Article by Abigail Garner

It was a few days before college graduation and I brought my family to the library to show them where I had been earning my work-study dollars for the past four years. I stopped by the circulation desk to pick up my final check.

A co-worker commented on my cute two year old nephew running around and then asked about the rest of the crowd. I pointed out my sister-in-law first and then identified the others, two men and a woman, as my parents. “But which one is your father?” I had a feeling she would want specifics. Elaborating, I said, “The man in the button down in my father, and the taller man, his partner.”

“His partner??” Uh-oh, here we go. I held my breath. “Well,” she continued, “isn’t it wonderful that your father’s partner came across country with him to see you graduate!”

I exhaled, appreciating that she got it and that she thought it was wonderful. But then she added, “What kind of business are they in?”

One more time. Coming out one more time. But for one of the first times in my life, I decided not to delicately walk her through it. “No. They’re not in business together. He’s my dad’s partner. Lover. Spouse. Husband. Partner.”

Her eyes grew bigger, an expression all too familiar to me. But I was graduating, and I was in the mood to celebrate, not educate. I grabbed my check and joined my family.

This is just one of the encounters, too many to count, where the English language has fallen short in my attempts to express my family to outsiders. This challenge of language is not exclusive to children with partnered LGBT parents, but for almost all relationships within LGBT families. We often lack appropriate nouns, which results in the need for something close to a short paragraph to explain our relationship with each family member. For example, the child who has a mom with a new partner who also has children can only refer to those children as the children of my mom’s partner. (Did you have to read that sentence more than once before it made sense to you? I told you this was challenging.)

A mother of a gay son might confuse outsiders if she talks about her son’s partner as her son-in-law, when everyone knows there is no law that made him her son. Some distant relatives of mine refer to their gay son’s partner as their “son-in-love.” While they feel empowered and supportive using this expression, it still leaves newcomers in the dark.

I have heard people experiment with expressions like “sort-of my step-sister” and “kind-of my mom” but having to put a devaluing expression like kind-of or sort-of before something as important as family rarely sits right.

For my friends with straight divorced parents who have remarried, they have the luxury to manipulate our language to communicate the degree of closeness of their relationships with the parents’ new spouses. “Stepmom” implies a closer intimacy than “my dad’s wife.”

I, on the other hand can only define my relationship with my father’s partner as one that is connected through my father. I lack the words to express the direct relationship. I have tried saying “my other dad,” but outside of the LGBT community it has only brought the reaction, “He’s not really your dad.” I hope someday that response will be as unacceptable to say to me as it is to say to a child who talks about her adoptive father.

While small-talking at a party that was also attended by my parents, Russ, my father’s partner, came over to kiss me goodbye and tell me he and my dad were leaving. It turned out the man to whom I was talking was also acquainted with Russ. He asked how Russ and I were related. Russ said, “Her father is my partner.” Judging from the man’s expression, we could tell he didn’t get it. Russ sighed, put his arm around me and said, “It’s complicated.” I could not help but clarify: “It’s not complicated. There’s just not a word for it.”

Originally published in Lavender Magazine.
Reprinted in Chicago’s Outlines.

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