Thirty-seven words shaped gender equality in the American school sports and education landscape that our kids take for granted today. 

Title IX of the Educational Amendments of 1972, signed into law by President Richard Nixon that summer, reads:

“No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving federal financial assistance.”

These 37 words seem almost ridiculous to celebrate now. Of course, girls have the same opportunities as boys, right? Even mentioning this legislative initiative to my 13-year-old daughter resulted in her giving me a WTF look. “What? Duh, Dad. Girls can do anything boys can do,” it seemed to say. “Wait, that was actually a thing back then?”

Yes, gender inequality was “a thing.” And, as we look at the impact of Title IX over the past 50 years, parents should tell our kids all about it.   

State of gender equality in 1972

While civil rights laws of the 1960s banned gender discrimination in hiring practices, similar protections for female students did not exist. In fact, Title IX originates from concerns about educational — not athletic — opportunities for women. 

At the time of its passage, women made up fewer than half of all undergraduates at federally funded universities. At the graduate school level, they constituted less than 10% of those enrolled at law or medical school. On the athletic fields, only 4% of females played sports at college levels. Addressing these gender inequalities in school sports became Title IX’s most pervasive legacy.

Title IX and sports

If our daughters were magically transported to the early 1970s, they would see field of play far different than what they experience now. 

For instance, according to the Women’s Sports Foundation:

• Boys had 10 times the athletic opportunities in high school as girls
• Fewer than 30,000 females played a sport at a college level

These are, in my daughter’s terms, “WTF” stats. These are what we should tell our kids about to show how far we’ve come because of Title IX. 

According to most recent data, nearly 3 million more opportunities exist for girls to play school sports post-Title IX. As a result, now 44% of collegiate athletes are women and 60% of high school girls play a sport. 

As I raise my daughters, I never consider the availability of athletic opportunities an issue for them because they have the chance to join any sport they choose. This would have been impossible without Title IX.

Title IX and the myth of lost opportunities for boys

A myth exists that Title IX has hurt our sons. In fact, parents may have heard Title IX talked about in relation to a situation where teams were impacted because of a lack of availability to female students. This may be when a school has a boys’ wrestling team, but none for girls. Or, it may be when it offers girls’ volleyball but no corresponding opportunity for boys. Let’s be very clear: the opportunities and resources available to our sons still exceeds those provided to our daughters – particularly in sports at all levels. 

A recent report by the NCAA shows that while participation ratios have narrowed significantly, the dollars spent on male sports is twice that of female sports at the Division I level. At the Division II level, the sum is still 25% higher. During the past 20 years, males gained 73,000 participation opportunities while females gained 67,000. 

The criticism that Title IX has hurt boys’ sports is, simply, false.      

More work remains for true gender equality

Given the quantum leaps Title IX has made for equality in the past half century, far more remains to be done. This is where our kids can affect the future.

As Title IX turns 50, the protections of transgender athletes from discrimination must be addressed. While a complicated issue with political, social and religious veins, the treatment of biology as it relates to the activities available for participation must be addressed. 

The scope of Title IX is likely to expand to how sexual discrimination cases are handled. On the table for potential changes are presumption of innocence and burden of proof mandates – both amended during the Trump administration. 

So, while Title IX has been a resounding success, there are more issues it can help solve. As parents, we should not allow the tangled, highly politicized future of Title IX to shadow its monumentally successful past. 

My daughter’s dismissive “duh” reaction to me reminding her of the effort it took to create a girls’ soccer program should not go unnoticed. 

The 2021 announcement of the University of Iowa’s female wrestling team – the first for the men’s college wrestling powerhouse – should be celebrated by parents everywhere. 

As my son takes the SAT this fall, I will remind him that he is rightfully competing against everyone – not just the white males that monopolized collegiate undergraduate programs before the 1970s. 

So, parents, let’s wish a loud “Happy Birthday” to Title IX. 

And, just as loudly, let us wish the inequalities it has addressed over its 50-year existence are not a “thing” my sons and daughters will have to explain to their children.

Photo: ©Rawpixel.com / 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.

“Maybe it’s just a phase.”

I said it to my wife while we were alone. I knew it was wrong, but I was feeling it so intensely that I had to let it out. I was feeling it because I really, really wanted it to be true.

Our middle child had recently come out as transgender. I wasn’t supposed to feel the way I was feeling. I was woke. I mean, I was “hella woke,” as we say here in Nor Cal.

I grew up in the San Francisco Bay area so I’ve been around LGBTQ people my entire life. In fact, if my child had said they were gay it would have been easy. I know how to move through that world. While growing up, my mom had gay friends who came over to our house. I’ve had gay friends almost my whole life. I’ve volunteered at Pride events and even played for a gay rugby team. Homosexuality would be easy to accept as natural because I could relate on some level. I have felt attraction. I have been in love. But I’ve always been very sure of my identity. As a man, as a person of color, as a cisgender heterosexual person, none of these identities have ever been questioned by me or anyone else. I think it was hard for me to accept the identities of trans people because I had never been forced to confront or question my own.

Also, my experience with transgender people has been quite limited. I’ve taught some trans students. They were the first ones I think I really knew as more than a loose acquaintance. I learned a lot just by having them in class. I thought of myself as a trans ally with a capital “A,” but even with that background I wasn’t ready for a transgender child.

Being trans harder on them or you?

So there I was: “Maybe it’s just a phase.”

I winced just hearing it from my own mouth. My wife gave me a look at once both disapproving and sympathetic.

At the moment, I wanted it to be true. I thought, “What if we just ignore it? What if we move on as if they hadn’t told us?”

I justified this by saying I was afraid for my child. I wanted their life to be easy. Being trans isn’t easy. It’s hard and I didn’t want my kid to suffer.

It made sense, but it was only a half-truth. What I really wanted was for life to be easier for me.

Parenting a transgender child, or at least the idea I had of it in that moment, isn’t easy either. I didn’t want to carry the burden. I didn’t want to do the work. I didn’t want to be called to defend them or to soothe their pain when I couldn’t. It felt like too much. It was a selfish thought.

My next thought may have been worse.

I began flipping through a mental Rolodex of things to blame.

It was the school’s fault. They had been so welcoming and accepting of that other transgender kid. They had made it seem cool!

It was our church’s fault. It had a re-naming ceremony for a transgender child in the congregation. That was what had made it OK for my kid to try this on!

I blamed Taylor Mac’s fabulous stage show, which my wife had taken our child to see.

The liberal media was to blame. So was the open political climate in our hometown and the entire Bay Area. They had all influenced my kid to be trans!

Yes. I know exactly how this sounds.

It’s not easy to admit these feelings. I carried them around for at least a week before expressing them to my wife. When we talked about it, I already knew how ridiculous every single one of these thoughts were.

These people and places and institutions didn’t make my kid transgender; they gave my kid the space and freedom to tell us they were trans. My kid isn’t trans because of their environment; they are open and happy because of their environment. The best parenting decision we made apparently happened two years before my kid came out: we moved to a community where they could feel accepted.

Non-acceptance of transgender child runs risks

Some well-meaning people have also said to me, “Maybe it’s just a phase.” Maybe, but what are the odds? More important, what’s the risk?

I thought back to an article I read that said you shouldn’t pigeonhole your child’s identity too early. Don’t make them the smart one or the funny one or the clumsy one because – whether it’s true or not – it will influence how they move through the world and how they see themselves forever. Once you have a role, it’s hard to break out of it.

So maybe the risk is that my kid one day decides they aren’t trans, but they are ashamed to admit it or embarrassed – thinking that they’d put us through all this for nothing – so they keep living as a trans person even though they didn’t want to. Honestly, this line of reasoning seems highly unlikely. Possible, but not plausible. Being trans isn’t easy so I doubt anyone would fake it for very long. There’s no ROI.

What if it’s not a phase? What’s the risk in treating it like it might be? A transgender child or adult tends to be at an extremely high risk of depression, anxiety and suicide, often as a result of oppression and abuse of their identities.

I’ve been around the LGBTQ community long enough to have heard more times than I can count the phrase, “I always knew who I was. Since I was a child, I always knew.” My friends always knew who they were. My child has expressed similar thoughts. If this is who my child is and if I don’t support them completely, then I’m the one doing them harm. I don’t want my kid to echo the other phrase I’ve heard from many of my LGBTQ friends, “My family never accepted me so I’m not really close with them anymore.”

I’m going to do all I can in my parenting to make sure that my transgender child feels accepted for who they are. The risk of anything less than total buy-in is a child at a greater risk for anxiety, depression and suicide.

So I’m in — outwardly at least. I still harbor doubts and selfishness and hope that things will change. Those thoughts are pushed to the background more and more, but they are there. I strive to keep them inside, or at least away from my children.

Pronoun predicaments of the gender-fluid

A lot has happened in the months since my child’s announcement. First, they decided they weren’t a boy, but they were not a girl either. They chose they/them as pronouns for a while. That gave us some cute moments from our 3-year-old trying to get used to the new pronouns like, “Mommy, they/them said a bad word.”

Later, my child decided that they/them didn’t always fit either. They settled on “gender fluid” as an identity. Now, they wake up each morning and select a sticky note from a selection my wife ordered. Each one has “he/him,” “she/her” or “they/them” printed on it. The kid picks which one fits that day and puts it on the whiteboard in the kitchen so we all know what to call them that day. Some days they just go by their name, no pronouns. As a dad, I’m tempted to make silly puns based on the day’s pronouns, but I don’t because I don’t want my kid ever feel like I’m making fun of them for who they are.

So far parenting a transgender child hasn’t been as hard as I’d feared. It hasn’t been difficult for either of us, really. School and church were ready for this. Living in this area made it easier than it would have been in other places. I haven’t had to defend them, not once

We’ve had some interesting conversations, though, like when they asked why no one ever assumes they’re a boy. We talked about gender presentation and societal assumptions around dress. The kid hasn’t changed their style at all other than mixing in more blue. They still wear leggings as pants, dresses, sparkles and feminine-style earrings. They got a shorter haircut, but it still isn’t a traditional boy’s style. Once at the grocery store, they were assumed to be a boy at a deli counter. We shared a smile and a giggle of achievement at that.

What I’ve come to realize is that I don’t have to be perfect in my thoughts or feelings to be the perfect parent for my transgender child’s needs. As long as I’m open and loving and willing to learn, I can consider what I’m going through “just a phase.”

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.

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.

Robbie Samuels, co-organizer of our Boston Dads Group, talks about his experience as a transgender dad and his ongoing efforts to network with other parents on the latest edition of the Modern Dads Podcast.

Samuels, a professional speaker, also discusses his appreciation for the adjustments that people and organizations are making to encourage acceptance of all types of parents, trans and otherwise.

Samuels, a work-at-home dad living with his wife and son in Massachusetts, is the founder of Boston Babies Facebook Group and hosts a monthly baby clothing swap. As a professional speaker he shares how to effectively and inclusively network and build community. He also hosts a weekly podcast, On the Schmooze, that is a mix of interviews with leaders and networking tips.

The Parents’ Phrase Book author and L.A. Dads Group member Whit Honea concludes our podcast to suggest it is time for parents to stop teaching their kids about tolerance.

Robbie Samuels, co-organizer of our Boston Dads Group, talks about his experience as a transgender dad and his ongoing efforts to network with other parents on the latest edition of the Modern Dads Podcast.

Samuels, a professional speaker, also discusses his appreciation for the adjustments that people and organizations are making to encourage acceptance of all types of parents, trans and otherwise.

Samuels, a work-at-home dad living with his wife and son in Massachusetts, is the founder of Boston Babies Facebook Group and hosts a monthly baby clothing swap. As a professional speaker he shares how to effectively and inclusively network and build community. He also hosts a weekly podcast, On the Schmooze, that is a mix of interviews with leaders and networking tips.

The Parents’ Phrase Book author and L.A. Dads Group member Whit Honea concludes our podcast to suggest it is time for parents to stop teaching their kids about tolerance.

I have become very comfortable in my little gay life since coming out six years ago. I’ve found a partner who is a kind and compassionate dude. My now teenage daughter has been supportive since the start and is a champion for equal rights. And, I live in a socially liberal part of the country where homophobia is distinctly uncool.

But I’ve learned that a requisite part of the coming-out process involves the continuing acknowledgment that you’re gay. It’s important because, even in the most accepting of circumstances, being gay is still seen by some as being “Less Than.”

Yes, many straight people love love love gay people, but being gay still can mean being looked upon as a novelty or a sideshow attraction. When I walk down the street with my husband and daughter, I see people look at us with a particular expression — a smile and little head tilt — that says: Oh, look. How sweet. It’s almost like they’re straight.

Moments like that don’t make me angry, but last year it did motivate me to do something I never thought I’d do. Rather than just continue being comfortable in my existence as a Gay Man Walking, I decided to do something that would be a bit more … vocal.

I joined a gay men’s choir.

Mild-mannered gay?

“You did what???” my daughter asked when I told her.

“There’s a new gay men’s choir starting in town, and I’m joining it,” I repeated. “I’ve sung in choirs before, you know that.”

“I know. But this is … different. What kind of songs do gay men’s choirs sing?”

I didn’t know. Show tunes? Diva tributes? I told her I’d find out at the first rehearsal and keep her posted.

“OK,” she said. “I mean, it’s totally awesome that you’re doing it. I’m just surprised.”

“Why surprised?” I asked.

“I don’t know. You’re sort of a … mild-mannered gay guy, aren’t you?”

I wasn’t quite sure where this conversation was going.

“I just don’t see you as being so … open about being gay.”

I was surprised. This kid and I had been marching together in pride parades for several years. I hold my husband’s hand at restaurants. I wear tank tops in public, for God’s sake.

That conversation gave me some clarity about why I needed to join a gay men’s choir. Not because I hadn’t sung in a choir of any kind in several years, and missed it. Not because I have an addiction to jazz hands and choralography. Not because I harbored a secret desire to go all Mariah in front of a crowd.

I joined the gay men’s choir because I realized doing so made me uncomfortable.

It’s one thing to tell your friends you’re gay or even write blog posts about the gay experience. It’s a whole different notion to stand with 15 other gay men and sing songs. I mean, for most of us, singing is scary enough on its own without getting your sexual identity involved, especially when that identity isn’t always considered favorable by some.

But something about being called a “mild-mannered gay” by my daughter really got to me. So I jumped in and joined the group. All jazz hands on deck.

Enter the gay men’s choir

I attended rehearsals and got to know the other guys. All ages, all backgrounds, all nice guys who love music and sing beautifully. Yes, the repertoire has its share of show tunes. And, yes, a couple of songs involved some shimmer fingers and fancy stepping. But practicing the music together was fun, and joining other gay men in a common purpose was fulfilling, enabling me to find a sense of place among a community I hadn’t gotten to know.

I had a great time during rehearsals, even though it was clear early on that the only person who felt a little uncomfortable with some of the, uh … “gayer” songs was me. It was about embracing a particular form of gayness, and just relaxing about it.

I reported back to my family and friends about how things were going. My daughter seemed amused by the whole thing and excited to see what the concert would be like.

“Is there dancing?” she asked.

“There will be a small bit of dancing, yes.”

“Will you get to sing a solo?”

“I have a very small, one-measure solo.”

“OH MY GOD.”

“What?”

“Nothing. So after the concert, are you gonna stay with the choir?”

A good question. I actually hadn’t thought much beyond the upcoming show, or how I would feel after.

He did survive – hey, hey

The concert went great. It was well-attended by a lively and friendly audience in a nearby church. My husband and daughter were front and center, proud supporters. I stood with my choir and we performed our set of songs, the concert running just under an hour. The opening song was from the stage musical The Book of Mormon (“Hello!”). Then came a lush spiritual. Then a campy jazz song involving some slightly saucy lyrical changes befitting a group of men who dig other men. A couple more classic show tunes. A sweet duet from The Fully Monty about never feeling alone when you have someone to walk beside you, a message that resonates with anyone, gay or straight. And, of course, our rendition of “I Will Survive.” (Legally required of all gay men’s choirs.)

The whole thing was fun. And strengthening. There was music. There was laughter. And, at the end, there was applause.

The audience was very supportive and offered a lot of congratulations during the post-concert milling around. But most importantly, my daughter loved it. She loved the songs, she loved the campiness, and she loved that her dad was up there singing, drawing from a different part of himself that she hadn’t seen before.

On the walk home later, she couldn’t stop laughing at some of the funnier moments, the balance of camp and sincerity. But in between the giggles, she stopped and said, “You know, I’m very proud of you, Dad.”

Clearly, all I needed.

I still have moments when I’m Walking While Gay, and wonder if I’m purposefully trying to act or not act a certain way. You don’t just suddenly stop being self-conscious about yourself no matter what self-realizations strike, or how old you are when they hit. But if there’s one place where there will be absolutely no question about me, or my gayness, or the pride I feel in myself, it’s when I’m singing with my choir.

In September when we started a Boy Scouts den for my son and some of his first-grade classmates. It was going to be fun and scary. But never once did I wonder if any of these newly minted “Tigers” were not biologically a boy.

And honestly, why would I? They looked and dressed like boys. Yes, their voices are high-pitched and you could mistake them for girls, but they are 6 years old. So I took it at face value that they are all boys.

A few months later I read about a boy named Joe, a Cub Scout from New Jersey who was removed from his pack because it was revealed to a district executive that Joe was biologically not a boy. Joe and his family made no secret that he was a girl who lived his life as a little boy, but one of the other parents let the cat out of the bag to the higher-ups. Since at the time, the Boy Scouts of America had no formal protocol dealing with transgendered youth, he was removed. This is an 8-year-old who loves Star Wars and hanging out with his friends in his Cub Scout den. If I were the den leader or Cubmaster I would have fought the removal. It just wasn’t right.

The debate over Joe’s removal got all convoluted about transgendered people being sexual predators or, on the other hand, the worry about how can the other boys be expected not to do anything to a child who is biologically a girl. Here it is a child who may not be biologically male, but identifies and lives full time as a boy and wants to join a den because he wants to do all the awesome things Cub Scouts/Boy Scouts do. He isn’t some sleeper cell for a sinister LGBTQ agenda. If anything, he will try to fit in as much as he can and not call any attention to himself.

As far as the other boys, guess what: the Boy Scouts have rules to protect children (regardless of gender). They are called the Guide to Safe Scouting and Youth Protection resources. If a scout unit can’t keep a child safe, that is not the problem of the child, it is a lack of leadership and some badly parented children. And what right does any child have abusing or bullying any other child regardless of gender or gender identity? That has no place in Scouting.

People say why can’t that kid just join the Girl Scouts. Well, HE wanted to be with boys his own age and do things boys like him do. I don’t know exactly what the Girl Scouts program entails, but they don’t have the emphasis on the outdoors that the Boy Scouts do. But they have been super inclusive of LGBTQ children and leaders for a few decades. But I digress.

Out of the blue, the Boy Scouts of America announced this week that they would accept transgender boys. There was not a years-long debate like there was on allowing gay men to lead dens. There were not dozens of questionnaires. It just happened. And it was the right thing.

According to the Boy Scout Law, a scout is KIND. A scout is FRIENDLY. A Scout is CHEERFUL. A Scout is LOYAL (which the N.J. council was not being to Joe). I have been reading a lot on scouting message boards about people saying they are leaving the BSA once and for all. Good. Leave. We don’t need people who don’t live up to the Scout Law in our group. Feel free to join one of the Alt-Right’s youth groups. You will find their program is not as full and developed as the BSAs, and while they may have some of the same ideologies as you, you better hate all the right things.

I am going to let you in on a secret. There have been transgender boys in Scouting for years. They just happened to not piss off Mrs. Jenkins at the Pinewood Derby, who then found it necessary to blab a secret that wasn’t hers to tell. These transgender boys have earned badges and nothing bad has happened to them or by them. They were, in the good sense of the phrase, boys being boys. And there have been gay youth and adults in Scouting long before the membership policy change a few years ago. So anyone who is looking to go back to the good old days, guess who was there in the good old days?

Back at my den, none of the parents have mentioned to me that their son was once a daughter. And if that were the case, even before this, I really wouldn’t have cared. So today is a good day to be a Scout, and I hope that Joe rejoins his den (or another den with fewer asshole grownups) really soon.

A version of this first appeared on Great Moments in Bad Parenting.

Editor’s Note: The journey to and through fatherhood of Boston Dads Group member Robbie Samuels offers him a unique perspective on what it means to be a modern dad and raise a son in the 21st century. Here is his story.

A magical thing happened on Dec. 15, 2015, at 9:11 p.m. I became a father.

While I had been planning for that moment all throughout my wife’s pregnancy — immersing myself in researching baby gear for our registry and reading parenting books — I could not have been prepared for what it felt like when my son finally arrived.

That day I joined the brotherhood of fathers.

Growing up I didn’t think I would become a father. For starters, I’m transgender and was raised a girl. Even at a young age, I also wasn’t interested in carrying a child. So I wasn’t sure how this parenting thing would happen for me.

Over a decade ago, I decided to move from living a very gender-blurred existence to being solidly perceived as a man. But that word – “man” — always felt a little off for me. I would say I was a “guy” without hesitation, but a man … well that had a different connotation for me.

As someone raised female who then came out as gay, I had some strong feelings about the way white, cisgender, straight men behaved in our culture. I had no interest in exemplifying that.

Finding his tribe

During the tumultuous time when I was committing to this life-changing decision to take hormones and become the “man” I knew myself to be, I was very fortunate to find a very welcoming feminist men’s group. I was thrilled when I realized I could work beside other feminist men to expand the possibilities of what a man could be in our society by working on issues such as racial justice and ending homophobia. These were my people. They helped me see that I could move through the world as a queer, feminist, race-conscious man without needing to include any qualifiers – like “because I’m trans” or “because I’m queer.”

Sadly, after many years of working together and organizing in Boston, we all went our separate ways with many members ending up spread across the country and no longer in my life. I definitely have felt that loss.

I don’t think I understood how much I craved that kind of community and support until I became  a father. Once again I was taking on a new identity, facing the challenge of defining for myself what kind of dad I would be.

Added challenge: Being an at-home dad

I knew I wanted to be an active and engaged dad, but with zero experience with babies or kids I was at a loss for what my role would look like. In addition, my wife and I realized that, for our family, me staying home with our son was going to be our best option. I would be able to keep some focus on growing my business as a professional speaker, launch my podcast, and work on my book — all while being our son’s primary caregiver.

This presented me with a whole new set of challenges regarding being a father. I had heard stories about how dads are ostracized by moms on the playground or when they pick up their kid at daycare. All my closest friends are women so I knew I would have no trouble socializing with moms, but they wouldn’t know that.

That is why I consumed as many parenting philosophy books as I could in the months leading up to my son’s birth to feel more prepared for this daunting challenge.  In the midst of this research, I discovered The Modern Dads Podcast. The name alone piqued my interest and after listening to one episode I was hooked. The co-hosts were stay-at-home dads who had started a very successful dads group in New York City about a decade ago.

At the end of each Modern Dad episode they ask their guest to define what it means to be a modern dad. Generally the answer includes being engaged, stepping up, not being afraid to try, and challenging traditional definitions of fatherhood.

I like all of this and I’m also hearing that many of these dads are also fairly conscious about their privileges as straight white men. Which is the other big question I’m struggling with: How do I raise my presumably straight, presumably cisgender boy to proud of who he is and aware of the privilege he has in this world?

Progress of a truly modern dad

So how have I progressed with this part of my journey that began almost a year ago?

To counter my fear of being left out I created a Facebook community that I would feel welcomed in and would become a resource and support for other parents. This community for parents of kids about my son’s age has grown to nearly 1,000 members and now hosts a monthly baby clothing swap. Now, lots of moms know me and I’m often greeted by name as I enter a new parenting space. Giving first continues to be the best way I know to build relationships.

Through The Modern Dads Podcast, I learned that Boston had a dads group.  I have since become one of its co-organizers, coordinating weekly and monthly socials for dads and their kiddos. This has given me the opportunity to meet other dads and begin to form friendships with other guys.

I also attended the HomeDadCon, an annual convention sponsored by the National At-Home Dads Network, held this autumn in Raleigh N.C. I mentioned it was held in North Carolina because convention organizers had been grappling with how to deal with the fact that the state has a horribly transphobic and homophobic law on the books. They decided to put out a statement and added an LGBTQ parenting panel to the program for the first time in its 21 years. I saw this as an opportunity to come out as a trans dad and was invited to participate on the LGBTQ parenting panel.

In addition, one of my main takeaways from my convention experience is that we at-home dads are not alone. There are as many reasons dads become at-home dads as their are dads, but many of us cherish this opportunity and wouldn’t trade it for anything. I count myself in that group wholeheartedly. My little guy is the reason I get up every morning. Literally.

Preparing for the future

I am now equipping myself for the day I begin tough conversations about oppression and privilege with my son. My wife and I are committed to providing our son access to and celebrating a range of cultures. We are actively auditing the books he wants to read to be sure they have diverse main characters and show girls taking the lead. We’re bringing our son to cultural festivals and pride festivals. We are honoring the cultural aspects of our religious upbringing — me as an atheist secular Jew and my wife, Jess, as an atheist raised Catholic. We’re also working to diversify the pool of babysitters we call upon to take care of him so he builds relationships with people of diverse races and ethnicities. All of this is to say that we’re taking seriously the responsibility of raising a strong feminist progressive man.

With the support of the parent groups we are part of, our growing community of parent friends, and our best friends who became his queer aunties, I know my son will be given every opportunity to follow in my footsteps. That he will be proud of who he is, outspoken about his beliefs, live his values, and work to make this world better for everyone. That is all we can hope for.

A version of this post first appeared on RobbieSamuels.com.

My 14-year-old daughter and I were chatting at dinner the other night, and I was getting my daily news roundup about her day: school, friends, teachers, whatnot. In the course of our conversation, I asked how her friend Abby was doing. When I did, my daughter leveled me with a stern, reprimanding look.

Now that we’re into the teen years, I get that look a lot. It usually means I’ve said or done something irretrievably dumb.

“What?” I asked.

“Do you realize what you just said?” she asked with a frown.

“What? What did I say?”

“You referred to them as ‘she.’”

“Them who? I was asking about Abby. Who are you talking about?” I was clearly confused.

She then explained to me with moderate patience and only minimal eye rolling that although the friend I was asking about was biologically female, she had recently started identifying as trans. Turns out referring to this friend as “she” was a violation of said friend’s gender freedom.

“Ah,” I said, trying to keep up. “So if Abby is trans, does that mean Abby identifies as ‘he’ now?”

That got me a double combo Exasperated Sigh and Eye Roll.

“No. Abby is gender fluid. You don’t say ‘she’ or ‘he.’ You have to say ‘they.’”

“But,” I said, feeling even more obtuse, “that’s not grammatically correct. ‘They’ is plural. Abby’s one person. She’s not a group.” (Did I mention that I teach writing at a college? There. I did.)

“Dad! You just said ‘she’ again!”

“Oh, sorry. But — ”

“That’s not appropriate! You have to say ‘they’ or ‘them’ if you talk about a trans person who’s Gender Fluid.”

I couldn’t let it go. “But you can’t use ‘they’ for one person! It makes no sense and it causes confusion.”

All she could do was shake her head. The girl clearly felt sorry for me. Poor, dimwitted Daddy, her expression seemed to say.

Color me chastised.

The gender labels, they are a-changing

I finally just nodded and said OK. Our dinner chat continued, during which I proceeded to misidentify the genders of at least three more of her friends. I accidentally referred to her friend Gina as “she,” her friend Tyler as “he,” and her friend Alex as “he or she” in an attempt to avoid mistakes and cover all my bases. My daughter corrected me every time, saying “Not ‘he’ or ‘she’! ‘They’!” I got confused each time. I kept asking who’s they?, and she kept rolling her eyes so hard I started to worry she was going to detach a retina.

“God, Dad, it’s not that hard,” she said, standing up to clear the dishes. “I can’t believe you’re being so binary.”

I’ve been called a lot of things. But that was new.

I’m a strong advocate of rejecting labels — gender labels or otherwise. I subscribe to the Sexuality-As-Spectrum philosophy. But I’m now being schooled by my daughter on the notion that gender itself is subject to a broader bandwidth as well.

Here’s a fun fact: on Facebook, users have 58 options for defining their own gender, including:

• Male
• Female
• Gender Fluid
• Gender Variant
• Genderqueer
• Gender Nonconforming
• Agender
• Bigender
• Pangender
• Intersex
• Transgender
• Transsexual
• Androgynous
• Neutrois

As a culture, we still get uncomfortable at the idea of non-traditional genders. In fact, we get more freaked out by gender fluidity than by sexual orientation. Especially when it comes to our own children. Your kid sits down with you and tells you he’s gay? All good. Gay is cool now. We know how to deal with gay. Your kid sits you down and informs you that he thinks he’s Gender-Nonconforming-Leaning-Towards-Intersex? We don’t know what to do with that.

Gender flexibility seems to be the new thing. It’s the way many kids are now striking out to establish their identities and be different. Some kids are redefining their gender today because it’s the cool, edgy thing to do, and because it’ll make their parents wig.

But: other times, it’s because those kids are smarter than the rest of us, and are realizing that when we limit the world to two genders, we may be doing some damage to people who simply don’t fit into old molds. They’re on their own search for authenticity — they’re just starting their search younger than we did. And in doing so, they may save themselves a lifetime of feeling out of place, isolated, depressed and scared.

Let me say this officially: I think it’s all good, all 58-plus identifiers. I think in the midst of all the new gender definitions, there’s a landscape emerging where kids will be able to decide exactly who they are, and who they aren’t. And as a result, they’ll be healthier, more confident humans. If that’s the end result, I’m happy with a gender list twice as long.

As for my daughter herself, how does she identify? She currently checks the box marked “Female.” For now. But that may change. If it does, she’ll tell me when she’s ready. The only identity box I want her to check is “Happy.”

Gender labels graphic: By Calcavorix (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons