Tag Archives: gay dad

Part 4, Chapter 3

Borrowed from WoosterScott.com

Kindergarten is a right of passage for most children. Our little school in Hidden Valley was a wonderland for me and it was also the first place I discovered what an awkward child I was (but in a good way).  My dad decided because this was a big day for both of us he would drive me to school and skip daycare. Spending more time with my dad was always a plus and something I cherished. I was without doubt a daddy’s girl. My dad made me breakfast which was his childhood favorite, white rice, sugar, butter and milk. We ate together listening to John Lennon’s newly released Double Fantasy while my dad sang “Beautiful Boy” changing the lyrics to Beautiful Girl. He brushed out my thick hair while my eyes watered in pain and let me pick out a mismatched outfit of tan corduroy pants with a koala shirt. We got into his blue Monte Carlo with the continuing music of “Watchin the Wheels” in the background. My dad held my hand as I cuddled up next to him on the blue dusty seats.

We pull up to the side parking lot closest to the classroom which was the long way to the campus. The fear set in as my dad killed the engine. A child’s anxiety is different from an adults in that a child does not have as much experience to draw on but it is also more terrifying because a child has raw imagination. The gravel cracked under our feet and my hand was sweating in my dad’s hand as we walked to the classroom. Mrs. Rowe greeted us with a big smile, short blonde hair, blue eyeliner, blue mascara and a gold chain which bounced off of her shirt that clung onto her glasses. She was not someone I liked immediately. She seemed strict and succinct in her dicta; she barely addressed me. Mrs. Rowe was busy wondering where this child’s mother was as she showed us around the classroom and my dad was trying not to be affected by her obvious judgment. I did not spot any toys that caught my wonder but I did catch familiar faces from the daycare. I looked up at my dad for permission to be released from his grip so I could head out to the playground. He bent down, told me to behave and then released me to a group of little people who I would journey through life with all the way to high school.

I watched kids flip from the bars, sway their bodies to glide across the monkey bars, kick balls, throw balls and run from each other in pure delight. There were 18 of us total and even though we were pint size we felt HUGE on our first day of school. Allegra was there from daycare but she was busy showing the boys who was boss by kicking the ball further, running faster and pushing harder than any of them could hope to compete with. I spotted another blonde haired innocent who was alone and just observing the rest of the kids on the sidelines as I was. She was more like me. Introverted preferring to be invisible while walking through the children. We connected instantly. Marion was a girly girl. She liked dolls, dresses and all things pretty. She was delicate and quiet but as we held hands through the play ground she was my new best friend; to a small insecure girl, anyone who paid attention you was in fact your new best friend. We climbed to the top of the jungle gym and delighted in the birds flying above, at the sighting of the school neighbor taking her horse for a walk across the field and at the clouds running past our heads. When it was time to start class we insisted on sitting on the mat next to each other.

Mrs. Rowe introduced us to the rules of the room which were basically: if you get out of line, you will sit in the corner. We had stations of learning reading, math, spelling and nap time. If you completed each station successfully, there could be a prize…. bubble gum! I had a head start on most of the kids in reading. The family story is that I taught myself to read and by 18 months old I was spelling too. So, when it came time to sit at the reading or spelling station I shined as I reaped in the booty. This served me well for bringing me out of my shell since I was happy to give it away. Sugar never really excited my picky taste buds so I was more than happy to trade it for attention from my 17 classmates. One child in particular that seemed adept at instantly knowing my weakness for friendship and wanted my bubble gum was Erida. Erida was a child who I was friends with on and off throughout my life. All of my memories of her are soured pain because she was a cunning bully. Highly intelligent but completely unable to empathize with anyone unless they were giving her what she wanted; she was a person who alway made people feel bad about themselves and I was a consistent victim of hers. She was probably one of the coldest people I have ever met and it always amazed me how much people accepted her (and still do). She and I were forced friends because of our proximity of homes, the fact that her mother was a stay at home mom so my dad always could locate a babysitter when needed under the guise of playing at her house and because she was able to manipulate me constantly into making me feel less than her which she delighted in. There would come a point in our lives where I saw opportunities to hurt her as much as she had always hurt me and I jumped at them. It’s not something I am proud of but I always found it perplexing how Erida was so smart and yet confused at my betrayal of her.

As I think back to my classmates, I recall the lack of childhood diagnosis available. We did not have an option to label a child ADHD, conduct disorder or depressed. The kid was just simply unruly or odd. Why did Arthur put ketchup on his head during lunch time (and no I am not kidding. There really was a child who one year our senior who was so disturbed and angry he used to put ketchup on his head)? As a child you do not think about these things because at age 5 it just does not matter. With the exception of Erida, a 5 year old has not learned to be cruel and is not trying to herd people into conformity. We were all innocent quirky children who were more than happy to be friends with each other. Even with Arthur who never seemed bathed and always on the brink of meltdown was accepted by his minor peers.

Kindergarten is the point of your life where you are socialized to the order of things. You start at the bottom of the food chain, work your way up and once you get to the top you are forced back down so you can climb back up again. Kindergarten you’re at the bottom, 6th grade you have worked your way up to the top, middle school put you right back down again, high school and the circle just keeps going on and on and on.


Part 2 Chapter 1

Off my dad went to California and off my mom went in the abyss of drug abuse. My memories from this period are post cards. They are quick snap shots of scenes some of which I would prefer to forget. These post cards are filled in with tales told by family members during times in which young girls should have been in bed and not eavesdropping on adults. My mother was trying. She was trying to keep it together and trying to be a mother. But, who could expect someone still trying to recover from their parents dying when she was not even 10 years old only to be separated from her brother and sisters; sent to be raised by her strict religious aunt and uncle in Texas who were a far cry from the freedom encouraged by her parents who were no longer present to protect her from herself. My mother was a suffering soul and not even I was the salve she needed. She was just 23 years old.

She was leaving me with people I knew and did not know. She would tell them it would just be for one night; two weeks later she would return. I was 2 years old. I recall feeling extreme abandonment when she would leave me. In retrospect it was a worry that she would never come back; maybe I was a little fortune teller. I was often left with various family members, so there was a happiness being around my cousins and feeling protected from the rough edges of the neighborhood that surrounded me. Eventually after I spent many nights tuned months at my dad’s youngest sister’s house, word got back to my dad’s mother that I was not being cared for. My dad was her favorite of her three children. While she was still furious at my grandfather for leaving her for his mistress, my dad looked just like him and for this she cherished him. He doted on her and this translated to me being the favorite grandchild. My grandmother called my dad, now in California, and insisted he take back his roll as parent. My dad was scared. He was in a new relationship and did not know how is lover would take my grandmothers insistence that a child be moved into the home. 

What my dad did not know was before he moved down his lover had 2 options before he was asked to move in with him. He also had a lover in Philadelphia and he was trying to decide who he should ask to come live with him. The deciding factor was me. When my dad said he had a daughter his lover felt it could be his opportunity to have or be a part of family; something he had always wanted but because of his inability to bed with a woman and laws at that current time it was not something likely to happen. And to add a little spice to this decision, the lover went to see a psychic who told him that a little girl with blue eyes, big cheeks and blonde hair would be coming into his life. The decision was made and my dad was invited to California. 

The unexpected reaction from the lover was not something anyone would have anticipated. Normally a very pensive man, Oliver, made an instant decision that yes he would like for me to brought down to live with them as a family. And so another decision was made; another decision my mother was not yet aware of. A plan was created because my mother would undoubtably disagree to have me move away from her. But, then again my dad was never quite good at predicting my mother’s reactions. My grandmother was to come take me the next time my mother left me with my dad’s youngest sister. She would take me across the Canadian border and then I would stay at her house for 6 months while my new house was prepared (and so my two dad’s could have their last freedoms as a new couple in a house to themselves). 

To be continued………..

Gay Parents….this one is for you

To My “Family” ….(“family” is gay speak for in the gay family). I recently received a request to share my information with another gay family. This is not my first request and I am always happy to discuss my experiences with other gay families.

So, what is it like to grow up in a gay family? Again, this is just a tidbit. I would say that growing up in a gay fam nowadays, probably pretty fabulous. You have 2 parents that soooooo want these little bundles of terror/joy and who will provide a very unique perspective of the world for these kids. My experience has been that gay parents teach a unique level of acceptance towards the world and a unique understanding of how wonderful and rough life can be. It is truly something to be proud of and I am proud to be a part of this community. 

But, what you ask, was it like for me? Home was loving and secure. I knew my parents were together and I knew where my home was 100% of the time. The outside world was especially tough though. There were no laws protecting gay employees from discrimination. So, my parents were in effect closeted to most of the world. They could have been fired and in all likelihood would have been had they been discovered. In their efforts to protect me they did not talk about being “gay.” This is something I understand but do wish was different. Shall I give you an example of why I understand this?

Well let me say this as plainly as possible. My 4th grade teacher was a cunt. Oh yeah, you read that correctly…I said c-u-n-t. She was a homophobic cunt. She was abusive, she ridiculed me in front of the class and she tried to fail me so she could torture me again. Think I am over reacting? Well, she wrote a letter to my dad and told him what she thought about gay people and a “fag child.” I saw this letter infuriate and crush my dad. Wanna know what the school did about it? Nuthin. Fuckin nuthin. It was one of the first times I realized that my home life was much different than my peers. Can you imagine my dad’s heart breaking when he read this letter? I saw it and it was awful. There was not much he could do either. We had no rights and this bitch was tenured. My biological dad had rights to me but my other dad did not. So, they could not join in as a united front. 

It is different now and I am so thankful this. Really…I AM SO THANKFUL FOR THIS. I love that I see kids coming out early. I love that gay teachers can be out now (I had many gay teachers all whom I loved….didn’t know why I related to them and why they were protective of me, but figured it out many years later) and there is no fear of being fired for being gay. 

My advice to gay families is to be open. Your children will be proud of you for living your life authentically. I love seeing my dad’s be out and open. I love seeing them with no fear of being who they are. And, I love them for giving me this life. Kids are going to be teased about something parents. It could be the car you drive is not cool enough for their friends, it could be your totally unfashionable jeans or it could be that you clap too loud at their school play….or more evil little things, it could be their clothes, it could be their hair is not perfect, they might have a pimple or it could be that they don’t hold themselves like kewl people do. But, ya know what? When they come home and know they are loved, it won’t hurt so bad.

Devirginized – my wordpress cherry has been popped

I am half gay. Not in the sense I like to fool around with women and men, but in the sense of I have a straight mom and a gay dad. That’s right half gay. The means I am the product of a straight relationship but I grew up with my gay dad’s in the 80’s and 90’s where it was way uncool to have gay parents.

There were no shows on television that depicted my family. The closest was a show called “My Two Dad’s” which was about a girl whose mom was a super freak and had sex with two men and didn’t know who the baby daddy was. Very Maury Povich. There was no Ellen and Elton John was not even out of the closet. I can relate when I hear people of different colors and creeds say that they never saw anyone who looked like them on TV. Well, everyone looked like me – blonde hair with blue eyes if I ever get kidnapped thank God I look like this so I will be on the news with a fucking manhunt looking for me. Yup – NO GAY people who were out on television. Freddy Mercury was even playing it straight. What did this mean? It meant that I felt odd and misplaced for most of my childhood through teen years. But, ya know what it also meant? I was never molested because I was the Princessa of the house and nobody puts me in the corner. Most of my girlfriends have been molested if you are wondering where I pulled that one out from.

Life was “normal” because this was all I ever knew. I knew that I had to protect myself from the teasing at school, you may find my tongue to be sharp, and I knew that my dad’s felt shame for who they are. But, ya know what? I grew up in a charmed county where artistic expression was nurtured and where pot was more popular than vicodin. Not too shabby despite all of its challenges.

So, my wordpress cherry has now been popped. You now know a smidge about me. Welcome to my world and God help you for joining it 😉