?