Singing Me Home

I am reading a novel by Jodi Picoult called “Sing You Home,” (here’s the supporting CD) about a woman who starts out in a straight relationship and has two embryos left from an earlier IVF treatment. She wants to give them to her partner to carry a child, her ex-husband wants to give the embryos to his brother and his wife so that the kid can grow up in a Christian home.

So far, it is a lovely story, and I am enjoying it quite a bit. On the flip side, though, it magnifies every insecurity I’ve ever felt in my whole life, and each chapter feels like a therapy session. It’s all in there- what it feels like to be a gay teen, how scary it is to marry your partner in front of people when you’ve been told your whole life that it’s. just. not. done.

Of course, it’s done all the time, now. It’s just that my brain hasn’t caught up. When I was 14 or 15, a friend got married and the ceremony was simple- saying a blessing over your rings and it’s over. And only in front of each other, because it has to be a secret.

I think unintentionally, that’s how I’m treating gay weddings now. My brain hasn’t flipped the switch that this is now perfectly normal and I don’t have to worry that people are going to laugh at me. The fact that they wouldn’t laugh anyway is moot. It’s not about the guests at the wedding. It’s about me and my fear that all these horrible things will rain down on me if I do.

Part of my family is very traditionally conservative, and part of it isn’t. The choice to get married in front of everyone has me thinking more about how to bring both sides of my family together without hurting any of them.

Plus, Dana’s mom and dad have made it clear that they will not come if we get married, anyway. That’s a whole ‘nother ball of wax, and not necessarily something to be talked about here except that it affects me greatly and weighs on my heart like an anvil.

I also think I want children, but I don’t know for sure. What I Know For Sure (™ Oprah Winfrey) is that I don’t want children *right now.* We would be plunging a baby into poverty which is last on my list of things to do today. So before we get our money squared away, I can’t even dream that far.

But what I do know is that if I had the chance, I’d have a nuclear family in spite of not having a dad, because there would be two primary parents to this child, and a whole host of surrogates.

I want Volfe to teach our kids how to shoot guns, how to play in the dirt, how to fix their own cars from nose to tail so I don’t have to pay for their first dents and scratches as new drivers.

I want my kids to have Karen as a teacher and for them to learn:

Oh isn’t it a bit of luck
That I was born a yellow duck
With yellow socks and yellow shoes
So I can go wherever I choose!

I want Matt to teach my kids to swim and to “do their bubbles.” I want him to show my kids his land and all the wonderful farm animals and plants and gardens where you can wade into the dirt over your toes. I want Matt to read to our kid, because few people I know read more fantastic stories than he does.

I want them to know and love Rev. Tara, who is a blessing all on her own to our family.

I want Stacy Pever Anzick to baptize them and for the story to be that my kid peed all over her, just like I did to Bishop Crutchfield when I was that age.

I want Wayne Borum and SarahAnne Hazlewood to teach my kid how to be evil in just the right ways. I want SarahAnne to make me my first baby quilt, with a note stitched inside about how we’ll always have depression and Dr. Pepper to bind us together. I want Wayne to build something for the nursery that would serve as an heirloom when they have children.

I am also in love with the idea of my sister being an aunt. She’d be the kind of aunt that bought us “my moms rock” onesies and perhaps a “That’s How I Roll” t-shirt with a stroller on the front. She’d love my kid as if it were hers, and the same goes for her kids. I will love them as my own and be the kind of person you can come to when your parents are seriously making you skirt the edge of sanity. I know, I grew up with her.

I want Dana to teach our kids how to grill when they can see over the top of the grill. I want her to give my 16-year-old his first sip of beer while he’s outside grilling with “dad.” In fact, I want her to create for my kids what her dad created for her. I can picture a toddler following her around with a bubble mower, too.

I want to teach my kids the beauty of the Gorge, the newfallen snow on top of Mount Hood. I want my kids to meet everyone who has ever influenced my life, because I think I turned out okay.

I have this life that I cannot reach because I am afraid.

And this book showed me why.

Every step of the journey that Zoe and Vanessa take together is rife with problems no heterosexual will ever have to deal with in this lifetime.

Every step is so much harder, but luckily, getting easier. I hope that gay marriage comes quickly, because I’ve thought of this often. “What if Texas never gets gay marriage and I can’t give my kids the experience of being Texans, too?” What does it mean to be a Texan and raise an Oregonian, which is a much bigger question than my sexuality. 🙂

Like Vanessa, I am 35. Time is running out for a biological child.

We did it, once, Dana and me. We went to an OB/GYN, dressing up because we thought we were going to fall in love with our doctor. My dad and stepmom are both doctors and they’re wonderful. I didn’t have any fear walking in.

That dream was dashed when the OB/GYN was cold and austere. We hated her, we hated the office, and we hated that she pigeonholed us as poor and told us that we couldn’t afford her, so we should just “find a friend and GO HOME.”

I’m going to leave you with that image. I want you to feel all my anxiety bubble up to the top. Want you to feel that my emotions are valid, even if my logic is upside down and backwards. If you have evangelical friends, please share this post. I don’t think that Evangelicals realize how much emotional harm they’re doing when they don’t mean to. They’re scared of what they don’t know.

Just. Like. Me.