It’s Lesbian Visibility Day, so here’s a look back at a children’s book from 1996, written by two lesbian grandmothers, that asks and answers the question, “What’s a lesbian?” It feels rather dated and clichéd now, but is earnest and full of heart. Enjoy this blast from the past, which reminds us that the history of lesbian parents (and queer families generally) goes back further than we might think.
In 1996, Jeanne Arnold and Barbara Lindquist had been together for more than 20 years and already had six children and 11 grandchildren. That year, Arnold wrote and Lindquist illustrated Amy Asks a Question: Grandma, What’s a Lesbian? and they published it through the small Mother Courage Press that they had founded in 1981, after opening a bookstore of the same name. The story, which is available to borrow free online at Open Library, tells of a 10-year-old White girl named Amy who learns from her lesbian grandmothers what it means to be a lesbian, what their relationship means to them, what gay pride is, and what lesbian culture is like (or at least the specific lesbian subculture of her grandmothers). The grandmothers also explain that some people think being lesbian or gay is wrong, and share the fears they had about coming out to their own children, who were teenagers at the time.
To the best of my knowledge, this book was the first picture book to feature same-sex grandparents. It is, however, wordy and pedantic, and feels at times almost like a parody of White lesbian feminist culture—the grandmothers open a women’s bookstore and have a “moon circle” ceremony to celebrate their relationship. Grandma Bonnie also notes that lesbians are “almost invisible unless they wear a pink triangle pin or a rainbow flag patch on their clothes or have a lavender bumper sticker on the cars saying, ‘Meet you in Michigan in August.'” The last item is a reference to the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival, now defunct (and sadly transphobic), but which was a touchstone for many lesbians for several decades. The authors never explain this, however, presumably because they assumed that parents in the book’s target families wouldn’t need an explanation.
There are some fun details in the book, though: Grandma Bonnie is not only an artist, musician, and author, but also “a computer expert and a woman who owns her own business”—notable for a woman of grandparent age in 1996. And young Amy isn’t completely clueless about queer things; she knows her father’s brother was gay and died of AIDS (though she uses the term “friend” for someone who was likely more than that to him). She also knows that her grandmothers were each divorced (presumably from men) and Grandma Bonnie was laid off from her job after her boss found out the two women were living together. The grandmothers in the book are clearly meant as thinly fictionalized versions of Arnold and Lindquist themselves, as is obvious from the afterward in which they talk both about the grandmothers in the book and about their own lives.
Lesbians could be among the teachers you know—ministers, nurses and doctors. they’re factory employees and clerks, plumbers and carpenters. They are rich and poor. They serve in law enforcement, as firefighters, and in the military.
Lesbians could be among the teachers you know—ministers, nurses and doctors. they’re factory employees and clerks, plumbers and carpenters. They are rich and poor. They serve in law enforcement, as firefighters, and in the military.
They have many differences and talents and temperaments. They may not always be a couple living together like we live. They may be mothers or women without children, young women, middle-aged and old—sometimes they may even be married to men—and they come from every nationality, race and religion.
She adds that more lesbians and gay men are coming out, “showing their pride and working for their right to be themselves.” Grandma Jo then says excitedly:
The benefit of being a lesbian is one of the best kept secrets ever. And it’s more than just making love; it’s being in love with, laughing and crying, sharing experiences together with each other and other women and children—and men we can trust.
The benefit of being a lesbian is one of the best kept secrets ever.
The authors say on the back of the book that “Children may read this book by themselves, but if they read and discuss it with their parents or their grandparents, everyone may find the words needed to begin the ‘coming out’ process. Parents who are adult children of lesbians and gays can find words to describe their mother’s lifestyle to their children–or even their gay father’s.” While I wouldn’t necessarily recommend this book today as a starting point for discussion about families with same-sex parents or grandparents (try more recent titles in my database under the “Lesbian/queer woman/mom(s)” tag or the “Grandparents (LGBTQ)” tag), it’s a fun read for us parents, especially if we experienced some part of lesbian culture in the 1970s to 90s. (I knew people with those Michigan bumper stickers.) Those of us with older children might share it with them as a historical look at one aspect of lesbian families and culture from that era. (Be prepared for some eye rolling.)
As Lindquist and Arnold themselves recognize in the afterward, however, “Each woman, each situation and locale are different for each family. And families change.” Their book offers one snapshot of lesbian lives, but reminds us that there are many more.
Borrow the book free online at Open Library for an hour, but remember that only one person can do so at a time, so please be considerate and return it as soon as you’re done. Kudos to the authors for this heartfelt early book that offered children a positive representation of lesbian relationships and culture.
Want a little more lesbian mom history? Check out my Lesbian Visibility Day post from 2019.
