Easy

It’s easy to be easy.

It’s easy to be open-minded and liberal

and you know, cool

It’s easy to say you have a gay mom friend and

a couple gay cousins and a gay uncle,

and be supportive and like memes and status updates

and repost them, and watch who likes them too

It’s easy to be at home, in your chair, with your coffee,

and support gay marriage

with a comment

on a page

to watch a decades-old friendship

burn down to ashes,

because how could she be so closeminded,

I mean, c’mon.

It’s easy

when your daughter stands in the kitchen

her eyes soft and misty

her wry smile and a sigh

because she’s just

so

happy Mama!

It’s easy

to be at the park a week later and catch her crushed and crying

to hear out her explanation, the tumbling words

of jealousy and frustration and hurt.

It’s easy to hear her say

who her crush is,

how she knows it’s just like a boy likes a girl,

how she can’t tell because

she knows it would be confusing.

And she is eight and a half

Your daughter is 8 years old.

It’s easy

when your husband gets home,

and you pull him aside quietly,

and you tell him, you tell him cautiously

Your 8 year old daughter has a crush on a girl.

And you both agree

she was born to the right parents.

Who else to accept and support and love her?

And really, it was about time there was a gay girl in the family, right?

what with the uncle and cousins…

O.K. you decide.

It’s easy.

You can’t “out” your daughter.

You can’t status update her news.

There will be no “So cute! She has her first crush!”

It’s easy

to second guess.

You Google “young-gay-children”,

You find a few mommy-blogs with

tales of  their 6 year old boy wearing pink dresses, and

your heart reaches for those little boys, yet,

You have an 8 year old daughter,

so you message your gay uncle

How old?

He can’t remember,

but there was a reason he let the boys chase him around the schoolyard,

lol.

That doesn’t help

so you private message

your gay mom friend,

feeling stupid like “hey, you’re gay

so’s my kid!”

You’re grateful she doesn’t accuse you of idiocy

and she eases your mind,

at least SOMEONE knows now, so

you wait for time to reveal your daughter’s path.

It’s easy,

to forget for a little while

(brush it off the counter like bread crumbs

assume a youthful confusion, an infatuation…)

She’s 10

and still in love,

and wants to send trinkets and gifts and toys.

It’s easy.

Tell her “not a good idea”.

(It kills you to say this.)

“Let’s not confuse her, or make her uncomfortable.”

You try to re-context it,

you say “if it was a boy you liked

we would still act the same”.

She agrees-

and you are relieved ( you are such a hypocrite)

and you hope she never catches on.

It’s easy,

to message the other mother,

hoping for/expecting an “oh, isn’t that cute”

(homeschoolers are open-minded, right?)

But you don’t get “awww”

you get

“You must be wrong, you can’t know for sure, she’s too young.”

It’s easy

to want to say

Very. Mean. Things.

Walking to the Gay Pride Festival is easy.

You hold your daughter’s hand

and talk about her Period.

You remind her it could come any day, any time,

and she nods her head,

and your daughter has matured so much

in a year

Because, you know, at nine,

she would have covered her ears

and begged! not to grow up.

It’s easy to watch her smile and hear her say

how cool it is “a parade for gay people”

with lots of rainbows and balloons (and lesbians, you think to yourself

because you struggle with that).

It’s easy to feel strange in this world,

her world, your new world

You ask your daughter how she feels about the girls

who look like boys and dress like boys and carry themselves like boys,

(because you struggle with that too)

and your daughter says “it’s nice

and besides, there are men who

dress like women and

act like women”.

It’s easy to marvel at your daughter and smile at your daughter

and love her so much at that moment…

It’s easy to fear for her

to wonder who will hurt her

or who will break her heart

or break her spirit, or block her path or call her

ugly, evil, spitting names.

It’s easy to fear for her.

(And you remember

your mother,

a very long time ago

upset with you for falling in love with a black man.

“What about the children?” she begged.

Confused, exasperated… you answer her:

“C’mon  Mom. You create a world where that doesn’t matter.”

It’s easy.

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