This is not our story. It's actually written by a friend of Neela's. I love it and think of it often, especially when people ask "funny" questions. I don't know why I am thinking of it today, but anyway, read on. It's good!
G is four now. He goes to a Montessori school, and is in his second year there. The class is comprised mostly of kids from other countries: there are Indian kids, Chinese kids, and kids from all over Europe. Stephane Matteau's kids used to go there. The classroom is a happy buzz of language and filled with artifacts from all over the world.
G likes it there. He has a "pack" of boys he hangs out with, and they mostly play "X Men" and "Lord of the Rings," though none of them are allowed to actually see the movies.
We had a short talk with G's teachers when he first started school there. We wanted to make sure that our family structure was respected, and that dialogue about it wasn't framed in terms of what he didn't have:
"G doesn't have a dad"
but in terms of what he does have:
"G has two moms."
People who think this comes as a surprise or shock or might pose problems for a pack of 3-6 year olds aren't thinking very big. Families come in all shapes and sizes. Kids in G's class live with one mom, or one dad, or have a mom and a dad and then a stepmom and move back and forth between families (if you count carefully you'll find that's also two moms, by the way). Some kids have aunts, uncles or grandparents living with them. Some kids are adopted. Some kids have one Chinese parent and one Korean parent.
G is surrounded by diverse children with diverse families. His family structure was new to the mix, but by no means an anomaly by virtue of simply being different.
The few issues we have have been largely institutional. I have been denied benefits coverage for him because he is not my "natural" child. I have been told if we had a "normal" family he would be covered. Things like this make me angry. But they are not impossible to endure.
Most often, people are curious. They usually find out or figure out that C and I are gay and G is our son a while after they get to know us. Usually they figure it out on their own.
Most often, the question we are asked at that point, is a shy one, with some sort of attached apology:
"I don't mean to be nosy, but who is the real mother?"
"We both are," I say cheerfully. I tease. I am used to the question now, and it doesn't bother me much at all. It isn't maliciously meant. "Oh, you mean, who gave birth to him?"
"Yes, sorry," the person says. Embarrassed, usually.
"C is," I say. "Lucky for me, she wanted that duty." I wink. I didn't want to get pregnant, didn't want to go through childbirth. C did. It worked out.
Often, people want to know how it happened. It's no one's business, but usually the person asking is nice enough and I don't mind.
"We went through a reputable fertility organization and he was conceived via artificial insemination from an anonymous donor's sperm."
This is usually *way* too much information and the person shuts up after that.
It has never proved to be a stumbling block or issue, not with the most conservative of our friends.
We are a good family. A tight, close-knit family. G is a very normal, if precocious little boy, who plays ice hockey and loves to sing and dance and can already write his name.
Yes, I think about the male influence in his life. I want him to bond with men and learn the usual good male life skills. We think about it a lot, and try and surround him with good men of various ages, from his babysitter, who used to be in the fire division with me, to my dad. I imagine single mothers make the same effort. Our situation isn't so different.
You think we'd stick out like a sore thumb. You'd think people would stare, or make comments. But the reality is that parents are busy people, and for the most part, have more on their minds than trying to analyze if people are gay or not.
Saturdays are our hockey morning, and we all go to the rink at ...oh dark thirty and G eats his PB&J on the way. I help get him dressed in his gear while C runs off and gets us coffee.
He's on the ice by the time the sun's up. I stand around with the other parents at the glass and watch, and we complain about the hour and say nice things about his coaches and I don't think anyone's really thinking about why two women brought him to the rink.
I'm his mom. It's obvious from the way I watch him intently, and grin when he grabs the puck and takes off with it. Sometimes it comes up. Sometimes it doesn't.
G's coach is getting married to his assistant coach, who adores G and has since he started. She's a gorgeous woman, and loves G because he is full of heart on the ice. Conscientious, concerned for his teammates, with a good sense of humor.
C talked to her about her upcoming wedding, and agreed to help her plan it. C is great with weddings. Somewhere in the conversation she mentioned our wedding, and the coach was delighted and wanted to see all the pictures. She and her fiance are conservative. She is Asian, and he is white and works for the county sheriff's department when he's not coaching hockey. I thought maybe things would change when they found out. Nothing changed. Maybe they'd known all along.
Down the line, I know it will be different. Sometimes G will get teased for the way in which his family is different.
The way I was teased for being white in countries where everyone else was a different color.
The way I was teased for dressing strangely.
The way I was teased for having red hair.
The way kids are teased for wearing glasses, being in a wheelchair, for being of mixed race, for having a speech impediment, for being smaller or bigger or fatter or thinner or having a funny walk.
The answer is not to make sure a child conforms.
The answer is to teach him to laugh it off or defend himself when necessary, to make him secure and happy, to make him happy and proud of his family and parents, just like any good parents should.
There are some differences. When gay people and gay issues are part of current social conversation and controversy, maybe the differences will stand out more. Today, people ask the questions and are curious about how we're different. Eventually, that will change.
We're not so different. We go to work, he goes to school, we come home and have dinner at the table and he has a bath and we read stories and sing songs and C and I have our nice quiet time after he goes to sleep.
It's just a family. Just us, different and also the same as you all.