Broken Corset

50 some odd years ago, a young man was coming of age in his conservative Christian family in a small town in Colorado.  They probably didn’t seem conservative actually in that small town, as regular church attendance and an attitude of general adherence to biblical doctrine were relatively common – both for the time period and location.  In fact, the church was the community, it defined the family.  Covered dish dinners and weekend picnics with other church families were probably the norm. 

By all accounts, life in the family was generally happy.  The parents had a solid and loving relationship – one that would be counted as unusually good by close friends and family who remembered the couple lovingly at silver and golden anniversaries before mourning the loss of the patriarch.  The family was comfortable economically, partly attributable to a careful budget and the rest to hard work and luck.  The two boys, four years apart, while not exceptionally close, were amicably friendly. 

Of course, the oldest son, as he entered his adolescence was expected to find the general bumps in the road experienced by all adolescents….  an awkwardly developing body, the intermittent worry of feeling left out and trying to fit in.  But somehow, for this young boy, it was even more difficult.  A constant feeling of not belonging road his coattails wherever he went, and the years passed by with more awkward moments than most that age experience.

Dating for this young man was never easy.  There wasn’t the glib and happy feeling of “first love” – or a sense that he couldn’t stop thinking about a coveted young girl.  It was all nerves – the feeling of having a blindfold over the eyes as one tries to navigate an unknown country…  not speaking the language, or knowing the customs, and finding only failure, running into the brick wall at every turn.

Nonetheless, the young man persisted along, leaving his small town and pursuing an education, and eventually earning two masters degrees.  Finally, meeting a woman with whom he felt comfortable, beginning a family with his own daughter and son. 

As happens for all young people becoming adults, the man expanded his realm of experience.  He traveled, visited with others, questioned the beliefs he’d been raised with, coming back to many of them, but along the way developed his own sense for who he was.  Within this time of discovery came the slow awakening of an always known, but never recognized, truth.  The man was gay.

Together with his wife, he faced the truth.  The pain experienced by both is generally unaccounted for… left buried somewhere, and maybe for good reason.  Yet together they made a decision to move forward, spending the next 15 years much as they had spent the previous several – as good friends, as husband and wife, father and mother…  raising the two children in the family each had envisioned, but without the traditional marital relationship.  They didn’t divorce, only acquired twin beds.  They shared a room, many glasses of wine and good discussions, parented equally and carefully – putting their children ahead of what must have been their personal sadness and sense of loss. 

The son and daughter of this man grew to be teenagers before they ever had an inkling that their family was “different” from other families.  In fact, the peace and calm within the house, the even-keeled parenting, and the obvious friendship between mother and father taught them that maybe their family was better. 

The “difference” finally came to light, towards the end of the children’s own adolescence.  As all children do, they traveled, questioned, and eventually accepted their family – coming back to the idea that it had been a happy place to grow.  The man and his wife, successful in the raising of daughter and son, eventually divorced, allowing each to search for their own romantic happiness, but remained close friends.  The son and daughter succeeded in school and their respective careers, began families of their own, contributed to society in their unique ways.  The man retired, and found joy in living near his grandchildren, contributing his love, time, and attention to the now young and growing family in immeasurable ways.

Proposition 8.  This is my final appeal as the vote draws near, and this time, it’s personal.   

I am the daughter of that gay man, this is the story of my father, the loving “Bapa” to my children, and one of my closest friends.

My dad wasn’t the traditional dad in many ways.  He never enjoyed sports, never tossed the football with my brother – didn’t throw down a beer out by the BBQ with his buddies.  I actually laugh when I try and picture that.  But he was a father in every way that matters.  He loved us unconditionally, he put our needs ahead of his own, he advised us, counseled us, listened to our problems, shared his wisdom, encouraged us and trusted in us as he set us free to become adults.  When we first learned about our different family, he stood back and gave us space to figure it out – while always being available to discuss our questions.

The fear-mongering tactics of the Yes on Proposition 8 campaign turn my stomach. 

Proponents of Proposition 8 tell us that children will be taught about homosexual marriages in school.  This is absolutely false.  California has NEVER dictated teaching on marriage, AND has some of the strongest disclosure and opt-out laws for parents regarding any sexual education their children receive in school. 

Proposition 8 proponents try and claim that theirs is not a campaign against homosexuals, only in favor of traditional marriage and family.  Fine.  But to me, and many like me, raised in a “non-traditional family” (whatever its outside appearances) – this is a bigoted attempt at exclusion.  To claim that a dedicated gay couple is incapable of creating the foundation of family provided to me by my parents, simply because they are the same gender is obviously ridiculous and I take it personally.  Proposition 8 is an attack on my family, on gay couples, on civil rights, and honestly – on ANYONE who values the opportunity to practice their religious freedom in the United States.  When I think about my dad as a young man struggling to find his way in a culture that didn’t include him, when I think about his dedication to our family, his sacrifices, I don’t need a study to tell me; there are no choices here.

Family is what you make it.  There are millions of unhappy heterosexual couples raising children in environments where frying pans fly across the kitchen at one another.  There are parents who undermine each others attempts at discipline, who never discussed their value systems before bearing children, only to find afterwards that they are completely different.   

When my father grew up, in that small town, Christian environment in Colorado, his world view didn’t include gay people.  He tried so hard to make his life fit the “traditional” model - and it just didn’t work.  We cannot continue to refuse to accept and welcome our gay brothers and sisters into  the family.  We should not refuse to allow them to build a traditional family of their own, with two parents and children, joined together in marriage.  By excluding and discriminating against these couples, these families, we are creating further division in society.  We are telling them they don’t exist, not on an equal plane with the rest of society.  We are elevating one form above the other, saying “your person, the way that you are, is not equal to mine”.  We sow the seeds of self-hatred and doubt that many of them struggle with.  This is about civil rights and equality of man.  Proposition 8 is a form of separate but equal, and if we know anything about history, we should know that is inherently discriminatory.

And if it is about God, it should be about acceptance.  Whose God teaches discrimination?  Whose God asks those here on Earth to judge?  And if you value your ability to practice your religion, whatever it’s particular belief system, you should also value the First Amendment.   A particular brand of Christianity may not always be the dominant force in society, but as long as the United States is here, so will be the First Amendment.  The second that we allow a religious determination of our laws, we have undermined its value, and its protection for all. 

My father will be here, in my home, in a short time.  My children call him “Bapa” after my oldest’s earliest attempts at “Grandpa” failed.  Whatever happens with Proposition 8, my husband and I will raise our children to respect gay couples and gay families, to respect their grandfather and treat any partner of his as a grandparent.  They will grow to know that what matters most in the building of your family is not the gender of the person that you partner with, but the partnership itself.   It is the dedication of the relationship, the solid foundation of love and friendship, and the thoughtful approach to parenting that help to ensure success.  These are the elements that will help you raise children who value their family, who will stand up to protect it from those that try and tear it down. 

Those like the proponents of Proposition 8.  Proposition 8 doesn’t protect families, dedicated parents do.  Proposition 8 only succeeds in spreading hate and fear – and tries to claim that people like my dad – and children like me -  don’t belong, that our family doesn’t count.  I can tell you quite simply, that isn’t true.  The laws of our country should respect all families – those like mine, and those just a little bit different… Those where the parents have a romantic relationship, based on a greater self-understanding than my father initially had.  Those where the couple commits to each other, and works at raising children in a peaceful and productive environment, regardless of the obstacles in the way.  My family might have fit the “traditional” picture, while many gay couples build families that have a more “traditional” love.  Either way, what matters most is the commitment to the family, the dedication to the relationship and to the children.  That’s what I learned in my family, and it’s a pretty good lesson for children…. even if they won’t teach it in school.

Every time I see a “Yes on Proposition 8 – Protect Our Families” sign I feel it.  The ignorance, the discrimination, the fear.  This time, it’s about me, my family, my dad – and so many others like him.  And so I write here, and this time, it’s personal, and now you know why. 

Vote NO on PROPOSITION 8.  EQUALITY FOR ALL – for my family, for my dad.

(And if you’re wondering- Yes.  My mother deserves an entire other column… but we’ll save that for another time.)