So as my family progresses across the choppy emotional sea of social change, though I still face resistance every time I meet up with pain, instead of ignoring the hurt, I'm trying to make space for it.
I invited my dad to Sweden for his 60th birthday. I figured 60 was as good a time as any to start living a fabulously gay life. I wanted to show him the world that existed beyond his everyday Montana and I wanted to make peace with my past.
I always figured there were certain hateful statements that my sons would make, especially ones that say I am inadequate. One of the statements I feared was finally delivered, though it did not come as part of a calculated gotcha exchange. It came at the worst possible moment.
While matters of gender and biology may be relevant to making a child, it is parenting that makes a parent. The ability and the desire to love a child unconditionally has nothing to do with one's gender.
A little more than 24 hours after a young man in Newtown, Conn., gunned down 20 children, their caretakers and his own mother, hearing my kids equate death with "boy stuff" takes the breath out of my lungs.