Mama's First Pride -- Guest Post

Today, Aubrey Harmon, who blogs at World Split Open was gracious enough to share her experiences at a Pride Parade with me. And it's wonderful. All of it.

...

You spend half the day worrying about what to wear.  You spend more time than you’d like to admit applying make-up, which you never use.  You make sure your hair is done just right.  You want to do it perfectly, this first Pride as yourself.  A lesbian.  A dyke.  But you don’t know who that is yet.  You are just coming out to yourself, and the world around you.  Everything still feels new, as though you’re young as your kids and trying to figure out how to make friends.  You want to be part of the community, but you don’t know where to begin.  So you hold your breath and dive in.

The last weekend of June is Pride in San Francisco.  Friday is Trans March and Pride, Saturday is the Dyke March and Pink Party, Sunday is the Pride Parade and celebration at the Civic Center.  I’ve been living in San Francisco for fifteen years, and I’ve done half a dozen Pride weekends, maybe more.  But this is the first year I went fully acknowledging myself, both inwardly and in public.  Starting with the Dyke March.

The closer my friend Nina and I drew to Dolores Park, the more women we saw.  Women in rainbows, in pink, in no shirts with rainbows over their nipples, in dapper shirt and tie, in punk leather and safety pins.  Women with short hair, long hair, crazy wigs.  For a moment we stood at the corner of 18^th and Dolores and just looked.  Dykes and lipstick lesbians, butch, femme and in-between, trans people, older dykes, younger dykes, fat, skinny, alternative and mainstream.  A few tourists, a few drunk dudebros there to see topless women, but mostly women.  Mostly dykes.

Nina has kids too, and neither of us are exactly party animals anymore.  We tend toward the quiet life (except for toddler shrieking, of course), so it took a while for us to take everything in.  The sound of a poet sharing her work over the roar of the crowd.  The smells of asphalt and patchouli and weed.  The shifting kaleidoscope of the crowd.  We blinked in the sunlight and the experience and slowly my heart began to open. 

As we made our way down Dolores, we saw one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, in full nun-drag regalia, offering a blessing to a thirteen year old girl who had a sign on her back that she had come out to over 100 people this year.  I smiled at the girl, at her bravery.  At her self-knowledge.  She wasn’t living a lie.  She wasn’t hiding. She deserved a blessing.

Finally we found a place in the sun to sit and wait for the march to begin, and to listen to Leslie Ewing, the Executive Director of the Pacific Center for Human Growth, give her speech.  At first I just closed my eyes, lifted my face to the sun and reminded myself to be present, in that moment.  This was a moment for me, a woman, surrounded by other women.  No longer alone.  And then Leslie’s words began to penetrate.

The theme for this year’s Dyke March was “My body, my business, my power”, but she began by talking about shame.  Shame of our bodies, our sexuality, ourselves.  She spoke of women who could not meet her eyes, hesitated to be seen with her because by doing so they were coming out.  She spoke to my own fear, my hiding from myself.  She spoke of rapes on college campuses, the danger to women, queer women, trans women.  She spoke of the violence that is done to so many women’s bodies.  That was done to my body, though in a more limited way.

And then she spoke of hope, of change.  She spoke of her dream that we could all ‘look each other in the eyes… secure in our personal power and not threatened by those whom feel threatened by us.  Coming out – and staying out – is the first step to reclaiming our bodies and taking personal responsibility for our lives.  Coming out is how we take back the power taken from us all our lives.”  Her words reminded me of my power.  She reminded me that when I speak up to my family, to acquaintances and tell them my truth as a queer woman I am working for change.  I am making a difference, though it feels so small to me.

Leslie Ewing has been working in the LGBTQ community for over twenty-five years.  She is an older dyke.  She is who I hope one day to be.  As I listened and watched, I felt hope spreading its wings in my heart.  It has been so long since I have felt the power of women together.  I felt the edges of it in birthing classes, and in giving birth to my kids.  Before that I felt it in women’s studies classes and when I worked with other women to start a feminist organization on my college campus.  I want my daughter to feel this power all of her life.  I want her to hold tight to her power, her voice, her truth.  Whoever she is, whoever she loves, I want her to know that it is her body, her business, her power.

Then, as I was still basking in the glow of the speech, I heard the rumble of many Harleys.  Engines revving and the sound shook the air, shivered in my chest.  The Dykes on Bikes were getting ready and the crowd surged forward to begin the march and I surged with them.

 

Growing Up, Coming Out - Guest Post

Today we have a powerful post on how to live your truth and the benefits of it, no matter how hard it may be at the time. We all have cliffs off which we must jump. Take courage, take heart. You will be understood.

...


Once you have kids, every time you blink you’re certain they grew while your eyes were shut. Infant to baby, baby to toddler, toddler to kindergartner. They grow out of clothes over night, seeming to shoot up like weeds when your back is turned. Clichés spout from your lips, “Wasn’t he just crawling? Didn’t she just learn to talk? Wasn’t it just yesterday…” You’re practically humming “Sunrise Sunset”. You go to rock your kindergartner at night and his long legs dangle over your lap almost to the floor. Your arms still remember cradling him to your breast, when his whole body fit on your lap. Even the younger one is always running away and ‘do{ing} it myself!’ It’s to be expected. Needless to say, it’s better than the alternative. But what you never expected… what I never expected was my own growing up, keeping pace with theirs.

As I’ve watched them grow, my kids have taught me things that prompted my own growth. My son, T, has taught me to move past my default introversion. From the time he was a baby he was a social kid. He loved meeting people, being out and about, in the middle of things. I pushed myself to join a mom’s group where both he and I made friends. I didn’t want him to be afraid of the world, as I had been so often when I was a child.

Even though she’s only two, my daughter, M, is teaching me to speak up for myself and for what I need. To be discerning with my attention. She doesn’t just smile and talk to someone because they talk to her. She checks them out, considers them. She is not afraid to let me know when she wants, or doesn’t want, something.

So the changes in myself have taken me aback. After all, I wasn’t a kid when I had my son, my firstborn. Not like my mom who had me at seventeen. I was, ostensibly, an adult – thirty-two. I’d gone to college, to grad school, had jobs, gotten married. I thought I knew who I was, had it summed up in a handful of words – thirty-something woman, stay-at-home mom, writer, feminist, spiritual-seeker, polyamorous, bisexual, fangirl, wife. But as T and M got older, I found myself surprised as I walk past windows and mirrors. Who is this woman? Where did she come from? Where has she been hiding?

Even as I smiled my way through my life, there were cracks in my mask. I burned out during my internship as a grief counselor, I drank a little too much, I ate a little too much. There was a year of digestive issues that the doctors couldn’t diagnose, some depression, some anxiety. But over all a pervading feeling that I was not really living. I had responsibilities, a family, and I wanted to do it right – have the 2.5 kids, the perfect home, the perfect husband; not rock the boat – but I had the nagging sense that I wasn’t. Doing it right was doing it wrong.

I was drifting in this limbo when suddenly life slapped me upside the head. A friend had a serious health scare; a family member nearly died; a friend of the family lost her son who was T’s age; a neighborhood mom my age with a daughter M’s age was killed, randomly. I was drowning in wave after wave of knowledge – this life is fragile, short. Whatever comes next, we have this one chance. How could I keep living in fear? I closed my eyes and leaped.

I came out as a lesbian, to myself, to my mom, to my husband. Slowly, I am beginning to live. I still don’t know what that means, or if I’m doing it right. I have been immeasurably lucky – my ex, B, and I are committed to becoming friends and remaining a family. Mostly for the kids, but also for us. We were together for twenty-one years. We grew up together. We don’t live together, but we are just a few blocks away from each other. We share custody 50-50. We are determined to create something new, to not be constrained by the way divorce usually is done.

Sometimes I can’t believe I’m just figuring out who I am at nearly forty. I can’t believe that I’m just growing up. I feel guilty for changing my kids’ family out from under them. For hurting them, and hurting B. But I also want to teach the kids that it’s necessary to live one’s truth. Even when it’s hard, even when it’s painful. Even when it’s a mistake. Because otherwise you aren’t living. And that is a lesson that I don’t want to teach them. I want them to avoid the masks and the limbo, and to remember who they are. To stay true to themselves.
...

You can see more of her journey here, at World Split Open.


 

Do You Even Know What Love Is? - Blog Share

Once upon a time, the economy crashed. My husband was laid off, I worked more than an hour away for very little money, and he stayed home alone all day looking for work and taking care of infant twins.

You know this. If not, here. Here it is.

What you don't know is this.

These two are Elise and Andrea Schreier. I hardly knew them. They were friends of a good friend of mine, and all I knew during that tumultuous time when I was barely hanging on for pure exhaustion and depression was that they wanted children desperately. They loved children.

My friend said, hey, you should call them. I bet they'd help you out. And I thought, but I don't have any money to pay them. But they didn't want money. And I thought, but I only know them in passing. In all the times we've seen each other, I've never really reached out in friendship, though we were friendly enough. You know the difference. The 'hey, how are you,' acquaintance versus a friend. They didn't care. These two extremely driven, working, successful women started stopping by my house (out of their way, mind you), to watch my infants and give my husband a break in the evenings once a week. Just because.

Just fucking because.

To this day, my husband refers to them as our lifeline. That seemingly small favor they did us (for an extended period of time, out of the goodness of their hearts), kept him sane. It really did.

And now it's time.

Now it's time to look at what we are doing. At what we are saying. That two women or two men can't get married, don't have the right to access, you know, human rights. The bond these two share is as strong as any hetero marriage I've witnessed, and honestly, stronger than most of those. And that is not even close to all.

While they were sitting for us, Elise and Andrea had applied for Connecticut's foster program. And they waited months and months for approval. And every time they got close, something happened, something delayed it. Then when they were finally approved they got put on a list. It was heartwrenching. It almost brought Elise to tears a few times when we spoke about it. They just wanted a family, and not only a family for themselves, but to create a family for a child less fortunate.

You're telling me that's bad?

Well, don't tell me.

Tell them:

Through the foster program, Elise and Andrea eventually took a little boy. Then his little sister. Then his baby sister. Three siblings staying together because Connecticut allows gay couples to parent children. Because gay couples are fucking people. And you know what else?

They adopted the kids. All three. These three children have a life full of love, laughter and happiness because that is what Elise and Andrea provide. That is who they are. That is what they do.

You're trying to say that because they're in love with each other instead of being in love with a man that they're somehow not qualified to love at all?

You're wrong. Ask those three kids. Ask Elise or Andrea. Ask me.

This truly is a no-brainer. Why are we even talking about this? What is wrong with society that the happy family I know is thought of as wrong, as somehow incapable? Elise and Andrea are ten times the parents I am. And I don't say that to say I'm a bad parent. They're just better.

So if we're going to start judging whether people can get married or not on their ability to parent, I'm just saying, let's ask questions that are relevant to parenting. Because it has nothing to do with whom you love. And people, as human beings, deserve to marry whom they love.

Period.


And this is far from the only story.

Anne Theriault tells a similar tale here, about her Uncle Eric.

Polly writes a powerful piece on the hopes and dreams riding on this week's SCOTUS.

Elizabeth Hawksworth explains the intricacies of homophobia that many miss, thinking they are not homophobic, when really, they are. As a bisexual woman, she has first-hand experience being ostracized over whom she chooses to love.

Jackie talks about the word equality like it's a real thing. Like it should be a real thing. In this real life.

Emilie Blanton discussing what is and what isn't slacktivism. Go Red!

And if you are looking for more on Elise and Andrea, this article is a good place to start.

And if you are a blogger and want to show your support for all families everywhere, Families Respecting Families over at aias.ca is a step in the right direction!

This is a big deal. We need to get on the right side of history. We need to stand together. We need to right this wrong.

 

Who Are These One Million Moms?

I know it's a banner day when I find myself on the same side as Bill O'Reilly.

Have you heard of One Million Moms? They hate gay people, apparently.

Now, as I sit here and have a discussion with my daughter about how her eyes are brown and mine are blue because we're different people, nowhere does my mind think, 'hey, I'm a mom, I must hate gay people.'

But what it does think is that 'we're different people' really extends to all arguments and generalizations throughout all of life. Your motto does not concern me. Your hatred has nothing to do with me. So why are you trying to include me? I am not one of the million (more like 41,000 according to Facebook.)

Contrary to popular belief, you do not become an asshole as a result of birthing another person. You've probably already got that part of your personality down before you start the whole parenting bit.


By saying this:


"Mom, are you fed up with the filth many segments of our society, especially the entertainment media, are throwing at our children? Are you tired of all the negative influences our children are forced to contend with? If so, we urge you to become a member..." 


Are you trying to appeal to my urge to protect my children? Because if I were tired of all the 'negative influences' the entertainment media is throwing at my children, I wouldn't join a group. I'd shut my television set off.

But let's get to the meat of the problem. Currently, One Million Moms is launching an attack against JC Penney and Ellen DeGeneres. They don't like that Penney's has chosen a gay talk show host to represent them.

The horror!


They say on their site that it's "Funny that JC Penney thinks hiring an open homosexual spokesperson will help their business when most of its customers are traditional families."


Interestingly, I haven't shopped at JC Penney's in years. But I'll sure be shopping there now. And I'll bring my traditional family with me.


"DeGeneres is not a true representation of the type of families who shop at the retailer. The small percentage of customers they are attempting to satisfy will not offset their loss in sales by offending the majority."


Only not at all. The only thing offensive to me at this moment is this abject and groundless attack on someone simply because her sexuality differs from yours. Right now it's looking like Ellen would make one million times a better parent than the 'one million' members of this group.

This is her reply to the campaign:



She says, "I stand for honesty, equality, kindness, compassion, treating people the way you want to be treated, and helping those in need. To me those are traditional values..."

Those are values I can get behind, unlike the confused garbage coming from this group.


"OneMillionMoms.com is the most powerful tool you have to stand against the immorality, violence, vulgarity and profanity the entertainment media is throwing at your children."


How do any of those things have to do with being gay? Just wondering.

Oh, and O'Reilly, let's get to O'Reilly, because this is my favorite part.

Dear Christian moms, (not all Christian moms, mind you, even though the group would lead you to believe that...let's rephrase.)

Dear One Million Moms, (well, not a million...let's try again),

Dear members of this oddly named group,

Bill O'Reilly thinks that "this JC Penney thing is a witch hunt, and it shouldn't happen."

He says,

“I don’t have any problem with any of the Million Moms not shopping at J.C. Penney. You don’t want to shop there because you don’t believe the message that they’re sending by hiring Ellen is a good message, more power to you. That is your decision and your right as an American. But to come out and demand the woman be fired, that’s wrong.”

When I have to high-five Bill O'Reilly, things have really gotten out of hand.

If you have "traditional values" that somehow correlate to you not being able to shop at a store that employs a gay spokesperson, by all means, don't shop there. But she shouldn't be fired just because you're an intolerant person.

Moms, if you are looking for a group to join, if you want to be part of a Million Moms, how about this group?

One Million Moms Against Ignorance and Intolerance

Although I already see some ignorance and intolerance on the page, it's at least a better start.

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