Lately, Skye has been studying our family tree and how she fits into it all. I suppose all children start to build an awareness of how they are related to each member of their family, but I doubt that not all lessons are received with the same undivided attention that a cashier at Target gave Skye as she recapped her understanding.
Skye loves to shop for clothes, so when her Trinidadian grandparents were in a few weeks ago, they took her Christmas shopping so she could pick out her own outfits. The rules were clear. She could pick out four outfits and they would be wrapped and waiting for her on Christmas morning. She reveled in the adventure of picking colors and styles and the perfect accessories for each outfit. She picked a blue outfit to match her eyes, a purple outfit and two pink outfits because it was her favorite color. Skye is not a quiet child, so she was using her best stage voice in the girls' department to describe each piece of jewelry she picked to go with her outfits.
As Donna and her parents corralled Skye to the checkout, she loving held her Grandpa's hand and then asked Donna to confirm her understanding of her family tree. You must understand what the cashier was seeing as well as hearing. Granny is a beautiful rich coffee color and Granddad has a red tone to his tan skin. Both of them have beautiful snow-white hair now. Donna is a perfect blend of both her parents, caramel-colored skin and salt and pepper hair. Skye is a fair-skinned blond with navy-blue eyes.
Skye said, "Mummy, Granny is your Mummy and you are my Mummy, right?"
Donna answered, "Yes, Skye."
Skye continued, "And Granddad is your Daddy and my Granddad, right?"
Donna responded, "Yes, Skye."
"And you are Mama's wife and Mama is your wife?"
"Yes, Skye."
"And I'm Hunter's sister and Hunter is my brother?"
"Yes sweetheart."
Skye was satisfied and the cashier was riveted. She suddenly snapped back to the task at hand and cashed out this diverse family. Throughout the whole lesson, Granny and Granddad and Donna were beaming, clearly proud at how easily Skye put all the pieces together and entertained by the cashier's reaction. The cashier was dumbfounded at how all the pieces fit together. Yet Skye perfectly understood how her family tree branched out from her Mummy and proudly shared her knowledge.
I love my diverse family. And I love how openly we all walk through the world together, accepting one another and embracing our differences. There is a warmth in our family that keeps out the cold that ignorance and fear bring. That warmth is fueled by the fiery pride we share and the faith that someday, conversations similar to this one will be overheard and all that will be on the cashier's face is a friendly smile.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Lord Have Mercy
As I sit here reflecting on Christmas, the true meaning of Christmas, I'm humbled by all the blessings that I have in my life. My children are healthy and happy, my wife is steadfast and loyal and deals with my hormonal mood swings. Right now, I'm having a doosy of a mood that has amplified all of my insecurities and fears. She has handled it with humor and grace. I really do wonder how she deals with those moments and I'm grateful that she does.
I force myself to focus on my blessings when those bouts of insecurity creep into my psyche.
One of my most cherished blessings is our church home, St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Teaneck, NJ. It's a reflection of what I hope Heaven looks like. It's an inclusive parish and it's incredibly diverse in age, marital status, sexual orientation, race, ethnicity, geographic roots and religious background. Part of it's mission statement is that "We are believers and skeptics at the same time." I love that part of our mission statement because it points to how dynamic our faith must be. At a time when we are surrounded by commercialism and fear and hate; as Christians, we must suspend our grasp on "reality" as we celebrate Christ's birth through the Virgin Mary, death, and resurrection.
Although both of our children have been baptized at St. Mark's, our attendance has been spotty over the past nine years. We looked for a church home when we were expecting Hunter. We attended several Episcopal churches in our area and settled on St. Mark's because it just felt right. In contrast, one of the parishes we had visited with our infant son left an indelible memory. One of the members approached us and asked us who Hunter's mother was. I answered, "We both are." He kept digging, with this dogged determination to know who gave birth to Hunter. We refused to answer his prying questions and decided that we would never return to that parish.
Since Skye is older now and more manageable in church, she and I have attended much more regularly and it's one of her favorite things to do. I take great pride and comfort in the joy she shows when she knows it's Sunday morning and we'll be going to church. When she's at church, one of her favorite parts is the responsive prayer in which the parish responds to each line of prayer with "Lord Have Mercy." Skye's response is a beat behind the rest of the parish, as she loudly repeats, "Lord Have Mercy." I love the soft chuckles that echo throughout the church. The church is open and accepting and I love how I feel when I'm there.
I hope that Skye always approaches her faith with that unbridled enthusiasm. It's contagious and it's something I have to thank her for, as she's reawakened my own faith.
So, as we celebrate Christ's birth this month, I thank God that He's always present and standing with open arms for those of us who unknowingly walk away from that source of strength. I believe that faith fuels our humanity and allows us to deal with the atrocities that hurt our families and our communities. In my favorite Christmas song, O Holy Night, the line that resonates for me most is "Long lay the world in sin and error pining, till He appeared and the soul felt its worth."
My soul does feel worthy and I'm so glad that the Lord has had mercy on me and allows me to serve as an instrument of His work. I pray that this blog continues to touch people's lives and give hope to other GLBT people. Don't have to be ashamed of who you are and remember that you are worthy of living an authentic, fulfilling and happy life.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
I force myself to focus on my blessings when those bouts of insecurity creep into my psyche.
One of my most cherished blessings is our church home, St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Teaneck, NJ. It's a reflection of what I hope Heaven looks like. It's an inclusive parish and it's incredibly diverse in age, marital status, sexual orientation, race, ethnicity, geographic roots and religious background. Part of it's mission statement is that "We are believers and skeptics at the same time." I love that part of our mission statement because it points to how dynamic our faith must be. At a time when we are surrounded by commercialism and fear and hate; as Christians, we must suspend our grasp on "reality" as we celebrate Christ's birth through the Virgin Mary, death, and resurrection.
Although both of our children have been baptized at St. Mark's, our attendance has been spotty over the past nine years. We looked for a church home when we were expecting Hunter. We attended several Episcopal churches in our area and settled on St. Mark's because it just felt right. In contrast, one of the parishes we had visited with our infant son left an indelible memory. One of the members approached us and asked us who Hunter's mother was. I answered, "We both are." He kept digging, with this dogged determination to know who gave birth to Hunter. We refused to answer his prying questions and decided that we would never return to that parish.
Since Skye is older now and more manageable in church, she and I have attended much more regularly and it's one of her favorite things to do. I take great pride and comfort in the joy she shows when she knows it's Sunday morning and we'll be going to church. When she's at church, one of her favorite parts is the responsive prayer in which the parish responds to each line of prayer with "Lord Have Mercy." Skye's response is a beat behind the rest of the parish, as she loudly repeats, "Lord Have Mercy." I love the soft chuckles that echo throughout the church. The church is open and accepting and I love how I feel when I'm there.
I hope that Skye always approaches her faith with that unbridled enthusiasm. It's contagious and it's something I have to thank her for, as she's reawakened my own faith.
So, as we celebrate Christ's birth this month, I thank God that He's always present and standing with open arms for those of us who unknowingly walk away from that source of strength. I believe that faith fuels our humanity and allows us to deal with the atrocities that hurt our families and our communities. In my favorite Christmas song, O Holy Night, the line that resonates for me most is "Long lay the world in sin and error pining, till He appeared and the soul felt its worth."
My soul does feel worthy and I'm so glad that the Lord has had mercy on me and allows me to serve as an instrument of His work. I pray that this blog continues to touch people's lives and give hope to other GLBT people. Don't have to be ashamed of who you are and remember that you are worthy of living an authentic, fulfilling and happy life.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Thank you to our Public Schools
Hunter just got his report card this week and he was one grade away from making the honor roll. He struggles in math, and that's his Achilles heel. Our focus will be to try to bring that grade up and Hunter is up for the challenge, albeit, reluctantly. His learning style has proven that his learning is most successful if he can touch and feel rather than just wrestle with abstract ideas. So, he has a tough time staying focused if there isn't something tangible in place to draw him back to the lesson at hand.
Skye has been wowing us with her "Spanglish" skills. She'll be entering kindergarten in the Fall of 2011. Her last year of pre-school is full of "homework" where she has to write out letters and numbers and her name. And, she gets a good deal of exposure to Spanish, which she loves to weave into her predominantly English conversations at home. I feel compelled to pick up a Rosetta Stone program so I know what she's talking about. It's only a matter of time before she blows past my rudimentary Dora the Explorer skills.
Like any parent, I'm so proud of my kids. It's nice to see the partnership with teachers paying off and the confidence that Hunter has developed in 4th grade after a difficult couple of years. His teachers have really outdone themselves in teaming with us to help him succeed. It's wonderful to know that they are approachable and open to our ideas in how to best position him for success.
I think every parent for generations have prayed that their children do better than they have. In today's global economy, it's even more important than ever. And the competition is exponentially greater as each year passes. According to the World Economic Forum’s Competitiveness Index, the United States is now only the fourth most competitive country in the world, having been surpassed by Sweden and Singapore and still trailing Switzerland in the number one position. As recently as the 2008-2009 analysis by the World Economic Forum, the United States was the best in the world. Not a good trend, first to fourth in just two years.
I think education should be put at the top of our list of priorities as a country. Unlike many who want to scapegoat our public schools for not caring enough, I want to pump more money and incentive into our public schools, because the vast majority of Americans can't afford other options to help their children stay competitive. I have seen the most talented and dedicated teachers in our public schools in New Jersey. And in recent years, I have seen many leave because of budget cuts.
My pride and joy, Hunter and Skye, are a testament to the quality of education we get if we partner with our public schools. Let's not give up on the institution of public learning that has given back to us for generations. It's time we gave more of our time and money to help our schools. After all, I know for me, public schools are the foundation upon which my success has been realized. So for that I say thank you!
Skye has been wowing us with her "Spanglish" skills. She'll be entering kindergarten in the Fall of 2011. Her last year of pre-school is full of "homework" where she has to write out letters and numbers and her name. And, she gets a good deal of exposure to Spanish, which she loves to weave into her predominantly English conversations at home. I feel compelled to pick up a Rosetta Stone program so I know what she's talking about. It's only a matter of time before she blows past my rudimentary Dora the Explorer skills.
Like any parent, I'm so proud of my kids. It's nice to see the partnership with teachers paying off and the confidence that Hunter has developed in 4th grade after a difficult couple of years. His teachers have really outdone themselves in teaming with us to help him succeed. It's wonderful to know that they are approachable and open to our ideas in how to best position him for success.
I think every parent for generations have prayed that their children do better than they have. In today's global economy, it's even more important than ever. And the competition is exponentially greater as each year passes. According to the World Economic Forum’s Competitiveness Index, the United States is now only the fourth most competitive country in the world, having been surpassed by Sweden and Singapore and still trailing Switzerland in the number one position. As recently as the 2008-2009 analysis by the World Economic Forum, the United States was the best in the world. Not a good trend, first to fourth in just two years.
I think education should be put at the top of our list of priorities as a country. Unlike many who want to scapegoat our public schools for not caring enough, I want to pump more money and incentive into our public schools, because the vast majority of Americans can't afford other options to help their children stay competitive. I have seen the most talented and dedicated teachers in our public schools in New Jersey. And in recent years, I have seen many leave because of budget cuts.
My pride and joy, Hunter and Skye, are a testament to the quality of education we get if we partner with our public schools. Let's not give up on the institution of public learning that has given back to us for generations. It's time we gave more of our time and money to help our schools. After all, I know for me, public schools are the foundation upon which my success has been realized. So for that I say thank you!
Saturday, December 11, 2010
"...The Funniest Boy in the World Wouldn't be Here!"
One of my best friends shared a story recently about a teaching moment she had with her children. She has two beautiful little girls. I'll call them Alexandra and Rebeca. Alexandra, her oldest, is stunning with big green eyes and blond hair and a complexion that most women would kill for. She's tall, too, for her ten years and already stands eye-to-eye with me (a modest 5'4" on my tallest day). Her beauty is matched, dare I say, exceeded by her intellect. She has a scientific mind coupled with an entrepreneurial spirit that promises great success in her future. She and Hunter are in the same class.
Rebeca, her youngest, is blessed with her father's eyes, a beautifully mischievous smile, and a take-no-prisoners attitude. She's adorable and has harbored a long time love for our son Hunter. Hunter knows how to work that affection to his advantage. We can all take heart that he uses his powerful charm for good. When she slips into an angry mood, if Hunter is around, he knows exactly how to act silly enough to melt that angry pout into a beautiful smile and whatever is bothering her at the time is overshadowed by her joy in having his attention. Lately, she's called Hunter "the funniest boy in the world."
My friend recently returned to the stage after spending several years away enjoying her favorite starring role as her daughters' mother. She is performing as Fraulein Schneider, in Cabaret. While discussing with her children the backdrop against which the musical is set, she told them about all of the victims of the Holocaust, including Jewish people and anyone else who didn't fit Hitler's Aryan definition of what it is to be German. She also told them that gay and lesbian people were often victims of his murderous reign. Because the girls are so close to our family, they were shocked to learn that in the 1940s, one her favorite friend's parents could have been killed. Rebecca's reaction was, "That's terrible! If that happened today, the funniest boy in the world wouldn't be here!"
What I love most about that story is how it demonstrates how much she loves Hunter. She would never want anything terrible to happen to him; so to her, the thought that he may never have existed is outrageous. Before she heard about the atrocities committed against gay people, it wasn't a big deal that Hunter's parents were gay. What was greatest in her mind was that if Hunter's parents weren't here, then the funniest boy in the world wouldn't have been here.
Although we have come a long way since the 1940s, to a large degree we still have a long way to go before GLBT people are given equal rights and protections under the law in the United States. However, the fact that a little girl in Hunter's school is willing to move mountains for him, gives me great hope for the future.
Hunter is here today because of the love Donna and I share and our unwavering faith and belief that we would be blessed with children one day. I pray that the same divinity that brought him and Skye into our lives touches more lives and ushers in a more inclusive, more accepting, and more loving time.
Rebeca, her youngest, is blessed with her father's eyes, a beautifully mischievous smile, and a take-no-prisoners attitude. She's adorable and has harbored a long time love for our son Hunter. Hunter knows how to work that affection to his advantage. We can all take heart that he uses his powerful charm for good. When she slips into an angry mood, if Hunter is around, he knows exactly how to act silly enough to melt that angry pout into a beautiful smile and whatever is bothering her at the time is overshadowed by her joy in having his attention. Lately, she's called Hunter "the funniest boy in the world."
My friend recently returned to the stage after spending several years away enjoying her favorite starring role as her daughters' mother. She is performing as Fraulein Schneider, in Cabaret. While discussing with her children the backdrop against which the musical is set, she told them about all of the victims of the Holocaust, including Jewish people and anyone else who didn't fit Hitler's Aryan definition of what it is to be German. She also told them that gay and lesbian people were often victims of his murderous reign. Because the girls are so close to our family, they were shocked to learn that in the 1940s, one her favorite friend's parents could have been killed. Rebecca's reaction was, "That's terrible! If that happened today, the funniest boy in the world wouldn't be here!"
What I love most about that story is how it demonstrates how much she loves Hunter. She would never want anything terrible to happen to him; so to her, the thought that he may never have existed is outrageous. Before she heard about the atrocities committed against gay people, it wasn't a big deal that Hunter's parents were gay. What was greatest in her mind was that if Hunter's parents weren't here, then the funniest boy in the world wouldn't have been here.
Although we have come a long way since the 1940s, to a large degree we still have a long way to go before GLBT people are given equal rights and protections under the law in the United States. However, the fact that a little girl in Hunter's school is willing to move mountains for him, gives me great hope for the future.
Hunter is here today because of the love Donna and I share and our unwavering faith and belief that we would be blessed with children one day. I pray that the same divinity that brought him and Skye into our lives touches more lives and ushers in a more inclusive, more accepting, and more loving time.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
"May I ask you a personal question?"
This morning I got a call from a dear friend of mine whose son is doing a paper on Gay Marriage. His junior high school class picked that topic as part of their social studies curriculum. She broached the topic by asking if she could ask me a personal question. I invited her to do just that. She asked me about the difference between a Civil Union and Marriage, and I told her according to the State of New Jersey, it's about semantics. But, as we talked, it became clear that it's about more than that.
I believe it's a matter of Civil Rights and that the State has legislated bigotry by not allowing me to marry my wife.
The two most important examples of the difference between "traditional" marriage and the Civil Union Donna and I have are Hunter and Skye. We each had to adopt our own children. Had one of us been a man, our names would have been listed on our children's birth certificates. The mechanics of how we had our children would not have been at issue. Like male/female couples with fertility issues, we had to try harder to conceive our children. It should be left at that. Instead, we had to do a second parent adoption to have equal parental rights. Apart from the moral implications, that extra step to ensure our parental rights puts us at a financial disadvantage as well. The only time those legal expenses are incurred by straight couples is if one of them is adopting a step child.
Like many complicated issues, I think it's imperative to breathe life into "social issues" by sharing personal stories. The only way to humanize the conversation is to stand up as examples of those who are not recognized as important enough to enjoy the same rights and privileges as heterosexual couples. My marriage (and Donna and I consider our union as sacred as our heterosexual peers' marriages) is as precious to me as heterosexual couples' marriages are to them.
Now, I want to thank our school district for having the courage to build this issue into it's curriculum so that young people can thoughtfully consider the issues and hopefully learn that at the end of the day, all gay couples want are the same rights and privileges of marriage that so many others enjoy. I want to be able to introduce my wife without people doing a double-take, despite how subtle it may be. I want to be able to have the peace of mind to travel to another state in our Union and not worry about what happens if one of us had a medical emergency and our marriage was not recognized (a reason we have legal health care directives in place---another expense straight couples don't incur). I want to be able to have the peace of mind that if I were to pre-decease my wife, she would be entitled to my Social Security benefits. Now, I don't have that peace of mind.
Hopefully, our young people will give me that peace of mind someday soon.
I believe it's a matter of Civil Rights and that the State has legislated bigotry by not allowing me to marry my wife.
The two most important examples of the difference between "traditional" marriage and the Civil Union Donna and I have are Hunter and Skye. We each had to adopt our own children. Had one of us been a man, our names would have been listed on our children's birth certificates. The mechanics of how we had our children would not have been at issue. Like male/female couples with fertility issues, we had to try harder to conceive our children. It should be left at that. Instead, we had to do a second parent adoption to have equal parental rights. Apart from the moral implications, that extra step to ensure our parental rights puts us at a financial disadvantage as well. The only time those legal expenses are incurred by straight couples is if one of them is adopting a step child.
Like many complicated issues, I think it's imperative to breathe life into "social issues" by sharing personal stories. The only way to humanize the conversation is to stand up as examples of those who are not recognized as important enough to enjoy the same rights and privileges as heterosexual couples. My marriage (and Donna and I consider our union as sacred as our heterosexual peers' marriages) is as precious to me as heterosexual couples' marriages are to them.
Now, I want to thank our school district for having the courage to build this issue into it's curriculum so that young people can thoughtfully consider the issues and hopefully learn that at the end of the day, all gay couples want are the same rights and privileges of marriage that so many others enjoy. I want to be able to introduce my wife without people doing a double-take, despite how subtle it may be. I want to be able to have the peace of mind to travel to another state in our Union and not worry about what happens if one of us had a medical emergency and our marriage was not recognized (a reason we have legal health care directives in place---another expense straight couples don't incur). I want to be able to have the peace of mind that if I were to pre-decease my wife, she would be entitled to my Social Security benefits. Now, I don't have that peace of mind.
Hopefully, our young people will give me that peace of mind someday soon.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Scared to Death
A few weeks ago I thought I was dying. I'm 39 years old with two young children and I was scared to death that I wouldn't see them again as I foolishly drove myself to the emergency room. I was having chest pain that radiated to my shoulder blades and made breathing very difficult. I drove myself to the emergency room because I didn't want to just brush it off as heartburn, which I do suffer from and which has become increasingly more severe over the past year. However, the heartburn usually responded to Zantac, and this time, it hadn't. It had been bothering me for the entire day and after dinner, it just got far worse than I had ever experienced before.
As I was driving to the hospital, the fear that I wouldn't see my babies again was overwhelming. I tear up even as I write this. I thought about my gentle nine-year old boy Hunter, who has such a strong sense of who he is and is so considerate of other's feelings. He's unusually adept at articulating how he feels and what he thinks; he's truly older than his years. He's witty and charming and has gorgeous hair and enormous blue eyes that seem to look into your soul. He wants to be a forest ranger and has such a deep love for animals and nature that I think it truly may be what he ultimately pursues.
At the same time, I thought about my sweet and outrageous little four-year old warrior princess, Skye. When she smiles, her eyes become twinkly little corn-flower blue crescent moons. She has a scandalous laugh that is far bigger than she is and she loves to pretend she's Michael Jackson. Even at four years old, she's definite about what she wants and has shown clear signs that she also has the determination to get it.She loves to go to church with me and has become known as "Lord Have Mercy" for her enthusiastic responses to our responsive prayers.
When I arrived at the hospital, as soon as I mentioned chest pains, I was immediately given an EKG, which was normal. Because I was still having chest pain, I was admitted. The good news is that my heart is strong. When I was given a strong antacid, Protonix, the feeling that some one's fist was in my chest finally subsided. So, the diagnosis was acute acid reflux. My doctor and my wife both feel it was brought on by stress. I can't disagree and I've been scared into being more aware of what I eat and how I take care of myself.
I was also made aware of my mortality and how precious life really is. Occasionally over the past few weeks I've wondered what my children would do if I weren't around. Thank God, they have two great moms, and Donna was a trooper during that crisis. She's a wonderful mom and made life as normal as possible for them during the time I was in the hospital, so they hardly remember it now. Our children also have a lot of other adults who love them and would step in to help Donna if I hadn't been so lucky. But, I imagine they would still be left with a lot of questions about who I was and what I thought about them if had died.
I'm blessed to have this blog because I think it will answer those questions. So much of who I am is because of them. They are the inspiration for the writing that I do on this blog and they are the reason that I'm a parent living in suburbia to begin with. This blog will record the joy I have in parenting them and watching them grow up. So, there will be no question at all about what I think about them. They are remarkable human beings that I have been blessed to call my children.
As far as who I am? I'm a writer who hit the jackpot when I became a mother. In addition to my blog, Gay Parent Magazine has also given me a voice to share my musings on parenthood. My favorite colors are green and orange, my favorite foods are Mexican and Italian, and my hobbies are reading and writing. I love to laugh and I love to listen to Anne Murray. I've been blessed with a great career as a manager and a proposal development professional at IBM. I'm inspired by the human spirit and I would love to be a pastor when I grow up.
I'm actually grateful to have been scared to death because it helped me see my blessings even more clearly. Lord, thank you for letting me walk out of the hospital and back into the arms of a great family. I can't wait to get down to the business of growing more and discovering things about myself and about them.
As I was driving to the hospital, the fear that I wouldn't see my babies again was overwhelming. I tear up even as I write this. I thought about my gentle nine-year old boy Hunter, who has such a strong sense of who he is and is so considerate of other's feelings. He's unusually adept at articulating how he feels and what he thinks; he's truly older than his years. He's witty and charming and has gorgeous hair and enormous blue eyes that seem to look into your soul. He wants to be a forest ranger and has such a deep love for animals and nature that I think it truly may be what he ultimately pursues.
At the same time, I thought about my sweet and outrageous little four-year old warrior princess, Skye. When she smiles, her eyes become twinkly little corn-flower blue crescent moons. She has a scandalous laugh that is far bigger than she is and she loves to pretend she's Michael Jackson. Even at four years old, she's definite about what she wants and has shown clear signs that she also has the determination to get it.She loves to go to church with me and has become known as "Lord Have Mercy" for her enthusiastic responses to our responsive prayers.
When I arrived at the hospital, as soon as I mentioned chest pains, I was immediately given an EKG, which was normal. Because I was still having chest pain, I was admitted. The good news is that my heart is strong. When I was given a strong antacid, Protonix, the feeling that some one's fist was in my chest finally subsided. So, the diagnosis was acute acid reflux. My doctor and my wife both feel it was brought on by stress. I can't disagree and I've been scared into being more aware of what I eat and how I take care of myself.
I was also made aware of my mortality and how precious life really is. Occasionally over the past few weeks I've wondered what my children would do if I weren't around. Thank God, they have two great moms, and Donna was a trooper during that crisis. She's a wonderful mom and made life as normal as possible for them during the time I was in the hospital, so they hardly remember it now. Our children also have a lot of other adults who love them and would step in to help Donna if I hadn't been so lucky. But, I imagine they would still be left with a lot of questions about who I was and what I thought about them if had died.
I'm blessed to have this blog because I think it will answer those questions. So much of who I am is because of them. They are the inspiration for the writing that I do on this blog and they are the reason that I'm a parent living in suburbia to begin with. This blog will record the joy I have in parenting them and watching them grow up. So, there will be no question at all about what I think about them. They are remarkable human beings that I have been blessed to call my children.
As far as who I am? I'm a writer who hit the jackpot when I became a mother. In addition to my blog, Gay Parent Magazine has also given me a voice to share my musings on parenthood. My favorite colors are green and orange, my favorite foods are Mexican and Italian, and my hobbies are reading and writing. I love to laugh and I love to listen to Anne Murray. I've been blessed with a great career as a manager and a proposal development professional at IBM. I'm inspired by the human spirit and I would love to be a pastor when I grow up.
I'm actually grateful to have been scared to death because it helped me see my blessings even more clearly. Lord, thank you for letting me walk out of the hospital and back into the arms of a great family. I can't wait to get down to the business of growing more and discovering things about myself and about them.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Holiday Blues
The scientific community has not cloned human beings yet, and I honestly don't want them to do that for a whole host of ethical and moral reasons. But today, I wish I could be in two places at once. I'm really feeling blue. I wish I could go back and enjoy the Thanksgiving feasts that my Grammie and Grampie Jenkins would host. I still remember the smell of Grammie's kitchen and the taste of the pumpkin pie she would make. Although I have gotten close to it, it's still not quite like Grammie's. I cheat with my crust (thank you Pillsbury) and she made hers from scratch. Her home would be filled with my parents and my aunt and uncle and cousins. The noise of laughter and teasing still echoes in my memory and the warmth of the hugs and kisses still keeps me warm.
I remember that Grammie and Grampie Jenkins' home was my "happy place." I used to spend nearly every weekend with them. So, I suspect part of what is making me so blue is that I had hoped to have Thanksgiving at my parents' home for the first time in nearly 20 years and recently, life has conspired to make that impossible. Living away from your family of origin may be a fantasy for some, but for Donna and myself, it's proven very difficult. It seems to get more and more difficult with each year that goes by. My children continue to grow at an alarming pace that I refuse to believe I'm also keeping.
I think my sadness is also amplified because I wish my children had the blessing of physical proximity to their grandparents that I had to mine. I didn't realize how special that was until I had my own children. Donna and I have to play an interesting game of logistics each year to figure out how to spend time with our parents so that our families stay connected. Donna's parents live in Trinidad and mine live in Maine. So Hunter's and Skye's grandparent experience is very different from that of their parents.
Don't get me wrong. We are blessed that they talk to them and see them as regularly as time and money allow. However, following through on that spontaneous urge to jump in the car and see Bampy and Mimi or Granny and Grandad can't really be spontaneous at all. So, I'm trying to stay positive by focusing on how blessed we are to have the extended family we've created with other families in town whose parents live away.
For me, that extended family is a lifeline and a priceless gift. Recently, Deppy, Jen, Cyndi and Anna jumped right in to help as a recent crisis found me in the hospital and Donna home with two children over a weekend. Without their support, I don't know how thing would have turned out. And in October, we welcomed our Yaya to Bergenfield, since Deppy's mom Betty moved here from Greece. She's adopted all of our children as her own. And we have our dear friends Madelene and Noemi, whom our children know as their Godmothers Drina and Titi, who round out our happy family. We have so many blessings, so my prayer over our table this year will include them all and a special request to our Dear Lord that he watches over my Mama and Daddy and my brothers Tony, Chad and Jeremy and their families and Donna's Mommy and Daddy and brother Terrence. May He smile on us all and help us feel the love despite the miles that separate us.
So, I'll close with this request of my readers: for all of you who have parents living just down the street or a short drive away, give them an extra hug the next time you see them. Never take it for granted and remember how blessed you are. To steal a classic line from Dickens, "God bless us, every one!"
I remember that Grammie and Grampie Jenkins' home was my "happy place." I used to spend nearly every weekend with them. So, I suspect part of what is making me so blue is that I had hoped to have Thanksgiving at my parents' home for the first time in nearly 20 years and recently, life has conspired to make that impossible. Living away from your family of origin may be a fantasy for some, but for Donna and myself, it's proven very difficult. It seems to get more and more difficult with each year that goes by. My children continue to grow at an alarming pace that I refuse to believe I'm also keeping.
I think my sadness is also amplified because I wish my children had the blessing of physical proximity to their grandparents that I had to mine. I didn't realize how special that was until I had my own children. Donna and I have to play an interesting game of logistics each year to figure out how to spend time with our parents so that our families stay connected. Donna's parents live in Trinidad and mine live in Maine. So Hunter's and Skye's grandparent experience is very different from that of their parents.
Don't get me wrong. We are blessed that they talk to them and see them as regularly as time and money allow. However, following through on that spontaneous urge to jump in the car and see Bampy and Mimi or Granny and Grandad can't really be spontaneous at all. So, I'm trying to stay positive by focusing on how blessed we are to have the extended family we've created with other families in town whose parents live away.
For me, that extended family is a lifeline and a priceless gift. Recently, Deppy, Jen, Cyndi and Anna jumped right in to help as a recent crisis found me in the hospital and Donna home with two children over a weekend. Without their support, I don't know how thing would have turned out. And in October, we welcomed our Yaya to Bergenfield, since Deppy's mom Betty moved here from Greece. She's adopted all of our children as her own. And we have our dear friends Madelene and Noemi, whom our children know as their Godmothers Drina and Titi, who round out our happy family. We have so many blessings, so my prayer over our table this year will include them all and a special request to our Dear Lord that he watches over my Mama and Daddy and my brothers Tony, Chad and Jeremy and their families and Donna's Mommy and Daddy and brother Terrence. May He smile on us all and help us feel the love despite the miles that separate us.
So, I'll close with this request of my readers: for all of you who have parents living just down the street or a short drive away, give them an extra hug the next time you see them. Never take it for granted and remember how blessed you are. To steal a classic line from Dickens, "God bless us, every one!"
Saturday, November 20, 2010
"You love each other the same, you just love each other differently."
It's the evening before my lovely wife's 47th birthday and I am reflecting on the title of this entry. It was spoken a few days ago by my older-than-his-years nine year old son, Hunter. It happened yesterday, on the way to my doctor's appointment. Donna and I were engaged in our usual playful debate.
It started with me saying, "I love you."
She replied, "I love you more."
I said, "That's doubtful, but it's a good thing we have the rest of lives to see who wins."
Donna turned to Hunter, who was playing his DS, and asked "Hunter, who do you think loves more? Me or your mother?"
Hunter didn't miss a beat and said, "You love each other same, you just love each other differently."
That profound bit of wisdom fell so easily off his lips and I don't think he understood how astounded Donna and I were with the depth of his quick response. I am still astounded by his insight. I think to myself about all the therapy couples go through because they are blind to the love that's right in front of them, because they need to see it expressed in obvious ways. So often, the love is right there, but because it's expressed differently, they don't recognize it.
Donna has loved me fiercely. She has loved me through my own bouts of self-doubt and feeling unworthy of love. She has loved me through thick and thin and she has loved me through crises that most others would have felt justified leaving over. We have lived through a lot in ten years and as we now walk into our second decade together, she remains steadfast, loyal and strong. She believes in us.
I know she believes because years ago, she used to wonder out loud if I would stay. I haven't heard that in more than a year, so I think she finally does believe that I don't want to be anywhere else. And I honestly don't. She grounds me. And she pulls me out of myself when I think too much. She makes me laugh at life when I want to scream in frustration and she helps me feel worthy of all the good that comes our way. She keeps me strong when I want to give up trying so hard and she makes it all feel effortless.
I love my wife and although I may not show up with flowers and candy everyday, I promise I will show up to spend every day of my life with her. As we raise our children together, I do it with a full and open heart, knowing that they will grow up and create lives of their own and we will be left in a very quiet home, but what will remain is the desire to spend each chapter of our life together.
So, my sweet Donna, I don't love you more, I love you differently. Happy Birthday. I love you. "Vous et nul aultre. . . . "
It started with me saying, "I love you."
She replied, "I love you more."
I said, "That's doubtful, but it's a good thing we have the rest of lives to see who wins."
Donna turned to Hunter, who was playing his DS, and asked "Hunter, who do you think loves more? Me or your mother?"
Hunter didn't miss a beat and said, "You love each other same, you just love each other differently."
That profound bit of wisdom fell so easily off his lips and I don't think he understood how astounded Donna and I were with the depth of his quick response. I am still astounded by his insight. I think to myself about all the therapy couples go through because they are blind to the love that's right in front of them, because they need to see it expressed in obvious ways. So often, the love is right there, but because it's expressed differently, they don't recognize it.
Donna has loved me fiercely. She has loved me through my own bouts of self-doubt and feeling unworthy of love. She has loved me through thick and thin and she has loved me through crises that most others would have felt justified leaving over. We have lived through a lot in ten years and as we now walk into our second decade together, she remains steadfast, loyal and strong. She believes in us.
I know she believes because years ago, she used to wonder out loud if I would stay. I haven't heard that in more than a year, so I think she finally does believe that I don't want to be anywhere else. And I honestly don't. She grounds me. And she pulls me out of myself when I think too much. She makes me laugh at life when I want to scream in frustration and she helps me feel worthy of all the good that comes our way. She keeps me strong when I want to give up trying so hard and she makes it all feel effortless.
I love my wife and although I may not show up with flowers and candy everyday, I promise I will show up to spend every day of my life with her. As we raise our children together, I do it with a full and open heart, knowing that they will grow up and create lives of their own and we will be left in a very quiet home, but what will remain is the desire to spend each chapter of our life together.
So, my sweet Donna, I don't love you more, I love you differently. Happy Birthday. I love you. "Vous et nul aultre. . . . "
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
"So Long for Now"
When it comes to my children, I only want the best, just as any parent would. When we enrolled Hunter in his elementary school, we felt we had hit the jackpot. That was nearly six years ago and started a beautiful partnership with teachers and educators who truly represent the best of our public school system. At the helm of his school was the most dynamic, thoughtful, qualified and accomplished principal I have had the pleasure of knowing.
Today, I learned that Mr. Beattie will be moving on to another chapter of his career by accepting the position of Superintendent of Schools in another school district. I am heartbroken. I understand his decision, made largely because of the continued oppression that our Governor is inflicting on our public school system. If he were not to make this move, his own family's future plans would be in jeopardy.
However, my understanding does not bring me any comfort in knowing that my little girl, who is less than a year away from kindergarten, will not have the same strong but gentle influence that our son has enjoyed under Mr. Beattie's leadership. I haven't had the heart to break the news to her. She is always thrilled to see Mr. Beattie as we drop her brother off at school each morning.
As two moms, we tend to bond even more strongly with strong, open-minded men who are progressive enough to know that strong, loving families are not defined solely by traditional standards. Hunter has such a positive role model in Mr. Beattie and since starting school has wanted to emulate this wonderful man.
We have never felt excluded from opportunities to get involved in our son's school. At Mr. Beattie's invitation, I sit on the Partnership in Education committee and Donna and I are often volunteering in the classroom. We have never questioned that Hunter is in the best possible hands. And Hunter has felt open and comfortable enough to joyfully share that he has two moms. When we had our Civil Union two years ago, children and teachers a like were congratulating us, because Hunter was so excited that his moms were getting married. Mr. Beattie set the tone and created that open, inclusive atmosphere.
Mr. Beattie, you will be missed and I only hope that Skye has the same strong leadership in place when she starts her elementary school career.What I know for sure is that you will positively influence the lives of thousands of children and their families in your new post. What I also know for sure is that you have made an indelible impression in Hunter's life and for that, we have been blessed. Know that we keep you close in our thoughts and prayers.
I refuse to say goodbye, so as you said in your announcement, "so long for now."
Today, I learned that Mr. Beattie will be moving on to another chapter of his career by accepting the position of Superintendent of Schools in another school district. I am heartbroken. I understand his decision, made largely because of the continued oppression that our Governor is inflicting on our public school system. If he were not to make this move, his own family's future plans would be in jeopardy.
However, my understanding does not bring me any comfort in knowing that my little girl, who is less than a year away from kindergarten, will not have the same strong but gentle influence that our son has enjoyed under Mr. Beattie's leadership. I haven't had the heart to break the news to her. She is always thrilled to see Mr. Beattie as we drop her brother off at school each morning.
As two moms, we tend to bond even more strongly with strong, open-minded men who are progressive enough to know that strong, loving families are not defined solely by traditional standards. Hunter has such a positive role model in Mr. Beattie and since starting school has wanted to emulate this wonderful man.
We have never felt excluded from opportunities to get involved in our son's school. At Mr. Beattie's invitation, I sit on the Partnership in Education committee and Donna and I are often volunteering in the classroom. We have never questioned that Hunter is in the best possible hands. And Hunter has felt open and comfortable enough to joyfully share that he has two moms. When we had our Civil Union two years ago, children and teachers a like were congratulating us, because Hunter was so excited that his moms were getting married. Mr. Beattie set the tone and created that open, inclusive atmosphere.
Mr. Beattie, you will be missed and I only hope that Skye has the same strong leadership in place when she starts her elementary school career.What I know for sure is that you will positively influence the lives of thousands of children and their families in your new post. What I also know for sure is that you have made an indelible impression in Hunter's life and for that, we have been blessed. Know that we keep you close in our thoughts and prayers.
I refuse to say goodbye, so as you said in your announcement, "so long for now."
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
A Soldier's View
One of my dear friends serves in the army and recently shared his view on gays in the military. As he puts it, “I don't care who the person is... as long as they're shooting in the same direction as me.”
My brother serves in the Coast Guard and his opinions are very similar as those of my friend. Ultimately, they don't care what the orientation of the person they are serving with is; they simply want a dependable, brave battle buddy to watch their backs.
I have the utmost respect for both of those men, and for the military in general. They demonstrate such patriotism and bravery and throughout our country's history, and indeed, the history of the world, we have needed military protection.
Both of my grandfathers served with honor; my mother's father in WWII and my father's father in the Korean War. Now, my nine year old son is intrigued by war and all things military. My heart breaks because all of them are such gentle souls, yet their nobility has driven them to places harsh and unforgiving. My prayer for them all is that one day, war will become obsolete. As a mother, the last thing I want to see is anyone's child in harm's way. I also despair at the thought that some of our children who are now soldiers have had to defend themselves by taking another's life. As they put it, "Kill or be killed."
I've never served because the military didn't allow gays to serve when I was considering my post- high school options. I could have used the assistance in paying for college and in buying my first home. I would have gladly served my country and perhaps even made a career of my service, but I knew I was lesbian and I also knew that I would have had to hide that during my service. Even after Don't Ask, Don't Tell was implemented, it became a requirement to keep that fundamental part of who you were under wraps. I couldn't then and still can't reconcile the double standard that allows heterosexual servicemen and women to talk about their families while homosexual servicemen and women are expected to become asexual beings or to be inauthentic about who they are.
It seems that every country glorifies war, and makes it a badge of honor for young men and women to aspire towards service. I don't dispute for an instant that it is an honorable calling to defend our country and to spread the promise of democracy and the belief that all men and women are fundamentally entitled to pursue happiness without the interference of government or harassment based on ethnicity, race, or gender. I simply ask that our politicians remember that honor and integrity transcends our differences. Give our soldiers more credit and understand that like any other subculture, soldiers simply represent the same diversity of thought that our greater culture demonstrates. So, let's continue to grow in our collective ability to embrace, not just accept, our differences.
I fervently pray that one day diplomacy will trump the need to go to war. I hold out hope that debate and a mutual desire to understand one another's humanity will drive us to drop our guns and lift our consciousness. And I recognize and appreciate that the higher consciousness would have been built on the bloodshed of our forefathers and mothers. So, to all those soldiers out there, thank you. I appreciate your protection of the rights I enjoy as American; the right to freedom of speech ranking pretty high on that list.
My brother serves in the Coast Guard and his opinions are very similar as those of my friend. Ultimately, they don't care what the orientation of the person they are serving with is; they simply want a dependable, brave battle buddy to watch their backs.
I have the utmost respect for both of those men, and for the military in general. They demonstrate such patriotism and bravery and throughout our country's history, and indeed, the history of the world, we have needed military protection.
Both of my grandfathers served with honor; my mother's father in WWII and my father's father in the Korean War. Now, my nine year old son is intrigued by war and all things military. My heart breaks because all of them are such gentle souls, yet their nobility has driven them to places harsh and unforgiving. My prayer for them all is that one day, war will become obsolete. As a mother, the last thing I want to see is anyone's child in harm's way. I also despair at the thought that some of our children who are now soldiers have had to defend themselves by taking another's life. As they put it, "Kill or be killed."
I've never served because the military didn't allow gays to serve when I was considering my post- high school options. I could have used the assistance in paying for college and in buying my first home. I would have gladly served my country and perhaps even made a career of my service, but I knew I was lesbian and I also knew that I would have had to hide that during my service. Even after Don't Ask, Don't Tell was implemented, it became a requirement to keep that fundamental part of who you were under wraps. I couldn't then and still can't reconcile the double standard that allows heterosexual servicemen and women to talk about their families while homosexual servicemen and women are expected to become asexual beings or to be inauthentic about who they are.
It seems that every country glorifies war, and makes it a badge of honor for young men and women to aspire towards service. I don't dispute for an instant that it is an honorable calling to defend our country and to spread the promise of democracy and the belief that all men and women are fundamentally entitled to pursue happiness without the interference of government or harassment based on ethnicity, race, or gender. I simply ask that our politicians remember that honor and integrity transcends our differences. Give our soldiers more credit and understand that like any other subculture, soldiers simply represent the same diversity of thought that our greater culture demonstrates. So, let's continue to grow in our collective ability to embrace, not just accept, our differences.
I fervently pray that one day diplomacy will trump the need to go to war. I hold out hope that debate and a mutual desire to understand one another's humanity will drive us to drop our guns and lift our consciousness. And I recognize and appreciate that the higher consciousness would have been built on the bloodshed of our forefathers and mothers. So, to all those soldiers out there, thank you. I appreciate your protection of the rights I enjoy as American; the right to freedom of speech ranking pretty high on that list.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
War and Peace
My son Hunter is the gentlest boy I've ever met. He's a nature lover and concerned about our planet's health. He's compassionate, intuitive and always considers other people's feelings. He's respectful and gets visibly upset if someone he cares about is unhappy. So, it's been rather intriguing to watch him fall in love with Call of Duty (the appropriately rated version),where he has demonstrated how much he enjoys blowing things up and shooting people.
What fascinates me is that he revels in it! It's one of his favorite past times. How can such a gentle soul show such overt aggression? Is it a visceral reaction that is triggered by y-chromosomes? Or, is it a simple coping mechanism that becomes a release for anger and frustration ? If it's the latter, then sign me up!
I am also a gentle soul (you may want to check with my wife on the accuracy of that statement), but there are plenty of occasions when I'd like to go "Rambo" on some of the people I interact with. However, I'm very clear in my adult mind that my fantasy about shooting up a place is just that: fantasy. It's not something I'd ever follow through on. Donna and I make sure that we are talking to Hunter regularly about how what he sees and does in a video game is far different than what should be done in real life. Hunter is clear on that, but far too many children are not.
Understand, I would never blame the senseless school and workplace shootings that have plagued our Nation on an overdose of gaming. However, I would say that in some cases, children are ONLY getting guidance from wii systems and television shows. And that sad fact disturbs me. I think we have to remember that some parents are not around because they must work long hours to support their children. It's not a matter of neglect, it's a matter of necessity. But, I do think that when parents are present, we must seize every opportunity to call out how precious life is.
I remember growing up with Looney Tunes on Saturday mornings. I can't count the number of times Wiley Coyote was decimated in the span of 30 minutes, but that didn't translate to delusions of invincibility in which I thought it would be safe to jump off a cliff or stare into the barrel of a gun to see why it wouldn't shoot.
We have to find ways to bring balance into our children's lives so they can enjoy Nerf guns and video games without fear of acting out those activities in real life. As I see my son move through the world, I'm convinced he knows how precious life is. I am reminded of his peaceful predisposition each time he'd rather go on a walk, ride his bike, or hike in the woods than sit in front of his Wii or TV. When I hear from his teachers how thoughtfully he helps younger students with reading or math problems, I know his priorities fall in line with ours. Each time he hugs his sister, cuddles with me, or rubs Donna's feet after she gets home from work shows me that he has respect and reverence for life.
So, I'll let Hunter continue to wage war in his "man cave" (our family room in the basement) because I know when he finishes and opens the door to join us, he's living for peace.
What fascinates me is that he revels in it! It's one of his favorite past times. How can such a gentle soul show such overt aggression? Is it a visceral reaction that is triggered by y-chromosomes? Or, is it a simple coping mechanism that becomes a release for anger and frustration ? If it's the latter, then sign me up!
I am also a gentle soul (you may want to check with my wife on the accuracy of that statement), but there are plenty of occasions when I'd like to go "Rambo" on some of the people I interact with. However, I'm very clear in my adult mind that my fantasy about shooting up a place is just that: fantasy. It's not something I'd ever follow through on. Donna and I make sure that we are talking to Hunter regularly about how what he sees and does in a video game is far different than what should be done in real life. Hunter is clear on that, but far too many children are not.
Understand, I would never blame the senseless school and workplace shootings that have plagued our Nation on an overdose of gaming. However, I would say that in some cases, children are ONLY getting guidance from wii systems and television shows. And that sad fact disturbs me. I think we have to remember that some parents are not around because they must work long hours to support their children. It's not a matter of neglect, it's a matter of necessity. But, I do think that when parents are present, we must seize every opportunity to call out how precious life is.
I remember growing up with Looney Tunes on Saturday mornings. I can't count the number of times Wiley Coyote was decimated in the span of 30 minutes, but that didn't translate to delusions of invincibility in which I thought it would be safe to jump off a cliff or stare into the barrel of a gun to see why it wouldn't shoot.
We have to find ways to bring balance into our children's lives so they can enjoy Nerf guns and video games without fear of acting out those activities in real life. As I see my son move through the world, I'm convinced he knows how precious life is. I am reminded of his peaceful predisposition each time he'd rather go on a walk, ride his bike, or hike in the woods than sit in front of his Wii or TV. When I hear from his teachers how thoughtfully he helps younger students with reading or math problems, I know his priorities fall in line with ours. Each time he hugs his sister, cuddles with me, or rubs Donna's feet after she gets home from work shows me that he has respect and reverence for life.
So, I'll let Hunter continue to wage war in his "man cave" (our family room in the basement) because I know when he finishes and opens the door to join us, he's living for peace.
Monday, November 1, 2010
My Journey to Motherhood
Unlike many women, when I was a little girl, I didn't dream of being a mother someday. My dreams took me to far off places where I could pretend to be someone other than who I was. I would escape to places that brought me out of rural Maine, out of the closet, out of my uncomfortable skin. I knew I was different, and knew I didn't feel that I belonged.
So, I left. I left rural Maine and moved to Central New York. I attended Utica College of Syracuse University for two years and dropped out because I couldn't afford the tuition. So, I worked for two years and then decided I couldn't go anywhere I really wanted to unless I finished my degree. I completed it at SUNYIT. During that period of my life, I traveled many paths trying to find a place that I belonged.
My journeys took me on quite the adventure. I met so many interesting people along my way. Those people each hold a page in the passport that represents my life. I learned a lot from each of them. I learned what falling in love feels like, and what a broken heart feels like. I learned how to love, how to hurt, how to be good and how to be bad. I learned many things and the most important lesson I learned was that no matter where I went, no matter whom I was with, and no matter where I worked, I was still me.
I decided to slow down a bit and get to know myself better at about the same time I met my wife. She, unlike me, always knew she would grow up and have a little boy someday. When I fell in love with Donna, I started to fall in love with the idea of parenthood too.
Suddenly, the idea of parenthood became a reality when we found ourselves expecting a baby. Imagine my joy when I learned Donna was pregnant. What fascinated me about my personal reaction was that within a moment of learning Donna was pregnant; my entire brain seemed to rewire itself for motherhood. I could almost feel it happening. Suddenly, everything was about our baby. I couldn’t wait to meet him.
Yes, Donna’s prediction was right; she would have a boy and what a boy he is. He is so handsome, and smart, and funny! He’s a chip off his mother’s block. His big blue eyes fixed on me the moment he was born and I knew that he could see my soul, even if he couldn’t see much beyond a foot or so in front of him. He touched my heart in a way no other person had, and he taught me how to be a good mom.
His sister has reinforced those lessons and has taught me how to love myself, as well as her. It’s been interesting having a girl. Something visceral woke up when I looked into her eyes. She holds an invisible mirror up each time I look into her beautiful eyes, which look so much like my mother’s. I understood when I looked at her, why my mother loves us all so fiercely. Skye helped me feel closer than ever to my mother. In a strange way, loving her has helped me to love the child I never felt comfortable with: Me.
My own self-acceptance was a gift to myself and my children helped to wrap that gift in the most beautiful wrapping ever. And now, not only do I feel really comfortable in my own skin, but my family senses that comfort and they are better for it, too.
So, motherhood is magic. It’s so simple, it’s profound. I finally found a place that I belong. It smells like baby shampoo and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. It feels like legos and story books and it sounds like lullabies and laughter. It looks like a nine year old curly-haired boy and a four year old blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl and two loving parents who adore them.
Hunter and Skye have proven to be my compass and have brought me home, where I belong.
So, I left. I left rural Maine and moved to Central New York. I attended Utica College of Syracuse University for two years and dropped out because I couldn't afford the tuition. So, I worked for two years and then decided I couldn't go anywhere I really wanted to unless I finished my degree. I completed it at SUNYIT. During that period of my life, I traveled many paths trying to find a place that I belonged.
My journeys took me on quite the adventure. I met so many interesting people along my way. Those people each hold a page in the passport that represents my life. I learned a lot from each of them. I learned what falling in love feels like, and what a broken heart feels like. I learned how to love, how to hurt, how to be good and how to be bad. I learned many things and the most important lesson I learned was that no matter where I went, no matter whom I was with, and no matter where I worked, I was still me.
I decided to slow down a bit and get to know myself better at about the same time I met my wife. She, unlike me, always knew she would grow up and have a little boy someday. When I fell in love with Donna, I started to fall in love with the idea of parenthood too.
Suddenly, the idea of parenthood became a reality when we found ourselves expecting a baby. Imagine my joy when I learned Donna was pregnant. What fascinated me about my personal reaction was that within a moment of learning Donna was pregnant; my entire brain seemed to rewire itself for motherhood. I could almost feel it happening. Suddenly, everything was about our baby. I couldn’t wait to meet him.
Yes, Donna’s prediction was right; she would have a boy and what a boy he is. He is so handsome, and smart, and funny! He’s a chip off his mother’s block. His big blue eyes fixed on me the moment he was born and I knew that he could see my soul, even if he couldn’t see much beyond a foot or so in front of him. He touched my heart in a way no other person had, and he taught me how to be a good mom.
His sister has reinforced those lessons and has taught me how to love myself, as well as her. It’s been interesting having a girl. Something visceral woke up when I looked into her eyes. She holds an invisible mirror up each time I look into her beautiful eyes, which look so much like my mother’s. I understood when I looked at her, why my mother loves us all so fiercely. Skye helped me feel closer than ever to my mother. In a strange way, loving her has helped me to love the child I never felt comfortable with: Me.
My own self-acceptance was a gift to myself and my children helped to wrap that gift in the most beautiful wrapping ever. And now, not only do I feel really comfortable in my own skin, but my family senses that comfort and they are better for it, too.
So, motherhood is magic. It’s so simple, it’s profound. I finally found a place that I belong. It smells like baby shampoo and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. It feels like legos and story books and it sounds like lullabies and laughter. It looks like a nine year old curly-haired boy and a four year old blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl and two loving parents who adore them.
Hunter and Skye have proven to be my compass and have brought me home, where I belong.
How Much are You Worth?
How much are you worth?
It's an interesting time we live in. We're all hearing news about how our economy is struggling and no doubt, we feel it at home. Whether it's manifested itself in how often you go to the movies or how much you spend on groceries, whether you'll get that extra medical test or chance it for another year, whether you'll buy those eyeglasses or get your car serviced, everyone feels it. Some people feel it more than others of course.
Those people are waiting in an unemployment line, praying that they find work before their separation pay runs out. They may also be in line at a soup kitchen, waiting for the only meal they'll have that day. Or, they may be waiting for the shoe to drop, waiting to be next in those situations. How many of us are one paycheck away from that soup kitchen? One medical emergency away from having to avoid bill collectors? One fiscal quarter away from rising to the top of a layoff list?
The stress we are under makes me wonder how much are we worth? And can we afford to only measure it in US currency? As I sit and watch my two children grow up, I reflect on how little I have in savings and pray that eventually, I'll catch up. I used to love watching Suze Orman, because I felt like her game plans were things that I could actually follow. Now, I wonder, and I've stopped watching her. It's too discouraging!
I'm not advocating putting your head in the sand and avoiding your own special reality, but I am saying that if we get too caught up in how much we are worth by looking a bank statement, then we miss out on the true value we bring to this world. I wonder how many people sit up at night hoping desperately that they can actually make it to retirement and actually retire? More tragically, how many have done the math and walk around wondering how they can cash in on their life insurance policies so at least their families can be comfortable? Let's make sure we shake them back into looking at the whole person, and the intangible, priceless ways they bring value to the world.
We need to take care of each other more and work on the soft skills. Let's remember to take the time to tell the people we love that we do love them and WHY. Imagine how profound it would be to tell your Dad that you appreciate the countless years of sacrifice because he taught you that despite the struggles, just being there at the dinner table every night gave you a sense of security that is priceless. Or how touched your Mom would be if you told her that your safe place is a memory of laying your head in her lap and having her rub your head while you watched PBS television? Wthout her sacrifice of staying home, that memory wouldn't exist. Or how validated your spouse would be when she knew you appreciated the early hour she leaves each day so you can keep to a very strict budget?
For myself, I pray I can rub my children's heads often enough to give them that lifelong safe place. I also pray I can keep this home safe and sound for them. I pray that I can remember that despite the struggles I deal with, I still have a roof over my family's head. I pray that I remember God will find a way and will provide all that we NEED, and I should stop worrying and start trusting. I pray that I remember that if I work hard WITH my wife, these years of seemingly endless struggle will feel like five minutes at the end of a long and happy life together.
So suddenly, just reading this piece, I feel better already. So, let's be good to each other everyone, and even more so, let's be good to ourselves, because it's our own voice we hear in our head, keeping us up at night. And that voice should be confident and uplifting and full of hope rather than critical and demoralizing. If we love ourselves as fiercely as we love our families, the power we unleash will amaze us.
May God bless us all with peace and serenity, love and abundance and wealth and prosperity.
Those people are waiting in an unemployment line, praying that they find work before their separation pay runs out. They may also be in line at a soup kitchen, waiting for the only meal they'll have that day. Or, they may be waiting for the shoe to drop, waiting to be next in those situations. How many of us are one paycheck away from that soup kitchen? One medical emergency away from having to avoid bill collectors? One fiscal quarter away from rising to the top of a layoff list?
The stress we are under makes me wonder how much are we worth? And can we afford to only measure it in US currency? As I sit and watch my two children grow up, I reflect on how little I have in savings and pray that eventually, I'll catch up. I used to love watching Suze Orman, because I felt like her game plans were things that I could actually follow. Now, I wonder, and I've stopped watching her. It's too discouraging!
I'm not advocating putting your head in the sand and avoiding your own special reality, but I am saying that if we get too caught up in how much we are worth by looking a bank statement, then we miss out on the true value we bring to this world. I wonder how many people sit up at night hoping desperately that they can actually make it to retirement and actually retire? More tragically, how many have done the math and walk around wondering how they can cash in on their life insurance policies so at least their families can be comfortable? Let's make sure we shake them back into looking at the whole person, and the intangible, priceless ways they bring value to the world.
We need to take care of each other more and work on the soft skills. Let's remember to take the time to tell the people we love that we do love them and WHY. Imagine how profound it would be to tell your Dad that you appreciate the countless years of sacrifice because he taught you that despite the struggles, just being there at the dinner table every night gave you a sense of security that is priceless. Or how touched your Mom would be if you told her that your safe place is a memory of laying your head in her lap and having her rub your head while you watched PBS television? Wthout her sacrifice of staying home, that memory wouldn't exist. Or how validated your spouse would be when she knew you appreciated the early hour she leaves each day so you can keep to a very strict budget?
For myself, I pray I can rub my children's heads often enough to give them that lifelong safe place. I also pray I can keep this home safe and sound for them. I pray that I can remember that despite the struggles I deal with, I still have a roof over my family's head. I pray that I remember God will find a way and will provide all that we NEED, and I should stop worrying and start trusting. I pray that I remember that if I work hard WITH my wife, these years of seemingly endless struggle will feel like five minutes at the end of a long and happy life together.
So suddenly, just reading this piece, I feel better already. So, let's be good to each other everyone, and even more so, let's be good to ourselves, because it's our own voice we hear in our head, keeping us up at night. And that voice should be confident and uplifting and full of hope rather than critical and demoralizing. If we love ourselves as fiercely as we love our families, the power we unleash will amaze us.
May God bless us all with peace and serenity, love and abundance and wealth and prosperity.
A Letter to My Younger Self
Hi, everyone. I wanted to share a really neat project you. As part of Gay Pride month, IBM asked its GLBT employees to write a letter to their younger selves. Here's mine:
Miss Stacy Graffam
Snow’s Corner Road
Orrington, ME 04474
June 2010
Dear Stacy,
You are so loved by your mother and father and three younger brothers. I know you know this, but I want to let you also know that you DESERVE this love. I know you are afraid of letting your loved ones know who you already know you are because you think they’ll stop loving you. Being a lesbian is not easy and it seems like the heaviest burden right now. I understand that you are working so hard to do all the right things and be what everyone believes a young woman should be.
Whether or not you know this, you will develop a strong intuition about what is expected and it will help you navigate a road to success. Learning how to hide your personal truth will interestingly enough, help you see the world from different perspectives and will help you understand and leverage all the diversity around you to develop strong teams to solve big problems together in a corporate world that seems worlds away from your first job picking corn, strawberries and peas at Wiswell Farm.
In Junior High School, it will be very hard to hear the jokes about Charles Howard, the young man who was killed in Downtown Bangor because he was gay. You’ll hear it constantly being told by your friends: “What do the Penobscot Indians call the bridge in Downtown Bangor?” “Chuck-a-Homo.”
You’ll understand in your core that the jokes are bigoted and racist. As a young 12-year old girl, you may not be able to articulate what “bigoted” and “racist” attitudes can manifest, but it will serve you well in your life to listen to that voice inside that tells you those things are not funny. Those jokes are hurtful and wrong and foster hate and unspeakable behaviors from some people who are steeped in ignorance and fear.
That realization you were born with and the courage you will find when you go to college will help you stand up to racism, bigotry, and sexism. You will discover that you no longer have to hide your true self and that by being authentic, you will feel more love and acceptance than you ever dreamed about. And by finding this happiness, you will become so productive and effective as a leader at IBM.
Now, it won’t be easy, and it will be hard to understand some of your loved one’s reactions when you finally do come out, but you have to remember you sat with your truth for years and it will also take them time to understand that you’re not mentally ill, just different. Eventually, they will share your joy as you build a family with your spouse, a wild and crazy Caribbean woman from Trinidad. You and she will be blessed with a little boy and a little girl who help you understand all the visceral feelings that drive parents to do and say the things that make you crazy right now.
Just believe in yourself and the talent and drive that you were blessed with. You’ll look back in your life and harbor some regret about not pursuing a life in the ministry, but you’ll also come to understand that live is full of opportunity and after you’ve had fun in corporate America, you can still achieve those dreams of becoming a professor of world religions and getting ordained.
For now, cherish the simplicity and joy of being a child and hold on to those precious memories with your family and friends. Those fond memories will become the “happy place” you retreat to momentarily when the responsibilities of adulthood are just too much. And, that adult you become will need to find the child you are now to remind her that the world is full of goodness as long as we keep our faith and believe.
With so much love and tenderness,
Stacy
Miss Stacy Graffam
Snow’s Corner Road
Orrington, ME 04474
June 2010
Dear Stacy,
You are so loved by your mother and father and three younger brothers. I know you know this, but I want to let you also know that you DESERVE this love. I know you are afraid of letting your loved ones know who you already know you are because you think they’ll stop loving you. Being a lesbian is not easy and it seems like the heaviest burden right now. I understand that you are working so hard to do all the right things and be what everyone believes a young woman should be.
Whether or not you know this, you will develop a strong intuition about what is expected and it will help you navigate a road to success. Learning how to hide your personal truth will interestingly enough, help you see the world from different perspectives and will help you understand and leverage all the diversity around you to develop strong teams to solve big problems together in a corporate world that seems worlds away from your first job picking corn, strawberries and peas at Wiswell Farm.
In Junior High School, it will be very hard to hear the jokes about Charles Howard, the young man who was killed in Downtown Bangor because he was gay. You’ll hear it constantly being told by your friends: “What do the Penobscot Indians call the bridge in Downtown Bangor?” “Chuck-a-Homo.”
You’ll understand in your core that the jokes are bigoted and racist. As a young 12-year old girl, you may not be able to articulate what “bigoted” and “racist” attitudes can manifest, but it will serve you well in your life to listen to that voice inside that tells you those things are not funny. Those jokes are hurtful and wrong and foster hate and unspeakable behaviors from some people who are steeped in ignorance and fear.
That realization you were born with and the courage you will find when you go to college will help you stand up to racism, bigotry, and sexism. You will discover that you no longer have to hide your true self and that by being authentic, you will feel more love and acceptance than you ever dreamed about. And by finding this happiness, you will become so productive and effective as a leader at IBM.
Now, it won’t be easy, and it will be hard to understand some of your loved one’s reactions when you finally do come out, but you have to remember you sat with your truth for years and it will also take them time to understand that you’re not mentally ill, just different. Eventually, they will share your joy as you build a family with your spouse, a wild and crazy Caribbean woman from Trinidad. You and she will be blessed with a little boy and a little girl who help you understand all the visceral feelings that drive parents to do and say the things that make you crazy right now.
Just believe in yourself and the talent and drive that you were blessed with. You’ll look back in your life and harbor some regret about not pursuing a life in the ministry, but you’ll also come to understand that live is full of opportunity and after you’ve had fun in corporate America, you can still achieve those dreams of becoming a professor of world religions and getting ordained.
For now, cherish the simplicity and joy of being a child and hold on to those precious memories with your family and friends. Those fond memories will become the “happy place” you retreat to momentarily when the responsibilities of adulthood are just too much. And, that adult you become will need to find the child you are now to remind her that the world is full of goodness as long as we keep our faith and believe.
With so much love and tenderness,
Stacy
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Going Home
As I grow older, I find my self more in touch with my hometown; Orrington, ME.
I recently returned home for my great aunt's surprise 70th birthday party. I saw family members I hadn't seen in decades, and many of those past reunions had been prompted by the sadness funerals bring. This time, it was full of laughter and tears of joy, rather than of sadness. Despite my great uncle Harold relating how I peed on his lap while singing Delta Dawn as a young toddler, it was one of the most joyous occasions I've had and I feel very blessed to have been able to attend. Although this time, I nearly peed my pants again because of my cousin Shawna's wit.
I brought my son with me for this trip and took great joy in seeing my childhood home through his eyes. It was priceless to watch him run around my parent's house with the enthusiasm he has on Christmas morning, exclaiming, "Heaven was created here!" He is so like me. We both are quiet, introspective people who tend to be too sensitive at times, but still wear our hearts on on our sleeves. We both love woods and water and our happy places generally have both features. I got to share the sweet salt air and the serene forest with him for two full glorious days. He learned the joy of searching for sea creatures in tide pools and balancing on rocks that are equal parts biting barnacle and slippery sea weed.
The Atlantic Ocean peeks at us from our Cousin Janie's home in Lamoine, ME.
This time as I drove on the hilly, rustic roads of my youth, the earth seemed to embrace me, welcoming me back home with the smell of pine trees, sweet summer flowers, and that unmistakable "good clean dirt" that grows wonderful summer crops of corn. I heard the sweet sounds of song birds and the gentle hiss of water as it washed the beach and receded back to the ocean. I thought about how I spent the first 18 years of my life planning to escape this paradise and have spent so many moments since my escape yearning to go back.
I felt very conflicted as I found myself craving a more permanent experience. How could I balance the needs of my family against the reality of living in a place that is less tolerant and welcoming of same sex couples and their families? My wife has worked hard over the last 18 years to establish her stellar reputation at Queens Zoo and it's tough to translate those skills into viable employment in Maine. We've both worked hard to establish a reputation in our children's schools as caring involved parents, rather than simply being known as the "lesbian couple." Our children enjoy being part of a family with two "cool parents."
So, I realize as I write this that I already AM home, in New Jersey, where I can smell backyard barbecues in Summer, drying leaves in the Fall, baked goods in the Winter and April Showers in the Spring. Throughout the year I hear my children's laughter and my wife's lyrical Caribbean accent as she relates her days and dreams with me about our future.
When I have my roots and my happy places only hours away, how could I want to be anywhere else but here?
I recently returned home for my great aunt's surprise 70th birthday party. I saw family members I hadn't seen in decades, and many of those past reunions had been prompted by the sadness funerals bring. This time, it was full of laughter and tears of joy, rather than of sadness. Despite my great uncle Harold relating how I peed on his lap while singing Delta Dawn as a young toddler, it was one of the most joyous occasions I've had and I feel very blessed to have been able to attend. Although this time, I nearly peed my pants again because of my cousin Shawna's wit.
I brought my son with me for this trip and took great joy in seeing my childhood home through his eyes. It was priceless to watch him run around my parent's house with the enthusiasm he has on Christmas morning, exclaiming, "Heaven was created here!" He is so like me. We both are quiet, introspective people who tend to be too sensitive at times, but still wear our hearts on on our sleeves. We both love woods and water and our happy places generally have both features. I got to share the sweet salt air and the serene forest with him for two full glorious days. He learned the joy of searching for sea creatures in tide pools and balancing on rocks that are equal parts biting barnacle and slippery sea weed.
This time as I drove on the hilly, rustic roads of my youth, the earth seemed to embrace me, welcoming me back home with the smell of pine trees, sweet summer flowers, and that unmistakable "good clean dirt" that grows wonderful summer crops of corn. I heard the sweet sounds of song birds and the gentle hiss of water as it washed the beach and receded back to the ocean. I thought about how I spent the first 18 years of my life planning to escape this paradise and have spent so many moments since my escape yearning to go back.
I felt very conflicted as I found myself craving a more permanent experience. How could I balance the needs of my family against the reality of living in a place that is less tolerant and welcoming of same sex couples and their families? My wife has worked hard over the last 18 years to establish her stellar reputation at Queens Zoo and it's tough to translate those skills into viable employment in Maine. We've both worked hard to establish a reputation in our children's schools as caring involved parents, rather than simply being known as the "lesbian couple." Our children enjoy being part of a family with two "cool parents."
So, I realize as I write this that I already AM home, in New Jersey, where I can smell backyard barbecues in Summer, drying leaves in the Fall, baked goods in the Winter and April Showers in the Spring. Throughout the year I hear my children's laughter and my wife's lyrical Caribbean accent as she relates her days and dreams with me about our future.
When I have my roots and my happy places only hours away, how could I want to be anywhere else but here?
Thursday, October 7, 2010
"Is Hunter Okay with That?"
It was a beautiful late Spring day on the playground across the street from Hunter's school when what I like to call a "teaching moment" happened.
A new family had moved in the middle of the school year and the two children were adjusting nicely. The family was from Guyana, which is close to Trinidad and Tobago, so the accent was very familiar. The boy, who was in Hunter's class, had really connected with Hunter. His older sister was also finding her way and making connections with the girls who were part of our "inner circle." Apparently, she had already heard that Hunter had two moms.
So, God bless her, she approached me at the park and this is how the conversation went:
"So, I hear that Hunter has two moms."
"Yes, he does." I answered.
She paused briefly and thoughtfully asked, "Is he okay with that?"
"I think he is." I responded.
She smiled and said simply, "Cool." Then she strolled off and found some friends to hang out with.
Her mom had that embarrassed look that often comes over my friends when they feel as though a line has been crossed. She was new to our group, so I made sure she knew it was okay. "I'm very happy she asked the question directly to me." I said to her. She smiled and said she was glad I felt that way. And just to be sure, I asked, "Are you okay?" She assured me she was and went back to whatever other topic had been on the table.
One of the things that I love most about kids is that they quickly understand what things are really important in life. They make friends so easily, and they still see the world as a new adventure. They are unfettered with senseless hate and bigotry. So, I think it's very important for people of all orientations to understand how important it is to live authentically, not outrageously, so that we can have those teaching moments. Donna and I have often believed that if we set the tone for the respect we expect to get from our friends and family, we'll get it.
Recently, when I shared with Hunter (not his real name) that I had started a blog in an effort to share our life experiences and teach people about the wonderful life we have here, I told him that I had changed his sister's and his names to protect their privacy. He was confused. I explained that until he was older, I wanted to protect his identity because some kids that don't know him as well may pick on him for having two moms. His response was priceless.
"Mom, I tell everyone in school that I have two moms and you know what? Not a chuckle."
I told him he's blessed. We live in a community that celebrates diversity and leads the way in creating a atmosphere that fosters love and acceptance. Not every community in America can say that yet. The recent death of Tyler Clementi proves that he felt death was the better option than dealing with the bullying he was subject to at Rutgers.
I pray that someday, hopefully within my lifetime, all people can live authentically and without fear of bullying or harassment. I'm proud of my son for being so open about his family. I'm proud of his school for making it okay for him to do that, and I'm proud of my friends and family for showing the world that we can live in peace and harmony.
A new family had moved in the middle of the school year and the two children were adjusting nicely. The family was from Guyana, which is close to Trinidad and Tobago, so the accent was very familiar. The boy, who was in Hunter's class, had really connected with Hunter. His older sister was also finding her way and making connections with the girls who were part of our "inner circle." Apparently, she had already heard that Hunter had two moms.
So, God bless her, she approached me at the park and this is how the conversation went:
"So, I hear that Hunter has two moms."
"Yes, he does." I answered.
She paused briefly and thoughtfully asked, "Is he okay with that?"
"I think he is." I responded.
She smiled and said simply, "Cool." Then she strolled off and found some friends to hang out with.
Her mom had that embarrassed look that often comes over my friends when they feel as though a line has been crossed. She was new to our group, so I made sure she knew it was okay. "I'm very happy she asked the question directly to me." I said to her. She smiled and said she was glad I felt that way. And just to be sure, I asked, "Are you okay?" She assured me she was and went back to whatever other topic had been on the table.
One of the things that I love most about kids is that they quickly understand what things are really important in life. They make friends so easily, and they still see the world as a new adventure. They are unfettered with senseless hate and bigotry. So, I think it's very important for people of all orientations to understand how important it is to live authentically, not outrageously, so that we can have those teaching moments. Donna and I have often believed that if we set the tone for the respect we expect to get from our friends and family, we'll get it.
Recently, when I shared with Hunter (not his real name) that I had started a blog in an effort to share our life experiences and teach people about the wonderful life we have here, I told him that I had changed his sister's and his names to protect their privacy. He was confused. I explained that until he was older, I wanted to protect his identity because some kids that don't know him as well may pick on him for having two moms. His response was priceless.
"Mom, I tell everyone in school that I have two moms and you know what? Not a chuckle."
I told him he's blessed. We live in a community that celebrates diversity and leads the way in creating a atmosphere that fosters love and acceptance. Not every community in America can say that yet. The recent death of Tyler Clementi proves that he felt death was the better option than dealing with the bullying he was subject to at Rutgers.
I pray that someday, hopefully within my lifetime, all people can live authentically and without fear of bullying or harassment. I'm proud of my son for being so open about his family. I'm proud of his school for making it okay for him to do that, and I'm proud of my friends and family for showing the world that we can live in peace and harmony.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
"Why does Hunter have two Moms?"
When Donna and I were planning our beautiful family, the prospect of our children being teased because they had two moms or because they didn't have a Dad crossed our mind. We talked about what we would do if and when it ever became an issue. Believe me, all the talking in the world wouldn't have prepared me for the first time it happened.
Hunter was in Kindergarten. In the mornings, the children would line up on the blacktop waiting for the bell to ring. The parents who could stay until the children walked in would mingle outside of the blacktop area and make small talk. We were about mid-way through Hunter's first semester in school and I was quite proud of the way in which we were involved with the school and the promising signs of friendship with other parents.
Suddenly, the "what if" question manifested itself and one little boy asked with a hint of malice, "Why does Hunter have two moms?" He didn't direct the question to anyone in particular. It was asked to point out to whomever was within earshot that Hunter's family was different. From his tone, it was clear he had been told that different was bad.
I was caught completely off-guard and one of the moms standing next to me quickly answered, "Because he's lucky." Her quick defense bolstered my courage, and caged my inner Mama Lion, who was ready to disembowel the child in question. I was able to quickly recover and ask the little brat (I mean boy), "Do you have two parents who love you?" He answered, "Yes." It was clear at this stage that he'd been called on the carpet, so his tone was quite different. I responded, "Then you're lucky too." Hunter smiled broadly, and walked confidently into the school.
I smiled at the woman standing next to me with gratitude and now, four years later, we are dear friends. The incident at the school taught me a lot of profound lessons.
First, the "What if Hunter gets teased about having two moms? " was a fear that stemmed from our own homophobia. We have been surrounded for longer than I've been alive with messages that homosexuality is akin to evil. As young gay men and women, we are petrified about what being gay will mean for our quality of life. We're afraid of ridicule and for our personal safety. And every year, we lose some of our dearest gay men and women to suicide, because the prospect of being gay and the disappointment they fear will come from their families and friends is more than they can live with.
Second, I learned that I don't give my friends and family enough credit. I, like so many other gay men and women, jump to the conclusion that people are more apt to avoid befriending us because of the "guilt by association" phenomena that can sometime happen. I'm very proud to have very dear friends of all sexual orientations who see Hunter's family as an extension of their own. We have come a long way and it's sometimes hard not to look at the world through the eyes of my own inner child.
Third, kids will tease each other for many different reasons. It's part of being a kid. The good news is, my family and friends have each other's backs. For that, I'm deeply grateful. I can only hope that bigotry and hate crimes of all kinds will become extinct over time, as our children grow and evolve into strong, insightful and discerning young men and women who eradicate ignorance and promote acceptance and understanding.
Hunter was in Kindergarten. In the mornings, the children would line up on the blacktop waiting for the bell to ring. The parents who could stay until the children walked in would mingle outside of the blacktop area and make small talk. We were about mid-way through Hunter's first semester in school and I was quite proud of the way in which we were involved with the school and the promising signs of friendship with other parents.
Suddenly, the "what if" question manifested itself and one little boy asked with a hint of malice, "Why does Hunter have two moms?" He didn't direct the question to anyone in particular. It was asked to point out to whomever was within earshot that Hunter's family was different. From his tone, it was clear he had been told that different was bad.
I was caught completely off-guard and one of the moms standing next to me quickly answered, "Because he's lucky." Her quick defense bolstered my courage, and caged my inner Mama Lion, who was ready to disembowel the child in question. I was able to quickly recover and ask the little brat (I mean boy), "Do you have two parents who love you?" He answered, "Yes." It was clear at this stage that he'd been called on the carpet, so his tone was quite different. I responded, "Then you're lucky too." Hunter smiled broadly, and walked confidently into the school.
I smiled at the woman standing next to me with gratitude and now, four years later, we are dear friends. The incident at the school taught me a lot of profound lessons.
First, the "What if Hunter gets teased about having two moms? " was a fear that stemmed from our own homophobia. We have been surrounded for longer than I've been alive with messages that homosexuality is akin to evil. As young gay men and women, we are petrified about what being gay will mean for our quality of life. We're afraid of ridicule and for our personal safety. And every year, we lose some of our dearest gay men and women to suicide, because the prospect of being gay and the disappointment they fear will come from their families and friends is more than they can live with.
Second, I learned that I don't give my friends and family enough credit. I, like so many other gay men and women, jump to the conclusion that people are more apt to avoid befriending us because of the "guilt by association" phenomena that can sometime happen. I'm very proud to have very dear friends of all sexual orientations who see Hunter's family as an extension of their own. We have come a long way and it's sometimes hard not to look at the world through the eyes of my own inner child.
Third, kids will tease each other for many different reasons. It's part of being a kid. The good news is, my family and friends have each other's backs. For that, I'm deeply grateful. I can only hope that bigotry and hate crimes of all kinds will become extinct over time, as our children grow and evolve into strong, insightful and discerning young men and women who eradicate ignorance and promote acceptance and understanding.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
"Do you know of any other Nannies?"
When our son was still an infant, I worked as a Proposal Manager for PwC Consulting, then a division of PricewaterhouseCoopers, LLP. I was based in our Madison Avenue office and was no stranger to pulling 36-48 hour marathons to wrap up the proposals I led. During one of those marathon sessions, Donna brought Hunter to the office and we spent some time together during one of my breaks.
Now, it's important to set the stage and let you know that the office was home to many partners in the firm that I had not worked with, so they had no idea that the dynamic Trinidadian woman I walked to the elevator with our son was my Domestic Partner (remember, this was in 2002, prior to NJ's Civil Union legislation). As I walked Donna out, I kissed her and Hunter goodbye near the elevators. A partner in the firm joined them in the elevator as they left.
Clearly the man must have missed our kiss, because Donna told me that he smiled at her and asked "Do you know of any other Nannies?" She looked at him confused and asked, "Why would I?" He looked surprised and pointed at our son, whose complexion was more like my Caucasian skin, and said, "I thought you would know of other nannies, because my wife and I are looking for someone."
It dawned on Donna that this guy thought she was Hunter's Nanny! Very proudly she answered, "He's my son." As the partner turned a whiter shade of pale, he sputtered an apology and got off on the next floor.
Fast forward nine years and we have been living less than 30 minutes from Manhattan for a number of years now and love the diversity that surrounds us. I never even think about Donna's race being different from mine until we are reminded by incidents such as the one in the elevator.
Although I think we as a nation have come a long way celebrating diversity and understanding that families come in all different configurations, we still have a long way to go before some people stop assuming that Donna is our children's Nanny. Hunter is a gorgeous boy with long, curly chestnut brown hair and big blue eyes and Skye is a stunning blond with ice blue eyes. Donna is a beautiful Trini with coffee colored skin and dark brown eyes. She loves it when the kids call her Mommy in public and often won't answer the first time Hunter or Skye call for her attention because she wants to teach people a lesson.
We are a proud family and although some strangers may be confused by the relationship we have to our children, our children are clear that they have two parents who adore them. What people learn as they get to know us better is that we share more in common with them than may appear on the surface . And that realization becomes a shared blessing for us all.
Now, it's important to set the stage and let you know that the office was home to many partners in the firm that I had not worked with, so they had no idea that the dynamic Trinidadian woman I walked to the elevator with our son was my Domestic Partner (remember, this was in 2002, prior to NJ's Civil Union legislation). As I walked Donna out, I kissed her and Hunter goodbye near the elevators. A partner in the firm joined them in the elevator as they left.
Clearly the man must have missed our kiss, because Donna told me that he smiled at her and asked "Do you know of any other Nannies?" She looked at him confused and asked, "Why would I?" He looked surprised and pointed at our son, whose complexion was more like my Caucasian skin, and said, "I thought you would know of other nannies, because my wife and I are looking for someone."
It dawned on Donna that this guy thought she was Hunter's Nanny! Very proudly she answered, "He's my son." As the partner turned a whiter shade of pale, he sputtered an apology and got off on the next floor.
Fast forward nine years and we have been living less than 30 minutes from Manhattan for a number of years now and love the diversity that surrounds us. I never even think about Donna's race being different from mine until we are reminded by incidents such as the one in the elevator.
Although I think we as a nation have come a long way celebrating diversity and understanding that families come in all different configurations, we still have a long way to go before some people stop assuming that Donna is our children's Nanny. Hunter is a gorgeous boy with long, curly chestnut brown hair and big blue eyes and Skye is a stunning blond with ice blue eyes. Donna is a beautiful Trini with coffee colored skin and dark brown eyes. She loves it when the kids call her Mommy in public and often won't answer the first time Hunter or Skye call for her attention because she wants to teach people a lesson.
We are a proud family and although some strangers may be confused by the relationship we have to our children, our children are clear that they have two parents who adore them. What people learn as they get to know us better is that we share more in common with them than may appear on the surface . And that realization becomes a shared blessing for us all.
Bible Study
Donna and I pride ourselves on the bedtime rituals we have in place for our children. I sing lullabies and do prayers and Donna reads bedtime stories. Recently, Donna's been reading from a Children's Bedtime Bible Stories book and has rediscovered all kinds of parables and Old Testament stories. The other night, she emerged from Skye's room very excited about Cain and Abel. It seems that the expression "Raising Cain" didn't resonate with her until she stumbled upon that story.
If others could hear Donna's interpretation of the stories she's sharing with Skye, it would inspire a huge increase in Sunday School enrollment. It made me want to dust off my Bible and re familiarize myself with the story. I didn't realize how Cain's offspring triggered Noah's need to build the Ark. I also didn't have the appreciation an animal expert such as my wife has for the poor dove, which was being sent back and forth across a vast body of water. I think I do now, since Donna's colorful reenactment of that part of Noah's tale.
I will never stop marveling over the fresh perspective children bring to our lives. While reminding Skye about the proper behavior during a church service, I told her when she prays, she should tell God what's in her heart. Skye was quick to ask, "And my other body parts, too?" After I stopped laughing, I realized how literally she was taking my explanation. It helped me understand how tricky communication is. It's no wonder, despite all the diplomacy in the world, that misunderstandings still occur which drive us to war.
I guess I just needed to engage in musings over the precious perspective our children bring to our lives. Their vantage point is priceless. I only wish I could tap into my own inner child more easily. I guess that's why God blessed me with two beautiful children who teach me how to consider how the old impacts the new. And also, how the things we say and the common expressions used for hundreds of years are shorthand for profound lessons lost in translation.
If others could hear Donna's interpretation of the stories she's sharing with Skye, it would inspire a huge increase in Sunday School enrollment. It made me want to dust off my Bible and re familiarize myself with the story. I didn't realize how Cain's offspring triggered Noah's need to build the Ark. I also didn't have the appreciation an animal expert such as my wife has for the poor dove, which was being sent back and forth across a vast body of water. I think I do now, since Donna's colorful reenactment of that part of Noah's tale.
I will never stop marveling over the fresh perspective children bring to our lives. While reminding Skye about the proper behavior during a church service, I told her when she prays, she should tell God what's in her heart. Skye was quick to ask, "And my other body parts, too?" After I stopped laughing, I realized how literally she was taking my explanation. It helped me understand how tricky communication is. It's no wonder, despite all the diplomacy in the world, that misunderstandings still occur which drive us to war.
I guess I just needed to engage in musings over the precious perspective our children bring to our lives. Their vantage point is priceless. I only wish I could tap into my own inner child more easily. I guess that's why God blessed me with two beautiful children who teach me how to consider how the old impacts the new. And also, how the things we say and the common expressions used for hundreds of years are shorthand for profound lessons lost in translation.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Your Wife's on the Phone
************This was originally written in February 2009************
When I came out nearly twenty years ago, it didn't go over well with my mother. Now, I've never heard of any parent who wants her child to be anything less than happy, and her fears about what my being a lesbian meant for my life drove her reaction. That being said, it didn't make it any easier to experience her initial reaction, but it sure does give me a great measuring stick to see how far she's come.
I grew up in a very small town, Orrington, Maine (when I graduated high school, the population was a bit more than 2000 people). I loved many things about my childhood, but the social climate was not one of them. When I was in junior high school, a young man by the name of Charles Howard was killed in downtown Bangor because he was gay. At the time, hate crime legislation had not been passed and even if it had, it wouldn't have stopped the horrible jokes that were told. The one that sticks in my memory most was, "What do the Indians call the bridge in Downtown Bangor now?" The punchline: "Chuck-a-Homo." That illustration of the social ignorance I was drowning in explained my decision not to come out, not to even breathe a word to ANYONE about my self-awareness that I was lesbian, and to go so deeply into my closet, that no one would suspect a thing.
And it worked for years. I participated in enough dances and feigned enough interest in the opposite sex that I was able to pass for straight without any issues. Apart from that, my own hard wiring, separate from my sexual orientation, resulted in me making sure I got good grades, participated in my church as a deacon (and a lay pastor on Children's Sunday) and generally kept my "good girl" status.
So imagine my mother's shock when I called from my college counselor's office one day in my freshman year to finally tell her the truth about myself. The way I built it up, I'm sure she thought I was going to tell her I was pregnant. Instead, my confession sealed the deal that pregnancy wouldn't be a worry of mine. (Ironically, it would be about ten years from that point in time, but that's another story.) I have to say, initially, my mother did well. She was quiet. She said she loved me, and I was relieved. Until the other shoe dropped.
A few days later, I got an eight page letter in the mail explaining that I was mentally ill and if I decided to choose that lifestyle, I would never have hers or my father's emotional support. She went on to explain that I must be confused and that because of my compassion for persecuted groups, I thought I was gay. I can't begin to tell you how devastating that was for me. My mother was and is my best friend and I needed her emotionally more then than I ever had before. So, I put up a brave front and kept my relationships secret from her, but in so doing, made some pretty stupid choices that looking back, perhaps I wouldn't have; however, hindsight is 20/20.
By the grace of God, over time, my mother began to understand that I had no more control over my lesbianism as I did the color of my eyes or the fact that I was left-handed. It was not a choice for me. The only choice I felt I had was to either live authentically, or not. And I chose to live authentically. It hasn't been easy at times, but because of the gift of humor and integrity, I've got a lot of great comical stories and a much healthier outlook on life.
I've collected a lot of memories over the years that have stood out for me as testaments and gifts of what living authentically means. One of my most recent memories and definitely the most precious to date, was actually quite simple.
My mother agreed to be my witness at Donna's and my Civil Union in December 2008. We renewed our vows made nearly nine years ago since New Jersey decided to provide same sex couples with the same legal benefits of marriage as those of our straight peers (in everything but name). The day after our ceremony, Donna called me from work. I work from home, so my mother answered the phone. After a bit of conversation with Donna, she came into my office and said, "Your wife's on the phone."
Remember that measuring stick I talked about earlier? Well, I think that says it all.
When I came out nearly twenty years ago, it didn't go over well with my mother. Now, I've never heard of any parent who wants her child to be anything less than happy, and her fears about what my being a lesbian meant for my life drove her reaction. That being said, it didn't make it any easier to experience her initial reaction, but it sure does give me a great measuring stick to see how far she's come.
I grew up in a very small town, Orrington, Maine (when I graduated high school, the population was a bit more than 2000 people). I loved many things about my childhood, but the social climate was not one of them. When I was in junior high school, a young man by the name of Charles Howard was killed in downtown Bangor because he was gay. At the time, hate crime legislation had not been passed and even if it had, it wouldn't have stopped the horrible jokes that were told. The one that sticks in my memory most was, "What do the Indians call the bridge in Downtown Bangor now?" The punchline: "Chuck-a-Homo." That illustration of the social ignorance I was drowning in explained my decision not to come out, not to even breathe a word to ANYONE about my self-awareness that I was lesbian, and to go so deeply into my closet, that no one would suspect a thing.
And it worked for years. I participated in enough dances and feigned enough interest in the opposite sex that I was able to pass for straight without any issues. Apart from that, my own hard wiring, separate from my sexual orientation, resulted in me making sure I got good grades, participated in my church as a deacon (and a lay pastor on Children's Sunday) and generally kept my "good girl" status.
So imagine my mother's shock when I called from my college counselor's office one day in my freshman year to finally tell her the truth about myself. The way I built it up, I'm sure she thought I was going to tell her I was pregnant. Instead, my confession sealed the deal that pregnancy wouldn't be a worry of mine. (Ironically, it would be about ten years from that point in time, but that's another story.) I have to say, initially, my mother did well. She was quiet. She said she loved me, and I was relieved. Until the other shoe dropped.
A few days later, I got an eight page letter in the mail explaining that I was mentally ill and if I decided to choose that lifestyle, I would never have hers or my father's emotional support. She went on to explain that I must be confused and that because of my compassion for persecuted groups, I thought I was gay. I can't begin to tell you how devastating that was for me. My mother was and is my best friend and I needed her emotionally more then than I ever had before. So, I put up a brave front and kept my relationships secret from her, but in so doing, made some pretty stupid choices that looking back, perhaps I wouldn't have; however, hindsight is 20/20.
By the grace of God, over time, my mother began to understand that I had no more control over my lesbianism as I did the color of my eyes or the fact that I was left-handed. It was not a choice for me. The only choice I felt I had was to either live authentically, or not. And I chose to live authentically. It hasn't been easy at times, but because of the gift of humor and integrity, I've got a lot of great comical stories and a much healthier outlook on life.
I've collected a lot of memories over the years that have stood out for me as testaments and gifts of what living authentically means. One of my most recent memories and definitely the most precious to date, was actually quite simple.
My mother agreed to be my witness at Donna's and my Civil Union in December 2008. We renewed our vows made nearly nine years ago since New Jersey decided to provide same sex couples with the same legal benefits of marriage as those of our straight peers (in everything but name). The day after our ceremony, Donna called me from work. I work from home, so my mother answered the phone. After a bit of conversation with Donna, she came into my office and said, "Your wife's on the phone."
Remember that measuring stick I talked about earlier? Well, I think that says it all.
Auld Lang Syne
***********This piece was originally written in December 2009**********
I've been doing a lot of reflection lately, and the phrase Auld Lang Syne has kept playing over and over in my mind. I decided to look it up and it means, "the times gone past; the good old days."
2009 gave me a number of chances to think about times gone past. In January, I represented IBM for a panel discussion sponsored by KPMG and Johnson & Johnson. The topic was about L-Moms and how we balance our lesbian identity, being a mom and being in corporate America. It gave me a lot to think about and I still wonder at times how I juggle it all. I guess it's about trying NOT to compartmentalize everything. I think when I do that, I tend to feel too fragmented. So, if I walk though the world as mom and an IBMer who happens to be a lesbian, it feels a lot easier than trying to wear 15 hats at once.
Then, in August I enjoyed my 20th High School Reunion. What a blast that was, and a particularly poignant coming out party for me. It was great to just be Stacy, who happens to be a lesbian, too. It was great to walk into a room as a whole, authentic person and not have to walk in hiding anything or pretending to be someone I wasn't. I love how my dear old friends embraced me and were more interested in where my wife was than in the fact that I have a wife.
A year ago in December, I spent part of the month in Trinidad, celebrating my in-law's 50th Wedding Anniversary. They had an unforgettable celebration and it was so profound to see the priest who married them officiate over the renewal of their vows. Then, my lovely wife and I had our civil union on her parents actual anniversary. My wonderful mother was their to bear witness. "The State of New Jersey finally caught up with what God intended." That was my favorite thing our friend and priest, the Rev. Kathryn King, said during our wedding.
Now, I sit in my living room, with the soft glow of the Christmas tree nearby and the sweet sounds of Anne Murray's Christmas Album (big surprise, eh folks), playing in the background and I'm thinking of all of my loved ones who have gone on to Heaven.
I miss my grandfather, who was only four months shy of meeting his youngest great-grandchild, my precious little girl. I think of my sweet Aunt Marie, my grandfather's sister-in-law, who never slowed down once, not even on the day she died. She spent the earlier part of the day having dinner with her son. She was my grandmother's best friend, and I remember spending afternoons with them yardsale-ing. Boy could those ladies find a bargain! Now, they can spend their afternoons doing whatever the good Lord provides for them.
I often sense all of them and other dearly departed friends and family around me. I take great comfort in that, because it demonstrates that my faith is not unfounded and that we don't ever really leave. So, although I started writing this feeling a bit sad, I finish it filled with abundant joy. What blessings I have! What adventures are yet to unfold?
I can't wait to find out.
Auld Lang Syne
by Stacy Graffam on Saturday, December 19, 2009 at 4:25pm
2009 gave me a number of chances to think about times gone past. In January, I represented IBM for a panel discussion sponsored by KPMG and Johnson & Johnson. The topic was about L-Moms and how we balance our lesbian identity, being a mom and being in corporate America. It gave me a lot to think about and I still wonder at times how I juggle it all. I guess it's about trying NOT to compartmentalize everything. I think when I do that, I tend to feel too fragmented. So, if I walk though the world as mom and an IBMer who happens to be a lesbian, it feels a lot easier than trying to wear 15 hats at once.
Then, in August I enjoyed my 20th High School Reunion. What a blast that was, and a particularly poignant coming out party for me. It was great to just be Stacy, who happens to be a lesbian, too. It was great to walk into a room as a whole, authentic person and not have to walk in hiding anything or pretending to be someone I wasn't. I love how my dear old friends embraced me and were more interested in where my wife was than in the fact that I have a wife.
A year ago in December, I spent part of the month in Trinidad, celebrating my in-law's 50th Wedding Anniversary. They had an unforgettable celebration and it was so profound to see the priest who married them officiate over the renewal of their vows. Then, my lovely wife and I had our civil union on her parents actual anniversary. My wonderful mother was their to bear witness. "The State of New Jersey finally caught up with what God intended." That was my favorite thing our friend and priest, the Rev. Kathryn King, said during our wedding.
Now, I sit in my living room, with the soft glow of the Christmas tree nearby and the sweet sounds of Anne Murray's Christmas Album (big surprise, eh folks), playing in the background and I'm thinking of all of my loved ones who have gone on to Heaven.
I miss my grandfather, who was only four months shy of meeting his youngest great-grandchild, my precious little girl. I think of my sweet Aunt Marie, my grandfather's sister-in-law, who never slowed down once, not even on the day she died. She spent the earlier part of the day having dinner with her son. She was my grandmother's best friend, and I remember spending afternoons with them yardsale-ing. Boy could those ladies find a bargain! Now, they can spend their afternoons doing whatever the good Lord provides for them.
I often sense all of them and other dearly departed friends and family around me. I take great comfort in that, because it demonstrates that my faith is not unfounded and that we don't ever really leave. So, although I started writing this feeling a bit sad, I finish it filled with abundant joy. What blessings I have! What adventures are yet to unfold?
I can't wait to find out.
We've Come a Long Way
*********This piece was originally written in August, 2009***********
If my high school experience could have matched that of my high school reunion, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
The teenager inside me was fighting an anxiety attack as I pulled up to the venue with my best friend of 25+ years, Sue. She was my security blanket and she did her job well. She was always close by, but gave me the space to “work the room.”
When I parked the Jeep, I found myself psychically embracing that teenager and helping her to find her courage as I checked my lipstick in the mirror. Walking into the reunion being completely authentic resulted in the most joyous “coming out” experience to date.
The warmth and acceptance in the room was nearly palpable. First, I was greeted by my elementary school friend, Annette, who affectionately referred to me as her “bitch.” Believe me, only Annette could get away with THAT! She also had memories that I clearly buried out of sheer embarrassment; one of which was me pretending to be Wonder Woman when I was in second grade (and beyond). What can I say except that the 70s had a unique effect on all of us.
The next highlight was seeing another elementary school classmate, Keely, who exclaimed, “It’s my favorite lesbian!” Now, if only she had realized that back in high school. And, if only I could have been myself during high school. We have all grown up so much.
So many classmates asked about my lovely wife Donna, who graciously stayed home with our children so I could pretend I was 18 again. Of course, she sealed the deal by threatening to impersonate a Mandingo warrior if she were to accompany me. Needless to say, that image stamped out any ideas I had about asking her to change her mind and come.
My high school reunion was remarkable. I often say that being a lesbian is only a part of who I am and is no more important than anyone else’s orientation is to them. Even I have tried to downplay how much of who I am and how I see the world has been shaped by my orientation and the fear I had to live with about how being open and honest could have endangered my well-being. While I may like to believe that I’ve underestimated people’s willingness to embrace differences like mine, I still remember the real danger that people like me live with even today, in small towns across the Nation.
Twenty-five years ago in July 1984, Charles O. Howard, 23, an openly gay man, was attacked by three teenage boys, tossed into the Kenduskeag Stream off the State Street bridge in Bangor and, despite his cries that he could not swim, left to drown. I was thirteen years old when that happened and acutely aware of my own orientation. I was hurt every time I heard people joking that the Penobscot Indians called the bridge in downtown Bangor the “Chuck a Homo” bridge. I can’t even start to tell you how many dimensions of ignorance that joke demonstrates.
I do know that Charlie would have been proud of all of us the night of my reunion. I reflect on how profoundly easy and joyful it was to share pictures of my children with my friends and share stories about family and spouses. Charlie must have been smiling down on all of us. The redemption I felt in my own experience gives me hope that other young men and women who are gay can be themselves and feel safe from the moment they know they are different.
I am hopeful because I’ve seen how my dear friends have learned to accept me and I pray they will raise their children with an appreciation for all dimensions of diversity. It’s a beautiful, brave new world and I’m glad to be part of it.
To the Class of ’89, God bless you all.
If my high school experience could have matched that of my high school reunion, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
The teenager inside me was fighting an anxiety attack as I pulled up to the venue with my best friend of 25+ years, Sue. She was my security blanket and she did her job well. She was always close by, but gave me the space to “work the room.”
When I parked the Jeep, I found myself psychically embracing that teenager and helping her to find her courage as I checked my lipstick in the mirror. Walking into the reunion being completely authentic resulted in the most joyous “coming out” experience to date.
The warmth and acceptance in the room was nearly palpable. First, I was greeted by my elementary school friend, Annette, who affectionately referred to me as her “bitch.” Believe me, only Annette could get away with THAT! She also had memories that I clearly buried out of sheer embarrassment; one of which was me pretending to be Wonder Woman when I was in second grade (and beyond). What can I say except that the 70s had a unique effect on all of us.
The next highlight was seeing another elementary school classmate, Keely, who exclaimed, “It’s my favorite lesbian!” Now, if only she had realized that back in high school. And, if only I could have been myself during high school. We have all grown up so much.
So many classmates asked about my lovely wife Donna, who graciously stayed home with our children so I could pretend I was 18 again. Of course, she sealed the deal by threatening to impersonate a Mandingo warrior if she were to accompany me. Needless to say, that image stamped out any ideas I had about asking her to change her mind and come.
My high school reunion was remarkable. I often say that being a lesbian is only a part of who I am and is no more important than anyone else’s orientation is to them. Even I have tried to downplay how much of who I am and how I see the world has been shaped by my orientation and the fear I had to live with about how being open and honest could have endangered my well-being. While I may like to believe that I’ve underestimated people’s willingness to embrace differences like mine, I still remember the real danger that people like me live with even today, in small towns across the Nation.
Twenty-five years ago in July 1984, Charles O. Howard, 23, an openly gay man, was attacked by three teenage boys, tossed into the Kenduskeag Stream off the State Street bridge in Bangor and, despite his cries that he could not swim, left to drown. I was thirteen years old when that happened and acutely aware of my own orientation. I was hurt every time I heard people joking that the Penobscot Indians called the bridge in downtown Bangor the “Chuck a Homo” bridge. I can’t even start to tell you how many dimensions of ignorance that joke demonstrates.
I do know that Charlie would have been proud of all of us the night of my reunion. I reflect on how profoundly easy and joyful it was to share pictures of my children with my friends and share stories about family and spouses. Charlie must have been smiling down on all of us. The redemption I felt in my own experience gives me hope that other young men and women who are gay can be themselves and feel safe from the moment they know they are different.
I am hopeful because I’ve seen how my dear friends have learned to accept me and I pray they will raise their children with an appreciation for all dimensions of diversity. It’s a beautiful, brave new world and I’m glad to be part of it.
To the Class of ’89, God bless you all.
Are we too connected?
*****This piece was originally written on May 28, 2010.*****
On Wednesday night, my lovely wife and I deluded ourselves into thinking we still had the stamina to pull off a mid-week all-nighter that was self-imposed, rather than driven by the needs of a sick child or a work-related commitment. We decided to attend the first show of Sex and the City 2, which opened at 12:01 on Thursday morning. It was an anniversary gift to ourselves, since we celebrated ten years of marriage on May 27th. What better way to celebrate than with Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha as they brought us along on their Middle-Eastern sex-capade??
I sat there for hours, patiently waiting to be let into the theater so we could get our favorite seats and marveled at two things. First, we were waiting in line with BABIES!!! The series first aired in 1998, twelve years ago! Some of these young ladies had to be eight years old then! Second, I noticed the cell phones.
Now, I understand the need for a cell phone to some degree; but the way in which these people were using them boggles my mind. I began to wonder, are we *really* connected or are we fragmented into so many different directions that we can't be whole anymore?
There were six young women sitting next to us who were friends and were chatting, but also texting simultaneously. How do they do that? How can they truly enjoy one another's company while texting with someone who wasn't even there? Some of them are so skilled at it that they don't even have to look at the keyboard! And get this; some of them were texting EACH OTHER! What the bleep was I witnessing?!!
I'm all for technology, but only for the benefit, not at the expense, of humanity. I wondered to myself if they had ever in their young lives felt truly present. Completely in the moment, without the distractions of phone calls, text messages, televisions, radios or other endless "noise" coming at them in all directions. I know that I have finally learned to completely unplug when I'm not at work, for fear of not really being present for my family during those rare moments when both Donna and I are at home with the children.
I also know that some of my most treasured moments are when there is nothing but the sound of my babies' (now 8 1/2 and 3 1/2) deep breathing while sleeping. Or the sound of Donna's light snoring as she collapses from a long day at the zoo and hours-long commute. That quiet time, uninterrupted by phones, televisions, music peppered with commercials screaming at you to buy something, is priceless.
I want to propose that we start a new movement in which we not only make our cars "phone free zones" but also a part of every week. I wonder what the collective shift back to ourselves and our immediate relationships will begin? I know I plan on finding out, this weekend!
On Wednesday night, my lovely wife and I deluded ourselves into thinking we still had the stamina to pull off a mid-week all-nighter that was self-imposed, rather than driven by the needs of a sick child or a work-related commitment. We decided to attend the first show of Sex and the City 2, which opened at 12:01 on Thursday morning. It was an anniversary gift to ourselves, since we celebrated ten years of marriage on May 27th. What better way to celebrate than with Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha as they brought us along on their Middle-Eastern sex-capade??
I sat there for hours, patiently waiting to be let into the theater so we could get our favorite seats and marveled at two things. First, we were waiting in line with BABIES!!! The series first aired in 1998, twelve years ago! Some of these young ladies had to be eight years old then! Second, I noticed the cell phones.
Now, I understand the need for a cell phone to some degree; but the way in which these people were using them boggles my mind. I began to wonder, are we *really* connected or are we fragmented into so many different directions that we can't be whole anymore?
There were six young women sitting next to us who were friends and were chatting, but also texting simultaneously. How do they do that? How can they truly enjoy one another's company while texting with someone who wasn't even there? Some of them are so skilled at it that they don't even have to look at the keyboard! And get this; some of them were texting EACH OTHER! What the bleep was I witnessing?!!
I'm all for technology, but only for the benefit, not at the expense, of humanity. I wondered to myself if they had ever in their young lives felt truly present. Completely in the moment, without the distractions of phone calls, text messages, televisions, radios or other endless "noise" coming at them in all directions. I know that I have finally learned to completely unplug when I'm not at work, for fear of not really being present for my family during those rare moments when both Donna and I are at home with the children.
I also know that some of my most treasured moments are when there is nothing but the sound of my babies' (now 8 1/2 and 3 1/2) deep breathing while sleeping. Or the sound of Donna's light snoring as she collapses from a long day at the zoo and hours-long commute. That quiet time, uninterrupted by phones, televisions, music peppered with commercials screaming at you to buy something, is priceless.
I want to propose that we start a new movement in which we not only make our cars "phone free zones" but also a part of every week. I wonder what the collective shift back to ourselves and our immediate relationships will begin? I know I plan on finding out, this weekend!
Lost in the Rush
The other day, my little girl asked me to play with her in her playroom. I told her, "No, honey. I've got to do laundry now." It seems I'm always doing laundry, but with a busy ACTIVE family, there is always laundry to be done. But this time, I heard myself showing symptoms of getting lost in the rush.
At that moment, I realized the laundry will always be there, but that little four year old girl who wants nothing more than to pretend that she's a purple fairy in Dora the Explorer's next big adventure won't be. I was reminded of a Dear Abby article (I believe it was her) in which Abby herself reflected on all the things she would not have put off. Time with her children topped the list. Of course, the inspiration for creating that list came with a cancer diagnosis. I don't want that kind of crisis to be what forces me to hit the brakes.
So many of us feel lost in the rush because of the number of hats we must wear. When I think of mine, I get a bit overwhelmed: Mother, Wife, Sister, Daughter, Friend, IBM Employee, IBM Manager, Team Captain of Save The Girls (Avon Walk for Breast Cancer), Jefferson Elementary School Partners in Education (PIE) member, parishioner at St. Marks Episcopal Church. And, next to some of my friends and colleagues, I feel like a slouch!
I guess I'm sharing this because I think it's time we find the moments to pretend to be a cartoon character, get lost in a favorite book (preferably the old fashioned kind that forces you to turn a page, not click a mouse), take a long bath, enjoy a glass of wine, or simply take a deep breath before speeding on to the next "to-do" list item. So, to my lovely wife, to my children, to my dear friends and family, I promise that I will listen more actively, I will stay in the moment, and I will put down the laundry basket and spend some time with that purple fairy I mentioned earlier in my note.
I'm sure it will rejuvenate me in the same way that prayer does. . . it fills the cracks that fragmented living creates and prevents my soul from getting lost in the rush.
At that moment, I realized the laundry will always be there, but that little four year old girl who wants nothing more than to pretend that she's a purple fairy in Dora the Explorer's next big adventure won't be. I was reminded of a Dear Abby article (I believe it was her) in which Abby herself reflected on all the things she would not have put off. Time with her children topped the list. Of course, the inspiration for creating that list came with a cancer diagnosis. I don't want that kind of crisis to be what forces me to hit the brakes.
So many of us feel lost in the rush because of the number of hats we must wear. When I think of mine, I get a bit overwhelmed: Mother, Wife, Sister, Daughter, Friend, IBM Employee, IBM Manager, Team Captain of Save The Girls (Avon Walk for Breast Cancer), Jefferson Elementary School Partners in Education (PIE) member, parishioner at St. Marks Episcopal Church. And, next to some of my friends and colleagues, I feel like a slouch!
I guess I'm sharing this because I think it's time we find the moments to pretend to be a cartoon character, get lost in a favorite book (preferably the old fashioned kind that forces you to turn a page, not click a mouse), take a long bath, enjoy a glass of wine, or simply take a deep breath before speeding on to the next "to-do" list item. So, to my lovely wife, to my children, to my dear friends and family, I promise that I will listen more actively, I will stay in the moment, and I will put down the laundry basket and spend some time with that purple fairy I mentioned earlier in my note.
I'm sure it will rejuvenate me in the same way that prayer does. . . it fills the cracks that fragmented living creates and prevents my soul from getting lost in the rush.
"There's no dad"
Let me introduce myself to everyone who will be sharing my reflections on being an openly lesbian woman in suburban New Jersey. My name is Stacy and I live with my wife Donna and our two children in a lovely town in Bergen County, NJ. We are moderate Democrats living in a community that embraces diversity, and thank God for that!
Our family has been warmly received by our neighbors, friends and family. It has become commonplace to see us volunteering at our son's elementary school and taking the children on family outings to Saddle River Park to ride bikes and stay in relatively healthy form. So, we have actually come to take it for granted that everyone is used to our family. I guess for some, it's still a shock to see two women raising two beautiful children.
Recently, we had to get a new passport for our nine year old son, Hunter (name changed to protect his anonymity). As we stood in line at the post office, the passport clerk was reviewing Hunter's birth certificate and kept looking at my license, and Donna's license, and back at the birth certificate. The eye contact became less direct, the scrutiny of the birth certificate became more intense, and finally she stated, "there's no dad." Smiling confidently, I said, "No, he has two moms." The rest of the application process went smooth as silk, but that one moment stood out.
Yes, Hunter has two moms. And we decided to have Hunter and planned for him like any other couple who wants to have children and has fertility issues. I just happened to fall in love with a woman, so we needed a little help in the sperm department. That was nine years ago. Hunter has strong men in his life, such as uncles who teach him how to shoot a spud gun, fathers of friends who take him fishing and camping and allow him an escape from the estrogen-rich environment in which he lives.
And now, we have a little girl too, so we're doubly-blessed, and grateful for the adult divas in our lives who can help her learn the fine art of makeup application and fashion statements.
That moment at the post office was just that; a moment. There was brief discomfort, but it passed quickly. It's nothing compared to a lifetime of fear for some who don't live in communities as accepting as we do. I want to share our experiences with those young men and women living in remote areas who don't see Gay and Lesbian men and woman living lives as comfortably as their heterosexual peers. I also want to share our experience with adults who want to learn more about our world than they'll learn watching Jerry Springer or other outrageous reality tv shows.
So, I'll be sharing soundbites of our lives with you throughout my blog. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. I believe it will give others of our GLBT community inspiration, and allies understanding that we share more in common than we have differences.
Our family has been warmly received by our neighbors, friends and family. It has become commonplace to see us volunteering at our son's elementary school and taking the children on family outings to Saddle River Park to ride bikes and stay in relatively healthy form. So, we have actually come to take it for granted that everyone is used to our family. I guess for some, it's still a shock to see two women raising two beautiful children.
Recently, we had to get a new passport for our nine year old son, Hunter (name changed to protect his anonymity). As we stood in line at the post office, the passport clerk was reviewing Hunter's birth certificate and kept looking at my license, and Donna's license, and back at the birth certificate. The eye contact became less direct, the scrutiny of the birth certificate became more intense, and finally she stated, "there's no dad." Smiling confidently, I said, "No, he has two moms." The rest of the application process went smooth as silk, but that one moment stood out.
Yes, Hunter has two moms. And we decided to have Hunter and planned for him like any other couple who wants to have children and has fertility issues. I just happened to fall in love with a woman, so we needed a little help in the sperm department. That was nine years ago. Hunter has strong men in his life, such as uncles who teach him how to shoot a spud gun, fathers of friends who take him fishing and camping and allow him an escape from the estrogen-rich environment in which he lives.
And now, we have a little girl too, so we're doubly-blessed, and grateful for the adult divas in our lives who can help her learn the fine art of makeup application and fashion statements.
That moment at the post office was just that; a moment. There was brief discomfort, but it passed quickly. It's nothing compared to a lifetime of fear for some who don't live in communities as accepting as we do. I want to share our experiences with those young men and women living in remote areas who don't see Gay and Lesbian men and woman living lives as comfortably as their heterosexual peers. I also want to share our experience with adults who want to learn more about our world than they'll learn watching Jerry Springer or other outrageous reality tv shows.
So, I'll be sharing soundbites of our lives with you throughout my blog. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. I believe it will give others of our GLBT community inspiration, and allies understanding that we share more in common than we have differences.
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