Family Kiss

Loners,

I’ve been thinking a lot about, “Pride.”

A celebration of ourselves, a centering of our efforts. A reminder of how far we’ve come. And, always, a battle cry for what is still left to achieve. This year, I am terribly aware, of how much of our pride, we must also defend.

In my 20’s I attended Dyke Marches and Pride Parades in Montreal, Toronto, San Francisco, and New York. It was on the streets that the heart of the matter—pride—felt most profound. The signs, carried by the young, that read, “My mom is gay,” or “I love my two dads,” would always break me.

Acceptance, not tolerance. Liberation, not assimilation.

For much of my adult life, I feared having a child would expose me to a different strand of homophobia. Worse, was the idea of exposing a child to it. It seemed too profound an injury to risk. Yet, here I am, married with a beautiful kid that I love so deeply it takes my breath away.

Sid loves our bedtime ritual, simply called ‘Family Kiss’. We each take turns kissing him, and then, at his insistence, Stacy and I kiss. I can’t tell you how much joy this brings him. How much joy it brings us. It seems impossible to me now that anyone’s judgment could ever make Sid doubt his family, and the love coursing through our connection.

I sometimes hold his birth certificate in my hands, staring at our three names. We’re his mom and his mommy. He’s our baby. How many queer parents have had this right?

As a closeted teenager, the discrimination I feared was institutional, and the rejection I felt from adults and mentors in my world cut deep. I was taught to hate myself, and I am still working to unlearn much of it.

I have no idea how Sid will identify, or how sexuality and gender will be discussed in school when he is a student. What I do know is that he will always be the child of queer parents. His life will be shaped by how the world treats us, and that sometimes keeps me awake at night.

Happy Pride,

Sara