After my son Charlie came out 10 years ago, I was overwhelmed with crippling feelings of guilt, fear and anxiety. I began to chronicle my journey, first as the "mother of a gay man," until I finally returned to being just "Charlie's mom."
My son married the love of his life, David Wilk, on Saturday, Feb. 22, 2014. On the previous day, after a court ruling, they were the first same-sex couple to receive a license from Cook County Clerk David Orr's office. While there had been emergency same-sex marriages prior to that date ( due to health reasons ), this was the first time non-emergency licenses were issued. They were part of history, but to me, they are a special couple because they are my sons.
I often remind my children to never take for granted being part of a large, loving family. During WWII, when the Nazis invaded Poland, my mother-in-law's family was exterminated. She survived interment in Auschwitz. My father-in-law lost most of his family members, and barely survived imprisonment in a Siberian gulag. My parents grew up during the Depression. They both lost their mothers at an early age. My dad was in an orphanage and then the foster care system. These experiences made our parents value family above anything else. Although my husband and I came from different cultural and religious backgrounds, the importance of family was the glue that bound our families together. The hardships our parents had endured made them determined to always love and support their children.
My father-in-law, Max, was a very wise man. He liked that my family was composed of so many different ethnicities that we didn't identify with just one. When each of our children were born, he was ecstatic, explaining to us again and again, how he felt that the blend of so many different ethnic backgrounds would make our children stronger. He taught us that diversity was not only good, but desirable. Eventually we were blessed with four children, and became a typical suburban family, living in Northwest suburban Palatine, Ill. We felt secure in the knowledge that our children were healthy, happy, normal kids. After Charlie came out however, I began to question just what the term "normal family" really means.
At 38 years old, I was not expecting another pregnancy. Several years prior to Charlie's birth, I'd been informed that I was in early menopause. Thirteen years later on a frigid January morning, Charlie was born. My Irish Catholic mother considered it a miracle. Our daughter Lisa was 16 at the time, and our twin sons, Dave and Dan were 13. Charlie was welcomed with open arms; all of his older sibs arguing with each other, over who would get to hold him first. Two years later after Henry's dad Max died, Grandma Gina moved in with us. Charlie grew up showered with love and affection.
In retrospect, when he was growing up, I'd had some level of awareness that Charlie was gay. I quickly pushed the thought to the back of my mind though, being unable to process it at the time, largely due to my own fear and ignorance. It was easier to attribute to child rearing trends in the 1990s. Children were encouraged to play with toys other than those considered gender specific. I'd always let Charlie choose the toys he was attracted to. He played with dinosaurs and he played with Polly Pockets. Along with collecting Pokemon cards and Power Rangers, he collected Spice Girl memorabilia. He had some male friends but they were greatly outnumbered by his female friends, with whom he seemed more comfortable.
Just a few weeks ago, Charlie surprised me. He called to request that I get the family together at Cook County marriage court the next morning, to witness his marriage to David. I was speechless, a rare occurrence. They had become engaged last August and a wedding was planned for September of 2014. When the Illinois marriage equality passed last fall, it had been the icing on the cake. Groomsmen and groomswomen were chosen. All seven of their nieces and nephews were excited to have been given special jobs. A venue was secured. Tastings had been arranged. Save-the-dates had gone out to family and friends. Charlie explained to me that the date to obtain a marriage license had been moved up. He was so overjoyed and excited that he couldn't wait any longer to marry David. He went on to say that they'd obtained a license earlier that day and could be married 24 hours later. I knew that prior to this, he believed that he and David might never have the opportunity to marry legally. I could hear the eagerness and anticipation in his voice. I had been waiting for this day ever since the time he told me that David was "the one." Everyone in our family already loved David. There was no reason they should wait any longer.
When we arrived at marriage court, you could feel the excitement in the air. Everyone's faces were beaming. Judge Martin Moltz gave us a warm welcome. His small chamber was bursting with overwhelming happiness, love and anticipation. A news crew was present. I was worried that since there were so many of us, some might be asked to leave. Yes, history was being made, but to us, Charlie and David are our family. Everyone wanted to be present to support them as they pledged themselves to one another. I cried, as amidst all the excitement, I saw David and Charlie hold hands and stare at each other, eyes misty with tears. All of a sudden, the judge began to speak. And then, I felt a tremendous sense of peace envelop me, knowing that finally Charlie and David would no longer be looked upon as second-class citizens. They could now feel the same joy and yes, sometimes the frustration, experienced by all married couples.
After brunch at Atwood Cafe, we dropped the newlyweds off at their home in Avondale. On our way home, Henry and I talked about what a journey it had been since Charlie came out to us at age 15. He'd been so happy and relieved to make us understand that he was very clear about his gender preference. He'd approached us during junior high, but was put off by a therapist who'd assured us it was just a phase he would grow out of. I remember feeling numb as we both hugged him and assured him that his being gay would never change our love for him. After he left, Henry and I clung to each other and sobbed. The tears flowing down my face were mingled with grief and fear for my child. We both knew how hard it could be for him to face the hatred and discrimination arising from homophobia. I worried he could be a victim of HIV. Our dream of him some day finding a wife had been changed to him someday finding a husband, which seemed highly unlikely at the time.
When our son came out, we knew of no one who was openly gay. We were well aware of the dangers of Internet dating. Charlie needed help finding gay friends in the suburbs as well as finding adult mentors. We were referred to a very knowledgeable clinical psychologist in Oak Park who specialized in the area of same-sex relationships. After meeting with all of us, she kindly informed us that Charlie was just fine; it was we who needed information to help alleviate our fear and anxiety. I left her office with a list of reading material, the location of the nearest PFLAG meeting and the name of a social worker from LINKS, who moderated the Pride Youth group in our area.
There is no perfect instruction manual for parents of LGBT children. Like all children, each one is unique, having his or her own interests, fears, hopes and dreams. Our primary responsibility as parents is to nurture and love our children. That part came easily for me. Charlie was still the same lovable child I held in my arms the day he was born. Yet those two words, "I'm gay," took away the security I'd taken for granted being the mother of a so called "normal family." Suddenly I feared my child would be viewed by some as being abnormal, and possibly be exposed to the same hatred and discrimination his grandparents had faced years ago because of their Jewish heritage. He was now part of a minority group victimized by bullies, who could be isolated, made fun of and denied rights inherent to him under the U.S. Constitution. At that point, the natural urge I had as a mother to protect my child went into overdrive.
Our local high school provided no social group for LGBT students. Instead, the kids met privately during school hours, with the school psychologist. I felt that this sent the wrong message to the students because it implied that they needed to continue to hide an important part of their identity. I worried they might feel isolated, when instead, they should be building the self-confidence needed to integrate with their peers. The school administration explained to me that they were protecting the identities of the students because none of them were out yet, except Charlie. The other high school in our district already had an LGBT youth group which met after school, like most other school-sponsored clubs. By the time Charlie graduated in 2007, one had finally been established at our school.
The simple act of coming out allowed Charlie to thrive. If anything, his new-found self-confidence seemed to attract many more friends. I think it's that way for most people. Self-acceptance begets happiness. Happiness attracts those around you. He still needed, however, to find a nearby place in which to meet other gay teens, so he decided to attend a Pride Youth meeting. The first time he went, Charlie wasn't even old enough to drive. I went with him and while he was there, I attended a PFLAG meeting. Afterwards I met the Pride group leader, Erschel De Leon and volunteer, Paul Dombrowski. They explained to me that the meetings provided local LGBT youth a place in which to gather. It was a safe atmosphere where the group could share feelings and have questions answered in an honest and informative manner. Some of the kids in this group eventually became mentors themselves by being given the opportunity to speak about their coming out experiences at health classes at area high schools. They answered questions from faculty and students about what it's like to be a gay teen. Charlie flourished under the direction of Paul and Erschel, even receiving a partial scholarship to DePaul University because of the volunteer opportunities they gave him. To this day Paul and Erschel remain our close friends. It meant so much to me that Paul and his partner, Joe Serio, were married only a few hours later on the same day Charlie and David married.
Since Charlie came out, I've had experiences with him that I never imagined I'd have. I admit to being a stubborn Irish woman. In my zeal to be the best mother ever, I went overboard; subscribing to gay publications, wearing rainbow attire and constantly bringing up how proud I was of my "gay son," in general, being an annoyance. Finally he gently reminded me that being gay did not define who he was. It was just a part of his identity. When I began to relax and just enjoy our relationship, rather than feeling that I had to prove my support, it became much more fun. I cheered Charlie on at the Bud Boyz Contest, hit the bars in Lakeview for his 21st birthday and explored the Castro with him in San Francisco. More than anything else, I enjoyed the company of the many friends I've met through him.
I am a story teller who also appreciates hearing the stories of others. I have been honored to listen to some very personal stories told to me by gay men I have met either through Charlie or in my own travels. So often though, the stories are dominated by feelings of loss and rejection. Each one has a place in my heart and together, they have had a powerful impact on me. Often when conversing with new gay friends, I am asked in jest, if I would be a mother to them. This seems to have become a pattern. I am deeply touched and yet saddened by this. I feel anger toward whomever caused their pain. Anger doesn't accomplish much though, other than frustration. I needed to find a way in which I could turn my frustration into action.
I started to write about my own experiences as Charlie's mom. At first I wrote responses to self-righteous letters to the editor filled with misinformation, vitriol and Bible passages condemning the "gay agenda." Rather than to respond in an adversarial way, I tried to correct misnomers and false stereotypes with reality-based on personal examples and experiences. I began writing letters to politicians and on Facebook using the same approach. I wrote from the perspective of a mother. I shared that my fondest dream for many years, had been to dance at Charlie's wedding. Pretty soon people in the community began to approach me in grocery stores, wanting to hear more stories. Politicians answered back. What seemed so normal to me was a curiosity to others. Even my mom, who lives in a retirement center, tried to help pass the marriage bill by sharing stories about David and Charlie around the lunch table. Soon, her best friend shared that she has a son who is gay. The conversation at the table began to flow. Eventually, instead of viewing Charlie and David as a curiosity, folks began to view them as just another couple. They get up and go to work every day, feed their dogs, take care of their home and enjoy time with friends and relatives, just like other "normal" families.
I feel impatient with families who say that they cannot love their LGBT children due to the constraints placed upon them by their religious beliefs. Some may find it ironic that I claim it is indeed my Catholic education, which continues to fuel my passionate belief that all human beings are created equal and are therefore deserving of equal rights. I was educated by Franciscan and Benedictine nuns. These strong women fought for social justice. Their mantra was the most basic tenet of Christianity, "Love one another, as I have loved you." The archaic and mean-spirited rhetoric used to shame and marginalize gays by Church hierarchy is a clear abuse of power. It creates division among families, not allowing them to accept and love their children within the context of their own faith. We families and friends of LGBT people need to reeducate those around us. Misconception, shame and fear can help be eliminated by sharing and networking.
I have come full circle. Instead of feeling scared and anxious, I now enjoy feelings of hope, optimism and renewed faith that people will continue to fight for what is fair and just. The hard-fought battle to achieve equal rights has brought about legislative change which is finally occurring at a more rapid pace. I feel much joy watching my grandchildren grow up with the attitude that it is always good to celebrate people who love and commit themselves to each other, regardless of gender. I found a beautifully written children's book to read to them about a wedding with two grooms. One of them looked at me afterwards and said, "We already know that Gramy. It's not a big deal anymore."
