Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This one about broken friendships comes from 2016.

To excited first-time parents-to-be, I would offer encouragement and well wishes, but a bit of sobering advice as well: Be prepared to lose some friends. Most experienced parents know of this phenomenon of broken friendships. I think this effect is felt even more acutely by gay parents.

Fact: I have lost more friends becoming a gay parent than I have coming out as gay in the first place.

I have always been a bit of a nerd. In grade school, I wasn’t a popular kid, but I mingled with a group of similarly studious friends. Two of my best friends, “Rich” and “Nick” remained tight with me even after we all went to different colleges. When I came out of the closet in college, I was pleased both were accepting of me and remained close friends well into adulthood.

Rich and Nick were in turn friendly when I introduced them to my partner, Josh. Even though the three of us lived in different places, when we visited we would all hang out together like old times. Nick would share his girlfriend problems. Rich invited Josh and me to celebrate his engagement and his wedding to his wife. It was around this time that Josh and I started talking about having children in earnest.

Just like Rich and Nick shared their major life events with us, Josh and I were excited to share about this endeavor with them. Rich was clearly in a happy place in his life and was happy for us when we shared the news. I remember calling Nick to giddily tell him how Josh and I were going to California to look into gestational surrogacy.

My heart sank when he responded by saying, “Why are you telling me this?”

Change in status, change in attitude

It became clear Nick did not understand why we would ever want to have children. He was not particularly happy for us. I ended the rapidly deteriorating conversation and hung up before it became an argument.

We exchanged superficial pleasantries at Rich’s wedding, and then we did not speak for about two years. Around the time that we were planning our children’s first birthday party, I received an email from Nick. He asked, “Whatever happened between us?” As if he was oblivious to how my feelings were deeply hurt.

I responded angrily. He knew very well what happened.

Nick responded, stating openly what I knew to be the truth all along: He disagreed with two men raising children. He thought it would adversely affect children to be raised in a non-traditional household.

In retrospect, I believe Nick was fine with the novelty of having gay friends who hung out in gay bars doing stereotypically gay things. However, as soon as his gay friends decided to be real people and live their lives outside of a socially acceptable second-class box, he became disapproving.

After our children were born, many good friends, most of them gay, faded away more slowly. In our first few years living in Florida, Josh and I had amassed a large group of gay friends. Most had no interest in having children, but they were all happy for us when we announced we were expecting.

After AJ and JJ were born, I appreciated that these friends continued to invite us to events. Because we were busy with twin babies, though, we would either pass or send one of us out to have fun while the other stayed with the kids. Inevitably, the invitations became fewer and far between. More broken friendships, but unlike with Nick, no hard feelings were involved, so I don’t fault these friends in the slightest. Our unusual situation as gay guys with kids just didn’t fit into their social calendars neatly. That’s OK.

Losing so many friends over the years both gay and straight, either suddenly or slowly over the years, I have only a touch of sadness. In place of these friends, I have a large beautiful family.  These four children bring me unlimited and enduring joy and fulfillment.

About the author

David Hu, left, is a proud father of multiple multiples. He and his partner twice went through the gestational surrogacy process, creating a family with two sets of twins. This post was originally published on David’s blog, Rock And Ledge, and on City Dads Group via our partnership with The Handsome Father. Main photo: © ROBERT/ Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: June 12 marks the anniversary of the 2016 mass shooting at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando. Forty-nine people died and 53 were wounded when a lone gunman attacked patrons of the gay nightclub. It was the deadliest mass shooting in U.S. history at the time (it’s since been eclipsed). This article originally ran just two days later.

I woke up Sunday morning blissfully unaware. It was a rare opportunity to sleep in, not having to get up and hustle into action. When I did roust myself, I leaned over, kissed my husband good morning, and shuffled into the kitchen to pour my morning cup of coffee. And, of course, I checked my phone.

The first thing I saw: a text from a good friend of mine.

“When I saw the news this morning, I immediately thought of you and Chris, and wanted to express my sadness and outrage that even in the most powerful country in the world, we are so flawed, so full of hatred and fear,” it said.

She went on to let me know that she loves me and my family, and was thinking of us.

I didn’t know what prompted her message.

A quick web search revealed facts about the mass shooting at Pulse, a gay nightclub in Orlando. Forty-nine people gunned down on a Saturday night. During Gay Pride Month.

And, once again, I had to decide how to discuss evil with my daughter.

Nightclub shooting our latest tough conversation

It’s not the first time. She’s almost 15. Like so many other parents, I’ve been having conversations with her since she was a toddler, with horrifying regularity. Sandy Hook. Virginia Tech. San Bernardino.

When she was little, I consulted books about how to talk about death and violence with children. Do you avoid the topic, and shield them from it altogether? Should you mask real-life tragedies in analogies or fables? Or, should you stay honest, but use gentle language that minimizes the brutality?

Now that she’s a teenager, we talk about this stuff with more directness and clarity. Real-life violence has yet to touch her life directly, which is a blessing. So we did talk about the Pulse nightclub shooting, and I decided to go with accuracy and less emotion (which is always difficult for me, as someone whose emotions tend to be the boss in my head): Who the shooter was, what he did, what was known/not known about him at the time.

We had our talk, and it was briefer than conversations in the past. She hadn’t seen the news yet so I just filled her in on the latest Horrible Thing that had happened, and that was that.

Her reaction was difficult to read. Whether that’s because we were used to these talks by now, or because she’s at the stage where she’d rather process stuff on her own, it’s hard to say. I did realize, though, that this tragedy in Orlando felt different from other mass shootings for me, and possibly for her as well. Why?

Because the Orlando shooting was the deadliest in American history.

A horrifying loss of human life.

Fueled, in part, by a hatred of gay people.

And, because, I am gay.

How can she not worry?

I have been out for five years, and this is the first time such a violent act has ripped into this community I proudly call my own.

My daughter tends to be a worrier. She’s gotten a handle on it over the years, but she has the double whammy of having a very active imagination and a short anxiety fuse. So when my husband and I go out at night and she stays home, she still gets a bit nervous if I don’t text her to check in at least once. (Total role reversal. In another year or so, I’ll be the one asking her to check in.)

It’s not my teenage daughter’s job to worry about me. It’s supposed to be the other way around. That’s the way the universe is supposed to work.

And while our evenings out are usually pretty benign, my girl knows that every once in a while, we do love to go out dancing. Dancing is deeply important to us. It’s how we find our feelings, connect with the world, and thank the universe for everything that we have. We plan to keep on going out and dancing until we’re in wheelchairs. And hopefully, by then, science will have developed the technology to make robot legs and neural Groove implants so we can not only keep dancing but look even cooler than the young whippersnappers around us.

My daughter, the worrier, sees the news from Orlando about the Pulse nightclub shooting as such: people in a gay club — people there because they love their community, love each other and love dancing — being heartlessly killed. The gears in my girl’s brain turn, and she makes the connection.

Someday her dad and stepdad could be in a club, dancing happily, and be killed by someone evil, simply for being.

I know her. That’s how her brain works.

Evil will not triumph on the dancefloor

It’s not my teenage daughter’s job to worry about me. It’s supposed to be the other way around. That’s the way the universe is supposed to work.

But can I tell my daughter her worry is unfounded?

No.

Because the scary truth of it is, it’s sheer luck that I was never in a club at the same time as a monster with an AK-47. This was the killing of my people, in my house. There is no way to pretend otherwise.

So how do I talk about that with my daughter?

In this strange new world where some members of our nation are zealously clinging to their right to own guns, where any attempt at greater gun safety and regulation is met with an outcry of “You can’t take my guns away from me!”, where someone on an FBI watch list can still own a gun and carry it into a place of safety and sanctuary and act out his dream of being a vengeful god, where being gay can still result in persecution, shame and outright fear …

I don’t know what to say to my daughter about that. She’s afraid for me, and I can’t tell her that fear is unfounded.

All I can tell her is this:

Yes, there is a lot of hatred in the world.

That hatred tends to come from fear and ignorance of those we don’t understand.

That hatred can sometimes result in evil, violent action.

But there are far more people who believe in the value of love, and human life, than not. Evil doesn’t rule. It just gets more press.

Oh, and one other thing:

There’s no way in hell that evil is going to keep me from dancing. Ever.

Pulse nightclub mass shooting photo: ©  Alex / Adobe Stock.

As a gay man, I’ve had my share of hurdles to overcome. That only increased when I decided to become a dad. Like so many others in the LGBTQ+ community, I’ve faced discrimination, inequality and abuse from laws, churches, schools, family members and society as a whole. While progress has been made, there’s still much work to be done to protect the most vulnerable — particularly trans people and people of color.

So what can you, a straight, cisgender dad do to support the LGBTQ+ community and teach your kids to do the same? Glad you asked! Here’s how you can be a Pride ally to us all.

I’ve put together a list that ranges in scope from small acts of kindness to larger, long-term commitments. But they’re all doable, and all important ways you can be an ally to LGBTQ families. Doing this work not only helps our families feel safer and more accepted, but it also relieves some of the burdens of us having to constantly advocate for (and educate on behalf of) ourselves and our kids.

Family origins

1. Don’t ask LGBTQ+ parents how they “got their kids” — at least not the first time you meet them. Queer families are often formed through foster care, adoption, divorce, surrogacy, IVF (In Vitro Fertilization) and other potentially traumatic experiences. While many LGBTQ parents are happy to discuss their family’s origins, it should always be on their time and their terms.
2. Respect the families LGBTQ+ people have formed. Our families might include biological parents, separated siblings, surrogates, former partners (of any gender) and other chosen family members. It may not be like yours (or like anyone else’s family you know), but that doesn’t make it any less valid, nurturing or important.

Getting to know you

3. Introduce yourself to the LGBTQ+ parents at your child’s school, but don’t force it. If a friendship forms, great! If not, it’s at least nice to acknowledge them and make them feel welcome. The same goes for new neighbors, church congregants and coworkers.
4. Introduce your kids to our kids — invite them for playdates, sleepovers and birthday parties. Normalization and inclusivity help everyone involved.

Educate yourself about LGBTQ+ life

5. Do your research. Confused about trans people, pronoun usage, or the meaning of the words “queer,” “cisgender” and “GSA” in this post? Crank up the Google before asking your new friends. This falls under the “relieving the burden” I talked about earlier.
6. Read books with LGBTQ+ characters and stories to your kids. While queer-positive children’s books are becoming more common, they’re still not always easy to find or carried in many libraries. While it’s also great to introduce your kids to LGBTQ TV shows, movies, music, etc., books are often the first and most important influence a parent shares with a child. Here’s a good starter list.
7. Educate your relatives, friends, coworkers, neighbors and church congregants. Share with them what you learn. Stand up for LGBTQ+ folks during arguments or discussions. Don’t let homophobic jokes or comments go uncorrected. This is probably the most important item on this list — reaching the people we can’t.

 School advocacy

8. Find out if your child’s school has a GSA. If not, find out how you can help get a Gay-Straight Alliance started.
9. Are there gender-neutral restrooms in your child’s school? Dress code policies that don’t allow for a range of gender expressions? Find out how to help make these happen.

Pride ally & community

10. Put a pride sticker on your car or fly a rainbow or Pride Ally flag from your house. Afraid someone might think you’re gay? Take it as a compliment!
11. Don’t assume anyone’s sexual orientation, gender identity, pronouns, familial role or parental name. Listen, be open, and ask before jumping to conclusions.
12. If you feel uncomfortable about anything on this list, take some time to examine why. Own up to your prejudices and learned phobias and commit to doing better. There’s always more to learn, and always room to grow!

Lastly, remember that the LGBTQ+ community is not a monolith, so don’t assume every family or parent is the same. This list is fairly comprehensive, but by no means exhaustive. Have other ideas or suggestions on how to be a Pride Ally? Feel free to share them in the comments!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Brent Almond is a writer and designer who combines parenting, pop culture and politics on his blog, Designer Daddy  He has been honored by BlogHer’s “Voices of the Year” and is a two-time Mom 2.0 Summit Iris Award winner. Other passions include advocating for LGBTQ families and doodling superheroes for his son’s lunches.

Pride ally photo: © Bogdan / Adobe Stock.

My oldest is now 10. Last year, or maybe it was two years ago, he went to a sleepover birthday party as kids do. At the time, I didn’t think anything of the fact that he was the only boy on the invite list. After the party ended, I forgot it had even happened.

I was at another birthday party a few months ago where the topic was “that party with the boy sleeping over.” The parents were sagely nodding to each other, relieved that one girl just went for the movie and didn’t sleep over. According to the group wisdom, her parents had done well.

“Uh, yeah,” I finally said. “That one boy there was my son.”

I was surprised mixed gender sleepovers would be whispered-about elementary school scandal. I honestly don’t see the risk at that age. I can imagine what parents might be worried about, but really? They’re 8- and 9-year-olds. There are parents actively hosting the party. Nothing is going to happen. Especially in our town of Berkeley, Calif., known for its liberal social and political views, where almost all of these kids have been socialized to have friends of both genders. This town is supposedly liberal and woke. My son isn’t even thinking about crushes yet, let alone anything physical.

These parents were even more surprised when I told them my mom let me have mixed gender sleepovers … in high school. The positive socialization aspect of boys seeing girls as viable friends and not just as potential hookups are why my mom, and the parents of my friends, didn’t care about our slumber parties. They knew we were friends. I’m still friends with all of them today. If we’re trying to create a world where men treat women as equals rather than only as objects of desire, we need to drop the taboos we put on their social interaction. We need to let them be friends.

There’s more, though. All your fears about mixed gender sleepovers assume your kids are straight.

Same-sex sleepovers and assumptions

Whatever you’re worried about kids doing at slumber parties doesn’t magically disappear for LGBTQ kids. Every parent I know at our school would be fine if their kids were gay, but I wonder what that would mean for their views on slumber parties. It seems like an unexamined aspect of parenting LGBTQ kids. A lot of kids seem to know their orientation at an early age and, especially where I live, they are more likely to talk about or acknowledge the existence and validity of same-sex relationships.

So if your 8-year-old son tells you he’s gay, what do you do about slumber parties? Only send him to parties with girls? Or just with straight boys? Is either really a rational approach? Should you approach things any differently than you would with your cishet (cisgender and heterosexual) son?

No. The fact is, you should trust your children to be children. And if you don’t, maybe it’s time to examine how you’ve parented them. Have you contributed to oversexualizing your children in ways that you’re not aware of?

My other question is this: If people are worried about co-ed sleepovers at this age, what does my transgender child do? Attend only sleepovers with children of the gender they were assigned at birth or with their gender identity? What if the child is gender fluid? No sleepovers at all?

My hope is that my trans child can sleep over wherever xe’s invited. And I hope those invitations come from friends of every gender.

We need to examine our own filters and realize that our fears for our children don’t always align with reality. My young son isn’t a predator, and your young daughter isn’t a harlot. My 8-year-old trans child doesn’t have internet access and is not yet steeped in hookup culture. If xe’s hanging out with your son or daughter, xe just wants to play make-believe or maybe Candy Land. Kids are innocent, and we shouldn’t intrude on that with our own fears or misguided jokes about their relationships with people of other genders. If you’re really parenting your kids, you should be able to trust them to hang out with their friends no matter how they identify.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Roberto Santiago could never decide on a job so he endeavors to have all of them. He is a writer, teacher, sign language interpreter, rugby referee and stay-at-home dad. He writes about the intersections of family, sports and culture at An Interdisciplinary Life.

Mixed gender sleepovers photo: © nimito / Adobe Stock.

My husband, Matthew, and I chose the surrogacy path to fatherhood. When we started our journey in November 2014, my employer provided six weeks of paternity leave to primary caregivers; Matthew’s only provided one day for the birth of a child.

Fast forward to January 2017. My employer, American Express, extended parental and paternity leave to 20 weeks to all care givers! In addition, it was paid paternity leave — at 100% pay — and your job remains protected for the duration — well beyond the protected, unpaid 12 weeks of leave made available to parents through the federal Family and Medical Leave Act.

I was very open about my plan to take the full 20 weeks when our son, Cole, was expected to arrive in January 2018. My colleagues, including those I reported to, were very supportive of my decision. In fact, I came across many dads — in and out of my workplace — who wished they had such an opportunity to take any paternity leave when their kids were born.   

Taking that time off to care and bond with Cole during those early months of his young life was important to us, especially since my husband had to return to work soon after the birth. While on leave, I used the time to introduce Cole to music through classes offered at a local studios. We also had fun attending “Daddy and Me” classes at a nearby children’s education center. The time away from work provided me with the opportunity to be the father to Cole that I never had growing up.  

I cherished this opportunity to be a pioneer and a leader to encourage other fathers-to-be to push for and take greater advantage of any paternity leave offered by their employer. I’m happy to report that more dads at my company are doing just that to maximize this precious time with their newborns.   

I believe that every dad should be provided a similar opportunity. As a member of NYC Dads Group, I learned about Dove Men+Care’s effort to make paid paternity leave available to all new dads. I encourage you to help by signing Dove Men+Care’s Pledge for Paternity Leave and joining the Advocates for Paternity Leave Facebook group.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Michael Andersen-Leavey, a member of the NYC Dads Group, is a human resources executive in New York City.

Disclosure: Dove Men+Care is a longtime partner of City Dads Group.

Josh Bellish of Beaverton, Ore., hit the internet shortly after the birth of his son three years ago in search of others in a similar situation to his own — an at-home father looking for a way to combat the isolation that sometimes comes with full-time parenting.

Just three years later Bellish has become a leader in two of those groups he found online: co-organizer of our 550-member Portland (PDX) Dads Group and, as of this month, the president of the nonprofit National At-Home Dad Network.

That latest title is of significant note.

Bellish’s election a few weeks ago at the HomeDadCon 2018, the at-home dad network’s annual conference, makes him the first gay father to lead the 15-year-old organization which provides advocacy, community, education and support for families where fathers are the primary caregivers of their children.

“It’s incredible,” said Bellish, 36, a father of a son with his husband, Matt Claeys. “But what’s most incredible is that my being gay didn’t have anything to be with my being elected to the board or president. I wasn’t elected as a gay man, I was elected because people thought I was the right man to run the organization.”

Al Watts, who served as the At-Home Dad Network’s president from 2011 to 2015, backed Bellish’s assessment.

“The membership really looks at finding people with the qualifications to be a leader, and Josh has them,” Watts said. “I’ve talked to Josh extensively in the past few years about the issues we have a stay-at-home fathers and they are much the same as any other father with the exception of the gender of his partner.”

Bellish said his being a gay father has been easily accepted by members of City Dads and the At-Home Dads Network, a point he hopes to capitalize on in promoting the works of both groups.

It was a quick rise to the top for Bellish, who only attended his first HomeDadCon two years earlier. He did support work for the 2017 convention held in Portland, where he was elected to the board of directors, and did extensive planning for the most recent event in Orlando.

Those two experiences will help shape one of the platforms of his tenure: streamlining and simplifying the conference planning so “every future volunteer has a clear path to follow,” he said.

The other platform is increasing the network’s membership both in general numbers and in overall diversity in terms of race, sexual orientation and socioeconomic background — something the organization has focused on the past few years.

“It doesn’t matter whether you are straight, gay, white, black or what have you. This is the place for you,” Bellish said. “We are here for all dads, not just straight white middle class dads.”

While he underplays his own pioneering status as a gay father leading the organization, he does hope it might garner enough attention to bring to light the network’s values and mission.

“Being an at-home dad still isn’t widely accepted, so legitimizing dads as competent and caring full-time parents is still a priority,” he said. Depending on the data source, somewhere between 160,000 and 2 million of us exist in the United States – a number steadily on the rise in the past few decades as attitudes and gender roles in the workplace and the home have evolved.

In addition to being a full-time father, Bellish is a Realtor and helps run a real estate group with his husband in the Portland area.

DISCLOSURE: City Dads Group has been a longtime sponsor of the HomeDadCon and a frequent partner of the National At-Home Dad Network.

I thought about gender identity and all its components all day long during one period of my life. It was all-consuming. This is not how most people experience gender but for me, it kept me up at night.

That’s because I’m transgender and, before my transition, I presented in a very gender-ambiguous way. People saw me as a man or a woman depending on many factors such as context, social roles, and the person’s viewpoint. In my experience, gender is an interaction and not just a self-identity.

Two deli clerks drove this last point home one day. While I waited at the counter for my sandwich, one clerk asked the other, “Did you take her order?” and the other replied, “Yeah, he’s all set.” When they realized the discrepancy, they looked to me for clarification.

My response? “Any idea when my sandwich will be ready?”

At the time, I was comfortable with the ambiguity of my gender identity and knew that some would use “he” and some “she” to describe me.

Fast forward more than 15 years. I’m now a dad of two little ones under age 3. I no longer spend endless hours wondering, “If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to see it, is there still gender?” I started taking hormones in 2004, and gender quickly became a quiet backdrop to life, just as it is for most people. This became possible because my gender expression is no longer ambiguous and I’m unquestionably seen as a man.

My wife and I, who both identify as queer, are trying to raise our children to have an appreciation for our diverse world. When our firstborn was still being carried around in a car seat, we realized gender is one of the first things strangers ask about a baby before they dare say something about the child. The few who ventured to say “she’s so darling” only to find out we have a son were briefly mortified and apologetic.

Broadening the gender identity experience

All this swirls around my head when my 2-year-old tells me he’s a boy. He has also used the word “boy” to describe a figurine with a cowboy hat. “Where’s the boy?” he asks. He says the same thing when an older child he was playing with at the beach walks away: “Where’s the boy?” So he’s pretty clear who gets assigned this word and has not used it for anyone who identifies as a girl or woman.

When and how did my child get exposed to the idea of gender identity? Oh, right. From birth, he’s been assigned a “boy” gender and, even though my wife and I make sure his bookshelf features many stories about girls and women taking the lead, he’s gotten the message loud and clear that he’s a boy.

So he understands gender, right? Wrong. He doesn’t even know the half of it.

Gender diversity rarely entered the conversation when I grew up in the 1970s and ‘80s, but now the world is beginning to understand the vast variety of ways that exist for people to identify and express their gender.

To help you understand, let me introduce you to The Gender Unicorn:

The Gender Unicorn is one way we can discuss gender with children and give them some language to express their own gender experience.

Take a moment to plot your own gender experience. For instance, my gender identity is Man, My gender expression/presentation is Masculine, I was assigned Female at birth, I’m sexually attracted to Women and Men, and I’m romantically/emotionally attracted to Women.

We all have a gender experience. Even cisgender people (whose gender identity matches the sex they were assigned at birth) have a gender experience. Some cisgender people’s expression/presentation doesn’t align with the sex they were assigned at birth. For instance, some cis women are more masculine, and some cis men are more feminine, in the ways they express their gender. This doesn’t mean they are transgender (or gay), but they may still face discrimination based on their gender expression/presentation.

So if defining gender strictly as girl/boy is too limiting and oversimplified, how do we share these complex concepts with children?

To start, forget what you were taught about a person’s genitals determining gender. This is definitely not a shortcut — especially since you don’t know what’s in someone’s pants when you first meet them.

So what defines a person’s gender? Their brain.

“Our brains know who we are,” writes Nadine Thornhill in her blog post “How To Talk To Young Children About Gender.” “You’re a boy because your brain tells you that you are. I’m a woman because my brain tells me that’s who I am.”

Tips, resources on talking gender

Rather than guess or assume a person’s gender when you don’t know how a person identifies, use gender-neutral language. For instance, use the word “parents” in place of “moms and dads” to be more inclusive of families with two moms, two dads or parents who are non-binary (people who may express a combination of masculinity and femininity, or neither, in their gender expression/presentation).

If you are going to use a person’s pronoun, asking what pronouns they use is the safest way to avoid making a mistake. Common pronouns are “he,” “she,” “they” (singular), and “ze” (a pronoun that might be used by a non-binary person who doesn’t identify with either man or woman). You may have learned in English class that “they” should only be used to describe people and not a person. The use of singular “they” has historical roots and has had a resurgence in the past few years. It was even voted “Word of the Year” in 2015 by the American Dialect Society. Using the singular “they” or “she” to identify a character in a book is one way to expand the gender representation of characters in children’s books which are overwhelmingly male-identified, even when they are animals or trucks.

My wife and I try to use a mix of gendered and gender-neutral language to refer to our children. For instance, we might say “our boys” or “our kiddos,” or “the book is in the boys’ room” or “the book is in the kids’ room.”

I can tell you that children are much less uptight about the gender subject than adults. Twenty years ago, when I was presenting in a very gender-ambiguous way and had not yet transitioned, I was sitting in a gynecologist’s waiting room when a young child asked her mom whether I was a boy or a girl. The mom looked at me apologetically and said, “Girl.” The little girl looked up at me and said, “Oh, he’s a girl,” and continued to play. I sat there thinking, how perfectly her description fit me at that moment of my gender journey and how readily children accept non-binary ways of thinking.

Gender experience photo: Cory Woodward on Unsplash. Gender Unicorn: Trans Student Educational Resources

Author’s note: In this Pride Month article, “queer” is used as an umbrella term for people with a range of genders and sexual orientations who are not cisgender, or cis — a person whose gender identity corresponds with the sex the person had or was identified as having at birth — or straight. In this way, a word that historically was used against LGBTQ+ people has been reclaimed by us.

Instilling a sense of pride in our children is a responsibility many parents work to fulfill.

For our family, in which my wife and I both identify as queer, that includes our children being proud of their queer trans papa and queer cis mama. Together, we make a proud queer family.

During the month of June, recognized nationally as LGBTQ Pride Month, this means bringing out the box o’ bling so we can put on activist buttons and rainbow flags as we get ready to go to the Boston Pride Parade — a major holiday at our house.

This year it meant not just watching the Pride Parade, but marching in it with the Grand Marshal, whose contingent focused on the intersections of oppression and giving voice to many who were not present.

My children, ages 2.5 years old and 6 months old, are not going to remember marching at this year’s parade. They also have not yet had to answer any intrusive questions about our family and how they came to be born. They haven’t had to defend themselves against transphobia and homophobia regardless of how they end up identifying themselves. I know those days will come and my wife and I are working now to equip our children by raising them culturally queer and proud.

We believe it’s important they be part of a community in which they regularly interact with other children who share some of the joys and challenges of being raised in a queer family. These children, like mine, share the good fortune of being wanted so desperately that their parents were willing to go to great expense and effort to bring them into this world. This is why my wife and I feel so fortunate to have an extended queer family in Boston. These “aunties” have been in my life for over a decade and many of them are now raising children of their own.

Support resources for children of LGBTQ parents

Many LGBTQ people raised children before these more open days. Initially, many of these children were from previous heterosexual marriages, then same-sex adoption became more common. With the advent of in vitro fertilization (IVF) and other forms of artificial insemination, more and more babies are being born directly to LGBTQ parents. For more than a decade now, these children of queer parents have come to identify themselves as “queerspawn.” This unique identity has nothing to do with their own gender or sexuality. It’s an identity based on being raised within a queer culture — the rainbow and glitter-filled Pride days of joy along with the dark ones filled with probing questions and bullying from outsiders.

Our community now has queerspawn and a “second generation” (those children who also identify as queer based on their sexuality) who are well into their 20s and 30s. Those early pioneers often had to fight for acceptance within the LGBTQ communities on college campuses and, despite generally more accepting attitudes across the nation, many children of queer parents still feel a bit like they live between two worlds.

They also feel forgotten. The LGBTQ community often speaks about and provides resources for the parents of queer children, but rarely does it acknowledge the children of queer parents. Fortunately, children of LGBTQ parents do have ways they can find each other and the unique support they need.

The nonprofit organization COLAGE, according to its website, “unites people with lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and/or queer parents into a network of peers and supports them as they nurture and empower each other to be skilled, self-confident, and just leaders in our collective communities.”

Formed in 1990, “COLAGE grew out of a need for a kids-only space, separate from parent-run LGBTQ support groups,” wrote Elizabeth Collins, leader of the Los Angeles chapter, in a VICE article. “Because of the critical fight for gay rights in this country, many queerspawn have felt a burden to be ‘poster children;’ COLAGE provides a space where kids can discuss their families without judgment. It also gives them the opportunity to meet others in similarly unique family structures.”

One such opportunity is Family Week in Provincetown, Massachusetts. For more than 20 years, this week-long event COLAGE has done in partnership with the Family Equality Council lets LGBTQ families connect, learn and support each other. With more than 50 events to choose from, there is something for everyone including lots of programming for children of LGBTQ parents. This year’s event is July 28-August 4.

As an openly trans dad, I’m especially excited COLAGE has developed a Kids of Trans Resource Guide — “the first and only guide written by and for people who have trans parents” — and has a private Facebook group for people with trans parents.

Keshet is another national organization providing events for LGBTQ families. While their focus is LGBTQ Jewish families, their Parent & Family Connection chapters around the country welcome families of all faiths or even without a faith tradition. If there isn’t a group in your area, you’re encouraged to start your own and Keshet provides the resources and support to make that happen.

If you’re reading this and you’re thinking, “I’m not gay, but I think my child might be” then you should know about PFLAG. This national organization with more than 400 chapters around the country is committed to helping parents of LGBTQ youth become more supportive and accepting because this is critical to a child’s health and well-being.

Thank you for taking the time to learn about the organizations supporting children of LGBTQ parents. Together, we are raising strong and resilient children. That’s something every parent can take pride in.

All photos courtesy of Robbie Samuels.

When Chris and I first got married, I was charmed and amused by the notion that I, a man-person, now had a Husband.

I had a Husband while simultaneously being a Husband myself.

My inner child loved it, finding it both weird and silly. That kid voice in my head giggled: “He’s your HUSBAND? But you’re both boys!”

It was unusual, and extremely pleasing, to talk about my Husband, rather than my Partner. And waaay better than talking about my Boyfriend.

I also realized how much I enjoyed hearing myself being referred to as Husband once again, in this new chapter of my life.

When your husband calls you Husband … it’s really something thrilling. It means you have a distinctly male role for someone, a masculine presence in someone’s life. At least, that is how my old-school, straight-raised brain translated it. Being Chris’s husband meant I was the Man in his life. I’m the one who would wrap him up in my arms when he needs to feel comforted or safe. My shoulder would be the one he could lean on for support. That notion was very special to me.

(And before I go any further, let me be clear: I’m not saying wives don’t provide the same thing for their spouses. I’m really not. So don’t troll me. I’m saying that for me, someone who had lived the majority of his life in Straight World and been brought up to see gender roles in a traditional way, who then came out of the closet at age 40, there was a sense of relief that I could still be the husband I’d always wanted to be.)

We’ve been married for years now. A fascinating and exciting experience, being a Husband to one’s husband.

But not long after I realized how much I enjoyed being called “Husband,” I realized it didn’t actually happen that often. Chris and I would be at some social event for his work, or mine, and when he referred to me, Chris would introduce me by saying, “This is my partner, Seth.”

It bothered me a little, at first. Especially when I realized I sometimes defaulted to calling him “partner,” too.

And we talked about it, curious about our behavior. We certainly felt like husbands. So why did we sometimes introduce each other as “partner”?

It’s an interesting question, considering more people support marriage equality now than ever before. Now more than ever, people are down with the idea of same-sex matrimony.

We quickly realized why. It’s simple and obvious: there remain some strong beliefs out there that undermine the idea of same-sex marriage. I can’t speak to what it’s like for gay women who marry each other, but I now see clearly how some folks still react when meeting two husbands.

“They’re playing house.”

Even in our enlightened context, there’s still a pervasive belief that when two men get married, they’re simply pretending. It’s not a “real marriage” if there’s no wife involved. Gay men are simply marrying each other so they can register for flatware, decorate a new house and pose for adorable holiday card photos with their twin Shih Tzus.

“They have an ‘open arrangement.'”

Without a woman to maintain monogamy rules, men are rutting pigs who give each other permission to rut away, even if it’s just under special circumstances.  I’ve had straight people pull me aside after learning I’m “gay married,” and covertly ask, “So … what’s the agreement you guys have if one of you is traveling?” I don’t think straight marrieds are asked that question. At least, not as often.

“They’re probably just temporary.”

Because gay men are … gay men, their commitments are temporary. They’ll stay together until they get bored, and then they’ll move on. Because, you know, men.

“They’re SO adorable.”

This one seems harmless, but we get it a lot — the condescending smile and virtual pat on the head by people who think it’s so cute how two men try to be just like a real couple. How. Cute.

It’s worth noting that it isn’t just uninformed straight people who harbor all these beliefs. I know more than a few gay men who believe and embrace the stereotypes, who shake their heads in disbelief when they learn that two more of their gay friends have decided to tie the knot.

The range of responses has been coming up more often lately because of the various functions we both attend this time of year: weddings, graduations, etc. This usually occurs when we meet new people and receive the full range of fun social reactions.

I went solo to a bat mitzvah celebration recently when Chris was out of town, and found myself at the reception that evening with a ton of people I didn’t know. There was probably a healthy mix of people with varying orientations. I was mingling to the best of my ability (which I sort of suck at in the first place), trying not to hover too much around the brie. As I met other guests and engaged in the basic conversational intel, I found myself purposefully going out of my way to drop the word “partner” from my lexicon and mention my Husband as often as possible:

“What a special event. My HUSBAND sure wishes he could be here.”

“These salmon puffs are fantastic. They’re my HUSBAND’S favorite!”

“That’s so funny that you’d mention Madagascar. Just last night my HUSBAND and I saw this great Netflix documentary on ring-tailed lemurs.”

Maybe I was leaning into the word a little too hard.

A friend of mine had to pull me aside and point out that I sounded like a weirdo who was making a husband up.

I’ve been a husband to two people in my life. One woman and one man. Both times, the role has been a point of pride and honor for me. I value the role, I take it seriously, and I see it as one of the greatest privileges one can have (as well as being a fundamental human right). I don’t want to be downgraded to Partner, especially since the right for two dudes to be each other’s husbands in the first place was so hard-won, even here in California.

And I absolutely don’t want to downgrade myself when I’m around people, just because of what their views may be about gay marriage or even gay people.

But as I attend more springtime social events, both with and without my husband on my arm, I’m realizing something fundamentally important: My husband and I are husbands not because others acknowledge our legitimacy, but because we do.

We are husbands to each other because we are two gay men in love, who are committed to each other for life. We are legal husbands because, aside from all the legal and financial benefits that come with the paperwork, there is something special about having our union officially acknowledged and respected in the place where we live. For us, being husbands who have husbands feels good.

Husbands is what we are, and what we get to call each other. We don’t have to downshift to Partner to make others feel more comfortable. And we don’t need to shout “Husbands present!” whenever we walk into a crowded room just to assert ourselves. We believe in the value of marriage, for couples of any orientation who choose to embrace it or define marriage itself in whatever way they choose.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get dinner started and choose a new Netflix nature doc for tonight. My husband and I have a date.

Photo: Nick Karvounis on Unsplash

As an openly LGBTQ parent of twins, I’m often asked, “How different is it raising your children?”

Our household must be a complete contrast from our heterosexual counterparts, right? Well, I’ve put together our household routine – let’s count the differences together, shall we?

Wake up and sing

Every morning when the kids wake up, we sing, “Good Morning, Sun.” I take off their sleep sacks, we stretch our arms and give great morning smiles. Sometimes they go on their tummies to stretch after a long sleep in the same position.

Diaper change

The kids really love their diaper changes. (And can you blame them?) Our 6-month-old daughter thinks it’s part of the best playtime ever. She loves to roll away and reach for the wipes, the diaper cream and the clean diapers herself. Once changed, the kids go into their bouncy seats while I work on their bottles.

Feeding time

I sing while preparing the daily bottles, dose out their daily Zantac (baby reflux is real!). Once the bottles are ready, it’s time for the first feeding. The kids love their first bottle of the day. Slurps up, then we burp and move on.

Tummy time and playtime

We head to the mat and gym area of the house and play. I usually sing to them while showing them a myriad of toys to touch, chew and explore. After about 15 minutes, it’s tummy time and some giggles. Oh, and some drool while chewing on the toys. A day isn’t complete without loads of drool.

Nap time

All this work wears the babies out. I set up their sleep sacks and prep the nursery. The blinds are shut and the lights turned off – a slumber haven. I swaddle baby one, bring him or her to the crib and sing that child’s lullaby. Once down, I swaddle and bring in baby two and sing that baby his or her lullaby.

And then while the children are sleeping, it’s time for me to wash the bottles, load the dishwasher, sweep, clean the bathrooms … you get the idea. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I have 10 minutes to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee … in silence.

+ + +

By now I’d bet you’re thinking, “This is exactly my life, too.” This is why it’s funny when I am asked how different parenting in LGBTQ households is. In reality, it’s exactly the same. Parenting is parenting no matter the house. We all have similar routines to keep our kids happy and ourselves sane.

Parenting can at times be seen as an equalizer, of sorts. It’s one thing that is truly universal. It can help bring us closer together and find common ground not only as parents but also as people. While we are all different as individuals, our differences are just a mere portion of who we are. As people we are way more similar than dissimilar and, when we find that common ground, we build a strong platform of support and understanding.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jeffrey Bernstein, with his husband Brian, is raising twins. Jeffrey is a passionate food scientist with a degree in culinary nutrition. He enjoys preparing good wholesome foods for his family. He initially wrote a version of this for Fathers of Multiples.