One of my daughter’s best friends since second grade is a boy. Or so we thought. These two comrades would giggle endlessly, laugh about funny situations at school, and traverse the neighborhood. After a while they began calling themselves “best friends.” It didn’t seem all that unusual that they had different genders as they just seemed to get along so well.
There were the occasional Barbie doll dress up days and they both participated. That wasn’t all too strange, but it was a little frequent. After a few years and several school grades later, my daughters friend moved to a nearby town not far from ours. We didn’t see him for quite some time.
The next time my daughter asked to go over to his house, I was in for quite a surprise. Nearly two years had passed since the last time he had joined us in our home. This time, I was greeted by a pretty adolescent (female looking) young man, the kid that I had grown to love almost as my own. What a shock. He had beautifully matched hair extensions, neatly plucked eyebrows, and naturally and gracefully applied makeup. Most people would have no idea that this person was really a male.
Before I had dropped off my daughter to his house, I had expressed the concern that they were both getting older, and sleep overs were no longer very appropriate.
“Don’t worry about your daughter tonight… I am gay!” He cheerfully shouted through my open car window. We waved to each other and said our goodbyes, and I slowly drove back home. We had resumed our beloved family connections, only this time with a girl, and not a boy. Sort of.
We all really get along well with my daughter’s friend. He is inspiring, helpful and supportive of my daughter. And although certain members of my family don’t agree upon the issue of homosexuality, we all agree that this friendship is special.
Recently when me and the “gals” traveled to the grocery store, I was suddenly a little confused when I asked if anyone had to visit the rest room. Were we all going to the same bathroom? I pondered this thought and then finally just blurted out my question. As it turned out, we each went to the ladies room without any hitches. It was then that he said that I was like a second mom to him. I felt a rush of appreciation and genuine warmth, followed by a bit more confusion.
I said “Thanks, but am I supposed to call you my son or my daughter?”
A little sadly, and with a quiet voice he slowly responded. “I don’t know.” I was touched, but enlightened to the internal struggle that my daughter’s friend was experiencing.
I myself possess strong beliefs in the sanctity of heterosexual marriage, and I have expressed those to him. But I don’t believe that gives me the right to judge or condemn. I will continue to love and support this person and welcome him into our home, no matter how he dresses. And maybe we can guide him into discovering who he really is, and how he wants to live and find love in this world.
