I Know You Are, But What Am I?

My son received a text message form a friend who is bisexual, "I said 'hey' to someone and they told me 'F*** you fag.'  Being friendly=gay."   

I asked my son if he ever gets treated like this and he laughed and said no.  But, then back stepped a bit and said, "Well, you hear people say stuff, but I just blow it off."  He reassured me most people don't give him any problems; I think his thick skin filters most of the ugliness out, but he wasn't born with that armor.  When he was younger, I always reassured him there was nothing he could ever say or do that would change my love for him and he would always have my support.  This was my way of saying, "When you're ready to tell me you're gay, I promise to still love and support you."  He was only 5, so a little finesse was required.  He finally came out when he was in 8th grade and even after years of preparation, it knocked the wind out of me.  When asked today, my son will tell you I made a BIG DEAL out of it and in retrospect I guess I did.  I had bottled up years of saved speeches, so when he finally told me I slowly and methodically began to suffocate him with each of those speeches.  Unconditional love speech.  Personal safety speech.  Identity speech.  Safe sex speech.  I wish I would have hugged him and let the moment sustain in love and security.  The (s)mothering speeches should have waited.  I reacted with the force of an emergency response team, when really it was just my kid coming to me with something that took a lot of courage to discuss.  Damn it, I wish I could do that moment over again.

In the years leading to his coming out, my son dealt with frequent ridicule from peers.  His name was Gay, Faggot and Homo, as if this was the main identifying trait of his existence and his love for baking, music, art and computers bared no relevance.  After he finally did make the big announcement, "Yes, I'm gay!" he felt relief.  His peers quit with the names and he had more girlfriends than Tiger Woods.  His friend base changes often, since my husband's job requires us to move frequently and every few years he has to reintroduce himself as, 'the gay kid'.  Even this doesn't seem to bother him; the years of trying to hide, conform and figure out 'why in the hell am I so different' were more difficult.

Attempting to fit the social mold of perfection sucks and will eventually break a child.  I bought him GI Joe action figures and forced him to play soccer and basketball, none of which he enjoyed.  After he told me sports weren't his thing, I stopped pushing my desire for all star child bragging rights.  My child's life cannot represent my identity, it must be his own.  So, if he would rather bake, play on the computer and listen to music, so be it!  He doesn't have to be a jock to be healthy and if he's not emotionally strong, ambition becomes lost.  My all star child bragging rights can remain intact, because he's comfortable in his own skin and feels no need to fit the obnoxious mold of social perfection.  Perfection does not exist.  Control, also does not exist.  Chasing the two is a waste of energy and time (I'm only just learning this).  This race has been a relay, he now runs with the baton and it's his turn to round the corner and finish.  We are a team hoping to land a place in health and happiness and have our sights on the greatest prize: equality.  The fabulous irony is all parents want these very basic things for their children, whether they be gay or straight.  Sexuality should never play a role in these inherent rights.  Happiness.  Health.  Equality.  Being friendly=being humane.

Giddyup!

 

 

  One of my best friends recently had a baby and I've been struck with temporary baby fever.  I know it's temporary, because my husband had a date with the frozen pea vendor several years ago.  Still, the smell of lavender oatmeal baby wash and the sound of sweet cries for comfort pull at my heart and leave me daydreaming about the grandchildren I will have, many, many, many years from now.  My children have strict orders to finish college, find a stable job, save some money and THEN consider marriage.  Naturally, their partner selection will need to be pre-approved by me and chances are, I'm not going to like them.  There's a little leeway in this mindset with my son who is gay, since I won't be competing with another woman, but I anticipate a few kinks.  I've already begun sabotaging my youngest with helpful hints like, "If she asks you if she looks fat and she does: just tell her the truth.  She'll love you for it."  My husband usually swoops in saying, "Mommy's just joking, you DO NOT want to say that to a girl."  I give my youngest a smile to let him know I'm just being silly, but my inner Wicked Witch of the West mother in law persona is strategically grinding away.  Alright, I don't plan on being quite so extreme, but I do worry about them finding someone to cherish them as I do.

  Back to the matter of babies.  My son and I were watching a giggling baby video on Youtube and he reminded me that he plans on having children one day.  His vision is to use surrogacy, an intricate and costly option, and I fully support the notion.  The mom in me wants to discuss the dynamics of surrogacy (pros and cons and cost!), but I don't want to impede his desire to parent.  The inclusion of children in a marriage is a normal desire, regardless of the parent's sexual orientation, so it's good for him to dream about.  One problem, however, seems fairly obvious and I asked him, "How do you choose whose sperm will be used?"  The decision on that one definitely goes outside of paper, rock, scissors.  He shook his head at my ignorance and smiled, "Mom (long pause for the 'duh' effect), we'll have two babies."  Well that settles it.  Once again, I've managed to over complicate matters.  I love how matter of fact he was about gay couples having children and hope he's able to achieve those dreams without restraint or prejudice.  I'm ready to give progress a good giddyup in the rear.   
 

Tangent Girl!

If I were to be a super hero, I would be Tangent Girl.  My super human ability to distract people’s thoughts and even actions with the use of clever tangents could one day save the world from complete annihilation.  I’ve decided to engage this strength and discuss a few matters completely unrelated to being lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender or questioning.  We’ve entered a new and perhaps final year: 2012, The Year Time Runs Out.  The need for super heroes will be greater than ever before, so before matters become too hectic I’d like to discuss a few minor things that really, really bother me.  Tangent away!

Here we go:

1) Water rings on countertops.  I understand water glasses are going to make rings, but when the sunlight enters in a horizontal position and skims across the countertops only to reveal what appears to be a year’s worth of failed wiping attempts, my heart starts to race.  It feels like a precursor to filth, which is probably why we were taught at my Catholic grade school that French kissing is a sin.  Using this same logic, water rings on countertops are also a sin.

2) People who leave one towel on the paper towel roll, to avoid the obligation of changing it.  This one bothers me in particular, because I am guilty of the behavior and feel like I’ve been out smarted when the action is reciprocated.  I don’t like cleaning water rings with a paper towel crusted with wide strips of glue, but I also hate having to unscrew the paper towel holder to change the roll.  The forces of Dark versus Light are constantly at battle and paper towel replacement is no exception.  Wait just one minute.  Clarity has revealed itself!  The water rings have been GLUED to my countertop from using the last paper towel on the paper towel roll!  Another conspiracy unraveled.  Moving on.

3) Toilet paper in the going under position. Toilet paper is not meant to be a page from the Kama Sutra.  In the going under scenario, I almost need a map as I paw at the unseen flap of 2-ply, just so I can wipe my ass.  More gruesome, I inadvertently wipe the wall as I feel around for the toilet paper flap, which renders it used.  It’s at this point I fling the roll off the dispenser and replace it in the going over position.  The last three squares of toilet paper are then disposed of since I’ve previously used it to wipe the wall’s ass instead of my own.  Be a good citizen and always place toilet paper rolls in the going over position.  Your friends will love you for it. 

4) On the fly, phone call friends.  This would be the friend that calls you only when driving, clearly as a time killer.  These conversations are typically lacking in quality, since the main subject focuses on the problematic driver in front of them and listening to their ‘have it your way’ drive-thru order.  I tend to avoid these calls and often screen friends for possible phone call on the fly infractions.  Should I realize I am being used as a time killer, chances are I will not be picking up your next phone call any time soon.  If more than 75% of our phone conversations take place on the fly and only last from point A to B, consider yourself an offender.      

     

I’ll wrap things up with just one more vent.

5) Adults who baby talk to other adults.  Cutesy baby voices and replacing the letter ‘l’ in love with a ‘w’, when talking to another adult, is downright nauseating and causes me to feel hostile.  I am instantly convinced the cavity of their skull is void of all brain matter and begin to wonder if they believe the same of me.  Why are you talking to me like a baby?  I have 3 children and droopy boobs.  At what point did I mislead you to believe otherwise?  I am not wearing a diaper (yet)…leave the baby talk for babies.    

This was just a sample of things that bother me, but my desire to tangent has been satisfied so I’ll end it there.  I know greater conflicts compromise our society (some one please gag Rick Santorum), but I still encourage you to sweat the small stuff.  You might find yourself laughing, or at a minimum, helping a friend to understand the importance of toilet paper going over versus under.  Together we can make a difference. 

Like Sands in the Hourglass

       

Alright, folks there's been a few complaints about my lack of posting.  Guilty as charged.  The Christmas vortex sucked me in and I lost track of my lgbt quest for understanding.  We've been on the road for the last several days and I've got plenty of material to cover, but right now my stomach is on the brink of bursting from C12H22O11 toxicity.  Nasty, nasty condition.  Damn fruitcake.  Why can't just one Christmas party be a vegan abundance of healthful, guilt free choices?  I'm not vegan, but am thinking a few meat and dairy free weeks sound pretty great.  I just need to make it through the New Year festivities and if the food doesn't kill me, the people certainly will.   

  I attended Christmas party #3 of 12 a few weeks ago; this one was a matter of voluntold attendance as it was for my husband's work.  Joy. To. The. World.  In case you don't know, I'm not a fan of parties.  Mostly, because of the people attending.  I want to be a people person, but after many failed attempts I fear the cause is a lost battle.  My closest friends feel the same and also prefer wall skimming versus mingling.  We have a way of finding one another and on this grand, grand occasion I scanned the room for anti-minglers. I put my toe in the water with a few guests, but quickly learned they were altogether happy to be there, sipping cheap wine and eating lukewarm shrimp.  I had been watching the clock on the mantel, waiting for the mandatory 2 hour attendance mark to pass when I felt a pull on my arm.  Ahhhh!  Finally!  Someone to watch the mantel clock with me!

  The woman pulled me aside with a serious whisper, "I was talking with your husband and you and I have something in common with our sons."  Well, that caught my interest and I suddenly felt ready to mingle.  I looked in her eyes and could see her concern.  She needed to talk and despite the public setting I was ready to listen.  Talking about homosexuality with strangers can feel intimidating, so I gave her a warm smile and waited for her to continue.  She started, "My son is like your son and has been having a hard time in the classroom."  I felt a little confused and apparently it showed.  She lowered her voice even further and continued, "I think our son also has ADD."  Attention Deficit Disorder?  Aw crap, she's talking about my second grade son.

  I was both amused and disappointed.  Attention Deficit Disorder is certainly something I care about, since my youngest struggles with it daily, but my train of thought had already headed in the opposite direction.  The two do have something in common: about 1 in 10 people are gay (some say as many as 1 in 20, but I'm not going to argue the measurability of homosexuality) and about 1 in 10 people have some form of ADD.  These groups of people are also both freethinking human beings with self-evident rights: all men (and women) are created equal.  I guessed my new friend was not going to be in the mood for this direction of conversation and my eyes traveled back to the clock on the mantel.  Score!  We had hit the mandatory 2 hour attendance mark and I thought, "I'm sorry, miss, but our time is up for today."  As if on cue, my husband appeared and we were quick to make our departure.  I exchanged contact information with the woman, should she want to further discuss that thing our sons have in common.  I left feeling a bit like an ass, which wouldn't be a first, but all in all the party was worthwhile.  No one noticed my donkey ears and the mantel clock was right on time.   

    

LGBT Families...

How do you tell your extended family that you have a LGBT child and when?  Time to repeat myself: It’s private!  There is no Bar Mitzvah or Quinceañera style, “I’m gay!” celebration.  We don’t paint rainbows over our doorframe or place announcements in the local newspaper.  In contrast, the child typically steps in fear, wondering how their family might react to their sexuality.   Not the ideal mindset for an innocent youth.  The child’s first and foremost fear is how we as parents might react.  Society has already done a fantastic job of imbedding in their minds that homosexuality is a perversion.  So, their eyes turn to the parent.  After all, we know absolutely everything!  Moms and dads are perfect and hold the key of knowledge to unlock all childhood mysteries.   At least, that’s what I thought as a child.  Spoiler alert: I was wrong.    

The answer is, I don’t know how in the hell to tell family and if there were a “LGBT Families For Dummies”, I would buy and distribute the book.  Here’s the real kicker: I guarantee everyone has a LGBT family member and many quietly acknowledge the fact, but it’s still treated as taboo.   If you can hear me screaming, it’s because I had a close family member make an obnoxious Facebook post regarding gay marriage and it stung.  Now, have I sat down with this family member and discussed my son’s sexuality?  No, though I assume he knows.   I’m sure if I did talk about it with him, he might be more careful with his insensitive words.  But, I don’t want him to make an exception, because of my son; I want him to realize all LGBT people deserve equal rights.  Unfortunately, he doesn’t have that type of mindset and will continue to condemn, because the Bible tells us so (not my belief). 

Words hurt.  How prepared are teens in dealing with hurtful messages?  “Gay marriage is wrong!” or “You will burn in hell for gay acts!”  I mentioned 14-year-old Jamey Rodemeyer in an earlier entry.  As a gay teen, he had the support of his parents, friends and therapist, but still was the victim of bullying and words, "I wouldn't care if you died. No one would. So just do it :) It would make everyone WAY more happier!"  So he took their advice and killed himself.  Jamey should still be here.  Jamey is one of the reasons I started this blog.

I’ve managed to talk to my parents about my son’s sexuality and now I feel the need to talk to the family member who wrote those hurtful words.  I don’t expect him to change his mindset; I just want him to use more thought when blasting his opinions.  Or maybe less thought.  Or maybe I should hit him with that “For Dummies” book.  I just want to ask him to place more focus on love and acceptance.  He and I need to sit down and share a sandwich. 

Touché In A Good Way

I decided to do a little Christmas shopping this morning and found myself browsing the aisles of Ulta.  My son loves salon products (though I torture him with the more cost efficient drug store brands) and was looking for a value gift set.  None were to be found.  I had a short list of items for myself and started hunting for those.  No such luck.  Frustration started to set in, as I had coupons burning a hole in my pocket and beauty products calling my name.  I combed through the store looking for something, anything, worth buying.  My last stop was in the flat iron section.  My son has been complaining about his current flat iron "frying his hair", so maybe I would strike gold there.  Since I’ve already admitted to buying drug store shampoo (Suave to be exact), you’ve probably guessed I am not willing to shell out $100+ dollars for a flat iron.  I skimmed through the price tags, looking for something with a name brand (important to him) and low price.  I zeroed in on a hot pink Bed Head 1" flat iron for $30.  Eureka!  I began inspecting my prospect, when I felt the radar eyes of a sales associate zooming in on me.  When this happens, my guard immediately flies up.  I made my start in retail and know the associates have daily, do or die, sales goals.  I did not want to go through the spiel as to why I really NEEDED to purchase the $100 Chi flat iron.  Look lady, no one NEEDS a $100 flat iron, let alone my teenage son.  She made her way over with a glossy red smile and wing tipped eyes and asked if she could help me find anything.  I told her I had just found what I was looking for and explained it was for my teenage son.  She eyeballed the iron for a moment and looked at me with hesitance, “How do you think he’s going to feel about it being pink?”

Pause.  I have a filter, I really do.  Every time I’m asked a question, I usually think of a silent response only I could appreciate, and then speak the one I know to be appropriate.  This morning I suffered a slight filter malfunction and responded in a ‘duh’ sort of fashion, “My son is gay, he loves pink.”  She didn’t even give me time to regret or enjoy my comment with her quick reply, “My daughter is a lesbian and she can’t stand pink.”  Well damn.  This was a first.  My filter malfunction is often used as a scare tactic to make annoying people go away and she just one upped me.  Impressive.  God, maybe I do need a $100 flat iron. 

I asked the sales associate (turns out she’s the manager) if she was serious and she gave me a grinning, yes.  She told me her daughter is 23 and came out to her when she was 20.  We went on to talk for about 15 minutes comparing some of our parenting experiences.  She didn’t know her daughter was gay, growing up, but in retrospect felt there were some signs she missed.  The example she used: Her daughter would get very upset over tiffs with her (platonic) girlfriends.  More upset than what she felt was normal.  She had no idea these girlfriends were actually crushes.  Remember how tough that was?  Ugh, the heartache!  So, not only was her daughter having her heart broken, she had no one to talk about it with.  Double heartache!  

Our conversation was interrupted by a customer and we said a quick goodbye.  I felt so glad to have this exchange and left feeling completely exhilarated.  Funny how easily we connect with strangers, when we should really place more focus on connecting with those closest to us.  Thank you Ulta for a little life lesson and no, I did not buy the $100 flat iron. 

Child Predators

The accusations of child molestation on Penn State’s former assistant football coach, Jerry Sandusky, have opened a topic of discussion that I’ve been leery about sharing.  But, if I am going to talk about my experience with raising a gay teen, it’s important to discuss the good and the bad.  My son was not a victim of sexual abuse (according to today’s laws and standards), but came very close.  

If I’ve not made it obvious, my son and I are close.  We talk about almost everything and I long ago broke the parenting rule of not making friends with your child.  Be.The.Authority. Why not both?  Though some might argue the two conflict, I disagree in the realm of parenting.  I need to be friends with my child.  

He and I have been chatting as I type and he just headed out the door for school saying, “Text me.”  I asked, “Why?” His response, “I dunno, just text me and we can talk.”  That is the kind of relationship I want with my child.  He wants me in his life.  

Who feels comfortable getting nailed with questions by a figure of pure authority and how honest are they going to be with their answers?  Do not let me sugar coat this.  He frequently tries to skirt around the truth, but since we’re friends I can call him out on a lie in an instant, which results in a thin defenseless smile.   Truth then follows.  Poor kid.  I need to know when he is feeling down and why. I need to know what his relationships are like with his peers and teachers.  I need to know what paths lay before him, so I can offer advice about what they might bring.  I talk to him about music, tv shows, my experiences as a teen and so on, but there are perimeters to the friendship.  I don’t discuss finances (other than the importance of limitations and responsibility) or treat him as a confidant; I reserve those conversations for my husband.  There are various levels of friendship and I believe an authoritative friendship is possible.  We are close, but when he ignores chores, rules, academic expectations, etc., authority kicks in and he often faces a penalty (loss of cell phone, car, etc.)  My stance is he is working for himself, not me.  He is not my protégé, he is his own.  I am his biggest advocate and want nothing more than to see him happy and a productive contributor to society.  A parent is a blend of variables: guardian, role model, friend, adviser and more.  Add a splash of make life miserable (name your poison, for me it’s not giving him an allowance), so they can see what the real world is like and you have your formula.  My way isn’t necessarily the best way, but I’ve managed to open a bridge of communication.  Unfortunately, our bridge has experienced barriers.   

Facebook is an obvious danger as the perfect playground for predators and pedophiles.  My son, with my permission, created a Facebook profile when he was 14 and I religiously monitored his friend’s list.  His privacy settings were as tight as they could be.  One summer, when he was 15 I noticed he was friends with a man who appeared to be in his 40’s and I asked him about the ‘friendship’.  The man was friends of a family member, but to us a complete stranger.  Red flags everywhere, I explained that no 40+ year old stranger has any business being Facebook friends with him and insisted the man be deleted immediately.  I checked my son’s friend’s list for the man’s name in the following months and the problem appeared to be resolved.  Wrong.       

My son officially came out to me when he was 14.  More on that subject another time.  When he was 16, I caught him sneaking out and immediately confiscated his phone.  His sneaking out was a massive breach of trust and I needed answers.  I read all of his text messages, which showed nothing incriminating (always on the scout for alcohol and drug use).  Realizing his Facebook application was open; I decided to read all of his private messages.  This is when my heart dropped to the floor.  He and the strange man, who I quickly learned was also gay, had been corresponding via private message for over a year, starting when he was 15.  In the beginning, many of the conversations were harmless.  On the cover, the man seemed impressive, worldly and cool.  I Googled his name and several national newspapers and magazines mention him, as he is the long time manager of a famous national park attraction.  His occupation made my heart doubly sink: His job was to interact with families and children on the daily basis.  The conversations were baited and my son swallowed the hook.  I will not go into specifics, but as their conversations progressed the man began discussing penis size, sexual positions, techniques and fantasies of my son; it translated into over 30 pages of filth.  He even suggested my son try to visit, expenses paid.  I was sick and had no idea how to handle the matter.  I gave it one day of thought, asked advice from a few very close friends, and acted fast.

First, I sat down with my son, told him what I had discovered and poignantly explained the dangers of his correspondence with this man.  As he grew up, I had drowned him with talks about safety, right versus wrong, etc.  I asked him, “Why?!?!  You know better!”  He was embarrassed, but admitted to being curious about the man and tried to cushion it as a game; suggesting he and a female friend of his were egging the man on and laughing at what a big loser he was.  No way around it: the conversations were vulgar, inappropriate and potentially dangerous.  The man lives over 2000 miles from us and I did not feel like he was an immediate threat to my son; however, I was very concerned about the families and children he interacted with on the daily basis.

I contacted both local and federal authorities and was told because no pornographic material had been exchanged and no actual meeting ever took place, nothing illegal occurred.  That’s right!  Dirty old men or women can contact your children via the internet and be as verbally lewd as they wish.  No crime done.  To the authority’s credit, they recognized the potential danger and the man is currently under investigation as a child predator… while working at possibly your family’s next vacation destination.  1) Why does it take so many years and additional victims to justify removing a potential threat to children and 2) Why are lewd conversations between an adult and child legal?

  

This post is more than long winded, so I will take pause.  Love and guard your child and let them know you will always be their advocate.