Article by Abigail Garner

I was recently talking to a journalist regarding my experience of coming from a gay family. Like most of the writers who cover this topic, she was trying to answer the hot question in the debate of LGBT families: How do the kids turn out?

As the conversation wound down, I asked the journalist about the other interviews she had conducted. She told me she was so impressed by the teens she had interviewed. She said they were some of the most “well-adjusted” young people she had ever met.

There’s that word again: well-adjusted. It’s allotted to LGBT parents for success in raising offspring; the verbal equivalent of two thumbs up. I know that the journalist and other people have good intentions when they say it. Yet it implies that kids of LGBT parents start off at a disadvantage, and that better-than-average results are a pleasant surprise.

The more homophobic a person is, the lower their expectations for just how well-adjusted we might be. Those who are adamantly opposed to LGBT families are appalled we exist at all, so I can impress them just by walking upright and speaking in complete sentences.

Further along the spectrum of acceptance, “well-adjusted” usually includes being drug free, employed, and involved in the community. (This word is also sometimes used as a euphemism for “heterosexual,” to which I highly protest and will address in another column.)

I would be lying if I said there aren’t any kids who are angry, embarrassed or bitter about their families due to the homophobia they encounter. There are some children who completely withdraw, or even blame their problems on their parents’ sexuality. But the adversity we face is not because of our parents’ sexual orientation, but rather because of the homophobia that surrounds us in reaction to it. However, those of us who are able to filter through the homophobia can turn out to be proud, comfortable, and yes, well-adjusted. And we grow up to be stronger people because of that process.

When I was five and learned my dad was gay, I also learned quite quickly that plenty of people disapproved of, and even hated, my dad simply because of his orientation. I learned that he and my family would be judged on that factor alone throughout our lives. When we talked about this reality in my family, my parents told me that even though I might hear homophobic comments, they could not make us any less of a family. My parents told me that we were still OK.

Coming from a gay family in a predominately heterosexual society meant the world I knew best was constantly being challenged. Each time a teacher, minister, camp counselor, bus driver, store clerk, talk show guest, or politician said that gay people were sinful or bad, the words my parents gave me would resurface. A little voice would say: It doesn’t matter what they say. You’re still OK. I had to identify a strength within me to know that the negative things these people were saying were not part of my own truth.

What developed at a young age as a tool for emotional survival in a homophobic world has brought me strength in all areas of my life. When I was a senior in college, I was a subject in a study on eating disorders. I was part of the small sample of women they were able to find who actually had a positive body image. A researcher asked me questions in search of my secret weapon against the seduction of anorexia, overeating, and other self-destructive behaviors. While she asked about diet, physical activities and family attitudes about food, I knew what my secret weapon was. I revealed it only after she asked if I thought she had overlooked something.

I told her I felt good about my body because my dad is gay. Of course, I had to explain further.

My interest in fashion magazines ended by the second issue of a gift subscription I had received from a well-intentioned relative when I was 13. Within minutes of paging through images and words about how to pout and where to pluck, my stomach was in knots. How could I possibly meet these standards? But then the voice spoke up: It doesn’t matter what they say. You will still be OK. When the subsequent issues from that subscription arrived in the mailbox, they went directly into the trash can. No magazine, or model, or fad was going to tell me who or what I was supposed to be.

This voice also steered me clear of other potential pit-falls in adolescence. I gave up on trying to be like everyone else because having a gay family already made me different, and the “cool crowd” spewed the most anti-gay slurs. Feeling safe was more important than being cool. I rejected the behaviors that would make me part of the “in crowd,” which included using drugs, having sex, and binge drinking.

Each time that voice resurfaced to challenge a societal expectation and the world didn’t come to an end, my trust in the voice was strengthened. It is a manifestation of my own truth.

I am dedicated to working toward a future when our world is free from homophobia. At the same time, however, homophobia has played a critical role in who I am today. It has presented me with countless challenges, testing my courage and forcing me to find my own sense of self-worth.

I am grateful to my parents who prepared me for facing homophobia by raising a kid who could think for herself. Their success in doing this ultimately earned me the well-adjusted rubber stamp under the scrutiny of mainstream society.

My mom sometimes jokes that maybe they did too good of a job. When we get into a disagreement, she usually expresses her frustration at how steadfastly I hold up my side of the argument. I tell her she created her own monster. And then I thank her and we both start laughing.

Originally published in Alternative Family Magazine

Trackback URI | Comments RSS