A young chick with two moms learns that families come in different structures, in this book that means well, but takes up the old trope of problematizing LGBTQ families.
Chick, an anthropomorphic chicken, is excited about his first day of school. A note from his teacher, however, suggests that “If it helps you feel brave, ask your mom, your dad, or an older brother or sister to walk you to school.” Chick, who has two moms, thinks this means he has to pick only one mom to go with him. Chick doesn’t want to choose between his moms, and therefore decides to go by himself.
On the way, he encounters his classmates, different kinds of animals walking with different relatives: Foal, with a mom and dad; Little Bear, with mom and a brother; Littlest Alligator, with a mom and a lot of siblings; and Little Tiger with a big sister. When asked by Little Bear why he came alone, Chick replies that he has two moms and no siblings, but “The note said ‘mom or dad, big brother or sister. What could I do?”
Now, I know that many school communications exclude families with same-sex parents. I’ve experienced that myself. But this feels like Chick is interpreting the note over-literally for the purpose of creating a plot issue. Chick could have chosen to go with one mom, or to ignore the “or” and go with both moms. Foal, Little Bear, and Littlest Alligator clearly ignored the “or” and went with two or more escorts. The teacher’s wording could be improved, yes—but her phrasing at least offers the possibility that kids just moms or just dads can find at least one person to go with them (unlike, say, writing “mom and dad”). Furthermore, to me the problem isn’t really that she is excluding kids with two moms or two dads, but that she excludes children living with grandparents or other non-parental carers, not to mention nonbinary parents. That’s never addressed.
The questioning of Chick’s family continues, however. Littlest Alligator suggests, “Maybe you have a second mom because your real mom is having more kids and needs help” (as does Littlest Alligator’s mom, with 10 kids). Chick replies that both of his moms are real, and he likes being an only chick. Littlest Alligator’s comment comes out of nowhere, though, because no one (except the author) has raised the question of why Chick has two moms.
Later, Little Tiger asks if it’s fun to have two moms. Chick says yes, but adds that some animals stare at them. Little Tiger says his sister advises not to worry about what others think.
Back home, Chick asks his moms, “Why do I have two moms?” Every family is different, they explain, noting that some are big, some small, some swim, some fly, and some “don’t have feathers,” as we see images of different animal species. Chick is happy with his family, though, the book concludes, and likes his family just as it is. His moms “loved each other, and they loved him.”
The message here from author Melissa Marr is an affirming one—but it also feels like one I’ve seen many times before. Questioning or excluding a queer family, particularly in a school context, is an old trope used in many of the early (and some later) books about LGBTQ families, including Heather Has Two Mommies (the original edition more than the 2015 revision), Lots of Mommies, Asha’s Mums, Molly’s Family, Antonio’s Card/La Tarjeta de Antonio, Love Is Love, Papa, Daddy, & Riley, and Who’s Your Real Mom?. We’ve also seen children with same-sex parents inadvertently excluded from classroom activities in Stella Brings the Family and The Zero Dads Club (though at least in the last three books, the children themselves are able to find a solution without adult explanations or interventions, which feels empowering).
While many children with LGBTQ parents do encounter invalidation and exclusion, I have long said we need fewer books that problematize our differences and what others think of our families. Way back in 2007, author Jennifer Bryan told me that she wrote her book A Different Dragon because “I was tired of reading GLBT books that ‘explained’ or ‘defended’ our type of family.” More recently, OurShelves diverse book subscription service was created in large part to showcase “stories where there are LGBTQ families out and proud, but the storyline doesn’t have to be about whether we are legitimate or okay as people and families,” as founder Alli Harper told me. Family Is Family feels like it’s slipped back into those old modes that we’ve been trying to get away from.
I also wonder about the metaphor of different species representing different kinds of families. In an article about the perils of using metaphors for trans identities, author Kyle Lukoff astutely noted, “Trans children deserve to know that trans people exist. Instead of having to parse themselves solely through tortured metaphors … they should also be given the descriptors that line up with how other trans people talk about themselves and, more importantly, the communities and cultures that we build and maintain by ourselves, for ourselves and each other.” One could say something similar about children of same-sex parents, I believe. Different kinds of families don’t compare to each other as ducks compare to hippos, as Family Is Family seems to suggest. We’re not different species, just variations of the same one.
Additionally, with the wealth of LGBTQ-inclusive picture books and other resources available now, about family types and much more, and the greater visibility of LGBTQ families today, I find it hard to believe that a two-mom family wouldn’t have had a discussion about different family types before their kid started school. Has Chick never had playdates? The whole plot feels overly contrived to set up the “problem” and then resolve it.
This isn’t an awful book; the text flows nicely and the illustrations by Marcos Almada Rivero are particularly warm and lovely. Its focus on the “problems” of being in a queer family (exclusion from school communications; being told one parent isn’t “real”; being stared at) just feels overdone.
