If I Have a Gay Child

Occasionally, something you’ve believed for a long time strikes you in a deeper way than before; you realize, more fully, what that belief means.  You “get it,” seemingly for the first time.  An excited energy makes you want to share what you now fully understand, even though others who know what you believe will probably say, “Uh . . . duh.”

Yesterday, this is what I realized:

If I have a gay son or daughter (or transgender or anything else), not a single part of me will be in any way disappointed.  In fact, I would be happy and proud.

I would be proud in the same way as if they had told me (on their own) that they wanted to work hard to become a concert pianist (or better yet, a jazz percussionist): I would be glad that they knew who they were, what they wanted, and that they had enough integrity and passion to pursue it openly.

And then I would tell my child I love them, I support them, and I’ll stand for them in every way I can.

And with that . . . I give you Honey Boo Boo.

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