By CUSHLA TRAVERS
You are so gay.
Not in the derogatory 15-year-old boy sense of the word – you literally are so gay. But I don’t need to tell you that, do I?
Obviously you’ve known for quite some time. You told me when I was nine and I’m sure it was something you’d known much longer. You don’t just wake up one morning and think, ‘well the gays seem to be having fun, maybe I’ll try that for a while.’
I have to apologise because when you first “came out” I told people you had a boyfriend called ‘Bob’. I’m sorry I was ashamed of your sexuality (and I’m even more ashamed of the name I gave your fictional love interest, I wish I’d chosen something more sophisticated, like Pierre.)
Some people have looked at me with pity when I’ve told them about your life choice, in the same way you may look at someone who has lost a parent to cancer. People often ask if it’s difficult having a lesbian mother. I’ve always had trouble answering this question and I think its because I don’t really understand it. Your sexuality hasn’t altered who you are. You are far too concerned with whether I’m looking after myself, and while your constant hinting at how you look forward to being a grandma can get a little annoying, I don’t think either of these things are a result of your sexuality. I think they are what all mothers do.
Your sexuality choice has exposed me to many things that children born to straight parents will probably never experience. Most of the negativity associated with having a gay parent comes from the judgments made by straight people. You don’t know this, but when I was thirteen, some of my friends would awkwardly go and get changed in another room after phys-ed – I think they thought lesbianism was hereditary and that if I had inherited such a condition, I would automatically be attracted to all females.