He has a mother and a father. Anything else is fiction.
At first, I simply sighed dramatically and rolled my eyes. I then made some sort of dismissive comment about the person’s originality. I mean, if you must be a bigot, please add some passion and humor to your offensive remarks. I’ve been out as a lesbian for well over 20 years, a parent for nearly 7, and I’ve heard just about everything. I am comfortable with myself and the life I’ve created and a random comment in cyberspace isn’t going to hurt me or incite anger. No siree. You see, when I pondered that comment, I looked out over the High Road and felt that it was mine. I was the High Priestess of the High Road.
This morning, though, I woke up cranky. I was tired and there was not enough coffee. By the time I got into the car and saw that it was almost out of gas, I was past edgy and downright agitated. I drove to work trying to focus on Latté Procurement but the word “fiction” kept interfering. Clearly, I had some unfinished business with that damn You Tube comment. Merriam Webster defines “fiction” as something invented by imagination and I chewed on that awhile (thankfully, with a latté chaser). I wondered…if there can only be a mother and a father, which one of us is the fraud? Is it Luisa who spent last night with Miguel at Urgent Care and then at the pharmacy waiting for antibiotics to treat Strep? Is it me who cuddled with Zeca for a half hour at bedtime because she was scared and then got up in the middle of the night to hold her after a nightmare? For nearly seven years, we have been right here in the trenches of parenting. We have been there for every milestone, for all of the tears, frustration and joy. Our children know they are safe with us. They know that they are loved. They understand that loves makes a family not because we brainwash them but because that is their lived experience. My love for my partner is real and our love for our children is real. Hatred and ignorance will never change that. That, my friends, is a fact.