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?

"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.













 

"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.

"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.

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.

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.

Auld Lang Syne

***********This piece was originally written in December 2009**********

Edit

Auld Lang Syne

by Stacy Graffam on Saturday, December 19, 2009 at 4:25pm

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.

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.

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!

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.

"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.