Gay Pa Memoir, Part III

My neighbor--a three-year-old--visits. She hands my son a polite missive: "HELLO BABY JOSHUA I AM NORA."

My son sits quietly; his expression is neutral. And this seems OK with Nora; she decides to head home.

***

At the bookstore, a woman points to the contents of my Bjorn. "That's a tiny baby!" she says. "I hope his mom is home napping!"

Startled, I search for a response. Should I insist that I *am* the mother? Should I give a speech about gay history in America? Instead, I murmur, "Mom's at work...."

Clearly concerned that I needed so long to form a simple sentence, the woman nevertheless smiles at me. "Good luck to you!" she says. She wanders off.

***

At the hospital, after the delivery, a midwestern nurse approaches us. I'm on-guard; where and when will I detect homophobia? Am I ready for combat?

The nurse beams. "You know," she says. "My son is gay. He is fifteen."

My husband and I are speechless.

"My son has a boyfriend! They met in the marching band." The woman is bursting with pride. "I don't know how serious all this is, but it's pretty exciting."

What world do I live in?

This nurse keeps an eye on us for the next twenty-four hours. She has thoughts on swaddling. She has some simple questions about life in New York....

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Liars and Saints

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