My dearest daughter. You are too young for this conversation now, but I know one day I will need to have it with you. I have been practicing in my head since before you were born. Hoping that some ‘ah ha’ moment would come to me on how best to break the news to you without devastating you. Some people hate your mother and I, and by extension that means they also hate you too.
It’s not your fault they hate you, you didn’t do anything wrong. To use the word hate when talking about you makes me so sad. You are perfection, and I can’t understand how anyone could look at you and think otherwise. I feel a searing pain in my chest when I think too hard about it. If I thought too hard about it I don’t know that I would ever feel OK again. So I push it to the back of my mind, so I can function without it tearing me apart.
Some people in this world, millions perhaps hate your mother and I because we are gay. It probably seems silly to you, why anyone would feel that way. Mummy and I are so much fun to be around, we make your favourite foods, read your favourite books and we dance around to your favourite songs with you and have so much fun together. I know it must be confusing to you to know that people who have never met our family feel that way. Maybe you think if they could just meet us and see that we are good people that their feelings would change. I often think that to myself. I wonder if these people were to see us in person how they could ignore the love that fills our home. I wonder if they could look into your smiling beautiful face and hear your endless laughter that fills our home, and still argue that we aren’t good parents by virtue of our sexuality alone.
Some days I am so sure that if the people who don’t know us but so adamantly despise us could just step into our home for an hour that they would be changed forever. The love in our home is so evident and so overwhelming that I can barely understand how someone could come away from it thinking anything other than what we have is something special, something beautiful, something to aspire to. Our family’s love feels infectious, and a part of me is in disbelief thinking anyone could be around it and fail to see it. I just don’t understand. I don’t expect you to understand either.
I know underneath the optimistic innocence that lives inside me that there are many people who could come into our home, bare witness to our love and still feel the same level of disgust and hatred towards us. I often wonder what breeds this sort of hate inside a person. Too much of my time is spent trying to piece together a reasonable explanation for it. I can’t.
Some people who hate us will argue that they care about the ‘damage’ being done to children by parents such as us. Do not be mislead into believing the false pretenses that these people actually care for you my darling. They reference statistics from studies conducted by organisations who had their own hateful agenda. The skew the facts and data to tell them what they want, and ignore the many other studies that tell us you’re fine, you’re better than fine even.