We’ve entered the season of snark with Jane. And, dear God, it is wearing me down.
Our daughter’s start in the world was less than traditional--conceived with donor sperm and born to lesbian parents. Then, when Jane was 4, her Bobby (Jane’s non-biological parent), transitioned from female to male. Que the crash course in gender, acceptance, and celebrating who we are—even if who we are makes us a little different.
We took Jane to see Black Panther on Sunday. (Trust me...This is just another in a string of questionable parenting choices.) In our house, we are all about REPRESENTATION and EMPOWERMENT (and, yeah, I get excited enough when I talk about these things to warrant all caps). I wanted her to see a black superhero... Continue Reading →
I remember her name was Chrystal*. I can remember the honey color of her hair. But I can't recall her face at all. Sometimes our minds take mercy on us, even when we are least deserving. I hated myself in middle school. A boy in my sixth grade science class told me I was ugly.... Continue Reading →
I walked in, freshly pressed in a white shirt, crisp jeans and my beloved cowboy boots. My hair, pulled up in a clip, projected a no-nonsense image. Or, at least, I hoped it did. I wanted to be at the top of my game for this meeting. I pulled back one of the folding chairs,... Continue Reading →