I have tried to be a good lesbian parent. I’ve exposed all of my kids to Pride marches and gay festivities since they were babies, have always dressed them in gender-crossover colors, never sex-stereotyped roles in the family, and have read them “Heather has Two Mommies” since they were old enough to understand. We belong to a church that has a Welcoming Congregation, have had a lesbian Mayor for most of their lives, live in “Lesbianville, USA” (Northampton, MA ) according to Esquire Magazine, yet somehow we’ve raised a straight child.
Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against straight people. Many of my friends are straight. I know lots of kids who are heterosexual, but I haven’t had to deal with it so personally before. My big girls went to an all-girls school, so they were barely even exposed to guys after middle school. They never talked about boys and if they wore make-up, I didn’t notice it until they were almost graduated from high school. If there was any co-mingling with the opposite sex, it was kept secret from me and certainly not exposed to the rest of the kids. I never worried about my kids getting pregnant, but I guess I was just naive. Now, I’ve got three more kids who are all in public schools and they are constantly associating with the opposite sex. I’m not sure I’m able to handle this- movies, boys, stylish clothes, crushes, make-up- it’s all just too much for this lesbian mom!
How did I find out? Well, plans were made with a friend to go to the movies…turns out only 2 other boys besides the two girls were going. “Is it a date?” I stupidly and slow-to-grasp this new concept asked? I got a shrug and some sort of mumble in reply.
I’m still in shock that my 12-year old daughter is a heterosexual. Although I’m sure it’s a phase. I grew out of it.
In 7th grade, I had a crush on “Doug” who I can’t even remember his last name. It was the thing at that age to want to “go out” with a boy. I wanted to be in the cool crowd, so I set out to find one. Somehow he found out I was interested in him and we probably exchanged notes with silly sentences proclaiming our “like” to each other. Maybe I even had him circle a “yes” or “no,” to the question, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” I don’t remember. What I do remember, vividly, and with much embarrassment, is buying some 4″ tall, white iron-on letters and putting his name “D, O, U, G” down the side of my left leg on my new jeans. How ridiculous and revealing! That romance lasted for much less time than my jeans did, and luckily the letters peeled off, but the memory still lingers.
How am I going to get through this? Are there parent support groups? Books to read? Maybe I should have her see a psychiatrist like my mother wanted me to do when she found out I was a lesbian. Or, maybe I’ll just leave her alone and let her figure it out. Luckily, she knows that we’ll love her no matter what!
Rants and musings of a 50-something lesbian mom... 