Tag Archives: Mother

May 16 2013

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the M-Word

specialauntsdayThere’s a dirty word among gay dads. The M-word. I’ve written about it before, and I’ve done everything I can to avoid saying it around my kids. Back when Drew and I first decided to pursue surrogacy, the head of the surrogacy agency himself told us to write it out of our vocabularies. An egg donor is an egg donor, not a “biological mom.” And a surrogate is just a surrogate, not a surrogate m-word.

It makes sense, in a way. If we’re going to have a non-traditional family, we should embrace who we are, both with our kids and with the world. Nope, no Mommy here. Try the next family. It might be hard on our kids at times, but it’s better for them to appreciate what’s different about our family than try to force ourselves into some rigid ideal of what families are supposed to be, which will never really fit us.

So we’ve been very clear. We have two dads and two kids, and that’s our family. We also have two very special aunts, our surrogate and our egg donor. (Sure, we’ve broadened the definition of the term “aunt” so it doesn’t just mean daddy’s sister, but let’s not be nitpicky.)

It’s been very easy to explain to the kids, because, of course, they’ve had no idea what the hell we’re talking about. Sure, they picked up pretty quickly on the fact that most families have a mommy and we don’t. But “surrogate” and “egg donor” have always been pretty empty terms to them, since they’re way too young to understand what those things mean.

They’re starting to, though.

We’ve made a point of celebrating Special Aunts Day (a/k/a Surrogate and Egg Donor Day, or Other’s Day) the day before Mother’s Day. It’s a way to remind the kids of where they came from, to show them how proud we are of our family and to honor two incredible women whom we love dearly. Plus, this way, the kids don’t feel as left out when all the other kids at school are making Mother’s Day crafts.

We’d lost touch with our surrogate a bit since we moved away from California. Drew and I still felt incredibly close to her, but our 3 1/2 year olds hadn’t seen her for nearly half their lives. We don’t want them to forget her,  so we decided to fly her and her son out this year to spend Special Aunts Day with us and the kids.

(Selfishly, I’ll admit I had an ulterior motive, which was to have her take publicity photos for my upcoming book — coming Spring 2014! It just so happens Aunt Tiffany is an amazing professional photographer.)

We also invited Aunt Susie and her daughter to make our Surrogate and Egg Donor Day complete. We decided to make a long weekend of it. It would be great to spend the extra time with them, but that left a troubling prospect looming over our heads.

Our surrogate and egg donor, who are arguably m-word adjacent, wouldn’t just be spending Surrogate and Egg Donor Day with us. They’d be here for Mother’s Day as well.

We started prepping the kids for the upcoming visitors months ago. “You know two daddies alone can’t make a baby, right?” we’d say. “So Aunt Susie donated her eggs and Aunt Tiffany carried you in her belly, and they helped us make you.”

babybookWe read them a photo book we’d made about their conception and birth. We wanted to make sure they knew the role their special aunts had in making our family — what it was, and what it wasn’t.

It had been almost three years since we were all together, but there’s only one way to describe how it felt to have them with us again. It felt like family.

The kids are currently at that awkward age, roughly between 2 and 27, when they get shy around people they don’t know very well. We feared that might happen with Aunt Tiffany, who has yet to figure out how to use Skype. Apparently, though, all the preparation made a big difference. Despite the fact that they hadn’t seen her in years, the kids welcomed her instantly with big hugs.

specialauntsday-1We spent Surrogate and Egg Donor Day at Legoland. (Good thing we’ve forgiven Legoland.) Bennett gave it his usual review of “Best day ever!”, and I concur.

Still, I was afraid of how the next day would go. We couldn’t ignore it. Aunt Susie and Aunt Tiffany were both moms themselves, and they’d brought their kids with them. They deserved to be honored for their role in their own families.

So we did it all over again. We spent Sunday in Times Square, where we rode the Toys R Us ferris wheel and I got testy with some of the costumed creeps, (“Hey, Spiderman, go away! You’re scaring my kids.”). We didn’t shy away from the M-word, because that’s what the day was all about. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever said the M-word more in one day.

“Isn’t Aunt Tiffany a great mommy to Gavin?” we’d say. “Isn’t Grace lucky to have her mommy?” “Let’s give a toast to two great mommies!”

Just that quickly, the M-word was back. It’s a beautiful word, and my kids deserve to hear it, see it and respect it. Despite what I always feared, I think it will only make them appreciate our family more.

timessqelmoI know my kids are still young, and I know there will be times in the future they’ll be sad that they don’t have a mom. Maybe when they hear it in certain contexts, it might sting a bit.

But for now, this year, things were just perfect. Sure, it helped that the weekend was a non-stop funfest. It’s hard for a three-year-old to be sad about anything when he or she is meeting Elmo live, in the fur.

But if I had any doubt about how my kids felt toward their special aunts, it was erased every time I saw Sutton hug one of them. She wrapped her arms around them, smiled a smile that was somehow twice as wide as her face and squealed a very special message just for them.

“Thank you for making us!” she said.

Sep 19 2012

A Gay Dad Wonders… Do My Kids Deserve a Mom?

I almost wrote this post a few months ago when Bristol Palin said something annoying about gay parents.  Now, it’s Rupert Everett who said something annoying about gay parents.  Forgive me, but I’m having a harder time lately getting annoyed.

It’s the same argument every time: hey, moms are great.  Kids should have one.  (Ditto for dads, but I’m covered there — my kids have two!  Whew!)

OK, you win.  Moms are great.  I agree.  I have a mom.  My mom has a mom.  Abraham Lincoln had a mom.  (Turns out she died when he was 9.  Think how much more awesome he would’ve been if she’d lived a little longer.)

So sure, if you have a mom or two, count yourself lucky.  But don’t look down on my family just because we’re different.  You think my kids are better off with some smack-talking piece of trash like Bristol Palin than with me and my partner?  Or do you want to take her kid away, too, because she’s a single mom and a worthless idiot?  Either way, you’re wrong.  (See that, Bristol?  I’ve got your back.)

A model family

It’s almost too easy to make the counter-arguments to the people who insist that all kids should have exactly one mom and one dad.  Yes, there are those studies that say that kids raised with gay parents aren’t any more likely to knock over a liquor store someday than any other kids.  But all that science overlooks an even bigger argument — namely, what if your mom’s an asshole?

Ever heard of alcoholics?  Child abusers?  Dina Lohan?  Ever seen a little film called Mommy Dearest?  Trust me, plenty of gays have seen it, so it’s no wonder we think we can do the job better.

Come to think of it, I should take it easier on Bristol.  Her mom kind of sucks, too.

Lots of mothers are just plain horrible, and if you’re stuck with one of those train wrecks, you have my sympathies — and an open invitation to come hang out at our place sometime.  You’ll love it.  We don’t have any female role models, but we do have all three major video game consoles and a trampoline.  Sweet, huh?

Again, I’m not trying to badmouth moms, most of whom are loving, nurturing, patient, incredibly generous people.  I just think the anti-gay parents brigade are missing the point.  Since when do we expect every single family to fit some ideal of How Children Must Be Raised, and why is that ideal so often limited to gender roles?

Couldn’t you say kids are better off in smaller families, where they can get more attention from their one mom and one dad?  That they’re better off in affluence than in poverty?  With access to health care than without?  With a good education than in an underfunded public school?  With jetpacks and laser guns and a computer chip implanted in their head that helps them do long division?

You can’t just hold up some hypothetical ideal and tell everyone who can’t provide it that they shouldn’t be having kids at all.  Who would be left?  And what if someone in one of those ideal families dies or gets laid off or moves to Cancun with their secretary?  Families face all kinds of circumstances, positive and negative, and they persevere because they don’t have a choice.  That’s why we need families in the first place — to get through all the garbage life flings at us.

Besides, just having one mom and one dad is no guarantee that all the gender-related territory is covered.  Even with straight couples, some dads are girly and some moms are manly.  Just because a kid has a mom and a dad, it doesn’t mean he’s baking cookies with her and driving monster trucks with him.  It could be the reverse, or neither.  Tell me, Prince Charming from Shrek, how much micromanaging of familial gender roles is necessary to protect children?

Deep down, those of us in the trenches know the truth: families aren’t made by a mold.  They’re made by people who love each other, and they come in all different forms, some of which seem weird to outsiders.  Ours has no mom.  Maybe yours lives in a Winnebago or has a reality show on E!  Nobody’s perfect.  But even though we can’t all give our kids everything we’d like them to have, we do our best.

Before we had kids, my partner and I thought a lot about what they would be missing out on with no mommy.  I was satisfied we could still provide them a good home, but I realized I could never satisfy the people who don’t think two dads should be raising a family.  You think my kids deserve a mom?  Fine, maybe you’re right, but they’re not getting one.  I’m just not capable of loving a woman the way I love my partner, so if we’re going to do this, it’s him and me.

And like it or not, we’re doing it.  We have twin 3-year-olds who rely on their two dads to feed them, tickle them, wipe their butts and protect them from monsters — plus a few million other things we do because we love them to an unfathomable, sometimes ridiculous degree.

I know a hypothetical mom might add certain wonderful things to their lives.  I think about that constantly, because like all good parents, I want my kids to have it all.  I worry what’s going to happen when my daughter hits puberty and my partner and I have to Google menstruation to talk her though it.  It breaks my heart when I pick them up from school and overhear the teacher telling the class, “OK, let’s see if your mommies are here to get you!”  At three years old, they already know our family is different.  Someday, they’re bound to hear the hurtful things that Bristol Palin and Rupert Everett and so many other people say about us, and that bums me out big time.

But that’s the world my partner and I chose to bring kids into, and ours is the family we knew they would have.  And you know what?  I still think we made the right choice.  Our family may be a bit different than most, but our kids know that they’re loved and that their two daddies will always be there for them, possibly with a female friend along if we’re buying a training bra or something.

The good news is that, other than the rantings of a few homophobic celebrities (including at least one self-loathing gay man), gay families are getting some pretty good PR these days.  We have sitcoms like The New Normal and Modern Family that make us look (mostly) good, celebrity ambassadors like Ricky Martin, Elton John and Neil Patrick Harris, even the support of the President.  It’s not always going to be such smooth sailing, though.

Someday, maybe even soon, there’ll be a major news story about some horrible gay parents who kept their kids locked in a subterranean torture prison or made them work at an iPad factory or something horrific like that.  You know it’ll happen, because every sexual orientation, not to mention every gender, race, religion, ethnicity, disability status, blood type, Edward-or-Jacob affiliation and grouping of any kind has its share of douchebags.  And when the media circus springs up around Doug and Bob and the half dozen foster kids they used as drug mules, the Bristol Palins and Rupert Everetts will point at them and say, “See?  See???”  Kind of like what global warming deniers might say on a cool day in August.

You know what?  Doug and Bob are jerks.  But if you think that says anything about me and my partner, then so are you.

So I don’t have time to be outraged every time someone in the public eye says something negative about gay families.  It’s going to happen again… and again, and again.  Ultimately, though, it’s not what a few people say but what the rest of us do just by living our lives that speaks the loudest.

*******

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Apr 16 2012

The Littlest Bullies: How (And When) To Discipline Other People’s Children

One day at the park, a little boy pulled my daughter’s hair – hard.  When she started crying, he laughed.  His nanny told him to apologize, but he refused.  She threatened to take him home, but then didn’t.  A few minutes later, he pulled my daughter’s hair again, so hard that I had to bend over him and pry his hands off her head.

That time, I didn’t wait for his nanny to reprimand him.  I got down on his level and told him sternly, “Do not pull her hair!  Do you understand?  It’s unacceptable.”  The nanny muttered half-heartedly, “He’s never done this before,” but I ignored her.  She was a lost cause.  I moved my kids away from that boy… and I kept my eye on him.

He found another kid – a crawling 10-month-old – and pulled his hair so hard he screamed.  Then he did it to another kid.  And another.  It happened at least five times that I witnessed personally over the next 20 minutes.  He never apologized and he never got punished.

The other day in my kids’ art class, a little boy shoved my son so hard he fell down.  It was unprovoked and intentional, and he did it with a smile on his face.  His mother ignored it.  A minute later, he pushed Sutton just as hard.  His mom looked the other way, so I got down in his face and said, “No pushing!”

After that, he left my kids alone, but he kept pushing the other children.  He eventually became fixated on one little girl.  He pushed her over and over, knocked her down so many times that I lost count, but it was at least 10.  His mom meekly muttered, “Don’t push” a couple of times and told the teacher something annoyingly familiar: “He’s never done this before.”

What else did these two situations have in common?  The caretakers did nothing.

I’m not talking about the bad kids’ caretakers.  Of course they weren’t doing anything.  That’s why their kids were monsters.  But the victim’s parents didn’t do anything either.  They never addressed the offending kids or their guardians, even as their own kids were getting the crap beaten out of them.

I want to say something to those parents:

Sometimes, you have to lay some smack down with other people’s kids.

I know disciplining your own kids is hard enough, but this is different.  You’re not trying to teach the bad kid how to behave.  That’ll never work, because his parents clearly won’t follow through.  When you discipline someone else’s bad kid, you’re doing it for your own kids – to protect them and to make sure they know that you can’t get away with that kind of behavior.  They should see that the standards you hold them to apply to other kids, even if those kids’ parents don’t always enforce them.

Why do parents sit idly by while their kids get harassed?  I think most of us are just too nice and conflict-averse to question anyone else’s disciplinary practices (or lack thereof).  Well, I’m conflict-averse, too, but if your kid pushes my kid, he’s the one who initiated the conflict.  I’m just stepping in to make sure it’s resolved to my satisfaction.

If there’s one thing parenthood has taught me, it’s that I can be a lot braver on my kids’ behalf than I would ever be on my own.

Yes, this begs the question: Don’t I feel like a bully for intimidating someone 1/3 my size?

You bet, and it’s awesome.  I can see why these kids enjoy it so much, and it’s high time they had a taste of their own medicine.

As I’ve said before on this blog, I’m not an authority on anything, just an overly opinionated man who feels extremely lucky to be a parent and who’s taking full advantage of the meager power this role provides him.  In other words, feel free to ignore my advice.  But if you’re ever in a situation where some out-of-control hellion is tormenting your child, here’s how I would handle it:

Strike One.  You just saw some kid attack your child – or maybe your kid came to you crying and saying something happened, but you’re not 100% sure what really went down.  OK, fine.  Comfort your kid and tell him that the offending behavior is wrong.  Leave it at that.  Give everyone the benefit of the doubt, because everyone’s kids misbehave sometimes.  But from that moment on, watch the other kid closely.

Strike Two.  Now you know exactly what happened, because you had your eye on the bad kid, and you saw him do it.  Now, your focus shifts to his caregiver.  Make sure she or he knows what’s going on without confronting them directly.  Again, give them the benefit of the doubt.  Maybe they didn’t see it happen and they just need your cue to step in and discipline the kid.

Here’s what you do: comfort your kid again, but do it louder.  First, validate your own kid: “Yes, he pushed you.  I saw it.  That was not acceptable.”  Make sure the bad kid and his guardian hear you.  Give the guardian a chance discipline her kid, and if she’s any kind of parent, she’ll be embarrassed and she’ll apologize profusely.

Now you’re watching the kid and the guardian very closely.

Strike Three.  By now, either the guardian has reprimanded the kid appropriately or he hasn’t.  But the kid did it again.  This is where you address the kid directly.  Act as if he were your child.  Be firm, but don’t shout.  “Don’t hit!  Do you understand?  Say you’re sorry.”  The kid will probably be shocked, because no one’s ever talked to him that way before.  You may even make him cry.  (Good!  That’s a sign that he never hears “no”, and you got to be the one to introduce him.  Bravo.)

At this point, don’t make any excuses for the other parent.  Maybe they weren’t paying attention and missed the behavior yet again.  Well, too bad.  They know there’s an issue, so they should be watching their kid closely.  If they’re not, you have every right to handle the situation yourself.

Strike Four.  Tell the other parent to leave.  Their kid is out of control and needs to be removed from the situation.  If you’re at a place of business like an indoor playroom, speak to the manager.

If the other parent refuses to leave and the manager does nothing, then you leave.  Tell your children clearly, “I’m sorry we have to go.  You haven’t done anything wrong, but that other kid is out of control, and I don’t want you around him.”  Don’t wait for a strike five.

I know in baseball, you only get three strikes, but what can I say?  I’m nice.

Does that sound harsh?  It shouldn’t, because here’s how I think you should handle it if your kid is the aggressor:

Strike One.  Let’s say that you didn’t witness the action first-hand, but your kid is standing over some other kid who’s crying and all evidence suggests your kid just did something bad.  Ask your kid what happened, and whether they confess or not, remind them, without directly accusing them, “It’s not OK to hit or push.”  Then, keep your eye on your kid.

Strike Two.  Now you know what your kid is up to, because you were watching your kid closely.  It’s your job to take control of the situation.  Pull your kid away.  Tell him you saw what he did, and it was wrong.  Make him apologize to the other kid.  Then, apologize to the other parent yourself.  Don’t make excuses, don’t assure them that your kid never does that sort of thing.  Everybody’s kid does bad things sometimes.  Your actions at this point will do a lot more to vouch for your parenting than your excuses.

Strike Three.  Repeat step two, but more firmly.  Remove your kid from the area for a serious talk.  If he seems contrite, let him know he only has one more chance.  If he can’t behave himself, you’re going to leave.  (If your kid is uncooperative, don’t even give him another chance.  Just leave.  You know when your kid is out of control, so react appropriately.)

Strike Four.  Leave.  Make sure you apologize to the other parent(s) on the way out.  Let your child know that he’s behaving inappropriately and that’s why you have to go.

Maybe I’m being overly lenient letting my kid get to four strikes, but sometimes with twins, that’s only fair.  I don’t want to make both of my kids leave if only one of them is misbehaving, so I’m going to do all I can to make the situation right before I punish both kids for the actions of one.

Then again, I’ve never actually gotten past strike two with my kids.  As I said, I’m no expert, but I assume that means I’m doing something right.

One final note: don’t be scared of the other parents.  Chances are, if they’re afraid of their own kid, they’ll be even more afraid of you.  I’m a short, scrawny little weasel.  99% of the other parents out there could take me down in a heartbeat.  But no one’s ever roughed me up for talking smack to their kid.  On the few situations when I’ve actually done it, the other parents have been totally speechless.

And witnessing that is the best part of all.

What do you think?  Do you have a better way of dealing with situations like this?  Let me know in the comments.

Nov 7 2011

The 5 People You Meet as a Gay Dad

The hardest part about being a gay dad has nothing to do with raising your children.  Sure, at two years old, my twins are already curious as to what a Mommy is and why we don’t have one.  But explaining it to them is easy.  My kids are smart, open-minded and I’m reasonably sure they’re not homophobic.  It’s explaining my family to other people that gets tricky.

There are a lot of questions that can lead there.  “Where’s your wife?”  “Where’s their mommy?”  “I wish my husband would take the kids to the park sometimes.”  Or, when I’m out with my partner, the one we get is, “Which one of you is the dad?”

We could lie, but what kind of message would that send to our kids?  That there’s something wrong with our family and we have to keep it secret?  A much better message for them to get is that strangers can be clueless sometimes, and that it’s our job to educate them.

“We’re both the dad,” we say.  And then… we wait.  The next move is theirs.

Before I became a gay dad, I worried a lot about where such a simple statement might lead.  But now that I’ve been at it for two years, I realize people are fairly predictable.  In all that time, I’ve only gotten a few different responses when I’ve outed our family.  Everyone we’ve met, without exception, has fallen into one of 5 categories.

These are the 5 people you meet as a gay dad…

1. Your New BFF

Reaction: Unbridled enthusiasm

Your New BFF

Within five seconds of knowing me and my partner, Drew, these people want to hug us, add us on Facebook, tweet @ us, invite us over for Thanksgiving dinner and beat the crap out of any homophobes who get in our way.  They think it’s SOOOOO cool and our kids are SOOOO lucky, and they want to point us out to their own children.  “Look, Caden!  This is their dad, and this is their other dad!  Isn’t that great?”

You can see their minds working.  “Oh my God, I saw that report on World News Tonight, but I didn’t think we’d ever meet one of these families ourselves.  We better hang on to these guys.  Who knows when the next ones will come along.”

Or more likely, they’re just assuming that we get discriminated against or judged constantly because of who we are, so they want to make up for it by being as over-the-top pleasant as possible.

I’ll take all the New BFFs I can get.  In most cases, we’re just as enthusiastic back to them.  We tell them our whole story.  We had a surrogate.  She’s like an aunt now.  Our egg donor is also an aunt, but then again, she would’ve been anyway because she’s Drew’s sister, Susie.  (And if they need it spelled out, yes, I donated the sperm.)

New BFFs are by far the most common people we meet, which is one of the reasons I’m glad I live in Los Angeles.

2. Jaded Allies

Reaction: Feigned indifference.

The Jaded Ally

These people are cool with us, too — just maybe a little too cool.  They’re very quick to let us know that they’re familiar with other gay dads – tons of them.  They’ll say something like, “Oh, right.  There’s this couple at our kids’ school with two dads.  Matthew and Alan.”  Or “Yeah, my daughter’s best friend has two moms.  They came to our house last month.”

Jaded Allies are less worried about making us feel comfortable with them and more concerned with how they come across to us.  They don’t want to be seen as square or even the tiniest bit surprised, so they treat us like we’re no big deal.

They’re thinking, “Yeah, I saw that report on World News Tonight.  These won’t be the last gay parents I meet.  Better play it cool.”

Maybe they really do know a thousand other gay dads, or maybe they just want us to think they do.  Sometimes we talk to these people longer and they show a genuine curiosity and kindness toward us.  Other times, we just move on.

Jaded Allies are allies, and that’s good enough for us.

3. Closet Homophobes

Reaction: Cordial avoidance.

The Closet Homophobe

These people are not OK with us, but at least they’re polite.  They’ll say something like, “Oh, how nice.  Well, I need to go over here now.”  Then they’ll quietly slip away to pray or throw up or something.

They, too, might want us to think they’re cool with who we are.  But in their case, we’re not buying it.  You can see the exasperated looks on their faces, the ones that say, “This is what I get for asking questions” or “Freakin’ Los Angeles!  I should’ve known!”

These are the people who fell for the argument that Prop 8 would require elementary schools to swap out math and social studies for courses on the logistics of sodomy.  “What they do in their bedroom is their business,” they’re thinking.  “But they better not start doing it in front of my kids here at Rite-Aid!”

The worst thing that can happen to a Closet Homophobe is for their kids to start asking questions.  “But where’s their Mommy, Mommy?”  They’ll stammer or ignore the kid, maybe outright lie.  “She’s not here right now.”  Anything to keep their kids from being exposed to the gays too young.  They may even plead with their eyes, begging us to play along, for the sake of the children.

But their kids aren’t stupid, and neither are mine.  So whenever the issue comes up, I’m very clear that there is no Mommy in our family, never has been and never will be.  I know that’s likely to stir up some more questions in your kids’ impressionable little minds, and frankly I don’t care how you choose to answer them once you’re out of our earshot.  But while you’re talking to me, you’re going to hear the pride I take in my family, and my kids are going to know that I’ve got their back.

4. The Head Scratchers.

Reaction: Utter confusion

The Head Scratcher

This is the most entertaining reaction, and probably the second most common one we get.  No matter how much we explain ourselves, some people are completely baffled by our family, like the Honda salesman we visited when we were shopping for a minivan.

“We’re having twins,” we explained.

“Well, your wife is going to love the Odyssey.”

“No, they’re his twins and my twins.”

“That’s great!  So who’s the minivan for?”

“Both of us.”

“Well, it’s the perfect car for you and your brother.  There’s plenty of room for you, your kids and your wives.”

I have no idea whether this guy was homophobic, or what he could possibly have been imagining went on in my house, but I know he desperately wanted to make that sale.

Then there was the guy at the Thai restaurant, who saw me and Drew each schlepping a newborn in a car seat to our table, while Drew’s sister strolled casually behind us.

“Are you the mom?” he asked her.

“No, they have two dads,” she answered.

“No two dads!” he insisted.

“Yes,” Drew said.  “I’m one dad, and he’s the other dad.”

“No two dads!”

“Yes, two dads.  We’re both listed on their birth certificates.”

“No two dads!  No two dads!  NO TWO DADS!”

I don’t know where that man is right now, but I’m pretty sure he’s still shaking his head adamantly and shouting, “No two dads!” at whoever will listen.

5. The Moral Crusaders

Reaction: Salvation mode

The Moral Crusader

These are the people we dread.  They’re not happy just to stay quiet.  They want you, their kids and anyone within shouting radius to know that Satan is in their midst.  They’re all too happy to point their fingers and condemn you as the reason for the breakdown of the American family, if not of society as a whole.

There’s no need to guess what’s going on in their heads, because they lay it all out.  They’ll spew those “men laying with men” Bible verses, they’ll tell you you shouldn’t be in the military, they’ll want to see whatever legal documents you can produce to prove your guardianship or threaten to call Child Protective Services and report you.

They’re every gay dad’s worst nightmare.  But here’s the good thing about the Moral Crusaders… they don’t exist.

At least, I haven’t run into any.  Not yet.

Maybe they’re out there somewhere.  Maybe gay dads in less progressive parts of America have to deal with them all the time.  But to me, they’re boogeymen, who might very well just be figments of my imagination.

Before my kids were born, I was convinced I would face them all the time.  But rather than let that scare me off from parenthood altogether, I did the alternative.  I prepared for the worst.

I’ve been working on some great little speeches to defend my family against the kooks out there.  Whenever I meet someone new, before I find out which of these 5 categories they’re going to fall into, I’ve always got my comebacks ready to go, just in case I’m about to be faced with my first Moral Crusader.  Who knows what they look like?  They can take many forms.

I don’t want to speak for all gay families, but if you see my partner and me out with our twins, by all means, come say hello.  We really do like meeting people and sharing our story, and it makes our kids think we’re celebrities.

As for which of the five categories you fall into, it really doesn’t matter to me.  Whatever your reaction is, I’ll be ready.

Nov 2 2011

The M-Word

I admit it.  I’m terrified of the M-word.

Y’know.  That M word.  The supposedly most beautiful word in the English language… unless you’re a gay dad.

Come on, don’t make me say it.  99.9999% of families have one?  We honor her the second Sunday of every May?  She’s uniquely privy to the strain and anguish of childbirth?  That’s right.  Her.

Don’t get me wrong, M-words are awesome.  I have one myself.  I have a step-M-word, god-M-word, grand M-words.  All swell ladies.  If you ask me, they deserve ten holidays and a continued monopoly over daytime TV programming schedules.

But my kids have no M-word – never had one, never will.  Personally, I don’t think they’ll suffer for it, nothing serious anyway.  I mean, Bennett might have to skip the M-son picnic at school.  And Sutton’s going to have to make her peace with Daddy always taking her into the public bathroom where she has to close her eyes until she’s inside a stall.  But they have two parents who love them smotheringly, and that’s all that matters.

Still, it’d be nice if the entire world wasn’t constantly reminding them how amazing M-words are.

They’re in the books they read, the movies they see, the songs they sing.  One day, I just know my kids will ask me to cough one up.  “Daddy?” they’ll shout from behind a river of tears.  “Why don’t I have one?  All my friends do!”  And what will I say?

“Sure, but your friends only have one daddy.  Losers!”

“What makes you so sure you’d have a good one?  Let me show you some Lifetime movies.  M-words are a crap shoot, kid.”

Or maybe I’ll just read them Olivia.  “You wear me out, but I love you anyway,” her M-word tells her at the supposedly heartwarming end of the supposedly adorable book.  Geez, what a sow!

I do what I can to shield the kids from the M-word propaganda out there.  I’m not proud to admit it, but I’ve even resorted to censorship.  When I’m reading books, I’ll change the M-word to “Daddy”, or if there’s a picture with it, “Grandma”.  I’ve even made it “some strange lady.”  “See, kids, when you’re crossing the street, always do it like the kid in this book, while holding the hands of a grown-up.  Even if it’s just some strange lady.”

You’ll never find a copy of “Are You My M-Word” on my family’s bookshelf.  We’ll play Simon Says, but not M-Word, May I.  And when my kids are old enough to watch Bambi, we’re only going to show them the second half, after you-know-who eats it.

But it’s no use.

They bust out the M-word all the time, and each one is a tiny dagger in my heart.  Usually it means nothing.  I mean, they’re still at the stage where 5-90% of what they say is gibberish.  So when I hear one of them say “Mommy”, I play dumb.

“What’s that?  Flommy?  Clommy?  Salami?”

But sometimes, they know exactly what they’re saying.

A few weeks ago, the four of us – Drew, me, Sutton and Bennett — went to Target, and Sutton decided she was going to demand one of everything in the store.  After we said “no” for about the millionth time, triggering the umpteenth fruitless tantrum, she decided to take a new approach.  She looked around her, flipped her head upward and belted out a sentence we’d never heard her say before.

“WHERE’S MY MOMMY?”

It was shouted at top volume, like a distress call to strangers.  She may as well have said, “Where’s my Mommy and who are these two strange men who keep telling me I don’t have one?”

We were sure a ring of suspicious shoppers would surround us and demand to know, “Yes, where is her mommy?  Do you even know?  Is this even your daughter?”  It could’ve been ugly.  Thankfully, no one intervened, and to quiet Sutton down, we gave her whatever she’d been asking for, plus the last 50 things she wanted, too.  That stopped the “M-word” talk, fast.

That’s when I had a revelation.  My kids have a secret weapon against me, something every kid desperately wants against their parents, something far more valuable than an M-word.  My kids have ammunition.

And they’re already figuring out how to use it.

I’m doomed.