"I'm going to marry a crazy woman."

Skye crawled into bed with me this morning after having a bad dream. Once the fear was banished and we were talking about happier things, she told me, "I'm going to marry a crazy woman, like you married Mommy." After I finished laughing, she said, "And I'll have to deal with it, just like you do." What an eye-opener for me and how I often say in response to people asking me how I live with Donna's lunacy, "I've just learned to deal with it."

It's also a glimpse into our comical moments! If it's one thing I hope we're known for, it's the laughter we share as a family. And clearly, the sense of humor and silliness that one would witness if they were a fly on the wall have definitely left an impression with our children. Sometimes, that humor also provides a salve to cushion the more challenging conversations. As Skye told Donna about how she wanted to marry a crazy woman like her, she began to describe the differences between Donna and the woman of her dreams. She told Donna, "I want her to be crazy like you, but different. Like, I want her to have long hair." Donna responded, "How else do you want her to be different?" Skye hesitated for a moment because she didn't want to hurt Donna's feelings and said, "I want her skin to be a different color." Donna kept it light and said, "So you want her skin to be white like Mama's, but you want her to be crazy like me?" Skye lit up the room with one of her most disarming smiles and agreed enthusiastically. At moments like these I pray that her  disclosure is more about describing her "type" than a red flag for racist tendencies.

I want to model a good, healthy relationship for our children. Given Skye's aspiration to marry someone just like her Mommy, it seems our example is working. It also follows the pattern that seems to be prevalent in the Graffam family. I've often joked that I have married my father, because of the similarities between him and Donna. To name a few; they both hold master's degrees in sarcasm, each of them love being in the kitchen to try new dishes, and both of them love their families fiercely. Each of them also has a penchant for demonstrating what some would call a gruff exterior.

Skye wants to marry a crazy woman

What would surprise many is that exterior is nothing more than their armor for very sensitive souls. Once you get beyond that exterior and realize what's underneath, you realize what a priceless treasure they bring with them.

I hope Skye does find a crazy woman (or man) to share her life with one day. Although the yin and yang that Donna and I manifest can be frustrating at times, when I reflect a bit more on our polarity, it's the opposing viewpoints that make us stronger. Each of us holds a different perspective, broadening our view of the world and making us more open to thoughts and ideas that we otherwise wouldn't consider.

So, if Skye does marry a crazy woman, I hope she brings into her life the same laughter, diversity of thought, strength and stability that her mother has brought into my life. I love both of my girls dearly, and I think that through the stories I've shared this year and the years prior, my readers understand why.

"I love you, Mama-Doo"

"I love you, Mama-Doo." When Skye says that, it's music to my ears and probably sounds silly to many. My response is always, "I love you too, Baby-Pooh." I'm not even sure what inspired that moniker, but I can say it's probably my favorite. Skye uses it nearly every day and when she does, it's almost always preceded by "I love you." There's something about a nickname, especially when it's given by your child. Terms of endearment in the Graffam household are in no short supply.

Sadly, too many of us hear negative slurs tossed around that dehumanize and demoralize LGBT people. As we rush toward the month of January, GLSEN (Gay Lesbian Straight Education Network) has designated the week of January 21st as "No Name Calling Week." Many people use negative terms for LGBT people as a weapon to emasculate men and objectify women. I don't think I've ever heard anyone call me Dyke or Lesbo, but when spat out by a person consumed with hate, the terms are dripping with malice and even the act of typing them makes me feel dirty.

Mama-Doo and Baby-Pooh

Too often, I've heard young men and women use the f-bomb to insult their male friends. I'm not talking about the word that rhymes with duck. I'm talking about the word "fag", or "faggot." It's a word that has crept into our schools, our malls, and even our playgrounds, and drips with often fatal poison concocted from ignorance. Some men use it jokingly with one another, not understanding how offensive it is. When I witness playful banter pockmarked with that word, it infuriates me because they don't understand how that word can hold closeted young men hostage and keep them locked in a closet with doors so thick it more resembles a bunker.

People forget that words have power and as Maya Angelou once said, can stick to the walls and change the very atmosphere of a home from light and loving to dark and despondent. That's why I'm so glad that my family hears words endowed with tenderness and love when we're calling each other names.

I think pop culture has fostered an environment fraught with sarcasm and word games that start out innocently enough, but quickly turn into battles of who can cut the deepest with their tongue-lashing. As we enjoy the holiday season, I pray we can make more of an effort to be kind to one another. More than that, I hope that kindness becomes a hallmark not only of our holiday season, but replaces the  negative name calling we engage in and creates a world where kindness and consideration are the norm.

"Because I want my kids to be lucky."

Lately, Skye has been dreaming about her future family. She'll appear suddenly in my office as I'm working, or in the kitchen as we're preparing a meal with names for each of her children and her wife. Yes, she's claiming she'll have a wife when she grows up. I was curious about this decision for a number of reasons.

First, I have known since I was about seven years old that I liked girls better than I liked boys. But, when I was growing up, I knew enough not to admit that out loud to anyone. I saw that all the couples in my life were heterosexual, although I never labeled them as such. In my world, people had a Mom and a Dad. End of story. Even single-parent families were rare in my experience as a child.

Second, my own gender stereotypes drive me to assume that a pastel-color loving, fashionista femme-fatale like my little six-year old Skye would be planning the wedding of the century to some tall, dark handsome man. I often joke with Donna that Skye and Hunter are "straight" as arrows.

So, when Skye mentioned her wife again over the weekend, I asked her as neutrally as possible, "Honey, are you sure you want a wife instead of a husband?" 

Her response was definite, "Oh, I am SOOO sure, Mama; because I want my kids to be lucky."

It was all I could do not to laugh out loud. What an amazing response. It reflects so much positive attitude about her experience with two moms and the supportive and progressive community in which she's growing up. I could hear the words of teachers and friends who answer the questions her friends may have about why she has two moms with the wonderful response, "Because she's lucky." I could feel the love she's experienced from Donna and myself and how its led her to believe that when she grows up, she expects she'll have a wife so her children can be lucky too.

Skye wants her children to be lucky too

And then, I started thinking. What if Skye winds up having to "come out" to us later in life that she's fallen in love with a man? It would be the reverse of the conversation both Donna and I had with our parents. And the fear that both of us felt in letting our families down because of who we loved was paralyzing. I think Donna must of thought the same thing, because we sat with Skye at the kitchen table yesterday and told her, "Honey if you grow up and decide you want a husband instead, that's okay, too, you know."


Her response, "Okay, Mommy, but I want to be like you and Mama when I grow up." How can you not love that answer?! We're living in one of New Jersey's 100 Best Communities for Young People (presented by ING), and I believe the expansive diversity is one of the reasons for that honor.

Our daughter's opportunities have so many more possibilities than those Donna and I dreamed of as a child. I'm proud of how far we have come in our definitions of family and I'm proud that Donna and I have been such good role models for Skye that she would consider herself lucky to be like us.

"Are you going to be arrested?"

I went to bed last night with the comfort that President Obama would have my back for the next four years. It was a hard fought victory and a clear win for our President. Running a country is not an easy task. People differed on many aspects of our country's challenges. I believe we need to make sure we act like grownups and avoid rubbing our victory in the noses of our neighbors who differ from our ideology.

One area where I will not back down however, is on the issue of gay marriage. I'm very proud of my home state of Maine, where the populace voted for gay marriage. BUT, the thought that it is even a referendum issue makes my skin crawl. I will never forget the day last month when my son came home anxious about whether Governor Romney would win and what it would mean for his family. He learned that Romney was against gay marriage, so in his mind, if he was elected, his moms would be at risk of being thrown in jail because we are gay. Hunter asked, "If Romney wins, will you be arrested?" We assured him that wouldn't happen.

Hunter prayed we would not be torn apart

Sadly, his fears would be very real in other parts of the world. Donna and I could be thrown in jail or worse yet, killed, for our orientation. So, even though I hate the fact that my love for my wife and my commitment to her is easily placed on some states election ballots, we still live in a country where hate crimes are not tolerated.

There were so many other issues at stake during this election and I believe President Obama will be able to offer parity to so many of us who are middle class citizens trying to maintain access to affordable health care, more of our pay, and keep more of our jobs in this country. I think he understands the struggles of the middle class and those aspiring to the middle class. And for me and my family, I think he understands that gay rights are civil rights and it's time we we granted the same rights our heterosexual peers enjoy.

I never want my son or daughter to come home fearful that their family will be torn apart because someone doesn't believe we have the same right to love and protect our family as they enjoy. I think it's an important message to drive home. Let's stop codifying discrimination into the fabric of our country. Let's stop allowing our children to think that one person is better than another because "God said so."

Let's remember what our forefathers dreamed of when they founded this country, demanding "liberty and justice for ALL." Believing and working toward that vision will not strip straight citizens of their civil liberties, it will simply allow my family to feel just as valued as anyone else. And I have faith that we'll all be stronger for it when that day finally comes.

"Can You Do Your Thing So I Can Have Some?"

Lately, I'm contemplating working three jobs to support Hunter's appetite. It's exploded lately and he's hungry all the time! It's right on schedule, given he's 11 years old now. He's got a particular weakness for bread, and nothing stands a chance coming between him and his favorite food. Not even a holy sacrament.

Hunter's hunger to  learn more about church and spirituality seems as acute as his physical hunger has been. Those two basic needs collided at church Sunday evening. Hunter started Rite 13 classes at our church and those classes overlap a bit with our Sunday evening service. I've been attending the evening service and asked Hunter to join us when his class finished.

Hunter arrived just before Holy Communion. I thank God that our service in the evening is small and much less formal than morning services because Hunter came in ravenous. He spotted the bread on the altar and immediately asked Rev. Valerie if he could have some. It went something like this:

"Reverend Valerie, can I have some of that bread?" Hunter made his request in his most charming manner, persuading her with his disarming smile and an irresistible twinkle in his gorgeous blue eyes.

Hunter's hungry for more than just food

Reverend Valerie, in her most patient voice answered, "Sure, Hunter, but I have to consecrate it first."

My not so suave son replied rather impatiently, "Okay. Well, can you do your thing so I can have some?"

Reverend Valerie remained dignified and I was trying not to crawl under the table upon which the communion was being placed. We went ahead with the traditional blessings and invitation to come to the table to partake in communion. Reverend Valerie smiled and broke off half the bread and passed it to Hunter (it was not a typical wafer, but more the size of a silver dollar pancake). He knew he hit the jackpot and dipped it in the wine as though he were having cookies and milk. I took some solace that at least he remembered to say "Amen" as she offered it to him.

She winked and told me, "I've always wanted to do that." After communion was served to the others at the service, Hunter even got to finish the remaining bread. I told him after church that it was the holiest snack he'd ever have in his young life. 

I'm proud of my son and his enthusiasm for learning more about our church and how it can help him frame his spirituality. And, in addition to being blessed to put food on the table for him and the rest of our family, I'm also blessed to have a wonderful church home in which he can satisfy his hunger for understanding God's place in his life. Add to that, a gifted priest with a sense of humor and a child of her own so she can empathize with the comic adventures we encounter during our parenting journey. I can't help but believe  Christ Himself was smiling down at us during that service, laughing at the innocence and honesty children have.

Witnessing Hunter's journey into adulthood reinforces my conviction that divinity binds us all together regardless of the facets of our lives that make us different from one another. Some would say my family doesn't deserve a seat at God's table because we are family headed by same sex parents. I know in my heart that sentiment couldn't be farther from the truth. If you doubt that, I hope one day you can meet my children and see how blessed we all are that they are in this world.

"Mom, I think we're the most holy of the Graffams"

Late this summer, I took advantage of an unusual long lunch break and took Hunter to Wendy's. It was one of those rare moments when Skye was at summer camp and I had Hunter all to myself without the typical distractions that both of us juggle. Mine being instant messages, phone calls and computers, and his being his Wii and iPad and "The Regular Show."

During that lunch, we got on the topic of our church and the J2A and Rite 13 classes that would start this month. Since about February of this year, Hunter has shown an avid interest in the church and our faith and the "suspenseful" stories in his Children's Bedtime Bible stories book. As I read them to him at bedtime, it's reminiscent of Grimm's Fairytales. We're still in the Old Testament, and it's focused on God's dark side; as He strikes Sarah mute for laughing at the thought of having a baby in her eighties, casts Adam and Eve out of Eden for disobeying Him, and shows sibling rivalry at its most extreme as Cain kills Abel. As a parent, I wonder if it shouldn't come with a Parental Advisory sticker. Despite its racy stories, it's opened a great dialogue between Hunter and me and even resulted in Hunter asking for a meeting with our priest.

Hunter is trying to measure holiness

After finishing his favorite Wendy's sandwich, Hunter said, "Mom, I think we're the most holy of the Graffams." I had to laugh at his assessment and quickly take the teaching moment to share that holiness is not measured by the amount of time one attends church or talks about religion and spirituality. So much of what makes us "holy" is our God-given divinity. In our case, we believe in the Trinity; the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. It's that Holy Spirit that we believe resides within all of us and gives life to God's church.  It connects us to God and Jesus and graces us with divinity, or what Hunter would call, "holiness."

I think some of the holiest people are also people you are unlikely to find in a church. For example, I know that although Donna is not as inclined to be in church every week, she has a deep and abiding faith and belief system. Sometimes I wish she would attend more often, but I have come to respect that how she exercises her relationship with God is different than how I do it. 

Skye loves going to church and enjoys learning prayers and songs about our faith. Sometimes when she prays, she extends her arms toward the sky so that she can hug Jesus. Recently, she was heart broken that she couldn't feel Jesus hug her back. So, I reminded her that God is in all of us and I hugged her and asked if she could feel God's love. That's what consoled her and helped her understand the Holy Spirit concept a bit better.

And Hunter's eagerness to learn more fuels his hunger for answers to questions about morality and spirituality. So, he is eager to start attending J2A and Rite 13. I'm so glad he will have that space in which to explore matters of faith and spirituality. But I have to disagree with him that we are the most holy of the Graffams. I believe his assessment comes from having watched me deliver a sermon on Gay Pride Sunday in June and knowing how important church was in my life growing up and remains today.

I hope that as Hunter learns more, he'll realize that one's holiness can only be measured by God. And the beauty of our faith is that all we need to do is believe in Christ to have everlasting life. My young theologian will have a lot of questions around that and much more, I'm sure.

"Squeeze Harder!"

Donna and I often joke about our different parenting styles. Hers is a model of tough love, punctuated with passionate displays of playful affection with both of our children. My approach is more business-like, punctuated by quiet tender moments with both of our children. I'm more easily tagged as the pushover, while she's affectionately known as the drill sergeant.

Recently, Hunter was having a hard time getting toothpaste out of the tube. The bathroom is right beside my office and Donna and I were talking in there when Hunter yelled out, "Mom, I can't get the toothpaste out of the tube!" Donna's immediate response was, "Squeeze harder!"

Hunter replied, "Great advice, Mom. Squeeze harder.  . . I never would have thought of that." His response was laced with sarcasm, which both Donna and myself are pretty darn adept at using, and Hunter has honed to an art as he races into pre-teen adolescence.

Donna just wants Hunter to Squeeze Harder!

Donna and I laughed, but there is an important lesson in that bit of parenting advice. Hunter and Skye both have to figure out how to get the toothpaste out of the tube of life, too. We won't always be here to help them figure out the challenges they confront. They need to figure out how to either get a new tube of toothpaste or find a creative way to get what's left out of the old one.


I wish all of their challenges will be as simple as being smart enough to get the toothpaste of the tube. Unfortunately, that toothpaste tube will morph into getting into college and then taking what they've learned in college and finding a job.

As I watch our global economy, the job prospects for our children will change dramatically. I wouldn't be surprised at all if our children will be doing something once only shown on Star Trek episodes. I hope they have the skills to compete. It feels like our country has been on a fast track of outsourcing and we really need to find ways to invest in our own people again.

All of those challenges still come back to figuring out how to "squeeze harder." We can't settle for mediocrity, which can creep into all aspects of our life like a cancer, undermining our collective ambition and persistence. I pray that Hunter and Skye find ways to squeeze harder and realize from their efforts can come a wonderful life they built all by themselves.

"If you pray, how can you worry?"

I remember watching Oprah Winfrey interview 50 Cent recently and he told her about his feelings on faith. He said that after he had been shot more than six times and survived, he learned that if you pray, you can't worry. He remarked, "If you pray and you still worry, how's God going to feel about that?"

That quote resonates with me. And it really hits home today. I learned that after an eight month investigation, my childhood hero, the Rev. Robert T. Carlson, appears to have had several inappropriate relationships with children. I'm crushed. I feel duped, and I feel vulnerable. I defended this man throughout the scandal because I thought this man represented all that was good in this world, and now I realize that he was as fallible as the rest of us, and led a double-life. What he's accused of is so counter to his public image. How do we now pick up the pieces and make peace?

Investigators Close Case on Carlson

How can we guard ourselves and our children against the villains when they hide in plain sight? And how in the world do I trust my own judgement? Granted, my perceptions were formed as a child. I was nine years old when I met Bob Carlson and thought he was larger than life. I used to dream of one day becoming a pastor and a community leader myself, because of his inspiration. I will hold onto that inspiration and hope that I can bring dignity to the role if it manifests itself in my future.

However, there is a secret brotherhood out there that undermines the very spirit of justice they are put in place to uphold. I'm not sure how we can stop that fraternal order from covering up horrible crimes against us, especially when the crimes are committed against the most vulnerable amongst us.

I have more questions than answers now. My mind goes to Bob's wife and the East Orrington Congregational Church community and to the victims that have come forward. I pray that I find the faith to hang onto my beliefs about the goodness in the world and that it will continue to win over the bad. But I have to say, as a mother and an advocate for victims of bullying, despite all my praying, it's hard not to worry.

"This was a nice treat."

Recently, Skye was thrilled when we picked her up and took her to a friend's pool after day camp. That spontaneous decision brought much needed relief after sweltering for days in one of the Northeast's heat waves. As they were splashing together, Skye turned to Donna and said, "This was a nice treat."

I love how children are so in touch with their feelings and can articulate how they feel without self-censorship. Good or bad, our children have a penchant for expressing themselves. I hope they never lose that ability. Too often, the increased responsibilities associated with adulthood tend to dampen our spirits and limit our spontaneity. Those responsibilities create a filter designed to make sure we don’t say the wrong thing, for fear it will be misinterpreted. And that same filter, designed with the best of intentions, silences us from sharing even the most precious sentiments, for fear they may not be shared or acknowledged by the objects of our affection. Stress can be such an inhibiting condition.

I know I'm stressed out when I find myself sighing more, when my eyebrows are furrowed over my eyes, and my shoulders are creeping further up toward my ears. Skye does a remarkable imitation of my "IBM" face, and it's not pretty. It’s also disconcerting that my work face is not very attractive. One would think since I spend so much time here, I would make a point of enjoying it. It’s a shame that I may be sending mixed signals to my children. Who knows? They may very well shy away from working entirely if my face is any indication of what responsibility means.

Just today, I heard myself counseling an employee on the importance of work/life integration and the critical time management skill that affords that integration to happen successfully. I realized mid-sentence that I was as guilty as she was about setting aside time for family. Instead of sighing, which is symptomatic of spreading myself too thin; I took a cleansing breath to clear my head. And I remembered Skye and her complete joy at spending time with us at the pool the other day.

My blessings

During that visit to the pool, Hunter was enjoying his new-found confidence in jumping into the deep end, trying to touch the bottom of the pool. Even our dog was with us, on sentry duty, making sure the pool didn’t swallow us up. The joy all around me was juxtaposed against my feeling so fragmented. I wasn’t present.
Instead, I was worried about on boarding a new employee, making sure I spent enough time with my team on interim performance reviews, and calculating how much money we need to set aside for our vacation in August. I was in dozens of different places all at once, rather than simply unplugging and enjoying a much deserved break.

Skye’s simple appreciation and acknowledgement of what a treat it was to be together, enjoying a break from the heat, drove home my awareness of how much I’ve tried to take on and the limitations I have. Not weaknesses, just limitations. If I had my way, I’d work with our brilliant scientists at IBM to learn how to clone myself. That solution aside, I realize I have to practice what I preach.

I have to actively work on making sure I’m not over-scheduling myself, so I can truly enjoy the little time I do have with my family. I have to focus on my blessings, and see them as such, rather than allowing myself to cross into that negative space where blessings can feel like burdens.

So,  I have to thank Skye for reminding me to enjoy those treats. She’s probably not even aware the impact her words had on me. But, I will live more purposely now and stay in the moment, rather than getting lost and missing out on these treats God sends our way.

"Look Mom! It's a gay thing!"

Hunter spotted a Gay Pride Flag outside of a Presbyterian Church in Sleepy Hollow, NY, while we were driving to the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. My mom was visiting us and she had always wanted to see Sleepy Hollow, made famous by the story written hundreds of years ago by Washington Irving. As we passed the the church, Hunter saw the flag, and yelled, "Look Mom! It's a gay thing!"

It's funny, I had a mix of emotions as Hunter made that thrilling observation. I still carry the emotional scars of my internal homophobia, which seem to be so close to the surface when my parents are near. So, my initial reaction was worry about how my mother would react to Hunter's statement. I fought an almost instinctual reaction to hush Hunter. I'm glad I didn't. My mother stayed quiet, but smiled, which gave me cautionary comfort. It's not that my mother isn't proud of Hunter's openness or of my family. It's just completely different for her to see our reality juxtaposed against fear she harbored for years about what might happen to me. It was fueled by what happens so often to openly GLBT people, which often results in fatal consequences.

One thing my mother and I share is a deep abiding faith in God and how it shapes our lives. I learned my faith from my mother, who raised me in the Congregational tradition, but her heart called her to join the Catholic Church just before I left for college. Ironically, one of the first conversations I had about my being lesbian was with her priest, who was remarkably helpful to me.

My family has enjoyed a different faith experience. Donna was raised Catholic as well, and given my Protestant upbringing, we felt the Episcopal tradition would suit us well. It has. One of the things I love most about the sacrament of Holy Baptism (BCP p. 308) is the prayer recited at the time of Baptism. Part of the prayer includes the phrase, "Give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works." The discerning part is what gets me every time. I love that we are asking the child to honor debate and inquiry. Not to accept things blindly, but to hold their own opinion, shaped by thoughtful prayer.

Hunter's discerning spirit fuels his pride

That discerning spirit is one thing I love so much about both of our children. I'm so proud of Hunter's joy in seeing things that celebrate his parents' community. He's a tremendous ally to us and just recently participated in the 2012 Pride NYC parade with Donna, riding shotgun on her bike with the Sirens NYC Motorcycle Club.

So, it's a profound blessing that we have raised two children who understand that diversity comes in all shapes and sizes, seen and unseen, but always received with respect and whenever possible, celebrated with unbridled excitement. Hunter continues to demonstrate character that I can only aspire to. I've said it before and I'll say it again, "I want to be like my son when I grow up."

St. Mark’s Episcopal Church Gay Pride Sunday Sermon (June 24th)

For those of you who were unable to make Sunday's sermon, I decided to reprint it here. Thank you all for your support and love.

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May God bless this message and keep our hearts open to His word. . .

 As I reflect upon this evening’s scripture (Mark 4:35-41), it resonates with my own personal journey. Growing up in Maine, I was aware of my sexual orientation from the tender age of 7. It scared me to death to know that I liked girls more than I liked boys. And, I intuitively knew that I could never let anyone know about that. I prayed that those feelings would go away.

I try to imagine the fear the disciples had as the storm kicked up and they thought their lives were over. And then there was Jesus, whose faith in his own well-being allowed him to sleep soundly. Given how busy his days were like, it must have been so frustrating to be shaken from his slumber by his petrified disciples.

Simple, yet profound.

It makes me think about how many years I lived in fear of being fully myself, feeling like I was being tossed about in a storm with no way to find solid ground. I can’t count how many times had I argued with God, asking Him why He had made me this way. There was too much noise in my head. Noise that the world put there, convincing me that to be anything other than straight was wrong and that  I must be deficient or mentally ill. Noise that undermined my faith that God didn’t make mistakes and I had a right to a relationship with God and to be loved and love the way I believe God intended for me.

For many years, I thought that being gay was mutually exclusive to being a good Christian. I actually dreamed of becoming a pastor, and deferred that ambition, primarily because I thought being gay negated my ability to serve as a pastor. Admittedly, I also was tired of being poor and wanted to join a profession where I could make money. So, tonight’s opportunity is a blessed gift.

Tonight, I speak as a wife and a mother; both of which were roles I never imagined playing as I grew up. It shows how God dreams bigger than we can. More than twelve years ago I met and fell in love with my wife. Donna always knew she’d be a mom someday; yet, unlike me, didn’t realize she was a lesbian until well into her adulthood.

Reverend Valerie asked me to speak this evening because she felt that someone who is gay could speak with more integrity than she herself could on Gay Pride Sunday. I’m honored that she’s sharing her pulpit, but would argue that her voice is just as important as mine in conveying the importance of the LGBT community to our faith family and the other communities in which we live, and work, and play.

It’s important to understand that when I was growing up, I had no direct visibility to other LGBT people. I certainly hadn’t heard welcoming messages directed toward people who were gay. If anything, I watched their humanity ripped away as the gay part of their identity became nothing more than the punch line in a joke. In 1984, I was 13 years old when three young men beat up and killed Charlie Howard, who was only 23 years old, because he was gay. They threw him over a bridge in downtown Bangor. He was treated as nothing more than some annoying bug that had to be destroyed for its nuisance. In the aftermath of that event, people joked about the new name for the bridge. It went like this: “What do the Indians call the bridge in downtown Bangor? Chuck-a-homo.” I can’t say with certainty that I didn’t laugh at the joke as a 13-year old girl trying to fit in and not be identified as another “homo.” I can say with certainty that any inclination I had to share my orientation with my parents or other trusted adults was gone. I knew then that I had to leave Maine, my cherished home, to find any sense of safety.

And it saddens me to think that we are not much further along in our thinking because it’s not quite two years since Tyler Clementi’s suicide. As I learned of that tragedy, it’s what compelled me to start sharing our parenting journey in my blog, Out in Suburbia. I can’t help but think that if Tyler and other LGBT kids had a line of sight to others who were like them, they may have made different choices.

I desperately wish Tyler knew that he could have had a fulfilling life. Kids need to understand that they don’t need to be world famous musicians or comics or actors to be accepted for who they are. The can be just as innocuous as a certain inter-racial lesbian couple I know living “Out in Suburbia.”

I used the word innocuous just now. In this context, it means inoffensive. That’s how we try to live our lives. Although we have always lived authentically, we want the people we interact with to understand we have no intention of offending them. But, that doesn’t mean we aren’t offended at times. As we got to know our neighbors, we spoke casually about our family, not wanting to stand out as “the lesbians,” but hopefully demonstrating that our family is quite a bit like their families. So, as we move outside of our safe community, it’s jarring when we realize just how many assumptions people make about our family and how those assumptions can be terribly offensive.

When I was called to speak tonight, Reverend Valerie asked me about how St. Mark’s could do a better job of making our parish more welcoming to LGBT families. It really caused reflection on what experiences have not been welcoming. Not here, per se, but elsewhere. And of course, I had to ask Donna what she thought. And boy, did I stir up a hornet’s nest.

One of the things we love most about St. Mark’s is the diversity here. I like to imagine that this is what Heaven will be like; people of all backgrounds and cultures coming together to honor our differences and build upon our common values. But we’re not completely there yet. If we want to make St. Mark’s more welcoming to LGBT families, Donna and I believe you need to look at us like you would a straight family.

In other words, don’t make our being here unique.  Despite the best of intentions, so many straight people move through the world with what I like to call “straight privilege.” What I mean by that is they think it’s okay to ask VERY personal questions.

For example, people here would never ask the person of color in a straight inter-racial relationship if she knew of any nannies that you could employ. One of my co-workers asked Donna that question in an elevator after she visited me at work in NYC.  All he saw was a Trini woman pushing a baby carriage and looked inside at a beautiful little baby boy. Rather than see Hunter’s resemblance to his mother, he saw the difference in their skin color. But, perhaps this story is more a matter of race than it is orientation?

And, I trust you would never ask a straight woman who was finally able to conceive after years of trying, who the real mother was. Someone asked us that question in a church in Morristown, as we were looking for a church home. Initially, our response was firm but friendly, as we said, “We both are.” But, he wasn’t satisfied and asked again, more loudly, as though the first time he asked we didn’t hear him correctly. Less politely this time, we answered, “we BOTH are.” He came back a third time with the same question, and a stroke of divine intervention, manifest in his wife’s form, saved him as she said, “that’s none of our business.”

I’m confident you would never ask, when a woman and her husband share that they are expecting, who the father was. Well, our landlord at the time we were expecting Hunter asked that question of us. Soon after that, we found another place to live.

Now, why is it that so many people lose respect for people’s privacy when they are talking to a same-sex couple? The questions and comments that come out of their mouths baffle us and frankly become a source of exhaustion as we have to come out and educate over and over again.

So you see, for us, “coming out” isn’t limited to one month a year in October. And celebrating our pride isn’t only done in the month of June. Coming out happens nearly every day when people overhear Skye calling Donna “Mommy” and look puzzled, largely because they have different skin color. And we celebrate our pride, when Hunter says, “I have two moms and it rocks!”  

But too often, we feel like we are being dissected to determine which members of our family unit share the same DNA. And that negates the very prayerful way that we planned and loved our family into existence just like so many of you.

What we need is for St. Mark’s to continue to be a haven of understanding. We just want recognition that we fall in love the same way you do, we make commitments to each other the same way you do, we pray that our kids grow up healthy and happy just like you do, and we weather the difficult times and enjoy the good times, just like you do.

So, my call to action for St. Mark’s is to become that church home where we can come to worship and enjoy fellowship, just like you do.  

Now understand, we are not opposed to educating one another about who we are as members of the LGBT community. This can also be the place were we hold forums to talk about our differences and highlight our similarities, and advocate for one another. But when we first arrive, please just let us feel like any other family looking for a place of worship in which we can raise our families and have a sense of belonging.

Once we get that dynamic solidly in place, and when your LGBT education is complete, who knows what differences we could make outside of St. Mark’s walls?

I’ll leave you with one final thought. In tonight’s scripture, Jesus told His disciples, “don’t you even yet have confidence in me?” I want us all to remember His words and have confidence in each other as we create a space where we won’t have to hide in any closets and we can all enjoy the blessing of acceptance and understanding.

Amen.

"Would you preach on Gay Pride Sunday?"

My life is blessed. I feel like a woman who has been looking for something she thought she had lost, only to find it in plain view. God's voice has been amplified in my life lately. I think He's raising his voice now, because the subtle whisper couldn't be heard over the rest of the noise in my head. I'm glad He did. And like the maestro He is, He's used an orchestra of musicians to get my attention.

When His voice was a whisper, I attended East Orrington Congregational Church in Orrington, Maine and was an active member during the 1980s. At that time in my life, the church was my sanctuary. It was a place that fostered my spirituality and presented a possible vocation that felt perfect. My heart wanted to answer the call to service and attend divinity school. However, my fear was that my being a lesbian negated my own divinity and therefore my calling. But how I yearned to wear a clerical collar and robes, just like my hero, the Rev. Robert T. Carlson, God rest his soul. I thought to myself, if not now, later. I was sure that by the time I was 40, I'd be ordained.

Fast forward twenty-five years later to my present situation and most people will see a 41-year old business woman who loves to help people develop their skills and find their own path in IBM. To keep my sanity, I think of my work as a people manager as a type of ministry. And my employer allows me to work from home, giving me the flexibility to be present for my children, two blessings I never dreamed I would have when I was growing up. I thought I'd be the favorite aunt and spoil my nieces and nephews. Instead, I'm learning as much from my "babies" as they are from me. So, with all the competing demands for my attention, the call has gotten lost in the noise that surrounds me.

Rev. Valerie Bailey Fischer got my attention

Recently, I've been tuned into Oprah Winfrey's network and her phenomenal Life Class series. It helped me recognize that I could still answer my calling and find ways to fulfill the highest, truest expression of myself.  And then last weekend, Rev. Valerie Bailey Fischer called me. I met Rev. Valerie at a cottage party hosted by one of the members of our church, St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Teaneck, NJ. During the party, I shared with Rev. Valerie that I was a blogger and shared the adventures in parenting my wife and I enjoyed. I left her with my blog address. Little did I know how my blog would be received.

Our parish has always been progressive and has been inclusive of LGBT families, which is largely why Donna and I are parishioners, albeit, not actively present on Sundays. I shared with Rev. Valerie that our family's schedules make attending church services on Sundays hard to accomplish. She promised that she'd find other ways to pull us in. She's made good on that promise. She called me and mentioned that she's been following my blog and asked if I would preach on Gay Pride Sunday.

I'm glad she was on a phone and not in front of me, because my mouth fell open and for a moment I was speechless (hard for some of my friends to believe, I'm sure). Now, I hear the call  and I'm going to find ways actively listen and act on it. The first step will be to share my faith journey with the other parishioners in attendance on June 24th, when we will celebrate Gay Pride. And this time, I will not put artificial deadlines in place that serve only to frustrate and discourage me as I move along the path God intended. This time, I will remember that it's God's time, not my time, that matters.

"Dear Mrs. and Mrs. Graffam"

The school year is winding down and we're in the midst of paging in and out of work responsibilities and school events that mark our children's milestones. One of the annual events at our children's elementary school is the Parent Appreciation Breakfast. It's an event to honor the parents that are actively involved in the school. I'm proud to say that we've been invited nearly every year since Hunter's been in kindergarten. He's going into Middle School in the Fall.

Yesterday, Hunter ran out to pass me this year's invitation and the card was addressed, "Dear Mrs. and Mrs. Graffam." It made me so proud of my family and of Jefferson Elementary School. The first week of kindergarten for Hunter set the tone for our experience. It was then that one of the parents overheard another student in Hunter's class ask very conspicuously why he had two moms. I was speechless as I collected my wits and tried to answer in a manner that wouldn't make Hunter a social outcast for the balance of his elementary school career. The other mother, who has since become a dear friend, answered him by saying, "Because he's lucky."

Mrs. and Mrs. Graffam

I was so relieved. I remember watching Hunter stand a lot taller in that moment, excited that someone else outside his world felt compelled to defend him. I recovered by asking the little boy if he had two parents, and he said yes. I told him, "Then you're lucky, too." From that moment, we lived authentically, not outrageously, and people responded to us as they did any other actively involved parents. And so, it was not a surprise, rather an affirmation, when I opened that invitation yesterday and saw the salutation, "Mrs. and Mrs. Graffam."

Oh, if only the State of New Jersey would and other states in this great nation would catch up with the thinking in Bergenfield, NJ. I have faith that eventually, and hopefully before our children are adults, we will be able to marry in the State of New Jersey. For now, I take comfort in knowing that this union is what God intended for us and we simply have to wait for the State to catch up. Civil Unions take us only so far. We need equal rights, not special rights. The following facts are summarized quite simply:

Besides the emotional component of simply being "married," there are quite a few legal differences between a civil union and a civil marriage, primarily that civil unions are only recognized in the state in which they are performed, while marriages are recognized in all 50 states. Because civil unions are recognized only in the state performed, civil unions do not get any federal protections. Moreover, if a same-sex couple were recognized in a civil union in Vermont, they would not be recognized in Texas, while a marriage in one state is recognized in all states.

 

Also, with a civil union, if the couple wants it dissolved, they must get it dissolved in the state it was conducted. For instance, in Vermont, civil unions can only be dissolved in Vermont and one of the partners must have been a resident of the state to get it dissolved. On the other hand, a married couple can get a divorce in any of the fifty states.

 

Moreover, civil unions - because they are not recognized by the federal government - do not gain any of the tax breaks that married couples get, such as the ability to file their taxes jointly. In all, there are over 1,000 benefits and protections afforded to married couples by the federal government that civil unions do not get.

--Reprinted from freeuslaw.com

So, I will wait, rather impatiently, and see how long it will take for this great nation to realize that we should also to be able to join together in marriage, and enjoy the rights and responsibilities every other married couple is afforded. I have to wonder why so many politicians and lobbyists and religious zealots find that concept so threatening. After all, I just want to make an honest woman out of my wife.

"I got the perfect Moms."

"Happy Mother's Day, Mama."

"Thank you, Skye." I answered, still wiping the sleep from my eyes. I stumbled into the kitchen to make coffee, feeling like there wasn't enough caffeine in Columbia to help me through the day. "But honey, it's not Mother's Day yet. It's only May 8th."

"I know, Mama. I'm going to celebrate Mother's Day everyday because I got the perfect moms and you got the perfect daughter."

I smiled, realizing that she was absolutely right. God was in the mix that morning, and His message rang through my fatigue and that fragmented feeling that I get when my mind is racing through all the tasks on my to-do list.

Sky reminds me that God is in the mix.

My list is longer these days, because I'm trying to launch an anti-bullying company, I was just promoted at work, and the school year is winding down, so I'm at school volunteering and preparing for year-end activities related to the Safety Team I am part of. It seems that God's been listening as I pray for Him to "use me up." That "be careful what you ask for" adage has started to feel all too ominous. But, in that moment with Skye, I was reminded to stop and enjoy the moment. I tend to rush ahead about five hours, or five days, or five months from any given moment, keeping track of my commitments like I track a project's progress on a Gantt chart at work.

That moment with Skye is a clear message that having two moms is not a detriment to her upbringing, but a perfect gift from God that keeps on giving. She and Hunter are precious blessings who demonstrate to me everyday what it means to be authentic and honest and open to all the love the world has to offer. Messages like the one she shared that morning wash away all the emotional debris left behind after arguments over what outfit she's going to wear, whether or not she's going to shower before or after she does homework, and what's for dinner. It washes away all the doubts about whether I'm doing enough to help her grow up happy and healthy. It showed me that even when I feel like I've moved away from the purposeful approach to parenting I strive for, God is still there, helping me juggle the different hats I have to wear every day.

So, as life races by and the pace I keep threatens my well-being, I'll stop long enough to remember how her words felt like God's embrace. I'll lean into that embrace and trust that Skye is right; she's got the perfect Moms and we have the perfect daughter.

"Is Hell real?"

Hunter's questions cast out some personal demons

 Hunter has a lot on his nearly 11-year old mind. He's always been something of an old soul and very much in touch with his emotions and intuitive and sympathetic to the emotions around him. Even knowing this, I was profoundly moved when we visited the pastor of East Orrington Congregational Church, my childhood church home.

We stopped in when I arrived in my hometown. I was moved to visit because of an all too recent tragedy involving the alleged suicide of my hero, The Reverend Bob Carlson. He had been the pastor of the church when I was growing up and I needed to be close to his spirit. I wanted Hunter to see where I had gone to church, although the building I had attended was torn down decades ago to accommodate the growing congregation. My experience was the little church on the hill. Current parishioners are attending a much larger church.

Pastor Carl was warm and welcoming as he answered the door. The secretary had to take the day off, leaving Pastor Carl to answer the bell. Immediately we felt at home. Pastor Carl's gift was clear as Hunter opened up quickly and began asking him questions about the Bible, about the vestry, and about life.

Suddenly, Hunter looked a bit sheepish as he looked at me and then turned to Pastor Carl and said, "I don't know if I should ask this in a church, but is Hell real?"

I must have been visibly surprised, although I did my best to stay even-keeled as Pastor Carl prepared his response. He looked to me before he began and I gave a nod of consent to answer. 

"Hell is here right now," responded Pastor Carl.

I wasn't prepared for that answer, but I appreciated his candor and his ability to make an intangible concept understood by my son. Hunter was fascinated as Pastor Carl continued.

"We create our own Hell." He went on to share a story that I won't relate here, but it drove home the message that we are often the very ones responsible for our own torment . And the secret to escaping from Hell on Earth is to forgive the transgressor who put us there. Often, that transgressor lives inside us.

I find it fascinating that Hell was on Hunter's mind, since it was on mine too. Bob's death was far too fresh and the things he was being publicly accused of were terrible things. Things that when I read about them in other contexts, in other towns, I found myself quick to say, "There's a special place in Hell for them." My own harsh judgement was on trial suddenly, and I felt ashamed for being so self-righteous. My heart was aching and still does for the man that I knew to be kind and generous and loving. I realized I was in my own Hell, and had to trust that what my spirit told me was true. Bob was with God and being well cared for and cherished. Once I leaned into that belief, I found peace, and left my self-imposed Hell.

I am so blessed to have had  that humbling experience. Adding to it that my son was the one who helped lead me out of a Hell I hadn't even recognized before that moment, made the experience that much more precious.

"You two are one of the greatest couples I know"

As we celebrate Easter, I can't help but reflect on the symbolism that surrounds the holiday. It's not about chocolate bunnies, Cadbury chocolate eggs, and Easter egg hunts. It's a celebration of rebirth and resurrection. The promise of everlasting life and redemption. It is a time we are reminded to lean into our faith during our darkest hours and trust in the promise that God is with us, willing to lift our burdens if we simply believe.

I often wonder what Jesus was thinking as he celebrated Passover with his disciples the day he was arrested. The Last Supper was actually the Seder (family holiday ritual meal). They were remembering how the Israelis were freed from slavery.

I find it beautifully ironic that Jesus was about to free his followers from spiritual slavery, although they didn't understand the profound journey they were about to take with Him. This time of year causes me to reflect on my own rebirth. I love that my name, Stacy, is of Greek origin and means "The resurrection." There have been points in my life when part of me has died and my soul was resurrected with new hope and purpose.

When I came out of the closet at nineteen, the facade that I would ever be straight died. I chose to be authentic about who I was. When I made that decision, I leaned into my faith that my long term happiness would be better served by embracing all of who I was. At the time I came out, I was tormented with the fear that my sexuality was counter to my spirituality. Some branches of organized religion still think my "lifestyle" is an abomination. I only wish that they could see my "lifestyle" is very much grounded in the same family values they have.

Donna and I are received as "The Graffams", not as "The Lesbians"

When I married my wife and we became parents, the single person died and my perspective of how I fit in the world changed dramatically. I moved from a self-centered vantage point to a beautiful space in which I recognized how we are all connected and how important it is to create a loving, nurturing home for my children and my family. I want to instill strong values in my children so they understand the importance of contributing to  their community. I want them to demonstrate good citizenship and use their individual skills and talents to contribute to something greater than they are by themselves.

I believe that goal is being achieved. My family and friends know that I believe God speaks to us through one another. As I spoke to the crossing guard at my children's school today, she shared that Donna and I are one of the greatest couples she knows. She talked about Hunter's manners and  Skye's zest for life. We were talking about how being Gay or Lesbian is perceived in the world. She underscored what Donna and I have felt since we moved to Bergenfield. We are and always have been a part of this community and no one has ever made us feel like we had to work harder to be accepted because we are lesbian. We are not seen as the gay couple, we are seen as the Graffams.  

I hope and pray that all GLBT people find a place in the world like we have. If you do, you'll know how wonderful it feels to be authentic and be seen for who you are, not for who you're not.

"He gets it from his Moms."

My mother has come a long way since thinking I was going through some kind of collegiate confusion more than twenty years ago when I came out. Today, she warmly embraces my family and joyfully enjoys my stories about the children and Donna and how we move through the world together. Last month, as Hunter and I were heading back to New Jersey after a visit that was far too short, Hunter was balancing his gear while trying to open the car door. I made my way over to help him, telling him how talented he was to manage it all on his own.

My mother was watching all of this perched on the deck of my childhood home. Her response touched my heart when I heard her say, "He gets it from his mothers."

Wow! As I think back nearly twelve years ago when Donna and I were planning a life together, I remember struggling to find peace with my mother's disapproval of the choices I made and my own belief that I belonged with Donna. My parents decided not to attend our Commitment Ceremony in May of 2000. How I longed to have her share my joy that I had finally found the right partner with whom to spend my life.

Hunter manifests the best of both parents

 It was only after Hunter's birth that she came to understand how committed I was to building a life with Donna and enjoying all the blessings that God had in store for us.

I distinctly remember the time during which Donna and I were pouring over the choices we needed to make to realize our dream of having children . I so wanted to share each moment with my mother; however, at that time in our relationship, our conversations were strained and cluttered with small talk,designed to hide the important things that needed to be discussed. So, I was thrilled to hear the change in her voice when I told her Donna was pregnant and I intended to adopt our baby to share parental rights. I think that up until that point, she was fearful that our commitment to each other wasn't stable enough to have children. Looking at it from her vantage point, I had moved to New Jersey to be with Donna in March and by December, we were pregnant! It was analogous to a straight couple coming back from their honeymoon with a bun in the oven.

Today, I love that we have come to love and respect one another and really enjoy each others company. Now, the moments of silence between us are nothing more than pauses in a conversation we started more than 40 years ago when I was born.

I will agree with my mother that Hunter has gotten much of his talent from his mothers. It only makes sense, since so much of what I bring to the world is because of my her.

"It looks like Heaven!"

Recently, Hunter and I took a trip together to Maine to enjoy some ice fishing and time with my parents.

We had just started out on our trip. It was before dawn and our route suddenly became very foggy. I felt myself tense up as I navigated the Jeep through dense fog and darkness. Rather than be concerned, Hunter exclaimed, "It looks like Heaven, Mom!"

Hunter found Heaven on Earth

I found myself relax almost instantaneously from the knowledge that God spoke through Hunter, reminding me that He's at the wheel. It was one of those humbling moments. A moment when my delusion that I'm in control of anything was shattered with the reality that there is a Higher Power in charge. The only thing I'm in control of is how willing I am to lean into my faith to find my center and focus as life throws me off balance.

I'm a person who has a lot of responsibility so it's hard for me to trust blindly and not try to take charge. Not only am I a parent of two beautiful children, which is daunting in itself, I'm also a manager of a team of people responsible for helping pursuit teams close multimillion dollar opportunities. I have to keep myself focused on keeping each member of that team competitive and attentive to the demands of our customers. I pride myself on being very good at my job. But this week, I had to let two members of my team know they would no longer have a job. I felt like I had failed in my ability to keep them gainfully employed.

I know that I had little say in how the decisions were made at the top of the company. Likewise, I know that I have little say in God's plan. As Hunter showed me, I have to remember to look at the situation from a different vantage point. Some may call it naive to think that in this economy those employees will actually have better opportunities in front of them. But I have to believe that's the case.

I have to believe that in the same way I believe in that Higher Power. I take great inspiration from my son and his old soul. He's a beautiful spirit looking at the world through the fresh eyes of a child and teaching me to do the same thing whenever possible. I'm going to hold my faith in a Greater Plan closer than ever during these challenging times.

Because what I've just learned from Hunter is that sometimes, when what I see in front of me is dark and murky, someone else sees Heaven.

"Our hands are best friends."

I was walking Skye to school last week and asked her to hold my hand because it was lonely.

She had a sweet grin on her face as she took my hand and said,"Our hands are best friends." It was the most genuine, spontaneous response and one that really tugged at my heart strings. 

Skye's joyful expression mirrors my own.

It reminded me of a great lyric in one of my favorite songs, Amy Grant's She Colors My Day released in 2009. The phrase "In her skin I end and begin." articulates precisely how I feel about Skye. I am still incredulous that I have a little girl whom so many people insist looks very much like me. We share the same slope of our nose, the shape of our eyes and the curve of our smile.  I've started to respond to those observations by saying she's "the new and improved version" of me.

For both Hunter and Skye, my aspiration for them is to have a new and improved opportunity to exceed the accomplishments their mother and I have realized in our adulthood. And I know that is a common aspiration most parents have for their children. It seems that the challenges rising up to meet our children's adult worlds are greater with each generation. The fear of what those challenges may throw at our children must be tempered with the faith that they will have the fortitude to overcome them.


God has blessed Donna and me with the most thoughtful, intelligent children. Each of them demonstrate their charm, their wit, and their unique approach to what life throws at them every day. Watching their resilience and their ability to navigate through challenges is a joy that reinforces our confidence that they will successfully navigate through childhood into a happy adulthood. Hunter shared recently that a friend asked him how he could have two moms as parents. Her tone implied that she knew the science behind how a child is conceived and wanted to know whether he knew who his father was. His quick response back to her was, "End of conversation." He didn't miss a beat and showed how quickly he could establish firm boundaries with friends. He also demonstrated how confident he is and comfortable with his family. I was so proud of how he handled that situation.

This example is one reminder of how often I forget to appreciate my children's own independence and person hood and get caught up in the desire to protect them from anything uncomfortable or bad. Sometimes, I'm able to step out of that protective mode to let them experience life as it comes so they can learn from the lessons that broken hearts, hurt feelings and perceived injustices teach.

After all, it's those experiences that teach the most important lessons.

So, when other situations arise in their lives and we're not within earshot, I know they will be able to pick themselves up and dust themselves off and come home to share their pain with us. And as they relate their stories, they will know that we will hold their hands and provide a safe place for them to heal and learn from their experiences.

Thankfully, Skye already realizes that our hands are best friends, and best friends last forever.

"Now, our family is back together."

 O Happy Day! My wife is home. She was gone for nearly two weeks and the kids and I did well overall, but boy are we glad to have her back.

Donna was in Trinidad with her parents and her brother, preparing for her Dad's 80th birthday celebration. It was an important time for her and her family, both the part she has here and the part she has in Trinidad. It was a critical lesson in parenting, too. Our children, especially Hunter, were not happy to stay behind. Hunter insisted that his middle name was "Party" and that not being there was counter-intuitive if Donna wanted to make sure the party was sufficiently entertaining. Skye seemed to take things in stride, but was shocked that Donna did not plan on going to the beach when she was there. The lesson for the children was that school is important and they can't skip nearly two weeks of classes, regardless of how much we wanted to go as a family.

When I dropped Donna off at the airport, the children were a mess. I expected the tears from Hunter, but I was shocked at Skye's reaction; because apart from being very happy-go-lucky, she tends to be rather stoic when it comes to expressing sadness or hurt feelings. However, as soon as Donna walked through security to leave, she joined Hunter and began sobbing into a melt-down I wasn't prepared for.

Fortunately, I was able to make my way out of the airport without being stopped for ID, as both children were crying for Mommy. I thought to myself, some well-meaning stranger is going to stop me and ask for my relationship to these children.

So, as we fast-forward nearly two weeks,  it was precious to witness our reunion in the school yard. As she clung to both Donna and myself, Skye whispered in my ear, "Our family is back together again."

Later, as Skye sat on my lap, she told me, "When Mommy was gone, the puzzle broke. Now that she's home the piece is back and the puzzle is back together." I think that's a perfect metaphor for family's in similar situations. What I love most about that metaphor is the unity of the family, but recognition that the family is made up of its individual pieces. When one of the pieces is missing, the family is not the same.

I know that the children's reactions to her absence and joy at our reunion took Donna by surprise. I don't think we understand individually the importance each of us brings to the table until it's gone. Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder and helps us develop a conscious appreciation for the merits each one of us brings to our family. A small example was my valiant efforts at cooking Donna's french toast  or eggs and bacon like Mommy does rather than fall back on my cereal menu during our morning routine. Believe me, Donna's breakfasts are much better.

A week has passed since our reunion and Skye still talks about how much she loves and missed Donna. Now, as I prepare to leave with Hunter for a long weekend, I jokingly hope that Skye's psyche is not irreparably damaged by another separation.

What this experience has left me with is an unshakable belief that Donna and I are doing something right if our children are that affected by our absence. What a fantastic blessing we enjoy!

"This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine."

Skye loves to sing. She loves music and she loves to perform, except when she's on a real stage, upon which she'll freeze into a petrified little girl. That's a juxtaposition for Skye, because at home and in class, she's a ham. She'll strike a pose vogue-style as soon as she sees a camera come out of its case. And, she'll put on shows in the living room at the drop of a hat. Her imagination is phenomenal and if the world is a stage, then she's got the starring role.

Lately, she's been singing "This Little Light of Mine."  I love that song for so many reasons. The first of which is that using light as a metaphor for life is perfect. The love emanating from our spirits casts out darkness, a metaphor for evil. So, I'll always believe that there will be more light than darkness in this world.

The second reason that I love that song is that all of us have a light that is unique. When all of us bring our light to bear, the world it lit up with brilliant rainbows. As I  think about what makes me unique, I'm not sure I can answer it succinctly. Everyone has a myriad of gifts and talents that together make us special. For example, I'm a left-handed, lesbian mother and writer born and raised in the great State of Maine who has a penchant for  Anne Murray's music, a love for all things Caribbean (especially my wife) and an endless curiosity about the spiritual bond that connects us all. Even that definition leaves out a lot that others may throw into descriptions of me.

Finally, This Little Light of Mine, written by Harry Dixon Loes (1895-1965) in about 1920 is often thought of as a Negro spiritual. It does not, however, appear in any collection of jubilee or plantation songs from the nineteenth century. Under the influence of Zilphia Horton, Fannie Lou Hamer and others it eventually became a Civil Rights anthem in the 1950s and 1960s. And for that reason, I associate it with the courage and bravery of the men and women who marched for our civil rights and sacrificed a great deal of themselves to bring us to this point in our history.

As we turn our calendars to February and celebrate Black History Month, I am grateful to everyone who helped us evolve into a more diverse and brilliant community. We still have a long journey ahead of us, but at least we're closer to Dr. King's vision of having people judged for the content of our character, versus the color of our skin.

I hope that thinking continues to infuse the Gay Rights Movement as we still struggle to attain the same rights as our heterosexual friends. So, as Skye sings about her light and I celebrate mine, I hope we all find ways to bring our light into the world and together paint a spectacular rainbow that never ends.

"My heart hurts because it misses Mommy."

Recently, Donna made a trip to Trinidad to celebrate her father's 80th birthday, and I stayed home with the children. When we dropped her at the airport, it was heartbreaking to see the kids crumple into tears. It's the first time Donna's been away from the children for such a long time. Hunter was nearly inconsolable and Skye's description for her own heartache was, "My heart hurts because it misses Mommy."

Nothing else could have better described the feelings we were all having. That ache when someone you love is not near is tangible. The only thing that seemed to slow the tears and crying was getting them to look at the situation differently.

I turned to Hunter and said, "I want you to think about how you feel missing Mommy for nine days. Now, think about how Granny and Grandad and Uncle Terrence feel not having her around most of the year."

Hunter paused and  through his tears said, "I never thought of it like that. That must really be hard."

It is really hard for both Donna and her parents. I can relate because my parents live far away too. I've learned that homesickness doesn't magically disappear when you have your own family. The obligations and perceived distractions raising young children provide doesn't make missing your family of origin go away. Instead, the ache grows deeper and the need to have our parents around or at least closer is more acute as our family grows. I want to have my parents witness the stories I share with them first-hand.

To pass the time until Donna comes home, Hunter has been enjoying Facetime visits via his iPod and phone calls to Trinidad and Skye has been creating beautiful "love kords (aka cards)" for Mommy.  
 
But, it's not the same as having her here. Likewise, I know that I would love nothing more than having the opportunity to call my parents and ask them over for dinner so they could enjoy time with the grandchildren and once they were tucked into their beds, time with me. That spontaneity some families enjoy is not something we have. Our visits are carefully planned and orchestrated and the itineraries while visiting become daunting as we try to fit time in with other relatives as well. 

Although our technology helps to a degree in bridging the distance geography creates, it's not nearly as adequate as sitting in the same room, sharing coffee and stories drawn both from fond memories and recent escapades. So, as I retrieve my lovely wife from the airport after her visit is complete, I know that along with her joy in seeing us she will be carrying the sorrow of leaving her family of origin behind.

I guess we'll all just have to wait for technology to allow us to transport ourselves from one location to the next, Star Trek-style. Until then, we will cherish face to face visits that much more.

"I love it when it's just you and me."

One on one time with our children is so important, but it's equally hard to come by as we try to manage our busy schedules. Not only do I have to sync my calendar with my wife, but I also have to start syncing Hunter's and Skye's social calendars and extra-curricular activities. It's a daunting prospect most days to have all four of us in the same room together for longer than 30 minutes at a time. So, I can't imagine how families with more children achieve quality family time together.

On Saturdays, if things are slow at the zoo, where Donna works, then she'll take Hunter with her for the day and I will spend time alone with Skye. That was our arrangement today, and Skye and I got to spend the day enjoying a slow start, French toast and banana for breakfast, the typical four or five loads of laundry cycling in the basement, and today, the first real snowstorm of the season, so shoveling out the driveway and walkway and throwing down ice-melt was in order. Skye was only too happy to do ice-melt duty.

Once all of the chores were finished, and the laundry was on its third load, I took Skye sledding at the elementary school they attend. The school sits on a slope and it's a thrilling experience for anyone still in the single-digit age range. I am convinced that one of the most beautiful sounds in the world is a child's uninhibited laughter as they swoosh down a hill of fresh snow. As we were approaching the school, Skye said, "I love it when it's just you and me."

I responded, "I do too, honey."

It's been a beautiful day with Skye, and it makes me look forward even more to the special trip Hunter and I have planned for next month on his winter break when we head up to Maine.

The blessings of those moments when multi-tasking can stop and living the moment is all that's required is precious. It's rare to find those moments of complete presence and I'm going to try even harder this year to soak them up as they happen. My little girl is already well into her kindergarten year and that only means her life will become peppered with more activities and as such, so will mine.

So, Skye, I love it when it's just you and me; and Hunter, I love it when it's just me and you. You each teach me more about what's truly important than any other people. So, I really wonder, is it the parent who teaches the child or the child who awakens the child within the parent to remind us of what our priorities need to be?

Regardless, I thank you both. And Donna, let's see if we can find that time to say, "I love it when it's just me and you." I think it's time for a sitter. 

Now, let's see if I can find it with Donna, too :)

"When did you become my Mommy?"

Bath time seems to be a time of reflection for Skye. Donna had bath duty the other night and I heard Skye ask, "Mommy, when did you become my Mommy?"

Donna answered, "I've always been your Mommy."

Nickie pressed for more details, "From when?"

"From when you came out of Mama's belly. Actually, I was your mommy before, while you were in Mama's belly." Donna answered patiently.

Skye simply answered, "Oh."

It's true. Donna and I planned for both of our precious children and began dreaming of them before they were biologically conceived. I have this vision that the unborn souls in Heaven are looking for the right match before they jump into our world. I think in our case, Skye was looking for parents with wit, a great sense of humor, patience and tough love. She's gotten that in spades.

Similar to her questions to Donna, Skye asked me the other day where she was when I was a little girl. I told her, " In Heaven, waiting to be born."

It's interesting that from the moment we can speak, we start trying to figure out when we started. It brings a whole new perspective on the age old question, "When does life begin?"

Before I was a parent, I would have answered "When the sperm meets the egg." Now, I really do believe that there are souls in Heaven, waiting to be born. Sometimes a soul will wait human lifetimes before it's ready to join us down here. Other times, it will jump in as soon as it can, eager to experience the human condition.

Personally, I believe we will never really know when our lives begin. As a spiritual person, I don't think we need to know. All we need to embrace is that each and everyone living creature on this planet is connected somehow. The sanctity of that belief system is what governs how I walk in the world. Donna and I both do so with respect, gratitude and reverence. I trust that our children will do the same.