If I had a son and he happened to be gay

There’s been some talk as of late about how one should go about raising children with “early homosexual tendencies.” (Quotation marks necessary because the term alone is questionable.) Personally, I am by no means an expert on this matter — I am not a mother, I am not a homosexual, and I am not a sanctimonious psychologist who works on the local counterpart of The Jerry Springer Show. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about how I would raise my hypothetical children, or how I would approach rearing one who might happen to be gay. 

See, if I had a son, I would encourage him. If he expressed an interest in cutting hair or cooking or arranging flowers or was particular about the way he dressed, I would bring him to the places where he could learn to do those things best. I would take him to see the German guys who charge an exorbitant fee to cut my hair, but cut so well I wouldn’t need to see them again for at least three months. I would buy him one of those gender-neutral Easy-Bake oven or acquaint him with our kitchen and words from the likes of Ree Drummond, Mark Bittman and Ina Garten. I would take him to Laguna with my mother so he could watch her carefully choose the plants that would inevitably sit in the garden of my childhood home. I would take him to the ateliers of my friends who are tailors and fashion designers, and watch as he begins to understand the differences between a roped and a continental shoulder.

If I had a son, I wouldn’t tell him that these things weren’t appropriate for a boy to be interested in. I would tell him that I wore nothing but skirts until the age of 11, but was also so into basketball I wanted to reschedule my tonsillectomy so that I wouldn’t miss the finals of Bulls versus Jazz. I would tell him that I wore black the day Owen Hart died, but also chased the Moffatts because I believed someday, Bob would realize he loved me. I would tell my son that his interests are simply interests; and even if he was actually attracted to other boys, these interests have nothing to do with his sexual orientation. More importantly, regardless of what his attractions may be, these interests certainly don’t make him any more or less of a man.

 If I had a son, I would tell him that what makes him a man isn’t the masculinity of his clothing or his choice of spectator sports. I would tell him that what makes him a man is his confidence in his own skin, his consideration of others, being true to his word, and his commitment to seeing things through. These things — honor, decency, character, and kindness — are all he needs to be a true man by any measure.

 Now, if my son happened to be gay, I would remind myself that none of this is anyone’s fault. My son is not sick; he is not broken; he is not in need of healing or fixing. This is not the result of a parenting flaw or a bad draw of luck; it just is what it is. Some people are gay while some people are not. And if it proves to be a struggle for me, then I will remind myself to think what more for him, as he is the one on this journey. The sooner I accept this, the more I allow myself to be present for my son.

 If my son happened to be gay, he would first learn to be a gentleman just the same. I would teach him to open doors for other people and give up his seat on the train for the elderly. He would learn to say “Please” and “Thank you,” and would not impose on others. He would be courteous and considerate. And I would remind him, as I would remind any son of mine, to be respectful and to understand that if someone clearly does not reciprocate his affections, he must not push.

 If my son happened to be gay, he would receive both honesty and assurance, which are not always the same thing. I would tell him that he isn’t like most people, which can make the road ahead much more difficult. Then I would tell him of his uncles — my best gay friends — many of whom knew from the age of four that they were different, that they would love differently. I would explain how they paved the way for him to have the freedom to be himself, how he should take full advantage of that, and how I would be with him every step of the way.

 If my son happened to be gay, I would teach him how to pray. Not because I want him to be further confused by Christians who spew hateful bile in the name of God, but because I know what kind of road lies ahead for my son. I want my son to understand that the God I believe in is large, incomprehensible, forgiving, and someone who thought I deserved such a blessing in a beautiful (and gay) child. And if my son is ever in a desolate place where almost no one can reach him, I want him to know that while my hands might be too small to hold his life in them, a greater force is there to catch him.

 If my son happened to be gay, I would want him to be proud. I want him to be proud of everything that he is, of all the sides that make up who he is, including the fact that he is gay. I want him to live a life that isn’t solely defined by who he is attracted to, without being ashamed of the fact that his heart beats for the same sex. I want him to reach for the skies and dare to dream things that maybe no one thought possible, and believe that he can achieve them. I want him to love himself, because he deserves it, and he deserves to be able to love others without trying to fill some hole someone left behind.

 This may seem idealistic or far too presumptuous that I would know anything about motherhood. But my point here is that I would try, not to give him the world, but to give him the ability to see the world as a place he can conquer. Because I feel that if my child is ashamed to be himself, then I have failed him as a mother. Because if I had a son and he happened to be gay, I can only hope that he would be built by massive amounts of love and encouragement, by defiance of the world’s expectations and surprising strength, and the hope that someone so extraordinary would garner more stellar adjectives than merely “gay.”