Save The Children

I’ve had enough.

I’m tired of being treated like some freak that needs to be carefully sidestepped at every election as if supporting my marriage is touching the third rail. I’m tired of the rhetoric that “gay marriage” will be taught in classrooms across the land and small children will be exposed to sexuality in inappropriate ways if equality is given to all.

The children, oh, please, save the children.

The newest ploy in California to take away equal rights is to use Massachusetts, my home state, as an example of all that will go wrong. Children will be “forced” to learn about gay families.

They may even be exposed to a book, “King and King,” that on one page? Shows two men kissing.

Oh, the horror. I have to admit, any time my kids’ see my wife and I give each other a peck, they do shriek in disgust. The same way all kids do when they see their parents express affection.

What makes me the angriest is not the stones they are throwing at me- bring it on- but the effect it has on my kids. My kids aren’t gay. They have gay parents. Should their teacher have to send out a permission form every time one of my kids mentions his parents? If they draw a picture of their family, does it require parental notification?

Is that what we want in our schools? A lock down on anything different?

The people so concerned with the “children” are clearly not concerned with mine at all. While it’s fine for my son’s fifth grade teacher to come in and share pictures and stories about her heterosexual marriage ceremony, it’s suddenly all about sexual behavior when a lesbian or gay man does it.

I will admit, all my kids did, in fact, talk about our wedding at school. It was historic, it was about social change and you know what they discussed? The chocolate fountain at the reception. The giant bouquets of hostess Twinkies, ho ho’s and cupcakes.

They are kids. They have lives they want to share with their friends. Why should they be singled out for different treatment because of who their parents are? Can you even imagine anyone recommending doing this to kids of interracial marriages?

Proposition 8 supporters are running ads with little children asking their heterosexual parents about men with men, and women with women. Funny thing is, with all those heterosexual teachers at school, some parading around with pregnant bellies, and I have never once had my kids ask about heterosexual sex practices.

Nor do they come home and ask, Mommy? Can a man and woman get married? And it’s not solely because kids are awash in 24/7 media images of men and women together, often sexually, but because they don’t really care.

They care about their worlds. Soccer games. Playdates. Chocolate fountains.

And so what if kids do come home and ask about gay families? If you’re really such a bigot, just spew out all the hateful things you have to say about homosexuality. See it as a teachable moment.

Son, if you grow up to be gay, we’ll disown you, the church will shun you and in fact, you’ll burn in hell. Now go do your homework.

I’m tired of being treated like some leper that will infect children with horrible values simply by being acknowledged. I’ve got news for those folks- I’m a parent, first and foremost. I’m also a wife, a writer, a neighbor, a friend, a colleague, and a pretty damn good cook. I coach my son’s soccer team, I fold laundry and I make my kids brush their teeth. I volunteer at the school on occasion even though on top of it all, I’m a big ol’ lesbian.

The kids don’t care. They just want someone to help tie their shoes, or pick out a library book.

Save the children? Don’t believe it for a second. They only want to save a hateful way of seeing the world through very narrow eyes.

That's It

If I were Senator Clinton, I'd throw in the towel and tell everyone to go to hell. After years of being dogged by the media, criticized, humiliated, scored, and ripped to shreds, she has to have the thickest skin on the face of the earth.

But to go after her daughter?

That's it. I'd tell all my supporters thanks but no thanks. This is not worth it. I don't care that Chelsea is an adult. Asking her about how her mother handled her father's very public extra marital affair?



And it happened again today.

Meanwhile, the double edged sword of the media continues. Previous supporter Nora Ephron rips into Clinton's rendition of Bosnia but Obama continues to get to wane poetically about events without a fact checker.

From Politico:

"consider Obama's stirring tale for the Selma audience about how he had been conceived by his parents, Barack Obama Sr. and Ann Dunham, because they had been inspired by the fervor following the "Bloody Sunday" voting rights demonstration that was commemorated March 4. "There was something stirring across the country because of what happened in Selma, Ala.," he said, "because some folks are willing to march across a bridge. So they got together and Barack Obama Jr. was born. So don't tell me I don't have a claim on Selma, Ala. Don't tell me I'm not coming home to Selma, Ala." Obama was born in 1961, and the Selma march occurred four years later, in 1965. The New York Times reported that when the senator was asked about the discrepancy later that day, he clarified: "I meant the whole civil rights movement."

So when he does it, it's charming? And if you click through to the Politico article? There are countless more of these "slips."

If I were Senator Clinton, I'd throw my hands up and say, good luck to you. You have a newbie political creation from the powers that be. They better step up to the plate and keep delivering for him because he doesn't have a clue how to do it himself.

If he thinks I've been "dirty" and run a negative campaign?

Grow up. Wait till the Republicans get a hold of you.

Leave my kid alone. Leave my jerk of a husband alone. Like no one out there has taken back a spouse who cheated. Please. I'm done with the slings and arrows. I have enough money, friends and stories to tell my grandchildren.

I don't need this job. This job needs me.

And don't you dare come whining to me when Obama blows it in the first 100 days. And then the next 100 days. Because unlike all the restraint I've shown to date? I'm going to tell you I told you so.

Because you know what? When it comes to asking my kid about something private, personal and painful to play "gotcha" for the camera?

That's it.

Ben and the Mink

I know the world is going to hell in a hand basket. Citigroup lost billions. Stock market is tanking, oil prices rising, and average Americans who thought they might retire someday are realizing it's a ridiculous, outdated notion.

I know there are bigger fish to fry, like Mitt Romney over pretty much anything that comes out of his mouth. Or Huckabee's connection with various religious extremists. Or McCain's inability to string a sentence together without the clear desire to use a profanity.

Not that I mind that- it actually makes me like him.

But today I realized, I have to do something about my son Ben and the mink coat my mother left me.

He was on his way to pick up his brother's at after school- it's a block away from home and he is old enough to do this "errand" for me. He opened the closet for a coat.

Mom? Can I wear the mink?

I paused a moment- it is an expensive coat. Not that I ever wear it.

Yes.

Really?

Sure.

Then he paused a moment.

Nah, just kidding.

He looked longingly at the coat in the closet.

Should I just give him the coat? Take it somewhere and have it refashioned into a men's style?

The gender rules he's struggling with right now are so painful. I know he wants the coat. I know he wanted to wear it, just the way it is. It's soft, smells great and is so warm. When he puts it on, he does a little twirl.

He loves it.

(All the PETA members can settle down- these minks have been dead since about 1950. The coat has been refashioned more than once. Let's not have the minks have died in vain.)

On one hand, you don't hand a kid who never hangs anything up, a coat worth a lot of money. In our neighborhood, no one is walking around wearing mink coats. Not adults, not kids- no one.

On the other, for him it's a beautiful thing. It's secretly feminine in his mind. No one knows it's a "girl" thing and he can get away with it. It's like being a lesbian and wearing men's boxer shorts.

Not that I know anything at all about that.

I want to help him find ways to express himself that won't get him teased, taunted or humiliated. He's riding high on being "popular" and it's a position that he's worked hard to achieve. It also makes him tense about every moment and every choice around his presentation in the world.

It's not earth shattering, to be certain. It's only a coat. Ben is 12 and he's been making these choices since he was two years old. He's struggled with what is expected of him as a boy, what his heart tells him and the reality of him having to make a choice to express it. Our society accepts masculine girls (as long as they grow out of it) but not feminine boys. Go to any preschool and count the girls in jeans and sneakers.

Count the boys wearing dresses and tights.

I want him to grab the mink and wear it. And my pearls, which he's eyed at different times. I want him to say fuck it to all the rules and be who he wants to be, wear the clothes he wants and do his little twirl in public. It doesn't make him gay, it doesn't make him unmanly, it just makes him someone with a highly developed sense of style and fashion.

And I know what would happen if he did.

The Good, The Bad and The Anxiety In Between

There are few things, as a parent, I enjoy more than asking the obvious question and waiting to hear the response.

Jake? Is the table set?

Now, I know the table isn’t set. I know he’s still drawing tanks and bombs and guns. I know there are flamethrowers and parachute guys dotting the horizon.

Um…

Before he answers, I hear the scramble to clear off the drawing materials- often being thrown right on the ground- and the clink of the plates I left out on the counter for him.

Uh…

He still hasn’t answered because he still isn’t done. He doesn’t want to lie, but he doesn’t want to admit I asked him twenty minutes ago, fifteen minutes ago and ten minutes ago to set the table.

Five minutes later, he says, Yeah, Mom. The table is set.

My other obvious question is, Have you brushed your teeth?

Which I know the answer is always no but I have to ask.

And there are few things, I hate more as a parent. Like seeing Jake’s legs covered with bruises- still- even after the fall football, outdoor wrestling season.

I know, I know. Lots of ice lately, lots of reasons to fall and bump. But they all look like the same ones he’s had for a while.

Twenty childhood leukemia websites later, I’m convinced I’m just being paranoid.

Almost convinced. I've looked at a lot of little boy bruised legs over the last 12 years. My gut tells me there is something wrong. Diabetes, anemia or maybe an undetected ear infection throwing off his balance.

Something. Maybe.

Which is why I hate this part of parenting. Am I overreacting? Do I take him to the doctor? Old voices tell me you don’t bother the doctor, new voices tell me I know enough doctors to know they would rather see you too many times than too few.

The good, the bad and the anxiety in between.

I’m calling the doctor tomorrow. If nothing else, maybe he can get Jake to listen when I tell him to set the table.