Chris Rice Cooper
*Italicized quotes highlighted in brown are from
Telaina Eriksen’s website (http://www.telaina.com)
*Highlight in blue are excerpts from Telaina Eriksen’s book UNCONDITIONAL: A Guide to Loving and Supporting Your LGBTQ
Child
Telaina
Eriksen:
UNCONDITIONAL
A Guide to Loving and Supporting Your LGBTQ Child
From A
Mother’s Heart
Telaina Eriksen and her husband lived the
typical family idyllic life in Michigan –a Catholic family who had their two children
attend Catholic schools, attend Catholic mass one to two times a week, and dreamed
of having their children Casandra and Matthew have Catholic weddings. But that dreamed ended in 2009 when their
daughter Casandra at the age of 12 told them she thought she was gay.
"In seventh grade, my now 20-year-old daughter
came to my husband and I and said that she, “might like girls.” Unlike
made-for-television movies, I hadn’t known or secretly suspected that she was
gay. Even though I have many family and friends who are gay, including my
sister who identifies as lesbian and my niece who identifies as bisexual, I
still was taken by surprise and had immediate concerns and questions about
parenting a child who was “different.”
That was the moment that Eriksen began to
mourn the death of the dream she had for her daughter; but two things Eriksen
never mourned were the lessening of the love she had for her daughter and the
lessening of her expression of that love for her daughter.
I knew that
sending a message of un-
conditional love to my daughter was even more important
than that particular (and unfortunately deeply homophobic) way of expressing my
religious faith.
And part of sending that message was to
live a life of learning how to continue to love and accept her daughter even
amongst a world of homophobia. Soon this
project of sending a message turned into her book Unconditional A Guide to Loving
and Supporting Your LGBTQ Child.
“This book is a combination of our story, other
parents’ stories and research as well as anecdotal evidence showing the strong
need for familial support for LGBTQ children to be successful and emotionally
healthy in our still very biased world."
Unconditional A Guide to Loving and Supporting Your LGBTQ
Child
includes LGBQT history; a Dos and Don’ts at the end of each chapter; personal
testimonials from people who identify has LFBQT and from parents of LGBTQ;
resources; the medical scientific data on LGBTQ; and how to fight against the
bullying and ostracizing of your LGBTQ child.
Most bullying happens out of teachers’ sight, in hallways,
cafeterias or on school buses, where teachers are outnumbered. Sometimes teachers don’t recognize the
indications of bullying. Take the
example of the girls at Casandra’s Catholic school who would exclude her at the
lunch table. The teachers probably
didn’t notice. A whisper of, “you’re
fat, you smell, you’re a faggot, you’re weird, go die” probably won’t be heard
in the noise of the hall even with the most vigilant teacher listening.
1)
Direct intervention. A
bystander tells the bully to
Stop.
2) A bystander
takes the victim out of the situation
and invites
the student being bullied to come and walk or sit with them.
3) Showing
verbal support after the incident, offering
a smile a
brief talk, or hug.
But more importantly
parents of LGBTQ, individuals who identify as LGBTQ, and readers can trust the
testimonials in UNCONDTIONAL: A Guide to Loving and Supporting Your LGBTQ Child.
Tara Morse (my sister), Colorado
I was scared of my mother.
My coming out was textbook how to do everything wrong. My mother, mentally ill and abusive, took it
as an affirmation that she had in fact given birth to a distasteful monster,
and she threated to kill me and my girlfriend.
She would appear at my softball games going to great lengths to say
shitty stuff. “Your hair is so short I
don’t want to look at you.” But sitting
with rational people in the stands, they would think she was a caring parenting
parent, cheering her manly daughter on.
She liked the idea of people applauding my great plays, and then after
the game would say, “gay slut” under her breath. A lot of it was what would people think of
HER, that she gave birth to a freak?
Parents’ biggest mistake is making it about them, their own shit and
beliefs, and not really hearing or acknowledging the huge step their child has
taken. There’s a moment there you can
never get back. That moment is when
acceptance and love is everything. Some
parents can pull it off and some parents cannot. When coming out, some of the consequences
could include being put out and disowned and even threatened with death (as I
was). One of the pitchers on our
softball team, only a sophomore in college drove her Tercel into an oak tree
after trying to come out to her parents, who were ministers.
I never really had to
tell most people I was gay. It’s obvious
by my appearance. With no hips, large
muscles, and short hair, an immediate (and correct) assumption is made. But never did I feel like I was a guy trapped
in a woman’s body. I’ve always been
happy being a lesbian. Now that I’m
older, I realized that my “different” manly body has served me well despite
having taken a beating.
It was hard back in the
80s, living rurally, to find books and information. Thankfully there was a small bookstore in Ann
Arbor; tucked away in the back behind every new age book on crystals was a
shelf with sex manuals and Rita Mae Brown novels, Holly Near albums and the
comedy albums of Lea Delaria (sorry Orange
is the New Black fans, she’s been around forever).
Being okay with it
personally and being free as a person is what coming out is about. Families can leave huge scars and do
irreparable damage. Hopefully your
family grows along with you. Your family
accepting you goes a long way in your accepting yourself.
Michael Whelan, Colorado
I don’t really have a “coming out to my parents” story, because I
was never really “in.” In kindergarten I
joined the girls in chasing the boy I had a crush on, on the playground. I played with Barbies. I wanted to have long hair.
My non-binary gender identity didn’t leave much room for speculation,
nor did the fact that I didn’t try to hide it.
I still didn’t understand that there was something
“wrong” with me.
“wrong” with me.
From ages eight to
fifteen my mother took me to see over a dozen therapists. But they always turned us away when they
realized she just wanted them to change me.
My parents made
everything into an opportunity to change me.
They took away my dolls so I started to hide them like the forbidden
contraband they were. They buzzed my
head, wouldn’t allow me to have hair longer than an inch until I was in my late
teens. They always tried to pressure me into liking girls.
“She’s pretty, isn’t
she?”
“I saw the way you were
looking at her you should go ask her out.”
I was nine.
They wouldn’t let me
have friends who were boys over, just girls.
It became clear to me by the time I was fourteen that they were hoping
for something to happen – like it would change me.
I think a lot of
parents would be horrified if their 14-year-old son got a girl pregnant, but
not mine. They would have been relieved
– like it was the goal the whole time.
My mother went to a
PFLAG meeting one time, but she never told me.
I guess he was scared I would have thought she finally approved. I found out later and it was whispered to me
by someone else, like a dirty secret.
My dad didn’t fully
come around until I was in my thirties.
My mom never will. Which is weird
to me, because they knew who I was since I was a toddler. I never had to come out, because I was
obvious and oblivious to it being something to be ashamed of. I’m grateful I never though of being gay as
something “wrong” because my parents would have only been too happy to set me
“right.”
When I was thirty years
old my dad came out to visit me and my husband.
It was the first time he had visited me – ever. He wanted to apologize and he did. I had
already forgiven him years ago, for me, not for him. And now it was for him. He told me he didn’t know how to handle “my
problems.”
I’m not a parent though
I hope to be one day, but it isn’t this parenting in a nutshell? Not having a clue. I think as long as you love and accept and
try – you’re good. But my dad back then
he didn’t even try. People would say
things like “Your mom/dad is doing the best she/he can,” but that isn’t
accurate. Doing the best you can
requires effort.
Charlie Bondhus, New Jersey
It took me until my
sophomore year of college to finally admit I was not straight, not bi, but
gay. I was watching Edge of Seventeen, a
cheesy coming-of-age flick set in the mid-‘80s where a twink sings along to
“Hey Mickey You’re So Fine” and still manages to shock everyone when he comes
out as gay. About 30 minutes in, the
“Hey Mickey” twink goes to a hotel with one of his coworkers and the two share
a hot, shirtless kiss before the scene fades to white. That kiss was the
sexiest thing I’d ever seen. The moment
I realized that, it was – “Whaoa. I’m gay.”
No doubt.
I managed to keep it
from my parents for a while, but from time to time they hinted that they
knew. The kitschiest moment was when I
was getting ready to meet a guy I was secretly dating and nonchalantly said,
“I’m going to see Adam” and my Mom said sadly, “I just wish it was Eve.” All that skirting and veiling ended junior
year of college, when Mom found in my room a business card for an LGBTQ youth center. There were more traumatic/humorous attempts
to straighten me out, including a trip to a priest and my mother pointedly
commenting on every attractive woman we passed.
(She gave that up when I lisped, “Oh yes; she’s SOOOO statuesque!”)
It took them the rest
of my college years, but they finally came around. In their way.
Dad shocked me by telling me that he’d respect any boyfriend/husband I
ever had as a son-in-law. Mom
scandalized some of the women at church by saying she felt there was “nothing
wrong” with gay men becoming priests. My
(now ex) husband came to all our family gatherings and was treated well; ditto
for my current partner. And even at the
worst moments, I never had to worry about being disowned. It was hard, but I know I had it easier than
some queer kids.
But here’s the thing;
on the one hand, I respect my parents’ working through their limitations to
reach a place of decency. But that’s
just it. It’s decency. They don’t
deserve medals for learning to treat me and the person I love with the same
outward respect that they treat my brother and his wife with. However, holding onto my resentment is far
more damaging to me than it is to them, so I try not to do either.
Writing as an almost
35-year-old, I think my parents and I have come to recognize that our lives and
values are quite different, and it helps to keep the peace if we pretend that
we fully respect each other. There is,
for a variety of reasons, a considerable gulf between us – three days visiting
with my parents is my max – and it’s hard for me to look at their, in my
opinion, very limited lives without feeling critical. Likewise, things they’ve said and the general
vibe they give off tells me that they don’t “get” my life and, as a result,
find it suspect. I don’t doubt they
would turn me straight in a heartbeat if they found that proverbial magic
wand. But again, that’s more a function
of their limitations than it is outright selfishness; they likely genuinely
think that my life would be better if I was more like them.
My current therapist
tells me that one of the best markers of mental health is not letting your
parents’ anxieties become your own. It’s
also important to individuate from your family. I’ve made a lot of progress in
both areas, and even though my parents can’t exactly get behind my life, I can
be thankful they at least no longer try to stand in my way.
