The more straight friends and family members jump on the "introducing my opposite sex boyfriend/girlfriend as my 'partner'" bandwagon, the more I want to scream. Perhaps they think they're being PC or something... whatever it is, I wish they would stop. Oppression isn't nearly as cool as they would like to think it is.
A wonderful interview addessing a very similar idea...
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4467280
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Sunday, January 14, 2007
The blog you are about to read...
All of the following entries are copied over from a previous site. They are in no particular order, but are a wide ranging example of work we have done so far in the marriage equality movement... some are speeches, panel contributions, rants or material for any or all of the same.
Feel free to comment, suggest or criticize!
Feel free to comment, suggest or criticize!
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Star Tax Exemption- Denied
"You may be elidgible for a larger school property tax savings if you meet these age and income requirements:
1. If you are applying for STAR for the 2007-2008 school year:
a) Will all owners be at least 65 years of age as of December 31, 2007?
b) Is the property owned by a husband and wife or by siblings, whereby at least one spouce or sibling will be 65 years of age as of December 31, 2007 "
http://www.orps.state.ny.us/ref/forms/pdf/rp425.pdf
So, were LM 65 and I only 62, we would have to wait an additional 3 years before we could recieve the several hundred dollar tax cut awarded by New York State to heterosexual married couples and property owning siblings.
We're starting a new list of items to point out when we go to lobby Albany on Justice and Equality Day, May 1st.
1. If you are applying for STAR for the 2007-2008 school year:
a) Will all owners be at least 65 years of age as of December 31, 2007?
b) Is the property owned by a husband and wife or by siblings, whereby at least one spouce or sibling will be 65 years of age as of December 31, 2007 "
http://www.orps.state.ny.us/ref/forms/pdf/rp425.pdf
So, were LM 65 and I only 62, we would have to wait an additional 3 years before we could recieve the several hundred dollar tax cut awarded by New York State to heterosexual married couples and property owning siblings.
We're starting a new list of items to point out when we go to lobby Albany on Justice and Equality Day, May 1st.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Told in alternating voices...
It’s a Thursday night in late September. We gather for happy hour, some sipping un-spiked cokes and others, apple martinis, in a predominantly lesbian bar. We are a weary lot of New York City public school teachers and respective partners, representing grades 1, 2, and 3; a librarian, and a science cluster teacher. We don’t talk politics, or sex, or anything terribly exciting. Conversation buzzes around lesson planning, bulletin boards, problem students and the dreaded superintendent walk through. At some point, as the liquor flows more freely someone will say, “Is this what you imagined your elementary school teachers doing? Getting trashed at some crappy dyke bar on a school night?” This inevitably leads to a rattling off of the names of those spinster teachers, who, in retrospect, probably fit the profile.
As mentioned already in my introduction, I graduated from SLC in December of 2000 and immediately took a job here on staff. It seemed like a good idea at the time, it paid the bills, and it gave me a chance to think about what I really wanted to do with my life. (For the record, I’m still working on that one.) Perhaps it was the subway advertisements with the catchy slogans like: “Your spreadsheets won’t grow up to be doctors and lawyers” that seduced me; or perhaps it was that spirit of wanting to do something meaningful and purposeful in the world impressed upon me during those idyllic years spent at Sarah Lawrence – none the less, I applied and was accepted to the radical “New York City Teaching Fellows Program” where I was promised the tools to change the world. Yeah. I was placed in a fortress of an elementary school near Fordham in the Bronx, assigned to the educational giant that is Mercy College for my master’s work, and after a whirlwind six weeks of training, received my first batch of 30 third graders and a classroom infested with mice.
Like Lady M, I graduated from SLC and joined the New York City Teaching Fellows program, fully aware of what I was getting myself into. Two weeks after graduating, I reported to the Mercy College campus in Manhattan to begin my summer session. I was assigned to a group that was called MC1... essentially a group of soon-to-be teachers placed together based on the geographic location of their school. Teachers who would be in my school, or near my school, were part of my "Summer Group."
That summer group was, for all intents and purposes, a homeroom class- 21 people expected to function as a peers, supporters, therapists, consultants and confidants for one another throughout the insanely hectic and emotional first year of teaching. As the first weeks of the program wore on, a queer little group, so to speak, began to emerge. It turned out that, out of 21 of us, 7 were gay, lesbian or bisexual.
My cohort was far less colorful than Puck’s. My mentor was a gem (she single-handedly talked me out of quitting my post during that first prep period, my first day of school). The rest of my fellows group was comprised entirely of teachers from my school (there were 9 fellows hired that year, enough to initially make up a class). We would meet every week for a de-briefing. My mentor served as my professor. We were given the ongoing assignment of scribing “Moments that Matter” throughout our teaching days and sharing them in a fuzzy, therapeutic way during class (we actually got graduate credit for this!) With my colleagues, I was cordial, but decidedly closeted. I did the unthinkable. I spent the first months of school referring to Puck as my roommate. Roommate. It made my face flush every time I said it. I avoided social interactions. I was evasive and mysterious. It was hell. It wasn’t until the “G-word” surfaced in my classroom that I had the gumption to face the issue. One of my darlings had adopted “gay” as his all purpose slur. He used it at least a half a dozen times a day, everyday. This became a “Moment that Mattered.”
(Read Highlights)
While having a gay-old summer with my admittedly young, white, upper middle class, well educated liberal arts cronies, I was assigned to student teach for several weeks before the school year began. The cooperating teacher with whom I was to work was what they call in the NYC School system a "seasoned teacher..." namely, someone who is either over 40 or has stuck around for more than 5 years without injuring themselves, a child or an administrator. Ms. Diaz was both. Within minutes of entering her classroom, I was pretty sure that she too fell somewhere on the gay spectrum, but it took a full two months of daily interactions before my cooperating teacher conceded, through euphemism, that she too was "family," a phrase I would come to abhor with little actual reason. In a hushed lunchtime conversation, Ms. Diaz cautioned me against telling anyone, ANYONE at our school that I was, as she perpetually called it, "family," and was shocked that I had already, with little hesitation, outed myself to the retiring kindergarten teacher. "Don't you tell anyone else," she told me, quite fiercely, "Or else I'm not going to be spending any time with you. I don't want people to see you with me and think I'm like that too." Needless to say, I didn't take her advice, and I slowly came out to the majority of my floor- primarily other Kindergarten and 1st grade teachers. Ms. Diaz, for her part, did not stop spending time with me and even found herself letting her guard down a bit more with teachers she had already known for more than 4 years.
By the end of my third year of teaching third grade, only two people from my original cohort remained employed at the school. The rest had fled to the other schools, or other professions, sensing the impending burnout that accompanies teaching in the trenches. At this time I was out to a handful of my colleagues, particularly those who were “Teach for America” or New York City Teaching Fellows. My payroll secretary had become aware of my “situation” when I’d boldly asked for the UFT negotiated day off that I’m entitled to receive so that I may attend my “registered domestic partner’s” graduation. She suggested, “Why not just write that she’s your sister?” To my administrators, and even to the reading teacher who shared my classroom every day for a year, Puck was still my roommate. This was not a mistake that I would repeat. When I accepted a position at a suburban school in Westchester, I made the choice to be “out” to my colleagues, and to any other supervisory adult who happened to inquire. During my interview with the school superintendent, as we negotiated salary and discussed my benefits package, she asked – “Now will you be needing single coverage or family coverage?” Without missing a beat I asked – “That depends; do you have domestic partner benefits?”
While I consider myself “out” at work, there’s still a degree of discretion required for my job. As I later learned, a whopping 750 qualified candidates applied for the position I was hired for. It will take me another year before I am tenured – and tenure, in the suburbs, is serious business. Aside from the usual sycophantalism (if that’s a word) that is required from all tenure tracked teachers; I feel the added weight of my “out-ness.” I’m compelled to overachieve. While I know, technically, that I can’t be dismissed from my job or denied tenure based upon my sexual orientation, I feel that I can’t give them any other reason for letting me go. I’ve heard rumors in my school; about a pair of so-called lesbian teachers who were carrying on an illicit affaire the year before I was hired, how they were denied tenure and vanished (I think to Oregon). And then there’s the nearly decade old story of the middle-aged male teacher who’s mother had died, who’s partner had left him, and who was using the school computer to search a gay personals web sight. He was fired, days later, and his successor is now one of my dearest friends.
By the end of my 3rd year, I spoke freely about my relationship with Lady M to just about all the teachers on the first floor, and many other teachers throughout the building. She attended get together with me outside of class, came into my school to help organize my classroom and appeared once on the afternoon before a walk though to help me conquer the impossible task of bringing my learning environment up to code. She was a familiar face to most of my co-workers, though should my principal or AP stroll in she got introduced, jokingly, as the "hired help" or my "interior designer." They knew who she was. I knew they knew who she was. It was simply better left unsaid. Over the course of those three years, Ms. Diaz and I had a number of memorable conversations, ranging from veiled comments during professional development meetings about the extreamly attractive Australian consultant to a screaming match over the use of the word "queer." In the end, Ms. Diaz found herself far less guarded around our coworkers and had outed herself to a core group of 5 teachers, including myself. Last year, during the final week of school, Ms. Diaz called my classroom and insisted that I come and take over her students for a few minutes while mine were in science. I arrived to find her in tears, leaning against the doorframe, our principal across the hall, eyes fixed on the floor. Ms. Diaz left then, with her bag and jacket, and 10 minutes later a substitute arrived to cover her class for the remainder of the day. In the New York City Schools, holding back a child who has not met promotional criteria is next to impossible. It requires mountains of paperwork, leagues of documentation and undeniable proof that you did everything in your power to reach that child during the school year. By the end of the first week of school, a teacher needed to identify which students they believed would need to be retained and begin keeping copious notes on every interaction they had with a child. For one little boy in her class, Ms. Diaz had done just that. Charles's mother, however, did not agree that her son needed to repeat the first grade. After not showing up to any of the scheduled parent teacher conferences for the year, she arrived, unannounced in the principal's office after receiving word that her child's promotion was denied. Ms. Diaz, who lived in the same community where we taught, happened to also live on the same block as Charles and his mother. Ms. Diaz, the parent informed the principal, lived with another woman who looked like a man. She was not going to let this dyke prevent her son from being promoted if she had to go to herself to the superintendent and explain to the superintendent just what kind of people we have working at our school This year, Charles is in the second grade. I am fully aware that race, class and age play largely into the way that this situation was handled. For the 22 years that Ms. Diaz was a teacher before I arrived at our school, she was completely closeted, out not even to the teacher with whom she had worked and been close friends for 4 years. She had worked, in a way, to be rise above her status as a single, older, working class Latino woman; bringing her sexuality into the workplace had not even been a consideration. She was not about to let it ruin her career any further by resisting what was quite clearly this attempt at blackmail by a vengeful parent. She wanted it to be over with as quickly and quietly as possible- and I honestly can't blame her. I'm also aware that it is primarily a class advantage that prevented me from finding myself in the same situation. By grace of my race, age, background and education, I was not living in down the street from any of my students, and able to conduct myself as I saw fit in the privacy of my own community. Similarly, the grace of my race, age, background and education would have allowed me to stand up to the accusations with little fear of reprisal.
A certain degree of discretion is required for this job – no matter how “out” you are. I’m not in a place right now where I feel comfortable discussing my sexual orientation with parents. It was hard enough coming out to my own parents, I don’t feel it necessary to come out to my students’ parents. Granted, the occasion hasn’t come up – if a parent were to ask me directly, of course, I wouldn’t lie. As teachers, we’re highly visible members of the community. I run into parents at Whole Foods, at CVS, even at the beach. I don’t make any dramatic introductions. In fact, Puck has been known to scamper off before the opportunity for an introduction presents itself.
I must admit, that I avoid formal work-related bring your significant other events – I joke to my colleagues: Maybe next year, when I’m tenured. But the truth is that such events tend to exceed my comfort level regardless. While I contribute to my school’s “Sunshine Club,” (Sunshine is a teacher funded group that throws wedding and baby showers and sends flowers to teachers in the hospital and that sort of thing), that fact is, that I am quite sure that some sort “Civil Union” party for me, down the line, would be all but out of the question.
Student questions are a never ending source of amusement. After changing schools this year, I returned to my old school to visit with teachers and students for the day and the first question any of my former 1st graders asked me was, "Ms. O, you got yourself a man?" "Ms. O, why do you wear that ring if you're not married?" "Ms. O, do you cook dinner for your husband?" "Ms. O, can two girls get married?" "Ms. O, why don't you get have a boyfriend or kids?" "Ms. O, who gave you that marrying ring?" "Ms. C, are you a tomboy?" "Ms. C, why don't you like to shop?" Answering student inquiries into my personal life is a double edged sword. You do not want to discourage students from connecting with their teacher, from exhibiting their natural curiosity or make them suspicious of your answers, though, at the same time, you don't, as an educator, want to our yourself to a roomful of 5, 6, 7, 8 or 9 year olds. So how do I reconcile my queer persona with my teacher persona? Like all other gay teachers I know, somewhere in my classroom is a bulletin board outlined with rainbow boarders. Gender inclusive language and a lack of gender stereotyping and classification are omnipresent in our classrooms. I don't have a boys line and a girls line. I don't tell students to take their work home to their mom. Books that we read aloud, particularly during the ever-popular elementary school "Family Unit" are inclusive and depict children from same sex families along side children from every other familiar make-up I can find in a book. Purple crayons are given to boys and when some project does necessitate the division of students along gender lines (as many elementary math programs tend to do) they are not assigned to use the common gender-associated colors of pink and blue. Working with older children, Lady M's read alouds include strong female characters like Charlotte Doyle and Elizabeth Blackwell and she has the opportunity to get into the nitty gritty of why genders receive certain stereotypes and what students can do to work against them. And yes. Students are told that in some places, two girls CAN get married. As Lady M mentioned earlier, one of the most maddening aspects of teaching can be confronting students who use what is commonly called the "g-word," much like the "f-word" the "s-word" and the "b-word." Many, many teachers respond simply with, "That's a bad word. I don't want to hear it." For obvious reasons, I've taken a different route. I've started with students as young as first grade, discussing the idea that "gay," in and of itself, is not a bad word or a bad thing to be. What is bad, I have intoned over and over again, is when you use any word, be in gay, hamburger or lampshade, as a teasing or name calling word to make another person feel bad.
As mentioned already in my introduction, I graduated from SLC in December of 2000 and immediately took a job here on staff. It seemed like a good idea at the time, it paid the bills, and it gave me a chance to think about what I really wanted to do with my life. (For the record, I’m still working on that one.) Perhaps it was the subway advertisements with the catchy slogans like: “Your spreadsheets won’t grow up to be doctors and lawyers” that seduced me; or perhaps it was that spirit of wanting to do something meaningful and purposeful in the world impressed upon me during those idyllic years spent at Sarah Lawrence – none the less, I applied and was accepted to the radical “New York City Teaching Fellows Program” where I was promised the tools to change the world. Yeah. I was placed in a fortress of an elementary school near Fordham in the Bronx, assigned to the educational giant that is Mercy College for my master’s work, and after a whirlwind six weeks of training, received my first batch of 30 third graders and a classroom infested with mice.
Like Lady M, I graduated from SLC and joined the New York City Teaching Fellows program, fully aware of what I was getting myself into. Two weeks after graduating, I reported to the Mercy College campus in Manhattan to begin my summer session. I was assigned to a group that was called MC1... essentially a group of soon-to-be teachers placed together based on the geographic location of their school. Teachers who would be in my school, or near my school, were part of my "Summer Group."
That summer group was, for all intents and purposes, a homeroom class- 21 people expected to function as a peers, supporters, therapists, consultants and confidants for one another throughout the insanely hectic and emotional first year of teaching. As the first weeks of the program wore on, a queer little group, so to speak, began to emerge. It turned out that, out of 21 of us, 7 were gay, lesbian or bisexual.
My cohort was far less colorful than Puck’s. My mentor was a gem (she single-handedly talked me out of quitting my post during that first prep period, my first day of school). The rest of my fellows group was comprised entirely of teachers from my school (there were 9 fellows hired that year, enough to initially make up a class). We would meet every week for a de-briefing. My mentor served as my professor. We were given the ongoing assignment of scribing “Moments that Matter” throughout our teaching days and sharing them in a fuzzy, therapeutic way during class (we actually got graduate credit for this!) With my colleagues, I was cordial, but decidedly closeted. I did the unthinkable. I spent the first months of school referring to Puck as my roommate. Roommate. It made my face flush every time I said it. I avoided social interactions. I was evasive and mysterious. It was hell. It wasn’t until the “G-word” surfaced in my classroom that I had the gumption to face the issue. One of my darlings had adopted “gay” as his all purpose slur. He used it at least a half a dozen times a day, everyday. This became a “Moment that Mattered.”
(Read Highlights)
While having a gay-old summer with my admittedly young, white, upper middle class, well educated liberal arts cronies, I was assigned to student teach for several weeks before the school year began. The cooperating teacher with whom I was to work was what they call in the NYC School system a "seasoned teacher..." namely, someone who is either over 40 or has stuck around for more than 5 years without injuring themselves, a child or an administrator. Ms. Diaz was both. Within minutes of entering her classroom, I was pretty sure that she too fell somewhere on the gay spectrum, but it took a full two months of daily interactions before my cooperating teacher conceded, through euphemism, that she too was "family," a phrase I would come to abhor with little actual reason. In a hushed lunchtime conversation, Ms. Diaz cautioned me against telling anyone, ANYONE at our school that I was, as she perpetually called it, "family," and was shocked that I had already, with little hesitation, outed myself to the retiring kindergarten teacher. "Don't you tell anyone else," she told me, quite fiercely, "Or else I'm not going to be spending any time with you. I don't want people to see you with me and think I'm like that too." Needless to say, I didn't take her advice, and I slowly came out to the majority of my floor- primarily other Kindergarten and 1st grade teachers. Ms. Diaz, for her part, did not stop spending time with me and even found herself letting her guard down a bit more with teachers she had already known for more than 4 years.
By the end of my third year of teaching third grade, only two people from my original cohort remained employed at the school. The rest had fled to the other schools, or other professions, sensing the impending burnout that accompanies teaching in the trenches. At this time I was out to a handful of my colleagues, particularly those who were “Teach for America” or New York City Teaching Fellows. My payroll secretary had become aware of my “situation” when I’d boldly asked for the UFT negotiated day off that I’m entitled to receive so that I may attend my “registered domestic partner’s” graduation. She suggested, “Why not just write that she’s your sister?” To my administrators, and even to the reading teacher who shared my classroom every day for a year, Puck was still my roommate. This was not a mistake that I would repeat. When I accepted a position at a suburban school in Westchester, I made the choice to be “out” to my colleagues, and to any other supervisory adult who happened to inquire. During my interview with the school superintendent, as we negotiated salary and discussed my benefits package, she asked – “Now will you be needing single coverage or family coverage?” Without missing a beat I asked – “That depends; do you have domestic partner benefits?”
While I consider myself “out” at work, there’s still a degree of discretion required for my job. As I later learned, a whopping 750 qualified candidates applied for the position I was hired for. It will take me another year before I am tenured – and tenure, in the suburbs, is serious business. Aside from the usual sycophantalism (if that’s a word) that is required from all tenure tracked teachers; I feel the added weight of my “out-ness.” I’m compelled to overachieve. While I know, technically, that I can’t be dismissed from my job or denied tenure based upon my sexual orientation, I feel that I can’t give them any other reason for letting me go. I’ve heard rumors in my school; about a pair of so-called lesbian teachers who were carrying on an illicit affaire the year before I was hired, how they were denied tenure and vanished (I think to Oregon). And then there’s the nearly decade old story of the middle-aged male teacher who’s mother had died, who’s partner had left him, and who was using the school computer to search a gay personals web sight. He was fired, days later, and his successor is now one of my dearest friends.
By the end of my 3rd year, I spoke freely about my relationship with Lady M to just about all the teachers on the first floor, and many other teachers throughout the building. She attended get together with me outside of class, came into my school to help organize my classroom and appeared once on the afternoon before a walk though to help me conquer the impossible task of bringing my learning environment up to code. She was a familiar face to most of my co-workers, though should my principal or AP stroll in she got introduced, jokingly, as the "hired help" or my "interior designer." They knew who she was. I knew they knew who she was. It was simply better left unsaid. Over the course of those three years, Ms. Diaz and I had a number of memorable conversations, ranging from veiled comments during professional development meetings about the extreamly attractive Australian consultant to a screaming match over the use of the word "queer." In the end, Ms. Diaz found herself far less guarded around our coworkers and had outed herself to a core group of 5 teachers, including myself. Last year, during the final week of school, Ms. Diaz called my classroom and insisted that I come and take over her students for a few minutes while mine were in science. I arrived to find her in tears, leaning against the doorframe, our principal across the hall, eyes fixed on the floor. Ms. Diaz left then, with her bag and jacket, and 10 minutes later a substitute arrived to cover her class for the remainder of the day. In the New York City Schools, holding back a child who has not met promotional criteria is next to impossible. It requires mountains of paperwork, leagues of documentation and undeniable proof that you did everything in your power to reach that child during the school year. By the end of the first week of school, a teacher needed to identify which students they believed would need to be retained and begin keeping copious notes on every interaction they had with a child. For one little boy in her class, Ms. Diaz had done just that. Charles's mother, however, did not agree that her son needed to repeat the first grade. After not showing up to any of the scheduled parent teacher conferences for the year, she arrived, unannounced in the principal's office after receiving word that her child's promotion was denied. Ms. Diaz, who lived in the same community where we taught, happened to also live on the same block as Charles and his mother. Ms. Diaz, the parent informed the principal, lived with another woman who looked like a man. She was not going to let this dyke prevent her son from being promoted if she had to go to herself to the superintendent and explain to the superintendent just what kind of people we have working at our school This year, Charles is in the second grade. I am fully aware that race, class and age play largely into the way that this situation was handled. For the 22 years that Ms. Diaz was a teacher before I arrived at our school, she was completely closeted, out not even to the teacher with whom she had worked and been close friends for 4 years. She had worked, in a way, to be rise above her status as a single, older, working class Latino woman; bringing her sexuality into the workplace had not even been a consideration. She was not about to let it ruin her career any further by resisting what was quite clearly this attempt at blackmail by a vengeful parent. She wanted it to be over with as quickly and quietly as possible- and I honestly can't blame her. I'm also aware that it is primarily a class advantage that prevented me from finding myself in the same situation. By grace of my race, age, background and education, I was not living in down the street from any of my students, and able to conduct myself as I saw fit in the privacy of my own community. Similarly, the grace of my race, age, background and education would have allowed me to stand up to the accusations with little fear of reprisal.
A certain degree of discretion is required for this job – no matter how “out” you are. I’m not in a place right now where I feel comfortable discussing my sexual orientation with parents. It was hard enough coming out to my own parents, I don’t feel it necessary to come out to my students’ parents. Granted, the occasion hasn’t come up – if a parent were to ask me directly, of course, I wouldn’t lie. As teachers, we’re highly visible members of the community. I run into parents at Whole Foods, at CVS, even at the beach. I don’t make any dramatic introductions. In fact, Puck has been known to scamper off before the opportunity for an introduction presents itself.
I must admit, that I avoid formal work-related bring your significant other events – I joke to my colleagues: Maybe next year, when I’m tenured. But the truth is that such events tend to exceed my comfort level regardless. While I contribute to my school’s “Sunshine Club,” (Sunshine is a teacher funded group that throws wedding and baby showers and sends flowers to teachers in the hospital and that sort of thing), that fact is, that I am quite sure that some sort “Civil Union” party for me, down the line, would be all but out of the question.
Student questions are a never ending source of amusement. After changing schools this year, I returned to my old school to visit with teachers and students for the day and the first question any of my former 1st graders asked me was, "Ms. O, you got yourself a man?" "Ms. O, why do you wear that ring if you're not married?" "Ms. O, do you cook dinner for your husband?" "Ms. O, can two girls get married?" "Ms. O, why don't you get have a boyfriend or kids?" "Ms. O, who gave you that marrying ring?" "Ms. C, are you a tomboy?" "Ms. C, why don't you like to shop?" Answering student inquiries into my personal life is a double edged sword. You do not want to discourage students from connecting with their teacher, from exhibiting their natural curiosity or make them suspicious of your answers, though, at the same time, you don't, as an educator, want to our yourself to a roomful of 5, 6, 7, 8 or 9 year olds. So how do I reconcile my queer persona with my teacher persona? Like all other gay teachers I know, somewhere in my classroom is a bulletin board outlined with rainbow boarders. Gender inclusive language and a lack of gender stereotyping and classification are omnipresent in our classrooms. I don't have a boys line and a girls line. I don't tell students to take their work home to their mom. Books that we read aloud, particularly during the ever-popular elementary school "Family Unit" are inclusive and depict children from same sex families along side children from every other familiar make-up I can find in a book. Purple crayons are given to boys and when some project does necessitate the division of students along gender lines (as many elementary math programs tend to do) they are not assigned to use the common gender-associated colors of pink and blue. Working with older children, Lady M's read alouds include strong female characters like Charlotte Doyle and Elizabeth Blackwell and she has the opportunity to get into the nitty gritty of why genders receive certain stereotypes and what students can do to work against them. And yes. Students are told that in some places, two girls CAN get married. As Lady M mentioned earlier, one of the most maddening aspects of teaching can be confronting students who use what is commonly called the "g-word," much like the "f-word" the "s-word" and the "b-word." Many, many teachers respond simply with, "That's a bad word. I don't want to hear it." For obvious reasons, I've taken a different route. I've started with students as young as first grade, discussing the idea that "gay," in and of itself, is not a bad word or a bad thing to be. What is bad, I have intoned over and over again, is when you use any word, be in gay, hamburger or lampshade, as a teasing or name calling word to make another person feel bad.
Another old rant, republished
I must say that one of my failings is that I just don't GET heterosexual couples... I mean, I understand why they happen, but I can't quite understand HOW. The whole dynamic just seems so awkwardto me... the whole men as people capable of emotions outside the knee-jerk caveman-survival impules just feels like a bit of a stretch to me. I know, this makes me sound quite militant, but at least I realize that I have a problem and I'm working on it. What is quite strange is that I've made friends with a couple of "hetero" (becuase can anyone ever be COMPLETELY one or the other?) teachers in my school, about my age, who are in relatively long term relationships with male individuals (2-3 years or so...long enough to be considering them permanent)and this is making me see the similarities between how they interact w/ their...others... and how I interact w/ M'Lady...and it's WEIRD! I mean, I've had plenty of straight friends...some of whom I have consider and continue to consider very close friends, and they've had boyfriends before...but, for the most part, not for such an extended period of time (at least, not while I knew them) and not duing a time when Lady M and I were viewing ourselves as a pair (Now that's an even longer, weirder story... huh CX?) so I've never really experienced this before. Ughhhhh...cognitive dissonece...! How do straight people relate? What is it, other than the anatomical puzzle, that draws straight people to one another? How do they relate (oh... I guess I asked that already... perhaps, then, that is at the heart of my quandary). I get being friends with them... male creatures make good playmates... so long as everyone remains clothed and emotionally detached. Hmmm... something to think about.
Piggy backing on that, I went to my first baby shower in a long, long time today and found myself SO amazingly out of place! The mother, a coworker/friend of mine (though who I don't really relate to as I was just saying, since she's married and a bit older than myself and... I dunno really) recently found out that the offspring was to be a girl, so everything was sickeningly pink, and I've decided that when Lady M and I have kids, even if we know the sex of the baby, we are SO not telling because I don't want to have a steady pink or blue wardrobe. If I heard, "Oh, look at how PRECIOUS that is!" one more time I think i would have vomited up some pink cheesecake. Why is it so, so important to people that we signify the sex of a baby? Don't think it's that important? Try an experiment. Borrow a baby (preferably from someone you know), dress it COMPLETELY androgynously, put it in an androgynous stroller, bring androgynoustoys and count how many people ask, "But is it a boy or a girl?" and then tell you that you should dress him/her like a boy/girl. It's amazing, truly amazing. If this isn't enough for you, repeat the same experiment with a 5 year old. That's even more fun (especially if the kid is willing to play along and not tell!)
I also found myself wondering, were the shoe on the other foot, would people be shelling out 20 bucks a pop to pay for a party for the the lesbian mom-to-be... or would people just kinda pretend they didn't notice, so that they wouldn't have to say anything? Or at least, not have to say much.
Piggy backing on that, I went to my first baby shower in a long, long time today and found myself SO amazingly out of place! The mother, a coworker/friend of mine (though who I don't really relate to as I was just saying, since she's married and a bit older than myself and... I dunno really) recently found out that the offspring was to be a girl, so everything was sickeningly pink, and I've decided that when Lady M and I have kids, even if we know the sex of the baby, we are SO not telling because I don't want to have a steady pink or blue wardrobe. If I heard, "Oh, look at how PRECIOUS that is!" one more time I think i would have vomited up some pink cheesecake. Why is it so, so important to people that we signify the sex of a baby? Don't think it's that important? Try an experiment. Borrow a baby (preferably from someone you know), dress it COMPLETELY androgynously, put it in an androgynous stroller, bring androgynoustoys and count how many people ask, "But is it a boy or a girl?" and then tell you that you should dress him/her like a boy/girl. It's amazing, truly amazing. If this isn't enough for you, repeat the same experiment with a 5 year old. That's even more fun (especially if the kid is willing to play along and not tell!)
I also found myself wondering, were the shoe on the other foot, would people be shelling out 20 bucks a pop to pay for a party for the the lesbian mom-to-be... or would people just kinda pretend they didn't notice, so that they wouldn't have to say anything? Or at least, not have to say much.
An old rant... republished
I don't understand why those around me feel it is necessary for me to conform to a construct they refuse to make available-- why they feel it necessary for me to have some sort of "ceremony" or big event before they will view my relationship as equally valid; so long, of course, as that ceremony or event isn't an actual marriage, because that would be immoral. Lady M and I have been pondering, with much distaste and apprehension, the possibility of putting together some sort of "reception" type thing this summer (as we plan to do a Civil Union in VT to make the eventual move go more smoothly). The problem here (other than that just not being our style) is that we have nothing to gain, personally (aside from the occasional blender or toaster, I guess) from this venture-- it would be completely for the benefit of others. Parents, friends, aunts, cousins, uncles-- many of whom barely accept the situation as it is (I guess 6 years hasn't been enough time to acclimate), yet urge us to do something to make our relationship seem more "real" to them; maybe, they feel, that would help. I was surprised to be talking to another lesbian/teacher/friend today and find that she has gotten a nearly identical response from people. What is the cultural trend goin' on right now which requires the straight people in a queer's orbit it schizophrenically request confirmation, but deny the right to the most direct legal route? Please... if you are out there and have any idea, enlighten me.
I'm tired---or I should be. Why can't I sleep these days without recurring nightmares? There's this place... a small town I would say, that has been showing up in my dreams for years and years... since I was in High School or Middle School, I'd say. I know the place inside out, how to get from one location to another, where to turn around if I get lost, where to get Chinese Food... its' really eerily familiar to me. One part of it in particular shows up in my dreams with disturbing frequency. It's a fairly large plot of Public Land... that kinda area that most people knew in HS as a place where people went to get drunk on Friday Nights. A pretty large space, usually occupied by lots of trees and a small stream, stretching for many, many acres, if not miles. Well, in one form or another, this "Public Land" area turns up from time to time, making it difficult to close my eyes. It is not a good place (to be redundant); bad things happen there. I've woken up screaming the past few nights, well, more yelling than screaming, if you can draw a line between the two. I've tried just about everything under the sun to relax, to get all the shit out of my head, but, it seems, to no avail. I want to know the meaning of this... I need a word, something short of evil... little park I dream of. I could swear that one day I'll stumble upon it...
::Shudder::
Wish me luck... (or at least peaceful sleep)...
I'm tired---or I should be. Why can't I sleep these days without recurring nightmares? There's this place... a small town I would say, that has been showing up in my dreams for years and years... since I was in High School or Middle School, I'd say. I know the place inside out, how to get from one location to another, where to turn around if I get lost, where to get Chinese Food... its' really eerily familiar to me. One part of it in particular shows up in my dreams with disturbing frequency. It's a fairly large plot of Public Land... that kinda area that most people knew in HS as a place where people went to get drunk on Friday Nights. A pretty large space, usually occupied by lots of trees and a small stream, stretching for many, many acres, if not miles. Well, in one form or another, this "Public Land" area turns up from time to time, making it difficult to close my eyes. It is not a good place (to be redundant); bad things happen there. I've woken up screaming the past few nights, well, more yelling than screaming, if you can draw a line between the two. I've tried just about everything under the sun to relax, to get all the shit out of my head, but, it seems, to no avail. I want to know the meaning of this... I need a word, something short of evil... little park I dream of. I could swear that one day I'll stumble upon it...
::Shudder::
Wish me luck... (or at least peaceful sleep)...
Benefits
So...
While going through paper work last night at about 1 in the morning, I came across a form for the United Federation of Teachers Welfare Fund which I needed to fill out quite awhile ago in order to get my prescription benefits (oops). I put it aside and decided to work on it this morning.
Let me tell ya... New York City talks a good game with it comes to Domestic Partnership stuff... but it's ALL talk.
So the giant packet I have to fill out has an information page which walks you through the process of completing each page. I quote:
Step 5-Section E: Spouce/Domestic Partner Information
- Please remember if married, you must attatch a photocopy of your marriage certificate.
- For Domestic Partnerships you must attatch the following:
IF YOU RESIDE IN NYC:
- Original approval letter issued by the NYC Employee Benefits Program AND/OR
- Domestic Parthernsip Registration Certificate
IF YOU RESIDE OUTSIDE NYC:
- Original approval letter issued by the NYC Employee Benefits Program AND/OR
- Alternative Affidavit of Domestic Partnership
PLEASE NOTE FOR DOMESTUC PARTNERSHIPS ONLY: if you are NOT applying for city health benefits, you must also submit a "DECLARATION OF FINANCIAL INTERDEPENDENCE" form.
Right off the bat, married couples need to provide one photocopy of a document. Me, I have no idea what an "Original approval letter issued by the NYC Employee Benefits Program" is... so I pick up the phone.
"Hello, UFT Welfare Fund."
"Hi. I'm trying to fill out my enrollment packet, and I'm not sure what a "Original approval letter issued by the NYC Employee Benefits Program" is. Can you help me?"
"Sure. We don't handle that. You need to call this number."
"Ok, now, is the letter mandatory, or is just the Registration Certificate sufficent?"
"No sweetie, you need to have both."
"Oh, because the packet says 'and/or' so I thought I might only need one."
"Just call this number and they'll help you out."
"Ok, thanks. bye."
I dial the second number.
"Yes?"
"Hello, is this the NYC Employee Benefits Program office?"
"Yeah."
"OK. I'm trying to get information on the 'Original approval letter issued by the NYC Employee Benefits Program' that I need to submit to the UFT Welfare Fund."
"Uh-hu"
"Can you help me."
"Yeah."
"Ok... What do I need?"
"What you tryin' to do?"
"I need to submit the letter in order to put my domestic partner on my health care for the City of New York."
"OK, so you want to put him on you plan."
"Ummmm... yeah..."
"Ok, we'll send you an approval packet and yous gotta fill dat out."
"What does the approval packet consist of?"
"Yous gotta have it to to get da letter."
"And what does the letter mean?"
"Listen honey, you just fill it out and get it notarized and send it back to us."
"Could you please tell me what the purpose of this packet is?"
Needless to say, the conversation got me nowhere, so I asked to speak to a supervisor. The supervisor, however, so so amazingly belligerant, that I asked to speak to HER supervisor and, after about 25 mintues, managed to uncover the fact that, despite giving out Domestic Partner certificates in the City of New York, The City Of New York does not consider a Domestic Partner certificate to be satisfactory proof of a Domestic Partnership. In order to enroll Lady M, I'm going to need to provide bank records, credit card statements, lease agreements and utility bills in both our names, along with the ORIGINAL copy of our Domestic Partner Certificate, 2 photocopies and a Notarized affidavid stating that all stated information is true. All told, this is going to cost about 50 dollars (if not more) that married couples wouldn't have to pay, and then it is possible that New York City could DENY the domestic partnership benefits for not being enough of a domestic partnership despite having the Domestic Partnership Certificate from the city of New York.
I called the ACLU.
While going through paper work last night at about 1 in the morning, I came across a form for the United Federation of Teachers Welfare Fund which I needed to fill out quite awhile ago in order to get my prescription benefits (oops). I put it aside and decided to work on it this morning.
Let me tell ya... New York City talks a good game with it comes to Domestic Partnership stuff... but it's ALL talk.
So the giant packet I have to fill out has an information page which walks you through the process of completing each page. I quote:
Step 5-Section E: Spouce/Domestic Partner Information
- Please remember if married, you must attatch a photocopy of your marriage certificate.
- For Domestic Partnerships you must attatch the following:
IF YOU RESIDE IN NYC:
- Original approval letter issued by the NYC Employee Benefits Program AND/OR
- Domestic Parthernsip Registration Certificate
IF YOU RESIDE OUTSIDE NYC:
- Original approval letter issued by the NYC Employee Benefits Program AND/OR
- Alternative Affidavit of Domestic Partnership
PLEASE NOTE FOR DOMESTUC PARTNERSHIPS ONLY: if you are NOT applying for city health benefits, you must also submit a "DECLARATION OF FINANCIAL INTERDEPENDENCE" form.
Right off the bat, married couples need to provide one photocopy of a document. Me, I have no idea what an "Original approval letter issued by the NYC Employee Benefits Program" is... so I pick up the phone.
"Hello, UFT Welfare Fund."
"Hi. I'm trying to fill out my enrollment packet, and I'm not sure what a "Original approval letter issued by the NYC Employee Benefits Program" is. Can you help me?"
"Sure. We don't handle that. You need to call this number."
"Ok, now, is the letter mandatory, or is just the Registration Certificate sufficent?"
"No sweetie, you need to have both."
"Oh, because the packet says 'and/or' so I thought I might only need one."
"Just call this number and they'll help you out."
"Ok, thanks. bye."
I dial the second number.
"Yes?"
"Hello, is this the NYC Employee Benefits Program office?"
"Yeah."
"OK. I'm trying to get information on the 'Original approval letter issued by the NYC Employee Benefits Program' that I need to submit to the UFT Welfare Fund."
"Uh-hu"
"Can you help me."
"Yeah."
"Ok... What do I need?"
"What you tryin' to do?"
"I need to submit the letter in order to put my domestic partner on my health care for the City of New York."
"OK, so you want to put him on you plan."
"Ummmm... yeah..."
"Ok, we'll send you an approval packet and yous gotta fill dat out."
"What does the approval packet consist of?"
"Yous gotta have it to to get da letter."
"And what does the letter mean?"
"Listen honey, you just fill it out and get it notarized and send it back to us."
"Could you please tell me what the purpose of this packet is?"
Needless to say, the conversation got me nowhere, so I asked to speak to a supervisor. The supervisor, however, so so amazingly belligerant, that I asked to speak to HER supervisor and, after about 25 mintues, managed to uncover the fact that, despite giving out Domestic Partner certificates in the City of New York, The City Of New York does not consider a Domestic Partner certificate to be satisfactory proof of a Domestic Partnership. In order to enroll Lady M, I'm going to need to provide bank records, credit card statements, lease agreements and utility bills in both our names, along with the ORIGINAL copy of our Domestic Partner Certificate, 2 photocopies and a Notarized affidavid stating that all stated information is true. All told, this is going to cost about 50 dollars (if not more) that married couples wouldn't have to pay, and then it is possible that New York City could DENY the domestic partnership benefits for not being enough of a domestic partnership despite having the Domestic Partnership Certificate from the city of New York.
I called the ACLU.
New strategy
I have to admit, the queers are NOT going about this whole marriage equality thing logically. Let's take a look at the statistics for moment.
In the United States, between 30 and 50% (depending on what organization you want to trust)of marriages end in divorce.
The average length of a marriage in the US is almost 7 years.
Every 9 seconds, a woman is battered in the US.
1 in 20 men and 1 in 22 women ADMIT to cheating on their spouses, according to a 2003 poll in Men's Health Magazine.
There are 11.9 MILLION single parents in the US.
In making the argument for same-sex marriage, the average homophobic American does not want to hear about how much you love your partner. They don't want to picture those few seconds after some clergy or state official or sea captain utters, "You may now kiss the groom." They don't CARE how committed you are to one another; such pronouncements of tenderness and affection only serve to stimulate the "Ewwww" factor so present in our society.
What do they want to hear about?
Death and taxes.
Explain to your ever so intolerant co-workers that, upon your partner's death, you'd have no legal right to your own house or bank accounts, and they perk right up. Start talking about burying your dead. Everyone loves an excuse to exclaim, "That's not fair!" Give them one.
Talk about taxes. Explain that, no matter how many states legalize same sex marriage, a person will still be taxed for any medical care their "spouse" receives under a joint health care policy. You know that $24,000 dollars you make each year? Remember that $400,000 in chemo your HMO paid out to cover your spouses breast cancer treatment? CONGRATULATIONS! Your income tax return statement will boast that you earned $424,000 this year! You now owe the IRS about $140,000! Will that be cash or check?
(Don't worry... at least you won't have the burden of paying for the funeral arrangements... you're not next of kin!)
Morbid, I know, but this is the stuff that people listen to. Not that love and commitment crap.
How about kids? Kids are expensive, right? All those damn trips to the pediatrician and dentist, not to mention video games, private parties at the hottest hibachi joint in town and all the latest and greatest accessories to go with their brand new rollerskating wheelies.. who has the money for it? On top of that, who has the extra $9,000 laying around for all those lawyer and second parent adoption fees? And whoever's giving birth had sure as hell be the one with the primary insurance... or... remember the lesson we learned about tax returns?
Let's take it a step further. You're hetero. You're married You were unfaithful. You went out and fucked your husband's brother. You thought it was him. Or you didn't. Who cares? Now you're knocked up and you do the noble thing. You tell your husband. He kicks the shit out of his brother and then tells you its ok and you decide to have the child anyway. Who is the legal father of that bastard? Your husband.
Let's keep going. You're gay. You've been with your partner for 12 years. You decide to have a child. You put up with the insane mood swings while she's taking hormones. You spend every weekend sperm shopping. You drive her to the OBGYN almost every other day for 3 months. She's pregnant. You make daily stops at the two-in-one Ben and Jerry's/Taco Bell. You race her to the hospital when its time. You stand there as she screams obscenities and, finally, pushes out a squealing, red faced watermelon. Who is the legal parent of the child? Not you, that's for sure!
The current rhetoric is not working. Love is great, but it don't pay my taxes.
In the United States, between 30 and 50% (depending on what organization you want to trust)of marriages end in divorce.
The average length of a marriage in the US is almost 7 years.
Every 9 seconds, a woman is battered in the US.
1 in 20 men and 1 in 22 women ADMIT to cheating on their spouses, according to a 2003 poll in Men's Health Magazine.
There are 11.9 MILLION single parents in the US.
In making the argument for same-sex marriage, the average homophobic American does not want to hear about how much you love your partner. They don't want to picture those few seconds after some clergy or state official or sea captain utters, "You may now kiss the groom." They don't CARE how committed you are to one another; such pronouncements of tenderness and affection only serve to stimulate the "Ewwww" factor so present in our society.
What do they want to hear about?
Death and taxes.
Explain to your ever so intolerant co-workers that, upon your partner's death, you'd have no legal right to your own house or bank accounts, and they perk right up. Start talking about burying your dead. Everyone loves an excuse to exclaim, "That's not fair!" Give them one.
Talk about taxes. Explain that, no matter how many states legalize same sex marriage, a person will still be taxed for any medical care their "spouse" receives under a joint health care policy. You know that $24,000 dollars you make each year? Remember that $400,000 in chemo your HMO paid out to cover your spouses breast cancer treatment? CONGRATULATIONS! Your income tax return statement will boast that you earned $424,000 this year! You now owe the IRS about $140,000! Will that be cash or check?
(Don't worry... at least you won't have the burden of paying for the funeral arrangements... you're not next of kin!)
Morbid, I know, but this is the stuff that people listen to. Not that love and commitment crap.
How about kids? Kids are expensive, right? All those damn trips to the pediatrician and dentist, not to mention video games, private parties at the hottest hibachi joint in town and all the latest and greatest accessories to go with their brand new rollerskating wheelies.. who has the money for it? On top of that, who has the extra $9,000 laying around for all those lawyer and second parent adoption fees? And whoever's giving birth had sure as hell be the one with the primary insurance... or... remember the lesson we learned about tax returns?
Let's take it a step further. You're hetero. You're married You were unfaithful. You went out and fucked your husband's brother. You thought it was him. Or you didn't. Who cares? Now you're knocked up and you do the noble thing. You tell your husband. He kicks the shit out of his brother and then tells you its ok and you decide to have the child anyway. Who is the legal father of that bastard? Your husband.
Let's keep going. You're gay. You've been with your partner for 12 years. You decide to have a child. You put up with the insane mood swings while she's taking hormones. You spend every weekend sperm shopping. You drive her to the OBGYN almost every other day for 3 months. She's pregnant. You make daily stops at the two-in-one Ben and Jerry's/Taco Bell. You race her to the hospital when its time. You stand there as she screams obscenities and, finally, pushes out a squealing, red faced watermelon. Who is the legal parent of the child? Not you, that's for sure!
The current rhetoric is not working. Love is great, but it don't pay my taxes.
Things that drive me crazy
1. Hiring a lawyer to work out the details of what should happen to one or the other of our bodies should we meet an untimely death -
2. Making such decisions as: should we sever our bank accounts? Put a future house/mortgage in only one of our names? (Both in order to protect the living partner from overzealous parents should said untimely death occur.)
3. Wondering if we will ever be able to afford second parent adoptions
4. Tearily speculating whether or not my dream to pursue a PhD will preclude my having offspring from the life equation - how would we pay for it within my childbearing years if I have no insurance (as a students on leave) or have to submit under P's insurance under the current DOMA laws.
5. Calculating the emotional cost of bringing children into a family that's not protected under U.S. law
6. Browsing homes for sale in Canada. What would I teach there? Could I learn Canadian history?
7. Feeling like its hopeless
8. Resisting the urge to call up all of my Republican friends and family members and chew them the hell out.
link
2. Making such decisions as: should we sever our bank accounts? Put a future house/mortgage in only one of our names? (Both in order to protect the living partner from overzealous parents should said untimely death occur.)
3. Wondering if we will ever be able to afford second parent adoptions
4. Tearily speculating whether or not my dream to pursue a PhD will preclude my having offspring from the life equation - how would we pay for it within my childbearing years if I have no insurance (as a students on leave) or have to submit under P's insurance under the current DOMA laws.
5. Calculating the emotional cost of bringing children into a family that's not protected under U.S. law
6. Browsing homes for sale in Canada. What would I teach there? Could I learn Canadian history?
7. Feeling like its hopeless
8. Resisting the urge to call up all of my Republican friends and family members and chew them the hell out.
link
Great Blogs o' fire!
http://ehrenreich.blogs.com/barbaras_blog/
by the author of Nickel and Dimed - Barbara Ehrenreich
An excerpt from her blog:
How Banning Gay Marriage Will Destroy the Family
I didn’t plan to write about marriage again so soon, but here it is, the issue of the week, overshadowing Haditha, immigration, the Indonesian earthquake, global warming, and Brangelina’s new baby.
Someone has to say it: A constitutional amendment banning gay marriage will destroy the American family and all the sex-related “values” our brethren on the religious right hold so dear. And it will do so by creating an irresistible demand for a constitutional amendment banning heterosexual marriage.
The logic is clear. Since the Supreme Court ruled, in Lawrence v. Texas, that anti-sodomy laws are unconstitutional, it’s legal for gays to have sex. Add to that a ban on gay marriage and you will create a special class of people – gays and lesbians – who are free to have all the sex they want, as long as it’s outside of marriage.
This is bound to lead to grumbling among the heterosexual population, even a certain amount of gay-envy. Heterosexuals will start saying: “How come we’re supposed to get married if we want to have sex? How come homosexuals get all the breaks?”
True, most of the demand for a constitutional amendment banning straight marriage will come from the commitment-phobic 18-36 year old male demographic, but this happens to be the most influential demographic in the land. Their tastes determine what movies are made, what we see on TV, and whether we can find sneakers that don’t look like rubberized platform shoes. If the 18-36 year old male demographic demands a ban on heterosexual marriage, you can bet that the right-leaning politicians will change their tune faster than you can say “Dick Cheney’s daughter.”
Instead of bashing gays for their insidious “lifestyle,” the politicians will start beating up on them for their “special privileges” – the right to party all night until well into your fifties, the right to blow off a partner as soon as he or she starts carping about closet space, and so on. Straight young men will tire of trying to pass as gay as soon as the conversation turns to children. They’ll run into the streets shouting, “Freedom from marriage for all!”
And if a ban on gay marriage doesn’t succeed in actually destroying the American family, it will certainly do a great deal to annoy the American family. Face it, there are no “heterosexual families” or “gay families.” Any extended family that doesn’t contain at least one gay couple just hasn’t extended itself very far. There are gays and gay couples caring for elderly, usually straight, parents or children, and gays who bring the green bean casserole to mixed sexual-orientation Thanksgivings. In short, gays are already embedded in “the American family,” and anyone who messes with them is messing with that noble institution.
Families have a stake in marriage if only because it’s an occasion for a wedding, meaning a chance to dress up, drink too much, and flirt with your cousin’s ex-husband. If gays can’t marry, that’s one less wedding per extended family, and that, I say, is too high a price to pay.
You still don’t like the idea of gay marriage? Then, as my friend, the economist Julianne Malveaux, says: Don’t marry a gay person. Case closed, problem solved
by the author of Nickel and Dimed - Barbara Ehrenreich
An excerpt from her blog:
How Banning Gay Marriage Will Destroy the Family
I didn’t plan to write about marriage again so soon, but here it is, the issue of the week, overshadowing Haditha, immigration, the Indonesian earthquake, global warming, and Brangelina’s new baby.
Someone has to say it: A constitutional amendment banning gay marriage will destroy the American family and all the sex-related “values” our brethren on the religious right hold so dear. And it will do so by creating an irresistible demand for a constitutional amendment banning heterosexual marriage.
The logic is clear. Since the Supreme Court ruled, in Lawrence v. Texas, that anti-sodomy laws are unconstitutional, it’s legal for gays to have sex. Add to that a ban on gay marriage and you will create a special class of people – gays and lesbians – who are free to have all the sex they want, as long as it’s outside of marriage.
This is bound to lead to grumbling among the heterosexual population, even a certain amount of gay-envy. Heterosexuals will start saying: “How come we’re supposed to get married if we want to have sex? How come homosexuals get all the breaks?”
True, most of the demand for a constitutional amendment banning straight marriage will come from the commitment-phobic 18-36 year old male demographic, but this happens to be the most influential demographic in the land. Their tastes determine what movies are made, what we see on TV, and whether we can find sneakers that don’t look like rubberized platform shoes. If the 18-36 year old male demographic demands a ban on heterosexual marriage, you can bet that the right-leaning politicians will change their tune faster than you can say “Dick Cheney’s daughter.”
Instead of bashing gays for their insidious “lifestyle,” the politicians will start beating up on them for their “special privileges” – the right to party all night until well into your fifties, the right to blow off a partner as soon as he or she starts carping about closet space, and so on. Straight young men will tire of trying to pass as gay as soon as the conversation turns to children. They’ll run into the streets shouting, “Freedom from marriage for all!”
And if a ban on gay marriage doesn’t succeed in actually destroying the American family, it will certainly do a great deal to annoy the American family. Face it, there are no “heterosexual families” or “gay families.” Any extended family that doesn’t contain at least one gay couple just hasn’t extended itself very far. There are gays and gay couples caring for elderly, usually straight, parents or children, and gays who bring the green bean casserole to mixed sexual-orientation Thanksgivings. In short, gays are already embedded in “the American family,” and anyone who messes with them is messing with that noble institution.
Families have a stake in marriage if only because it’s an occasion for a wedding, meaning a chance to dress up, drink too much, and flirt with your cousin’s ex-husband. If gays can’t marry, that’s one less wedding per extended family, and that, I say, is too high a price to pay.
You still don’t like the idea of gay marriage? Then, as my friend, the economist Julianne Malveaux, says: Don’t marry a gay person. Case closed, problem solved
Days before the NY decision
As the decision on the NY gay marriage case is expected to be delivered in the next day or so, Lady M and I are once again preparing a "speech" of sorts for an impending rally. It is to be read in alternating voices, beginning with Lady M. Below is draft one... if you have any suggestions, let us know!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
When my 22-year-old brother introduces Puck to his college friends, he is apt to use a string of colorful descriptive phrases including, but not limited to, “Meet Puck, my sister’s partner, girlfriend, lesbian-lover … bitch-sort-of-thing.” Over the past 9 years we’ve also utilized a store of relationship labels ranging from the ever-popular “roommate” to “best friend with benefits” to “incestuous sister.” My Dad introduces Puck as my “partner in crime,” “faithful companion,” or the “Squanto to my Lone Ranger.” My Mom, up until recently, introduced her as my “friend.”
My father has 6 siblings, all married. On his side, I have 12 aunts and uncles and 17 cousins. My cousin K took to introducing Lady M to people as my “wife” out of a pure love of shock value. J, herself a lesbian, married to a man, with two children, prefers to call her my “woman” while her children, ages 12 and 9, grew up considering Lady M to be just another cousin. Uncle B has caught me off guard on multiple occasions by asking “Where’s the other half?” prompting me to look around curiously to see if something is missing, and my grandmother has often remarked how nice it is that I have a “travel companion” on my frequent overland adventures. Aunt Kathleen has taken Lady M in as her own, calling her “my other niece” but, to the majority of my rather religious, slightly conservative Irish Catholic family members, she is simply “Lady M.”
It’s not fair, that heterosexual couples are so often denied the use of such ingenious, euphemistic monikers. No one ever refers to, say, my father’s new wife as his “girlfriend,” “lady lover,” or “cellmate.” The teacher across the hall, who married last fall, never has folks hedging awkwardly to come up with a descriptive for her new husband – something clever and benign like calling him her “laundry partner” or “guy she cooks and cleans for.” No, for straight couples there are crystal clear nouns that progress from girlfriend/boyfriend, to fiancé, to husband/wife/spouse to widow/widower. Where’s the fun in that?
It almost seems a shame, after so much creative energy has been extended to the invention of such new and interesting designations, to accept something as dull as “marriage” to describe our relationships; yet it seems to be exactly that “thing” which is being simultaneously withheld from and forced upon us.
“So, are you guys married?”
We get this question ALL the time, from an assortment of relations and acquaintances with mind-bogglingly diverse ideologies: the leftist, politically active Teach for America colleague; the street-smart lesbian in the classroom down the hall; the yoga loving, organic food munching straight guy; the barely twenty liberal arts student; a republican, Fox news informed cousin. All of these well-intentioned people, who mean only to express their support and affection in popping the marriage question – how should we answer? How do you answer?
Saying “no” invariably brings forth an array of startled responses, ranging from shock and awe that two people, together for 9 years, haven’t bothered to get married (unaware, obviously, that we can’t) to an embarrassed, “Well, you know what I mean,” when the aforementioned legal hurdle is pointed out. “Why don’t you get married in Canada/Massacusettes/Vermont/Connecticut?” is a common, meant-to-be-helpful suggestion, offered up as if we merely hadn’t thought of it yet while others encourage us to get married anyway, to have a commitment ceremony, not for the rights, but for the presents and the possibilities of a double bridal registry.
Answering “yes” is even worse. Let’s start with the fact that it would be wholly untrue. Add to that, the warm, fuzzy, status-quo-stabilizing illusion that people are likely to perpetuate when they are lead, misguidedly, to believe that their two beloved, dependable, loyal lesbian comrades enjoy the same rights, privileges and status of their straight compatriots. It’s alright that you can’t get married in New York; just go to Canada – see problem solved? Feel better now? Personally, I cannot see fit to contribute to this false consciousness.
Even more perplexing than figuring out what to say is trying to puzzle out why it is that so many people feel it necessary for us to conform to a construct they refuse to make available—why they feel it is necessary for me to have some sort of ceremony or big event before they are able to view my relationship as equally valid so long as, of course, that ceremony or event isn’t an actual marriage, because that would be immoral. As I continue to discuss the topic with people who profess themselves to be supportive of our right to have rights but too “old fashioned” or “conservative” or “religious” or “traditional” or “conventional” to support our right to marry, I find myself baffled by what seems to be a cultural trend requiring straight people in a queer’s orbit to schizophrenically request consummation while denying the most direct legal route.
Try this experiment at home, or school, or at the office: when in mixed company, refer to the spouse of a newlywed individual as his or her respective boyfriend or girlfriend. Before you have a chance to finish your sentence, someone (perhaps even a chorus of voices) will interject the correction: “You mean her husband,” or “You mean his wife.” The reaction is instantaneous. It’s reflexive. There’s just something about marriage that invokes this kind of spontaneous emotion – even from colleagues that barely know one another, let alone family members and close friends. Bridal registries, and health insurance aside, this particular brand of recognition can only come from a legitimate, government sanctioned marriage. Period.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
When my 22-year-old brother introduces Puck to his college friends, he is apt to use a string of colorful descriptive phrases including, but not limited to, “Meet Puck, my sister’s partner, girlfriend, lesbian-lover … bitch-sort-of-thing.” Over the past 9 years we’ve also utilized a store of relationship labels ranging from the ever-popular “roommate” to “best friend with benefits” to “incestuous sister.” My Dad introduces Puck as my “partner in crime,” “faithful companion,” or the “Squanto to my Lone Ranger.” My Mom, up until recently, introduced her as my “friend.”
My father has 6 siblings, all married. On his side, I have 12 aunts and uncles and 17 cousins. My cousin K took to introducing Lady M to people as my “wife” out of a pure love of shock value. J, herself a lesbian, married to a man, with two children, prefers to call her my “woman” while her children, ages 12 and 9, grew up considering Lady M to be just another cousin. Uncle B has caught me off guard on multiple occasions by asking “Where’s the other half?” prompting me to look around curiously to see if something is missing, and my grandmother has often remarked how nice it is that I have a “travel companion” on my frequent overland adventures. Aunt Kathleen has taken Lady M in as her own, calling her “my other niece” but, to the majority of my rather religious, slightly conservative Irish Catholic family members, she is simply “Lady M.”
It’s not fair, that heterosexual couples are so often denied the use of such ingenious, euphemistic monikers. No one ever refers to, say, my father’s new wife as his “girlfriend,” “lady lover,” or “cellmate.” The teacher across the hall, who married last fall, never has folks hedging awkwardly to come up with a descriptive for her new husband – something clever and benign like calling him her “laundry partner” or “guy she cooks and cleans for.” No, for straight couples there are crystal clear nouns that progress from girlfriend/boyfriend, to fiancé, to husband/wife/spouse to widow/widower. Where’s the fun in that?
It almost seems a shame, after so much creative energy has been extended to the invention of such new and interesting designations, to accept something as dull as “marriage” to describe our relationships; yet it seems to be exactly that “thing” which is being simultaneously withheld from and forced upon us.
“So, are you guys married?”
We get this question ALL the time, from an assortment of relations and acquaintances with mind-bogglingly diverse ideologies: the leftist, politically active Teach for America colleague; the street-smart lesbian in the classroom down the hall; the yoga loving, organic food munching straight guy; the barely twenty liberal arts student; a republican, Fox news informed cousin. All of these well-intentioned people, who mean only to express their support and affection in popping the marriage question – how should we answer? How do you answer?
Saying “no” invariably brings forth an array of startled responses, ranging from shock and awe that two people, together for 9 years, haven’t bothered to get married (unaware, obviously, that we can’t) to an embarrassed, “Well, you know what I mean,” when the aforementioned legal hurdle is pointed out. “Why don’t you get married in Canada/Massacusettes/Vermont/Connecticut?” is a common, meant-to-be-helpful suggestion, offered up as if we merely hadn’t thought of it yet while others encourage us to get married anyway, to have a commitment ceremony, not for the rights, but for the presents and the possibilities of a double bridal registry.
Answering “yes” is even worse. Let’s start with the fact that it would be wholly untrue. Add to that, the warm, fuzzy, status-quo-stabilizing illusion that people are likely to perpetuate when they are lead, misguidedly, to believe that their two beloved, dependable, loyal lesbian comrades enjoy the same rights, privileges and status of their straight compatriots. It’s alright that you can’t get married in New York; just go to Canada – see problem solved? Feel better now? Personally, I cannot see fit to contribute to this false consciousness.
Even more perplexing than figuring out what to say is trying to puzzle out why it is that so many people feel it necessary for us to conform to a construct they refuse to make available—why they feel it is necessary for me to have some sort of ceremony or big event before they are able to view my relationship as equally valid so long as, of course, that ceremony or event isn’t an actual marriage, because that would be immoral. As I continue to discuss the topic with people who profess themselves to be supportive of our right to have rights but too “old fashioned” or “conservative” or “religious” or “traditional” or “conventional” to support our right to marry, I find myself baffled by what seems to be a cultural trend requiring straight people in a queer’s orbit to schizophrenically request consummation while denying the most direct legal route.
Try this experiment at home, or school, or at the office: when in mixed company, refer to the spouse of a newlywed individual as his or her respective boyfriend or girlfriend. Before you have a chance to finish your sentence, someone (perhaps even a chorus of voices) will interject the correction: “You mean her husband,” or “You mean his wife.” The reaction is instantaneous. It’s reflexive. There’s just something about marriage that invokes this kind of spontaneous emotion – even from colleagues that barely know one another, let alone family members and close friends. Bridal registries, and health insurance aside, this particular brand of recognition can only come from a legitimate, government sanctioned marriage. Period.
Days before the NY marriage decision
As the decision on the NY gay marriage case is expected to be delivered in the next day or so, Lady M and I are once again preparing a "speech" of sorts for an impending rally. It is to be read in alternating voices, beginning with Lady M. Below is draft one... if you have any suggestions, let us know!
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When my 22-year-old brother introduces Puck to his college friends, he is apt to use a string of colorful descriptive phrases including, but not limited to, “Meet Puck, my sister’s partner, girlfriend, lesbian-lover … bitch-sort-of-thing.” Over the past 9 years we’ve also utilized a store of relationship labels ranging from the ever-popular “roommate” to “best friend with benefits” to “incestuous sister.” My Dad introduces Puck as my “partner in crime,” “faithful companion,” or the “Squanto to my Lone Ranger.” My Mom, up until recently, introduced her as my “friend.”
My father has 6 siblings, all married. On his side, I have 12 aunts and uncles and 17 cousins. My cousin Krista took to introducing Lady M to people as my “wife” out of a pure love of shock value. Jena, herself a lesbian, married to a man, with two children, prefers to call her my “woman” while her children, ages 12 and 9, grew up considering Lady M to be just another cousin. Uncle Brian has caught me off guard on multiple occasions by asking “Where’s the other half?” prompting me to look around curiously to see if something is missing, and my grandmother has often remarked how nice it is that I have a “travel companion” on my frequent overland adventures. Aunt Kathleen has taken Lady M in as her own, calling her “my other niece” but, to the majority of my rather religious, slightly conservative Irish Catholic family members, she is simply “Lady M.”
It’s not fair, that heterosexual couples are so often denied the use of such ingenious, euphemistic monikers. No one ever refers to, say, my father’s new wife as his “girlfriend,” “lady lover,” or “cellmate.” The teacher across the hall, who married last fall, never has folks hedging awkwardly to come up with a descriptive for her new husband – something clever and benign like calling him her “laundry partner” or “guy she cooks and cleans for.” No, for straight couples there are crystal clear nouns that progress from girlfriend/boyfriend, to fiancé, to husband/wife/spouse to widow/widower. Where’s the fun in that?
It almost seems a shame, after so much creative energy has been extended to the invention of such new and interesting designations, to accept something as dull as “marriage” to describe our relationships; yet it seems to be exactly that “thing” which is being simultaneously withheld from and forced upon us.
“So, are you guys married?”
We get this question ALL the time, from an assortment of relations and acquaintances with mind-bogglingly diverse ideologies: the leftist, politically active Teach for America colleague; the street-smart lesbian in the classroom down the hall; the yoga loving, organic food munching straight guy; the barely twenty liberal arts student; a republican, Fox news informed cousin. All of these well-intentioned people, who mean only to express their support and affection in popping the marriage question – how should we answer? How do you answer?
Saying “no” invariably brings forth an array of startled responses, ranging from shock and awe that two people, together for 9 years, haven’t bothered to get married (unaware, obviously, that we can’t) to an embarrassed, “Well, you know what I mean,” when the aforementioned legal hurdle is pointed out. “Why don’t you get married in Canada/Massacusettes/Vermont/Connecticut?” is a common, meant-to-be-helpful suggestion, offered up as if we merely hadn’t thought of it yet while others encourage us to get married anyway, to have a commitment ceremony, not for the rights, but for the presents and the possibilities of a double bridal registry.
Answering “yes” is even worse. Let’s start with the fact that it would be wholly untrue. Add to that, the warm, fuzzy, status-quo-stabilizing illusion that people are likely to perpetuate when they are lead, misguidedly, to believe that their two beloved, dependable, loyal lesbian comrades enjoy the same rights, privileges and status of their straight compatriots. It’s alright that you can’t get married in New York; just go to Canada – see problem solved? Feel better now? Personally, I cannot see fit to contribute to this false consciousness.
Even more perplexing than figuring out what to say is trying to puzzle out why it is that so many people feel it necessary for us to conform to a construct they refuse to make available—why they feel it is necessary for me to have some sort of ceremony or big event before they are able to view my relationship as equally valid so long as, of course, that ceremony or event isn’t an actual marriage, because that would be immoral. As I continue to discuss the topic with people who profess themselves to be supportive of our right to have rights but too “old fashioned” or “conservative” or “religious” or “traditional” or “conventional” to support our right to marry, I find myself baffled by what seems to be a cultural trend requiring straight people in a queer’s orbit to schizophrenically request consummation while denying the most direct legal route.
Try this experiment at home, or school, or at the office: when in mixed company, refer to the spouse of a newlywed individual as his or her respective boyfriend or girlfriend. Before you have a chance to finish your sentence, someone (perhaps even a chorus of voices) will interject the correction: “You mean her husband,” or “You mean his wife.” The reaction is instantaneous. It’s reflexive. There’s just something about marriage that invokes this kind of spontaneous emotion – even from colleagues that barely know one another, let alone family members and close friends. Bridal registries, and health insurance aside, this particular brand of recognition can only come from a legitimate, government sanctioned marriage. Period.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
When my 22-year-old brother introduces Puck to his college friends, he is apt to use a string of colorful descriptive phrases including, but not limited to, “Meet Puck, my sister’s partner, girlfriend, lesbian-lover … bitch-sort-of-thing.” Over the past 9 years we’ve also utilized a store of relationship labels ranging from the ever-popular “roommate” to “best friend with benefits” to “incestuous sister.” My Dad introduces Puck as my “partner in crime,” “faithful companion,” or the “Squanto to my Lone Ranger.” My Mom, up until recently, introduced her as my “friend.”
My father has 6 siblings, all married. On his side, I have 12 aunts and uncles and 17 cousins. My cousin Krista took to introducing Lady M to people as my “wife” out of a pure love of shock value. Jena, herself a lesbian, married to a man, with two children, prefers to call her my “woman” while her children, ages 12 and 9, grew up considering Lady M to be just another cousin. Uncle Brian has caught me off guard on multiple occasions by asking “Where’s the other half?” prompting me to look around curiously to see if something is missing, and my grandmother has often remarked how nice it is that I have a “travel companion” on my frequent overland adventures. Aunt Kathleen has taken Lady M in as her own, calling her “my other niece” but, to the majority of my rather religious, slightly conservative Irish Catholic family members, she is simply “Lady M.”
It’s not fair, that heterosexual couples are so often denied the use of such ingenious, euphemistic monikers. No one ever refers to, say, my father’s new wife as his “girlfriend,” “lady lover,” or “cellmate.” The teacher across the hall, who married last fall, never has folks hedging awkwardly to come up with a descriptive for her new husband – something clever and benign like calling him her “laundry partner” or “guy she cooks and cleans for.” No, for straight couples there are crystal clear nouns that progress from girlfriend/boyfriend, to fiancé, to husband/wife/spouse to widow/widower. Where’s the fun in that?
It almost seems a shame, after so much creative energy has been extended to the invention of such new and interesting designations, to accept something as dull as “marriage” to describe our relationships; yet it seems to be exactly that “thing” which is being simultaneously withheld from and forced upon us.
“So, are you guys married?”
We get this question ALL the time, from an assortment of relations and acquaintances with mind-bogglingly diverse ideologies: the leftist, politically active Teach for America colleague; the street-smart lesbian in the classroom down the hall; the yoga loving, organic food munching straight guy; the barely twenty liberal arts student; a republican, Fox news informed cousin. All of these well-intentioned people, who mean only to express their support and affection in popping the marriage question – how should we answer? How do you answer?
Saying “no” invariably brings forth an array of startled responses, ranging from shock and awe that two people, together for 9 years, haven’t bothered to get married (unaware, obviously, that we can’t) to an embarrassed, “Well, you know what I mean,” when the aforementioned legal hurdle is pointed out. “Why don’t you get married in Canada/Massacusettes/Vermont/Connecticut?” is a common, meant-to-be-helpful suggestion, offered up as if we merely hadn’t thought of it yet while others encourage us to get married anyway, to have a commitment ceremony, not for the rights, but for the presents and the possibilities of a double bridal registry.
Answering “yes” is even worse. Let’s start with the fact that it would be wholly untrue. Add to that, the warm, fuzzy, status-quo-stabilizing illusion that people are likely to perpetuate when they are lead, misguidedly, to believe that their two beloved, dependable, loyal lesbian comrades enjoy the same rights, privileges and status of their straight compatriots. It’s alright that you can’t get married in New York; just go to Canada – see problem solved? Feel better now? Personally, I cannot see fit to contribute to this false consciousness.
Even more perplexing than figuring out what to say is trying to puzzle out why it is that so many people feel it necessary for us to conform to a construct they refuse to make available—why they feel it is necessary for me to have some sort of ceremony or big event before they are able to view my relationship as equally valid so long as, of course, that ceremony or event isn’t an actual marriage, because that would be immoral. As I continue to discuss the topic with people who profess themselves to be supportive of our right to have rights but too “old fashioned” or “conservative” or “religious” or “traditional” or “conventional” to support our right to marry, I find myself baffled by what seems to be a cultural trend requiring straight people in a queer’s orbit to schizophrenically request consummation while denying the most direct legal route.
Try this experiment at home, or school, or at the office: when in mixed company, refer to the spouse of a newlywed individual as his or her respective boyfriend or girlfriend. Before you have a chance to finish your sentence, someone (perhaps even a chorus of voices) will interject the correction: “You mean her husband,” or “You mean his wife.” The reaction is instantaneous. It’s reflexive. There’s just something about marriage that invokes this kind of spontaneous emotion – even from colleagues that barely know one another, let alone family members and close friends. Bridal registries, and health insurance aside, this particular brand of recognition can only come from a legitimate, government sanctioned marriage. Period.
I might hate Mary Cheney...
but I hate James Dobson more. I acctually wrote a Letter To The Editor to TIME Magazine. Wouldn't it rock if it got published?
"Two Mommies Is One Too Many
Mary Cheney is starting a family. Let's hope she doesn't start a trend
By JAMES C. DOBSON
A number of social conservatives, myself included, have recently been asked to respond to the news that Mary Cheney, the Vice President's daughter, is pregnant with a child she intends to raise with her lesbian partner. Implicit in this issue is an effort to get us to criticize the Bush Administration or the Cheney family. But the concern here has nothing to do with politics. It is about what kind of family environment is best for the health and development of children, and, by extension, the nation at large.
With all due respect to Cheney and her partner, Heather Poe, the majority of more than 30 years of social-science evidence indicates that children do best on every measure of well-being when raised by their married mother and father. That is not to say Cheney and Poe will not love their child. But love alone is not enough to guarantee healthy growth and development. The two most loving women in the world cannot provide a daddy for a little boy--any more than the two most loving men can be complete role models for a little girl."
Read the rest here! http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1568485,00.html
My retort:
As of 1990, the National Adoption Clearinghouse estimated that between 6 and 14 million children in the United States were living with a gay or lesbian parent. Apparently, Mr. Dobson, the trend started quite awhile ago. [Viewpoint December 18th]. In James Dobson's lightly veiled criticism of Mary Cheney's pregnancy and plans to raise a child with her partner, Dobson postulates that "....more than 30 years of social-science evidence indicates that children do best on every measure of well-being when being raised by their married mother and father," though his only citations of evidence for this come from individual psychologists Carol Gilligan and Dr. Kyle Pruett, both of whom addressed him by letter after the publication of this column asking that he no longer quote them in his writing. Readers should, instead, be directed to the "social-science" research done by the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, American Academy of Family Physicians, American Academy of Pediatrics, American Bar Association, American Medical Association, American Psychiatric Association, American Psychoanalytic Association, American Psychological Association, Child Welfare League of America, National Adoption Center, National Association of Social Workers, North American Council on Adoptable children or the Voice for American Adoption, all of whom have declared that it is in the best interest of children to have two loving, supportive, legally recognized PARENTS, regardless of sex or gender.
"Two Mommies Is One Too Many
Mary Cheney is starting a family. Let's hope she doesn't start a trend
By JAMES C. DOBSON
A number of social conservatives, myself included, have recently been asked to respond to the news that Mary Cheney, the Vice President's daughter, is pregnant with a child she intends to raise with her lesbian partner. Implicit in this issue is an effort to get us to criticize the Bush Administration or the Cheney family. But the concern here has nothing to do with politics. It is about what kind of family environment is best for the health and development of children, and, by extension, the nation at large.
With all due respect to Cheney and her partner, Heather Poe, the majority of more than 30 years of social-science evidence indicates that children do best on every measure of well-being when raised by their married mother and father. That is not to say Cheney and Poe will not love their child. But love alone is not enough to guarantee healthy growth and development. The two most loving women in the world cannot provide a daddy for a little boy--any more than the two most loving men can be complete role models for a little girl."
Read the rest here! http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1568485,00.html
My retort:
As of 1990, the National Adoption Clearinghouse estimated that between 6 and 14 million children in the United States were living with a gay or lesbian parent. Apparently, Mr. Dobson, the trend started quite awhile ago. [Viewpoint December 18th]. In James Dobson's lightly veiled criticism of Mary Cheney's pregnancy and plans to raise a child with her partner, Dobson postulates that "....more than 30 years of social-science evidence indicates that children do best on every measure of well-being when being raised by their married mother and father," though his only citations of evidence for this come from individual psychologists Carol Gilligan and Dr. Kyle Pruett, both of whom addressed him by letter after the publication of this column asking that he no longer quote them in his writing. Readers should, instead, be directed to the "social-science" research done by the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, American Academy of Family Physicians, American Academy of Pediatrics, American Bar Association, American Medical Association, American Psychiatric Association, American Psychoanalytic Association, American Psychological Association, Child Welfare League of America, National Adoption Center, National Association of Social Workers, North American Council on Adoptable children or the Voice for American Adoption, all of whom have declared that it is in the best interest of children to have two loving, supportive, legally recognized PARENTS, regardless of sex or gender.
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