An Open Letter to All My Friends Who Did Not Live to See This Day

ImageThis is an open letter that will never see the inside of a mailbox. It is a letter from my heart, being sent to hearts that no longer beat. They are now in the space of the spirit, but I miss them just as I would if they were still beating on the other side of town.

The fight for equality that culminated with an enormous milestone this last Wednesday at the U.S. Supreme Court has been waged for a long, long time. Many years before couples started approaching courts—first, most significantly, in Hawaii—the notion had occurred in the minds and imaginations of many of us. It did not rest there for very long.

Marriage was a pipe dream, really, and with the specter of AIDS beating down on us, it did not seem to be a priority worth even worrying about. I remember a gay pride event years ago at which the very first “freedom to marry” T-shirts were being given out. Many looked at them with cynical bemusement. “Oh, honeys, “ the MC drag queen quipped from the stage. “I am sorry, but they are never going to let you get married. They just aren’t.”

And yet, here we are.

On the night of the great dual marriage equality decisions, author Armistead Maupin wrote on his Facebook page, “Tonight we will celebrate for all who never lived to see this day.”

I took his comment to heart. My thoughts and feelings went out to my legion of loves, the friends and lovers who are now beyond the veil. How amazed they would be! This letter is for them:

My loves,

We had quite the day yesterday back here on Earth. It was one that we did not even speculate we would see when you were here. We fought for it, anyway, you and I, even though we were still in the little battles. The big battle for us, of course, was the one we lost. You lost your lives, and I lost you.

It is funny how the grief never really goes away, but locates somewhere in the back of my mind. Yesterday, I was giddy with the exuberance of justice prevailed. Today, I just wanted to call you and talk about it.

Your voices are all going off in my mind right now—what you would be saying, how you would be reacting. Paul, I hear you the loudest . . . probably because we had our own holy union when at a time when all else was denied us. I can hear your amazed laughter, making fun of Pat Robertson and Governor Christie and their whining. Now we would be plotting our next moves, always thinking two steps ahead politically.

Mark and Glenn, I hear you guys immediately planning your weddings. Not to each other, but I know where your minds are going first. Mark is being romantic, Glenn is going for fabulous. His vision is growing and growing with building momentum, and then he stops short on a dime as he remembers the minor detail that he does not have a viable prospect to marry.

But Keith does, and so while thinking about all those still against us, he starts to think about how he and his partner can do something simple and tasteful, perhaps at the beach, in front of the setting sun.

Pierce is declaring how he will never marry, unless it is to a rich man whom he can divorce for all his money. Unless they had kids, in which case he would stay faithful. Kids are important, he declares.

Joe is saying he will never marry, and I think he means it. I still think he will, though, if he meets the right person. He laughs at me, but the look in his eye tells me I am right.

And today, here we all sit, in collective amazement. It was a day we never thought we would see. I regret that it did not happen when you were here. Just knowing that you could walk in the world more equal would have made your lives, our lives together, so much richer. We walked in the shade, slightly hidden, and it would have been fantastic to own the bright middle of Main Street.

We leave this world better than we found it, that is for sure. I know you have left in many ways, but I also have to acknowledge that it is you who inspire the strength I possess for this fight. You are in the very fabric of who I am, and always will be.

So, thank you, my loves. Until we can dance together again . . .

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When the Same Sex Couple in the Family Are the Kids, Not the Parents

ImageTo hear the anti-gay crowd describe it, the concept of “family” is a narrow one. While claiming it to be “traditional,” their idea of family seems to be Adam and Eve stepping out of the Garden of Eden and right into a 50s-era sitcom. Eve sports pearls around her neck and an oh-so tasteful house frock, and Adam a cardigan sweater and a pipe. There are no elders, they were born of dust and rib bones. Cain and Abel morph into rambunctious kids with a dog, and life is ideal.

Some businesses go so far as to try to monetarily reward “classic TV” families over other families, as Karen Lee-Dufell of Jacksonville, Florida, recently experienced. In renewing her family’s museum membership, she was informed that they did not qualify. Her spouse had the “wrong” anatomy.

If we are going to define our “family values” by television depictions, I would prefer an even more traditional one—a family of the 1930s, The Waltons. There were no pearls and pipes for this clan. There were a core married couple, a pair of grandparents, and a gaggle of kids. The couple were both parents and kids, living with their children and their parents under one roof.

That is a more accurate depiction of the life my partner, Jim, and I are experiencing these days. We are in the process of adopting my 86- and 88-year-old parents. In our family, while parents to my sons, we are also . . . “the kids.”

So often in our discussions of marriage equality we focus on the relationship of same-sex parents and children. We have been studied, lied about, maligned, and praised. We in many cases are also the cement that supports an older generation, and our marriages have value as part of that family foundation, a reality that is often ignored.

I am not ignoring it any longer. It started two years ago when I was out with my dad, the former marine colonel, and I realized that he had no clue what his AAA roadside emergency card was for. Since that time, he has been on a continuous decline, to the point that he often forgets where the kitchen is, and looks instead for the dog that passed away decades ago.

My father’s decline has laid bare a fallacy about the benefits of the “traditional” marriage and its cut-and-dried roles. My dad has filled what many might consider the pure “husband” role—bread winner, finance master, driver, and pathfinder. My mother had been the archetypal “wife”—cook, homemaker, decorator, holiday planner, and hearth keeper. These parts have been played to perfection for sixty years. The downside is that when one of the partners in this scenario is suddenly MIA, the function of the other one is threatened.

That is the case for my mother. She feels as unprotected and vulnerable as my dad is lost.

It is time for the “kids” to take over. In our family, this is not a problem. Jim and I are there, as are my sister and her husband. We are not backing down and we do not hesitate in our resolve to make the final years of our folks’ lives comfortable and happy.

To that end, I have had to move my parents from the distant home they have occupied for thirty years, and move them to a closer, but equally familiar, location that is safer and in better proximity for Jim and me to care for them. This last weekend was a purge through a lifetime of accumulation, streamlining, and, ultimately, freeing them from worry.

There were some enlightening moments, too. My sister and I walked through much of our family’s history, including letters of my parents (read by permission). One such letter highlighted the deep soul mate, best-friend core to my parents’ relationship. My father was stationed in New Mexico for a short while, and wrote to express his longing for my mother. They had been married for 13 years at that point. He also talked about me, a happy 5-year-old. He outlined his plan to write to me, using postcards that were more visual and he hoped more interesting. He also wanted my mother to send him an outline of my foot. He saw the local wares and the unique moccasins that were for sale. He wanted to get me a pair and needed the perfect fit.

I sat back and reflected on that young couple and the family in the letter. That family was not based on gender; it was based on love, care, and an earnest desire to be with one another.

We are still that way, although all the roles are reversed. I am now the guide, the finance master, the pathfinder. Jim has stepped up as the support, homemaker, and confidant. We are parenting our elderly. In terms of our marriage, what gender we both are, and how well we “model” caring for our loved ones, matters about as much in terms of our parents as it does in terms of raising my sons: not at all. From a moral and legal standpoint, Jim needs to be viewed as the family member that he in fact is. There may be situations and hospital visits in our future; we need his participation, and he has the right not to be questioned on the legitimacy of his presence.

My parents’ old dwelling is now empty. Everything of value, including them, is on its way to their cozy new home near us. My sister will deliver them next week after Jim and I have set up and arranged their new household.

Yesterday, I hugged my dad goodbye with a “see you soon.” As I held him, he transformed in my arms from the slightly scared, disoriented, frail adult child back into my daddy. In that moment, he was the young marine who took the time to plan postcards for me, his 5-year-old little boy.

This time, it is just my turn to make sure that his moccasins fit.

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A Program on Ex-Gay Ministries

AlanChambersTonight on OWN (Oprah Winfry Network) Lisa Ling is doing a followup on the Ex-Gay Ministries. Ex-Gay survivors confront the leader Alan Chambers about how his ministry is impacting Gays. Chambers himself has admitted that it hurts gays, and has shut the program down. This program sounds like it will be an eye opener for those who haven’t really understood what happens to Christian gays.

Our America on Thursday, June 20th at 10/9c.

Here’s a sneak peek: http://www.oprah.com/own-our-america-lisa-ling/Sneak-Peek-Alan-Chambers-Explains-Why-Hes-Saying-Im-Sorry-Video

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Building Bridges

Building Bridges

Someone mentioned the idea that gays need to understand and accept the beliefs of Fundamentalist Christians that are against homosexuals. In doing so, that would help build the bridge between the two groups. I am all for building bridges; however, in order to build a bridge, you have to stop throwing the “love the sinner, hate the sin” bombs that contributes to the destruction of the other side. This is my inspiration to get back into creating more Good Signs Sunday. ~Ono Kono

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My Parental Love is Unconditional

ImageThis is by guest blogger Ken Jansen

With Father’s day coming up, I was asked to write a piece about being a Dad. I’m the incredibly proud father of two great kids, and grandfather of two beautiful boys. It’s not been an easy life, two divorces, multiple moves, new jobs, etc, but it’s not a life I would want changed for anything. 
I struggled for quite a while over what to write, until this morning. On Tuesday night, a young man named Jonathan Allen walked out onto the stage for an audition for America’s Got Talent. He took down the roof with his rendition of Time to Say Goodbye. That wasn’t the best part…The best part was Howie Mandell’s response to Jonathan. You see, Jonathan was kicked out of his family a little over two years ago, on his 18th birthday, simply because he’s gay. Howie, on behalf of America’s Got Talent, basically “adopted” Jonathan.
As a father, it amazes me (not in a good way) that any parent could completely turn their back on their child. Children NEVER ask to be born. Parents bring their kids into the world, and in doing so, (hopefully) accept the responsibilities of being a parent. It’s always been my contention, since I can remember, that a parent’s love is unconditional. You can’t simply tell your kid “If you don’t as I say, and live as I want you to, I won’t love you.” I’ve seen this happen to a friend, whose parents disowned her completely because they didn’t like the guy she was living with. Later, after she broke up with him, and met and married someone “acceptable,” they “welcomed” her back into their family. 
In my opinion, Jonathan’s “parents” are NOT fit to carry that title. To me, and again, this is only my opinion, they are nothing more than an egg and sperm donor. However, watching Jonathan’s obvious love for these people was inspiring.
About a year ago, my then 12 year old son and I were visiting my Mom. During a conversation about the work I do for Equality, my Mom looks me in the eye and asked me “What would you do if Luke came out to you? Would you be upset?” I looked straight back at her and said, “Yes…but only if he was ashamed of it.” In all honesty, I really don’t care who my kids fall in love with, as long as they love, and are loved in return. My daughter is married to an exceptional man, who is a great husband to her and extraordinary father to my grandsons, and my son, now 13, has his first girlfriend. I couldn’t be happier for them.
I guess what I’m really trying to say is that being a father is the most rewarding thing a man can aspire to. It’s also one of the hardest, most frustrating things a man can live through, but if, like me, you can sit back and see success in your children, you have every right to be proud. I am proud. My kids may not be millionaires, world leaders, or famous in any way, but they are both loving, caring, and totally accepting people. To me, this is the true success in life.
And if necessary, Jonathan Allen, I would be incredibly proud to call you my son!
Happy Father’s Day to ALL Dads, and everyone who fills the role of Dad! 
(and BTW, Luke…this does NOT get you out of going to university, and getting a job, so you can support me in my old age! LOL)

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My First Day as a Father, by Rob Watson

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Jason

My “dad” instincts started when I was very young. My earliest memories are from age three. I believe a significant event kick-started the memory-recall part of my brain. It was the news that my mother was pregnant and I was going to become a big brother. I was going to have someone to care about—start my fatherly training, if you will—and I better remember it.

One of my earliest memories is of my mother was in the hospital awaiting delivery. My father had taken me to the gift shop to get a present for my new little sister. I remember the glass shelf it was on. It was an angel holding a red heart. I could think of nothing better to give this new little life than an angel who would watch over it, protect it, and love it.

That ceramic angel became cherished and has topped my sister’s birthday cakes for five decades now. I loved being her big brother,

When I was in college, something else started taking over my consciousness. I was coming to the realization that this “gay thing” within me was not going away. It was not a “phase,” as I had tried to tell myself hundreds of times. It was me. In my belief system, that meant I would never become what I wanted to be . . . a dad.

That thought took me to a dark place, and I considered ending it all right then and there. I prayed about it, and as I laid out my threat and my plan to God—fix me now, or I am going to do it for you—I was overwhelmed with a message and the sense that I was to carry on. I was not to limit who I was, and I was to find my destiny as the best gay person I could be. I put down the blades.

Years passed and the fathering instinct in me made me anxious to be more than someone’s big brother. In my heart of hearts, I wanted to be a dad. The drive to be my best kicked in. My then partner and I trained for foster care and a more advanced level of care which would enable us to care for drug-exposed newborns. It felt like my true north, on my way to being fully me.

We had a number of placements. These were infants whose mothers endangered them through short-term lapses in judgment. These women were offered reunification services that would train them on how to live and protect their children, and once they achieved the plan, their children were returned to them. It was good practice for us, and it was gratifying to help families work on problems and move toward healthy lives.

We knew at some point we would get a child whose birth parent was unwilling or unable to adapt to sobriety or a non-abusive life, and that child might become ours permanently.

One day, late July 2002, we got the call. A baby had been born. He was premature, six weeks early, and born after his birth mother ingested heroin. He weighed four pounds and had heroin in his system. Reunification services were going to be offered to his birth parents, a young married Catholic couple, but as they were both heroin addicts, it was likely that they would have trouble staying clean and taking responsibility for their child. As it was, their actions while he was still in the womb could have killed him. We would be his foster parents for now, and, potentially, his permanent adoptive parents.

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Nap time

I was told that I could meet my new son that evening. The birth parents would be told the time of our arrival so they could be out of the care unit and we would see him alone. As I drove to the hospital, I felt I was in a dream state. That morning I had been just a gay guy with a partner, and now, that evening, I was finally becoming a dad.

The birth parents were not much into the rules. In spite of the request to give us a private moment with the baby, they were there and met us at the door on our arrival. It was shocking to meet them, not only because they were the birth parents of the child we would be taking home the next day, but because they in no way looked like the people they had seemed to be on paper. I knew that the nineteen-year-old birth mom had been addicted to heroin since she was sixteen, and it was her now husband, two years older, who had enticed her into using the drug. They both had circulated on the street and with gangs.

The people we saw before us did not project that history. They looked like sweet-faced teens. She was in a fluffy pink bathrobe, her beautiful hair pulled back into a pony tail. He was kind and attentive.

They did not have my focus for long. My attention was on the baby who lay in the clear plastic incubator bed, with IVs in his tiny extremities. Despite all the medical apparatus, he was beautiful. He had gotten most of the heroin out of his system, and would only need painkillers for another day. I marveled at the being I saw before me. I wondered what natural survival mode could have propelled him to leave his mother’s body so early to be free of the foreign narcotics within him.

We chatted with his birth parents for a long while. They were amazingly traditional and “ordinary.” There were only a few telltale signs that they came from a different world from ours. One was their litany of friends who had lost their children into the protective care system. The couple quizzed us as to whether we knew this child or that. Quietly I shook my head and wondered what it was like to be in a social environment where those separations were commonplace.

The nurse brought my new son over in a blanket and I held him softly on my chest. I look into his eyes and we connected. He was home, I was home. This was right. Deep in my heart, I knew this child was, and would be, my son forever. He would be named Jason. Loving, protecting, and defending him would be my life’s calling. While I dutifully listened and took down instructions such as an evening babysitter might receive, I knew I was embarking on the love of my life. I knew that this was my first day of being who I was meant to be. I was a father. My son had fought his battle getting into this world, this far. It would be up to me to help him the rest of the way. He would never have to fight alone again.

As I have shared stories of my family since that time, some people have claimed that I have done my son a disservice by being his father and a gay dad. They have asserted that depriving him of his birth parents was an act of violence against him. I understand that the Million Moms are petitioning advertisers to get The Fosters, a program that depicts a family like mine, off the air. They think we are dangerous.

But the birth parents were given over a year of chances to get themselves together to be ready to raise a baby, particularly one with special needs. They never actually spent much of the time they were given with Jason to bond with him, and he never knew them as parents. The birth mother went on in the next few years to bear several more drug-exposed babies, each one more severely exposed than the last. The birth father ended up in prison. Neither kicked their heroin addiction, and there were numerous rumors around that both had died of overdose.

That night, after saying goodbye, my thoughts went to all the arrangements we had to  make to prepare for Jason’s homecoming. He was going to need very specific care and handling. We were prepared and mobilized. I was about to embark on the most significant journey I could imagine. I was a dad. I was on the brink of my destiny. I stopped doubting why I was here. I had to get a move on.

When I hit the lobby, however, I paused. There was something I had to do first. I walked across the marble floor to the gift shop and scoured the glass shelves.

I needed to buy a ceramic angel.

 

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Young super hero in training

 

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Thank You for Changing My Life

by Ono Kono

FenceTwo decades ago, I was unaware of the struggle of LGBT people. Back then, I was a busy working Mom, juggling career and family. I cared about others, but I was asleep when it came to their plight. In 1998, my life was changed when a young man lost his life, after he was beaten and left to die. The resultant trial of accused murderers of Mathew Shepard was made into a circus by a church leader and his followers of the Westborough Baptist Church.

I thank you Phelps clan for opening my heart to love, in spite of your hatred for my LGBT brothers and sisters. I saw the cruelty in your eyes, echoed by the pain in others who watched you. I don’t know what brought you down your path to hatred. I can only say, I thank you for being so open about it, but only because you helped me wake up to the horrid truth that people who hate still exist.

You claim the God of hatred, but I wonder whom you serve? Your legacy will always bear the fruit of hatred and ignorance, yet it is something you learned. I see your children echoing your hatred, and my heart aches for their beautiful innocence lost—their love will harden into the same abhorrence you hold in your heart. I rejoice for every one of them that manages to escape. I only pray for more refugees to leave your self-made prison of loathing, ignorance, and fear.

More importantly, I thank you Matthew Shepard, for opening my heart wide open and giving me awareness of the hatred that took your life. Your story changed me, it shook me to my core—a tragedy which still brings tears to my eyes as I type these words. Your tragic death made me find my voice, as I spoke to others about your plight. You made me a warrior in my small way of speaking out against the wrongs that are happening to homosexuals.

I watched your courageous mother take a stand for you and others like you, in the most tragic time of her life. She couldn’t save you, but she now fights to save others, none of which would have happened, but for you. I don’t know how she gets through her days, being a mother myself; I can’t even fathom losing my child, especially at the hands of hate-filled men. Your mother has filled the void with love for everyone. Now her fight includes my Lesbian daughter, who came out years after your death.

Without you, I may have continued my life in ignorance of the hatred leveled against you. You helped make me an ally for a minority, demonized for who they love. You helped me realize that not only those who call themselves Christians and picket openly against you, but even the “nice” Christians who hide behind the words of “love the sinner, hate the sin” further adding to the insults hurled at you—they don’t know love.

You helped me learn about God’s true love, and those who hold him in their hearts. I realize now, that it is those who truly love and accept you just as you were, are truly living what Jesus said when he commanded us to love one another. He didn’t give us any ifs, ands, or buts. He just told us to love him with all our hearts, and love each other. If he had been here in your lifetime, he would have proudly walked beside you. I can’t help but think you are walking with him now.

These tears falling down upon my cheeks 14 years later, they are mixed with sorrow over your young life removed too soon. Some of those tears are joy, because you helped wake many who were sleeping. I thank two families who have brought to light the hate and the love; both have paid a serious price. One family chose to walk away from their tragedy with love still in their hearts—they changed my life forever. I now have a voice; I speak out about the wrongs that happened to you then, and for all LGBTs who are just as much my human family, deserving the love, dignity, and respect as anyone, every day.

Rest in peace, Matthew Shepard; you’ve helped more people than you will ever know.

DaveCrossland
Listen to a haunting song
by Dave Crossland called
Matthew Shepard.

Top image by Debbie Teashon, bottom image by Liz Linder.

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My Father’s Day Card to Lesbian Moms (and All Other Single or LGBT Parents)

Image(This article is revised from a similar article run on Mother’s Day 2013)  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Recently, authorJennifer Finney Boylancommented about her transgender experience: “After all these years, my own identity has wound up less altered than I had expected. It should not have been a surprise, perhaps, but the most shocking revelation after ten years in the female sex is that mostly I am the same person I always was, gender notwithstanding.”

Even without being transgender, I relate greatly to Boylan’s comment, especially when it comes to being in a male body during the holiday season of Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. While I identify with the physical description of being a “gay dad,” the truth is, I am actually a parent who mothers and fathers. I do not make an automatic assumption on characteristics or abilities based on the gender of the parent. I know there are others, even in the LGBT community, who see things differently. They see two holidays, one that honors physically female gendered parents and one that honors physically male gendered parents. This viewpoint was dramatized in a Normal Family episode when one of the fictional gay dads has a hissy fit over being perceived as the “mommy.”

In the book An Anthropology of Mothering, editors Michelle Walks and Naomi McPherson state, “Through the consideration of the experiences of grandmothers, au pairs, biological and adoptive mothers, mothers of soldiers, mothers of children with autism, mothers in the corrections system, among others, it becomes clear that human mothering is neither practiced nor experienced the same the world over – indeed, even a single definition of what ‘mothering’ is cannot be formed by the contributors of this anthology. Instead, while ideas of ‘good’ mothering exist in every culture, the effects of colonialism and migration, as well as different understandings of and relationships to food, religion, and government play prominent among many other factors, including age, relationship status, and sexuality of mothers themselves, to affect what is understood as ‘good’ versus ‘bad’ mothering.”

I would add gender to that list. As a parent, I am, as Boylan describes, “the person I am” and my parenting qualities are really not genderfied. I seek to be the full-range parent to the best of my ability on all fronts.

In terms of being an ideal “father”, Julian Marcus suggests these twelve qualities make up that person:

1-  Is a good disciplinarian  

2- Allows his or her kids to make some mistakes  

3- Is open-minded

4- Teaches his or her children to appreciate things

5- Accepts that the kids aren’t exactly like him or her

6- Spends quality time with his or her children

7- Leads by example

8- Is supportive & loyal  

9- Challenges his or her kids

10- Teaches his or her children lessons  

11- Protects his for her family at all costs

12-Shows unconditional love  

These are qualities of every lesbian, gay or single parent I know.  As an LGBT parent, I felt disenfranchised this morning when I got a cheery email from an LGBT advocacy group I support. I want to make one point clear—the disenfranchisement does not bother me for myself. I am confident in who I am, and my kids are phenomenal with the love they express toward me. I am a lucky guy, among the luckiest on earth.

My concern here is for my kids and others like them in gay-dad-only, or lesbian-only, -led families. They are the ones left out in the planning, conversations, and excitement over one of these two holidays. They are perceived as the “oh, you don’t have one, and never had one” crowd. They get the message that their family lacks something. It is not true. Most are mothered and fathered, as nurtured and adored as any other kids. They need to be appropriately included in the celebration of all that is motherhood, and in the subsequent celebration of all that is fatherhood, and the people who do each.

The email I received stated “In preparation and celebration, we and the makers of [Corporate Sponsor[ are excited to announce the release of Mother’s Day e-cards that are inclusive of lesbian, bisexual, and transgender moms.” This campaign struck me as odd on two levels, the first being the exclusion of male mom figures in the gay community, and the marginalization of a set of moms who are likely to be recognized anyway, by calling them out by their orientations. I wrote a quick note pointing out my concerns and received a pleasant but confusing note in return, “Thanks for your feedback. We have a similar e-card campaign coming up for Father’s Day as well, since these are two widely acknowledged holidays where LGBT families sometimes don’t feel included. You are welcome to use cards from either’s campaign (Mother’s Day or Father’s Day) and to share them with customized messages to reflect your own family.”

I wrote back: “I think you have some good-hearted intentions, but are missing the mark significantly. You are correct that these are widely acknowledged holidays where LGBT families don’t feel included; however, in my opinion, your campaign intensifies the exclusion. I do not believe my bisexual and lesbian mom friends feel excluded on Mother’s Day; they are moms who rightly get the same recognitions that heterosexual moms do. The families who feel excluded are the ones like mine where there is no female parent, and my kids are guided in school to make a gift for some more distant female relative instead of the person they actually turn to for nurturing, love, and warmth. We have a community where the concepts of mothering and fathering are larger than physical gender characteristics. Your campaign, unfortunately, doesn’t diversify the status quo, it magnifies it, and seems to further marginalize women who already qualify for recognition on the holiday. Speaking from this gay-dad perspective, on Father’s Day, I really do not want a “gay dad” card. I am not ashamed of being a gay dad, but I am proud on Father’s Day just to be a father among all fathers, even ones who are biologically female. I would be thrilled to see you come out, for that day, with cards celebrating my lesbian sisters who bring strength, power, and fatherhood into their families, and recognize them on that day as well.”

I don’t have to explain any of this to my kids. They already get it. Recently, my son Jason was running from his brother and into my arms cheerfully screaming “Mommmmmmmmmy!” I looked at him quizzically and asked, “who are you calling for there, Boo?” He looked at me in a matter-of-fact way, “No one. That is not what that means.”

“Oh?” I asked. “What does it mean?”

“It means that I need help right away,” he explained.

“Got it, “ I replied. “And who do you go to when you need that?”

“You,” he said. And then he planted a big kiss on my cheek before running off.

On Mother’s Day mornings, my other son, Jesse, leads the way in bringing me breakfast in bed with flowers. He got the idea on his own three years ago at the age of seven. “You do everything their mothers do,” he explained at the time. “This is your day, too.”

So with that, I would like to send you an open Mother’s Day Card for all LGBT parents, including gay/bisexual/transgender dads. I offer this up as a Father’s Day Card for all lesbian/bisexual/transgender moms, as well.  Last, but not least, this is also for all single parents of either gender, and of any sexual orientation.

Dear Parent of the Heart and Soul:

“Love is the only freedom in the world because it so elevates the spirit that the laws of humanity and the phenomena of nature do not alter its course.” Kahlil Gibran

You personify a love that overcomes all obstacles, biases, and inequities.

We enter the season that honors the two aspects of your parenting and the love that you bestow to the world. That love becomes realized when you give yourself to your children.

You are mothering, in the traditionally understood sense, when you nourish, nurture, and shower affection. You sow the seeds of confidence, vision, and creativity.

You are fathering, in the traditionally understood sense, when you protect, guide with principle, instill values, and inspire. You sow the seeds of morality, leadership, and personal power.

In the real sense you are mother and father integrated into a seamless parenting whole.

During two days in the current months, we honor you, not as the perfect parent, since that entity is truly a myth, but as one who still wants to attain that status no matter how unrealistic it is. We honor you for the days when doing your best, with all good intentions, has to be the way it is.

You are magnificent. You are doing the most important work for which humanity can ask. You hold in your hands our future, and you deserve nothing less than dignity and respect at your back.

To quote the song, you are “the wind beneath the wings” of life. We thank you. Happy Mother’s Day. Happy Father’s Day. Happy You Day.

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Special thanks to Rachel Hockett for editing help on this article.

 

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How to Start an LGBT Family and Help the World

Image“Necessity is the mother of invention” goes the old saying. When there is a problem or an issue in play, a creative solution is often about to be realized. This point is nowhere more valid than in the area of LGBT couples having children and starting families.

According to a recent study by Cambridge University, the ease by which a couple can procreate seems to dictate the primary avenue by which they pursue the creation of family. Heterosexuals who often have to guard against unwanted pregnancy choose a wanted pregnancy as their primary route to familyhood. Lesbian couples do not have to fear unwanted pregnancies, but if they can solicit a sperm donor, an apparently readily achievable task in many cases, they too initiate pregnancy. Gay men have a tougher challenge, as a participating womb and body for nine months—to say nothing of labor and health risks—are far more difficult and costly resources than male reproductive material. Therefore, according to the study, they pick foster care or adoption as their likely method.

I am frequently called upon to recount the choices I made in creating my family. The last such conversation took place at a kids’ party attended by many of my son’s schoolmates. One of the fathers was chatting me up, knowing I was a gay dad, and his curiosity was apparently killing him. I graciously volunteered that the boys had been adopted through the local foster care program.

“Oh, cool,” he said. “I assume there was a screening process.”

“Oh, absolutely,” I responded. “They did a complete background check on me. It was very thorough.” A strange look crossed his face.

“No . . . I didn’t mean on you. I meant on the children. To make sure there were no mental issues or drug exposure.”

My eyebrow raised slightly, and even though I caught his drift, I proudly proclaimed, “No, they don’t screen out children . . . and my boys both had drug exposure. That was not a problem.” At that point, it became obvious that the man was interested only in the parenting of “perfect” children, and he did a quick mumble and moved on to the hors d’oeuvres table.

It left me wondering, who out there will step up for the “nonperfect” kids, kids already created and in need now? Who will be the parents of the kids who got dealt a raw deal at birth and are facing major challenges before their lives have even begun?

It has been suggested to me that LGBT parents would be the perfect class to do this. We, who get to really think out the process by which we are going to become parents, have the opportunity to step up. We can help not only ourselves, but these kids who are in need. We can influence the world, which is currently too eager to discard these kids and ultimately turn them in to serious drags on society as adults. Should this be a mandate for us?

Certainly, parents such as Clint and Bryan, who saved ten kids, are among the most moral on the planet. I dearly wish and pray that it was easy for us all to do what they have done. Unfortunately, it is not.

Like the deep longings that drive us to fall in love and partner, the longings to be a parent are equally complex. Those longings are not often driven by selfless altruistic motivations and energies. If they were, the people who would be loved, pursued, and married most would be the saintly, good, honest, and upstanding—regardless of their physical appearance. Gyms would not turn out the most likely to be sought after. Sadly, that is not the case, and the great love stories do not end with the hero taking up into his arms the person he most admires but to whom he does not feel physically attracted.

Parenting is similar. Some people need to see traces of their biological family in their children’s faces. Some need the comfort that a biologically made child cannot be taken away. Some do not have the stomach to navigate the foster care and adoption systems, neither of which was designed to be parent friendly.

Like romantic relationships, no matter what the motivation or catalyst that creates the bond, the real morality occurs in the development, and sustainability, of the relationship itself. Parenting is a tough gig. It is not easy to be ready and present for another human being’s needs day in and day out, for decades. It is about selflessness and the pursuit of unconditional love. The desire to be a good parent is in itself moral. Take the example of Markus K, who acted as a sperm donor for many lesbian families. He may not have done a thing to ease the pain and loneliness of the world’s orphans, and he added to the earth’s seven billion population with kids he will not be involved in raising. What he has done, however, is to forgo any intimate long-term relationship for himself in order to visit and be there for any of his progeny who may be interested in seeing him. Even through his brand of parenting, he has achieved selflessness.

So, if you want to have children and want to do it in the most moral way, find out which method is the one to which you can fully commit yourself. Find the one that inspires you to be the most diligent and dedicated parent possible. Find the one that makes you a better person. You will then have done the “moral” thing.

And if you want to be a real hero, go the extra mile. Help answer the question my friend at the party left me with: Who will adopt the millions of orphans worldwide who are already here, not perfect, and need us? Who will take that into account in their family planning? Who will make the process easier and readily available for LGBT families and inspire the foster care/adoption path? Who will make a real difference?

 I hope it is me. I hope it is you, too.

 

Exclusive for Gay Star News, and available on evolequals.com

 

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Is Homosexuality a “Handicap” ?

ImageMy mother just turned 86, and my father turned 88. I am now parenting my parents in many ways. This past week, I was working at my parents’ house to move them closer to me so I can care for them on a more consistent basis.

I love my folks very much. I have noticed for many people, myself included, we have one parent that we tend to put on a pedestal and one who seems to know each and every one of our hot buttons, how to find them, and how to do a regular happy dance on them. My dad is my pedestal guy. We can have a knock-down, drag-out fight, and an hour later, all is forgiven and flowers seem to spring from his every step. My mother, on the other hand, can catch me with the wrong turn-of-phrase and I will see red for days.

Red colored my vision the other day as I was packing a box of old papers in preparation for their move. The files I had to go through seemed endless. As I neared the bottom of one stack, I came across a beaten brown manila folder that stopped me dead. It was labeled “Rob’s homosexuality.” This was certainly a subject for discussion that my parents and I have had for over thirty years now. I was not aware, however, that it had warranted its own special file.

Even so, the folder was a pleasant surprise. In it was a letter from early 1992 that I received from my cousin asking me pointed questions about my sexual orientation. The file also contained a copy of my response to him. (My cousin must have sent these to my parents; I don’t recall giving the letters to them.) The last item in the file was a letter from my mother to her cousin, written in November 1992, a full decade after I had come out to my parents.

The letter my mother wrote was a follow-up, apparently, to a visit they made to their families that summer. From the story the letter told, my parents had done their own coming out, about me, to the rest of the family. It did not go well. In the letter, my mother described the “distinct disapproval of some factions of the family.” Her cousin had not been one of them, instead offering my parents acceptance and support. In the letter, my mother elaborated on her own viewpoint. She stated, “It is a complex subject, but the main issue of misunderstanding with society at large seems to be the matter of ‘choice.’ As Rob succinctly explained it, he ‘chose’ to be heterosexual since no one chooses to be the butt of scorn and rejection, but that it just isn’t there for him…After a number of unhappy years of struggling with his own private hell, he finally came to the conclusion that God made him this way for a reason—that rather than giving into suicide like a number of his friends, his life IS worth something . . . The bottom line is that we have not seen Rob this happy since he was a little boy.”

The impact of this understanding from my mother twenty years earlier floored me. It reflected a decade of fights and evolution on her part, not only in terms of  her perspective, but also her willingness to come forward about it to our relatives and defend me in the way she did. The fact that she did so at a time when homophobia was at an all-time high was not lost on me.

Then, like the screech of a needle being ripped across a melodious LP, or an MP3 recording skipping—depending on your generation—there it was—THE PHRASE. She wrote, “Having been through the gamut of emotions and ten years of soul searching, study and counseling, we have finally arrived at a peaceful acceptance. We are now convinced that Rob was born with a handicap and all we can do is love and support him in the same way we would with any other kind of handicap.”

Handicap? Really?

There is nothing in me that believes that an LGBT person is handicapped by his or her sexual or gender orientation. We have no challenges caused by who and what we are.

That being said, and with a few days’ reflection, there is one aspect in which I can see homosexuality being treated as a handicap, especially from a legal perspective. That “handicap” would be in the area of a couple’s biological fertility. Just as some heterosexual couples are biologically and hormonally blocked from  procreating, gay and lesbian couples experience the same kind of “handicap.” Each person may be completely able to procreate with some partners, just not with the one with whom they happen to be sharing their lives. One course of action for the heterosexual couple is hormonal therapy, surrogacy, or adoption. For the gay or lesbian couple it may be surrogacy or adoption.

This of course speaks to the major crux of the current anti-gay, anti-marriage equality position: that gay and lesbian couples should be denied marriage because they are unable to physically procreate with their spouses. If one defines this as a handicap, however, that nullifies this point as a legal argument against marriage. In all other cases dealing with handicaps, viable accommodations and work-arounds are mandated. Handicap issues are not grounds for disqualification when the accommodation mitigates the issue. People with physical challenges are not prevented from driving or walking into buildings; handicapped parking and walk ramps are provided. Persons with workplace challenges by law must be given accommodation and access so that they can effectively exercise their professions.

Even if a gay or lesbian couple has an inability to physically procreate, and that condition is seen as a handicap, the legal precedent is to protect their rights, and enable them to participate fully. As too many studies to cite or count have amply demonstrated, gay and lesbian people are fully capable of parenting.

Blogger Angela Peene of evolequals.com observed, “The definition of ‘handicapped’ is having a condition that markedly restricts one’s ability to function physically, mentally, or socially. In the social context, because of the condemnation and exclusion LGBT individuals have received in the past decades, maybe they could qualify under this heading. However, I am sincerely hoping that this label of handicap is on its way out. Equality is in the air.”

There is an argument that homophobia might qualify, but that is another article.

So, Mom, I am going to give you this one, especially in light of your complete willingness to evolve these past three decades. You have stood up and allowed yourself to challenge an avalanche of misconceptions from your past, and many from your current peers. You are brave, you are fair, and you are my honor and one of my greatest heroes.

If you want to think of my homosexuality as a handicap in terms of my biological fertility, so be it. As we often assert in our fight for equality, a family is made from love, and love makes a family. And it’s a well proved fact that you adore your two grandchildren (my sons), who came to us by adoption.

Now, if you can just try to remember that I hate being served lima beans, then we will be good. Love and kisses forever.

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