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