One Tyke and You’re Out

• Fighting Daily Bias & Misunderstanding, Selves and Identities • coming out, my family, national coming out day

Even though I was out before becoming a parent, having a kid meant being out to people I would never have shared anything with, about my queerness or otherwise. One toddler call of “Mommy and Mama!” in the supermarket, however, and everyone could see our rainbow halo.

My then-partner, later-spouse Helen and I were by necessity out to doctors, nurses, receptionists, and lawyers as we went through the reciprocal IVF (RIVF) process, as well as to colleagues and HR staff at our respective employers as we arranged family leave. Luckily, both of our employers had domestic partner benefits in place even pre-marriage equality, and our immediate supervisors and close colleagues were all welcoming. Mine even threw us a baby shower. I knew I was lucky, though; as head of my employer’s LGBTQ employee resource group, I’d seen some of the nasty comments and pushback when our group sent out company-wide e-blasts about an event. Still, that was all the more reason to be out and visible.

After our son was born, it would have been hard to hide even if we had wanted to. A random stranger would comment on how cute our son was, and my spouse and I would both respond, “Thank you,” making it clear we were both his parents and outing ourselves to someone we wouldn’t have interacted at all with earlier. Kids are conversation starters, however, and I tried to get used to it.

As our son got older, I reminded myself that being unflinching in public about our two-mom family was vital to instilling pride and self-confidence in him rather than shame or hesitancy. This was a privilege we had, though, since we didn’t have jobs where we could get fired for being queer (such as in the military, still under Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell in the early aughts) and didn’t live in places without employment nondiscrimination protections. We could be out without risking our family’s financial stability. Not everyone was that lucky, or is today, despite greater legal protections now, at least in theory. To my mind, that means a greater responsibility for those of us who can be safely out to be so, setting examples for our children and for so many others.

Helen and I made a point, too, of showing up at the beginning of each school year for Parents’ Night and introducing ourselves to our son’s teachers. We didn’t say, “Hi, we’re the lesbians,” but made it clear we were both his parents. The problem was, however, that I wanted to be known primarily as my son’s mom, not his “lesbian mom.” The commonalities of parenthood far outweighed the differences of sexual orientation. More importantly, I wanted my son to be known for his own qualities, and not be defined primarily as “the boy with the lesbian moms.” Yes, the fact that he has two moms will always be part of his identity, but I want us to be a piece of a much richer whole, not a leading indicator. At the same time, I knew that visibility could motivate teachers and schools to be more inclusive and open students’ eyes to the great variety of families in their community and world. We strove to find this balance.

As other parents and I chatted during pick-up time, I also found myself sometimes coming out to them about the fact that although our son is the spitting image of me, I had not carried the pregnancy. My spouse, who looks nothing like him, had done so, using my egg. No, I didn’t have to share those details about our family—and I only brought it up if the conversation had turned to pregnancies anyway—but I hoped that it would remind people not to make assumptions about how families are formed.

I tried to remember, though, particularly as our son got older, that our children, no matter their own identities, also have a coming out process about their families. I first realized this from reading Abigail Garner’s 2004 book Families Like Mine: Children of Gay Parents Tell It Like It Is, and I think the lesson still holds true today. We can set examples of living openly and authentically and hope that our children will speak honestly and proudly about their families as well, but we should realize that like our own coming out, it is a process, perhaps especially for children who are older when their parents come out.

Coming out is a personal choice with both personal and public ramifications. It is not anyone’s place to tell another when or how to come out. Yet I do believe that the more comfortable we parents are in our own identities—LGBTQ and otherwise—the more comfortable our children will be in theirs. And our collective visibility has a wider impact for the awareness and acceptance of LGBTQ families and individuals as a whole.

Being out as a parent, however, is more complex than just dressing our infants in “I love my mommies” jumpers, festooning our strollers with rainbows, or being outed by our toddlers at the supermarket. It can vary as our children grow, exploring their own feelings about being part of an LGBTQ family and encountering the support—or bias—of others. And for parents who come out when their children are older, the issues can be different yet again, bound up with the parents’ own feelings and learnings. (See some of the readings below on this.)

Here’s to all LGBTQ parents and guardians who have from the start embraced a greater visibility for the sake of their kids, to those who have navigated coming out to older kids, and to those who have had to stay closeted in order to protect their families. I wish a meaningful National Coming Out Day to you all, no matter where you are in your coming out journeys.

I’ve shared some of these thoughts before in slightly varied form; this is how I’m feeling about them at the current moment in time. My experience is hardly the only one, however; below are some additional readings and resources, particularly for those coming out when their kids are older.

General Resources

Stories and Profiles

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