Thanks for all the loving, sensitive comments about our family's journey. If you know of anyone in your family or circle of friends who might benefit from our story, please feel free to share.
And if you're wondering what the odds of having multiple gay children in one family - because I sure was - it's no different than having one blue-eyed child and one brown-eyed child.
If you have any questions, I'm happy to share my thought...private message me on FB.
And...finally, my parents - bless their hearts - they are also very supporting...blessings all around.
Friday, March 20, 2015
out...part two
In the days and weeks following Tyler's coming out to us, I had lots to think about. Why shouldn't my children have something to love, someone to build a life with? Why shouldn't my children know the joys (and trials!) of parenting?
Both Kate and Tyler are highly creative, caring and sensitive people. Why should their sexual orientation preclude them from enjoying basic human rights?
The thing that haunted me most was how Tyler had professed that he had praying for all those years for God to change him and He hadn't. One day, it just kind of hit me:
He didn't change Tyler because Tyler didn't need to be changed.
God loves Tyler...and Kate and every person - gay or straight.
It felt like a weight had been lifted from me. I finally had some understanding. It made sense to me.
I'd like to say that the burden was also lifted from Tyler and Kate. Both are still navigating their feelings about faith. It's a daily struggle; there's so much anger and hate being disseminated on a daily basis that denigrates their existence.
The issue of gay marriage has always been a very divisive issue and it continues to garner a huge segment of what the media feels we need to be up in arms about. I just don't get it. Who is to say that a heterosexual couple has more right be married than a gay couple? Are the heterosexuals better equipped to love each other? To raise children in a stable, loving environment? There are too many divorces, bitter custody battles and single parent households to substantiate either of those claims.
Several years ago, Kate's partner, Morghan, had an out-patient procedure performed. Kate was not allowed to be with her beforehand (or after) because she wasn't considered "family." Even though it was a minor procedure, it was still upsetting to Kate and Morghan that they couldn't be be together.
I've learned a lot about myself and the attitudes of others towards my children. That time of intense Bible study once confounded me as I grappled to get my heart and head aligned. But the God I learned to love during that time of spiritual growth is a benevolent God. One who loves, One who creates and One who is merciful.
My job is not to judge my children (or anyone else). My job is to love them and pray that they are allowed to find peace, justice, fulfillment and love. The same prayer every parent has for their kids.
If I'd had the ability to choose homosexuality for my kids, would I? No. But that's not mine to "choose."
They are the gifts God gave me.
I will confess that when one's focus or point of view shifts this dramatically, other things/people are affected. Ron and I may never have sons- or daughters-in-law to bring into our family or grandchildren to spoil (my heart twinges - mostly in good ways - when I see all my friends and their grandchildren...what a blessing!). I pray that one day those things will happen, but right now I live in the reality that they might not. And I can't say I'm okay with that.
I'm reminded of a line from "To Kill a Mockingbird." Atticus was admonishing Scout not to pass judgment on people..."You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view...Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it."
I've not walked around in the skin of my children...but they are my skin.
Post Script: The last decade or so has been a huge period of growth for our family. Some of it painful, but most of it highly enriched and eye-opening. We are closer now than ever and have settled into a healthy, honest and often times very humorous existence. Believe me...you wouldn't believe some of the things we've talked about...
Both Kate and Tyler are highly creative, caring and sensitive people. Why should their sexual orientation preclude them from enjoying basic human rights?
The thing that haunted me most was how Tyler had professed that he had praying for all those years for God to change him and He hadn't. One day, it just kind of hit me:
He didn't change Tyler because Tyler didn't need to be changed.
God loves Tyler...and Kate and every person - gay or straight.
It felt like a weight had been lifted from me. I finally had some understanding. It made sense to me.
I'd like to say that the burden was also lifted from Tyler and Kate. Both are still navigating their feelings about faith. It's a daily struggle; there's so much anger and hate being disseminated on a daily basis that denigrates their existence.
The issue of gay marriage has always been a very divisive issue and it continues to garner a huge segment of what the media feels we need to be up in arms about. I just don't get it. Who is to say that a heterosexual couple has more right be married than a gay couple? Are the heterosexuals better equipped to love each other? To raise children in a stable, loving environment? There are too many divorces, bitter custody battles and single parent households to substantiate either of those claims.
Several years ago, Kate's partner, Morghan, had an out-patient procedure performed. Kate was not allowed to be with her beforehand (or after) because she wasn't considered "family." Even though it was a minor procedure, it was still upsetting to Kate and Morghan that they couldn't be be together.
I've learned a lot about myself and the attitudes of others towards my children. That time of intense Bible study once confounded me as I grappled to get my heart and head aligned. But the God I learned to love during that time of spiritual growth is a benevolent God. One who loves, One who creates and One who is merciful.
My job is not to judge my children (or anyone else). My job is to love them and pray that they are allowed to find peace, justice, fulfillment and love. The same prayer every parent has for their kids.
If I'd had the ability to choose homosexuality for my kids, would I? No. But that's not mine to "choose."
They are the gifts God gave me.
I will confess that when one's focus or point of view shifts this dramatically, other things/people are affected. Ron and I may never have sons- or daughters-in-law to bring into our family or grandchildren to spoil (my heart twinges - mostly in good ways - when I see all my friends and their grandchildren...what a blessing!). I pray that one day those things will happen, but right now I live in the reality that they might not. And I can't say I'm okay with that.
I'm reminded of a line from "To Kill a Mockingbird." Atticus was admonishing Scout not to pass judgment on people..."You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view...Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it."
I've not walked around in the skin of my children...but they are my skin.
Post Script: The last decade or so has been a huge period of growth for our family. Some of it painful, but most of it highly enriched and eye-opening. We are closer now than ever and have settled into a healthy, honest and often times very humorous existence. Believe me...you wouldn't believe some of the things we've talked about...
Thursday, March 19, 2015
out
(note: Some of you may have mixed feelings about what you're about to read. I understand that. At one time I had mixed feelings and I was living it. For too long the extremists have been getting all the sound bytes. My conscious - and my love for my family - does not allow me to be silent any longer.)
Last month, not long after my surgery, I found this article on Facebook:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-pavlovitz/if-i-have-gay-children-fo_b_5869298.html
It's an issue that's been needling me for quite some time. Because...both of our kids are gay. Yep. Both of 'em. I've asked for their permission (and Ron's) to "out" us as a family and they've read what you're going to read. So we're all on board with this.
But...that wasn't always the case. Twelve years ago, when Kate came out, I was in a very different place. I had spent the previous six years deeply immersed in our church, working on staff as a communications coordinator, was involved with Bible Study Fellowship (was even a discussion leader for a couple of years) and had pretty much come to accept the cliched "love the sinner, not the sin" way of thinking. Ron's oldest brother, Richard, was a gay man living with AIDS in San Francisco, so we'd had some exposure to that community. But California was far, far away...not in our own back yard. Yet.
So when we found out about Kate, I was mad. Mad, mad, mad. Mad because of the way the events unfolded. Mad because Ron and I had asked her many, many times about her sexual orientation and she'd always claimed she was straight. And I was mad because it made me question all the things I'd been learning and taking to heart. I wasn't so much mad at Kate as I was the circumstances that came long with it.
For the first few years I was able to push the whole thing to the back burner. We were having a somewhat difficult relationship with Kate, so it was easy not to think about it very much. She lived out of town, so we didn't see her that often. And I didn't really talk about it very much with my friends because I didn't know what to say. Was I being hypocritical, having a gay daughter and still being an active leader in the church? I know, it may sound ludicrous, but I've never claimed to have a rational brain.
Then came Tyler. By then I had come to strongly feel that genetic factors determine sexual orientation. I didn't (and don't) believe it is a choice. And, because of the family history, Ron and I had talked to Tyler about it on numerous occasions. He, like Kate, denied it. But then one summer when he was home from college (I think it was after his sophomore year), he and I were sitting on the couch and I asked him again. He looked at me and asked, "Why is it important for you to know?"
Right then I knew. And he knew that I knew. I held him in my arms as he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. He apologized over and over again. He said that he'd been praying since he was ten or so that God would change him and it hadn't happened.
My heart broke in a thousand pieces in those moments. For Tyler. For Kate.
For all the young men and women who are frightened to be gay. For all the kids who can't tell their parents. Who have heard the words of loud, angry, scared, ignorant people who have no comprehension how deeply their words of contempt and scorn can wound a soul. For the thousands of young gay men and women who don't have a clue how to navigate this potentially dangerous road they're on.
My heart broke for the parents of these kids, who may have been as hapless as we were about how to digest it all.
My heart broke because of the role I had played in our kids' reluctance to tell us who they were/are. I know a large part of Tyler's hesitation was our initial reaction to Kate's experience. And even though I don't think Ron or I ever talked negatively about homosexuals, that the lifestyle was "bad" was implied.
Most of all, my heart broke for the years and years Tyler thought God had abandoned him. I can't begin to imagine how lonely and painful that must have been.
I remember Tyler saying, during that first conversation, that he wasn't going to "act" on it. And I found myself saying, "You deserve to be loved and to love. You have a right to have a loving relationship. To have kids."
I also remember thinking - as the words were coming out of my mouth - "What am I saying??" In my mind, I'd never allowed myself to go there because - well - it hadn't ever come up. But right then - in that moment - I believed what I was saying.
Because now...it WAS in my back yard.
next time...part two...
Last month, not long after my surgery, I found this article on Facebook:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-pavlovitz/if-i-have-gay-children-fo_b_5869298.html
It's an issue that's been needling me for quite some time. Because...both of our kids are gay. Yep. Both of 'em. I've asked for their permission (and Ron's) to "out" us as a family and they've read what you're going to read. So we're all on board with this.
But...that wasn't always the case. Twelve years ago, when Kate came out, I was in a very different place. I had spent the previous six years deeply immersed in our church, working on staff as a communications coordinator, was involved with Bible Study Fellowship (was even a discussion leader for a couple of years) and had pretty much come to accept the cliched "love the sinner, not the sin" way of thinking. Ron's oldest brother, Richard, was a gay man living with AIDS in San Francisco, so we'd had some exposure to that community. But California was far, far away...not in our own back yard. Yet.
So when we found out about Kate, I was mad. Mad, mad, mad. Mad because of the way the events unfolded. Mad because Ron and I had asked her many, many times about her sexual orientation and she'd always claimed she was straight. And I was mad because it made me question all the things I'd been learning and taking to heart. I wasn't so much mad at Kate as I was the circumstances that came long with it.
For the first few years I was able to push the whole thing to the back burner. We were having a somewhat difficult relationship with Kate, so it was easy not to think about it very much. She lived out of town, so we didn't see her that often. And I didn't really talk about it very much with my friends because I didn't know what to say. Was I being hypocritical, having a gay daughter and still being an active leader in the church? I know, it may sound ludicrous, but I've never claimed to have a rational brain.
Then came Tyler. By then I had come to strongly feel that genetic factors determine sexual orientation. I didn't (and don't) believe it is a choice. And, because of the family history, Ron and I had talked to Tyler about it on numerous occasions. He, like Kate, denied it. But then one summer when he was home from college (I think it was after his sophomore year), he and I were sitting on the couch and I asked him again. He looked at me and asked, "Why is it important for you to know?"
Right then I knew. And he knew that I knew. I held him in my arms as he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. He apologized over and over again. He said that he'd been praying since he was ten or so that God would change him and it hadn't happened.
My heart broke in a thousand pieces in those moments. For Tyler. For Kate.
For all the young men and women who are frightened to be gay. For all the kids who can't tell their parents. Who have heard the words of loud, angry, scared, ignorant people who have no comprehension how deeply their words of contempt and scorn can wound a soul. For the thousands of young gay men and women who don't have a clue how to navigate this potentially dangerous road they're on.
My heart broke for the parents of these kids, who may have been as hapless as we were about how to digest it all.
My heart broke because of the role I had played in our kids' reluctance to tell us who they were/are. I know a large part of Tyler's hesitation was our initial reaction to Kate's experience. And even though I don't think Ron or I ever talked negatively about homosexuals, that the lifestyle was "bad" was implied.
Most of all, my heart broke for the years and years Tyler thought God had abandoned him. I can't begin to imagine how lonely and painful that must have been.
I remember Tyler saying, during that first conversation, that he wasn't going to "act" on it. And I found myself saying, "You deserve to be loved and to love. You have a right to have a loving relationship. To have kids."
I also remember thinking - as the words were coming out of my mouth - "What am I saying??" In my mind, I'd never allowed myself to go there because - well - it hadn't ever come up. But right then - in that moment - I believed what I was saying.
Because now...it WAS in my back yard.
next time...part two...
Monday, March 16, 2015
percolating
My mind has been running circles as I try to wrap my head around my heartstrings as of late...more to come this week.
I know this probably doesn't qualify as a post, but I wanted to let you know I'm still around...
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
the randomness of my thought process
first published 2008ish...
One night last week Ron and I were channel surfing and paused on a channel that was televising a game of high stakes poker. Now, for the life of me, I've never been able to figure poker out. Too many kinds of hands...royal flush, straight, full house. Also, too much brain calculation required. If I ever played poker I'd have to have sunglasses that hide my whole face because I'm sure I'd stick out my tongue or spit or say something entirely inappropriate if I was dealt a bad hand. That's assuming I would even know I'd been dealt a bad hand.
Anyway, Ron says, "Oh, he's got wired nines." Once again, as has happened more times than I can even begin to count over the last 27 years, my jaw dropped open and I stared at him, dumbfounded.
"Wired whats?" I asked. "How in the heck do you know that?" He shrugged and gave me his "Betty" face (so named for his mother, who would provide an answer to any question she was ever asked, whether it was true or not). "Oh, I don't know. I just do."
Later in the evening a commercial came on [this was obviously prior to my DVR addiction] and I said, "That font is 'Afternoon delight.'" How pathetic is that? I can now identify fonts on sight. Again, enough of the useless information already! I lamented to Ron that at least his poker knowledge could potentially win him a million dollars. My "fontabulary" has no value whatsoever. Unless there was a game called "Name That Font."
"Pat, I can name that font in one letter."
"Janet, name that font." Does anyone even remember "Name That Tune?"
Changing gears...the other night Tyler found his "Identi-Kid" card [which I carry in my wallet to this day] from 2001. It was downright hysterical. He was 12 and he only weighed 85 pounds. Then I remembered a conversation I had with Jessica (my beautiful boss lady) about her stepson, Brogan. She had a booster seat in her car and when I asked her about it she told me that KS safety laws require booster seats for all kids under 100 pounds.
So it got even more hysterical when I told Tyler he should have been in a booster seat. We laughed our heinies off.
Finally, Ron listens to NPR quite a bit and there's this segment called "Star Date." It unfailingly sends me to the moon (ha) because it illustrates how much money (and you know it has to be a ton of moolah) is being spent acquiring knowledge which has no practical purpose...like what's inside a star.
Show of hands...how many of you care what's inside a star? Has anyone successfully lassoed one and performed a star autopsy? Nah, I didn't think so.
Now, is someone was to discover that stars are full of chocolate mousse...well, that's another story entirely.
Gimme a spoon.
One night last week Ron and I were channel surfing and paused on a channel that was televising a game of high stakes poker. Now, for the life of me, I've never been able to figure poker out. Too many kinds of hands...royal flush, straight, full house. Also, too much brain calculation required. If I ever played poker I'd have to have sunglasses that hide my whole face because I'm sure I'd stick out my tongue or spit or say something entirely inappropriate if I was dealt a bad hand. That's assuming I would even know I'd been dealt a bad hand.
Anyway, Ron says, "Oh, he's got wired nines." Once again, as has happened more times than I can even begin to count over the last 27 years, my jaw dropped open and I stared at him, dumbfounded.
"Wired whats?" I asked. "How in the heck do you know that?" He shrugged and gave me his "Betty" face (so named for his mother, who would provide an answer to any question she was ever asked, whether it was true or not). "Oh, I don't know. I just do."
Later in the evening a commercial came on [this was obviously prior to my DVR addiction] and I said, "That font is 'Afternoon delight.'" How pathetic is that? I can now identify fonts on sight. Again, enough of the useless information already! I lamented to Ron that at least his poker knowledge could potentially win him a million dollars. My "fontabulary" has no value whatsoever. Unless there was a game called "Name That Font."
"Pat, I can name that font in one letter."
"Janet, name that font." Does anyone even remember "Name That Tune?"
Changing gears...the other night Tyler found his "Identi-Kid" card [which I carry in my wallet to this day] from 2001. It was downright hysterical. He was 12 and he only weighed 85 pounds. Then I remembered a conversation I had with Jessica (my beautiful boss lady) about her stepson, Brogan. She had a booster seat in her car and when I asked her about it she told me that KS safety laws require booster seats for all kids under 100 pounds.
So it got even more hysterical when I told Tyler he should have been in a booster seat. We laughed our heinies off.
Finally, Ron listens to NPR quite a bit and there's this segment called "Star Date." It unfailingly sends me to the moon (ha) because it illustrates how much money (and you know it has to be a ton of moolah) is being spent acquiring knowledge which has no practical purpose...like what's inside a star.
Show of hands...how many of you care what's inside a star? Has anyone successfully lassoed one and performed a star autopsy? Nah, I didn't think so.
Now, is someone was to discover that stars are full of chocolate mousse...well, that's another story entirely.
Gimme a spoon.
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
the other man in my life
No, I am not "stepping out" on Ron. (Fans of "Serial" will no doubt automatically hear the voice of Christina Guittierez. For those folks who've never heard of "Serial," well, never mind).
The other man is, no surprise, my dad. Every time I see him, I notice him slipping a little further away, and I guess I'm desperately trying to sear my memories of him into my being. For me, that means I write.
Dad was born in 1928, just a few years before The Great Depression. The youngest of fourteen (no, that's not a typo), dad knew first-hand the struggles millions of people faced during those barren years. His dad was out of the picture by the time he was eight, so his mom took on the role of single parent,and, as far as I know, she never had a job! Dad's older brothers and sisters sent home money when they could, many of their jobs coming from various New Deal programs started by FDR.
Dad tells stories of putting cardboard in his shoes to patch the holes, of preaching to out-of-work men in the city park (a foreshadowing of a future career) and then passing a collection plate when he was done (one of his older brothers made him return every penny), of collecting boxes in exchange for a few pennies. I love these stories and never tire of hearing them...they add a depth and richness to my dad's character.
By 1950, he had graduated from college, gotten married to my mom and was ordained as a minister in the Disciples of Christ church. Upon graduating seminary (I'm not sure why he was ordained before seminary; I asked him about that and he didn't know either...) he was hired as the pastor of the First Christian Church in Fayetteville, Arkansas. And he was almost fired because he extended membership to an African American woman. This was in the mid-1950's, not long before the desegregation in Little Rock. Even in his twenties he was meting out the principles that would shape his beliefs for the rest of his life.
By the time I arrived mom and dad had moved to Marshall, my own personal version of "The Wonder Years." I remember, as a little girl, singing the old hymn "This Is My Father's World" and thinking I was singing about my dad. He was, after all, the guy in the black robe up front that everyone was listening to.
About that same time, I remember being terrified of robbers. One of my classmates, during Show and Tell, related that the town bowling alley had been robbed. Not long after that, we went to Silver Dollar City and during a train ride, masked men boarded the tram and "held up" passengers. I began having night terrors, wouldn't sleep alone etc. I remember my dad taking me on walks through our neighborhood at night, me in my pjs, trying to show me that there wasn't anything to be afraid of. Afterwards we'd have orange juice, a real treat...until my mom suggested that he was making it too much fun!
Eventually the trauma subsided, but I'll never forget those late night travels with my dad and the patience and concern he showed.
In the mid-1960's, dad decided to pursue a new career in politics and ran for State Representative. Eventually, he went back to school to get his Masters and PhD in political science. He then served eight year as Missouri's State Treasurer and ran for Governor in 1980, the only election he ever lost. He was the president of two colleges and worked as the head of the Disciples of Christ's Division of Higher Education before retiring. I know I'm biased, but that's quite an impressive resume!
Throughout his life, my dad has remained true to his humble beginnings, always teaching me to be patient, kind and honest.
I'm still learning. And I still have a great teacher.
The other man is, no surprise, my dad. Every time I see him, I notice him slipping a little further away, and I guess I'm desperately trying to sear my memories of him into my being. For me, that means I write.
Dad was born in 1928, just a few years before The Great Depression. The youngest of fourteen (no, that's not a typo), dad knew first-hand the struggles millions of people faced during those barren years. His dad was out of the picture by the time he was eight, so his mom took on the role of single parent,and, as far as I know, she never had a job! Dad's older brothers and sisters sent home money when they could, many of their jobs coming from various New Deal programs started by FDR.
Dad tells stories of putting cardboard in his shoes to patch the holes, of preaching to out-of-work men in the city park (a foreshadowing of a future career) and then passing a collection plate when he was done (one of his older brothers made him return every penny), of collecting boxes in exchange for a few pennies. I love these stories and never tire of hearing them...they add a depth and richness to my dad's character.
By 1950, he had graduated from college, gotten married to my mom and was ordained as a minister in the Disciples of Christ church. Upon graduating seminary (I'm not sure why he was ordained before seminary; I asked him about that and he didn't know either...) he was hired as the pastor of the First Christian Church in Fayetteville, Arkansas. And he was almost fired because he extended membership to an African American woman. This was in the mid-1950's, not long before the desegregation in Little Rock. Even in his twenties he was meting out the principles that would shape his beliefs for the rest of his life.
By the time I arrived mom and dad had moved to Marshall, my own personal version of "The Wonder Years." I remember, as a little girl, singing the old hymn "This Is My Father's World" and thinking I was singing about my dad. He was, after all, the guy in the black robe up front that everyone was listening to.
About that same time, I remember being terrified of robbers. One of my classmates, during Show and Tell, related that the town bowling alley had been robbed. Not long after that, we went to Silver Dollar City and during a train ride, masked men boarded the tram and "held up" passengers. I began having night terrors, wouldn't sleep alone etc. I remember my dad taking me on walks through our neighborhood at night, me in my pjs, trying to show me that there wasn't anything to be afraid of. Afterwards we'd have orange juice, a real treat...until my mom suggested that he was making it too much fun!
Eventually the trauma subsided, but I'll never forget those late night travels with my dad and the patience and concern he showed.
In the mid-1960's, dad decided to pursue a new career in politics and ran for State Representative. Eventually, he went back to school to get his Masters and PhD in political science. He then served eight year as Missouri's State Treasurer and ran for Governor in 1980, the only election he ever lost. He was the president of two colleges and worked as the head of the Disciples of Christ's Division of Higher Education before retiring. I know I'm biased, but that's quite an impressive resume!
Throughout his life, my dad has remained true to his humble beginnings, always teaching me to be patient, kind and honest.
I'm still learning. And I still have a great teacher.
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