I was at soccer practice in seventh grade when a teammate approached me and asked a simple question.
“Does your mom like girls?”
Her straightforwardness caught me off guard, and I stood there silent for a minute. Growing up in the South where the majority of my peers regurgitated their parents’ unfavorable views of homosexuality made me assume it was something to be ashamed of. I thought having a gay mom was something like a family secret that I didn’t just share with anyone. I assumed that if people found out my mom was gay, they would think differently of me.
My mom has been openly gay for almost as long as I have been alive. This being so, I was always raised in an inclusive and open home, where being “different” was normal. My mom taught us the importance of being kind to everyone. Before entering kindergarten, I thought everyone had two pairs of parents: a dad and step-mom, and a mom and step-mom. However, after starting school, I quickly realized this wasn’t how many people were raised, and I tried to hide this aspect of my home life.
As I grew older and started to develop my own opinions, I began to comprehend that I had no reason to be ashamed of my mom. Unfortunately, this took me until almost freshman year to understand.
I never told my mom that I was once embarrassed by the fact that she was gay because I knew it would hurt her. I always accepted my mom for who she was because her homosexuality had no bearing on what type of parent she was to me or my brother. I know this statement seems contradictory since I avidly hid the fact that my mom was gay, but I was afraid that other people wouldn’t accept her and that it would affect me. I know now that my motives were selfish, but as a young girl I was constantly worried about how others would perceive me. I wanted to be liked, and I thought that the conservative-minded kids I went to school with wouldn’t want to be my friend if they knew my mom was gay.
That soccer practice in seventh grade was the first time someone had asked me about my mom. I stood silent and tried to decide if her question came from malice or curiosity. After a moment of thinking I just said yes. The girl nodded her head and told me she thought it was cool, that she was just curious. This moment has stuck with me ever since, and I’m now ashamed of myself for being embarrassed of something that I should be proud of.
– By Chloe Maynard
