We like to ask, “What can I do for you?”
Frequently the answer is, “Nothing… but thanks for asking.”
How can this be? If I am sick or lonely or sad, and you ask what I need, shouldn’t I speak up?
A gallon of milk.
A basket of laundry, clean and folded.
We answer, “Nothing, thank you,” because we don’t know what we need, or what we need is too much, or we can’t imagine how we would ask for the thing we need.
You didn’t even ask what I need, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I need something big. Continue reading
The essay I have been looking for either hasn’t been written, hasn’t been published, or is hidden beyond my search engine’s reach. I have been composing it in my head for months, but now I can write the first draft, because Friday my child came out to the world.
The essay I’m not done writing is about becoming the parent of a queer, non-binary, young adult child. I say becoming because until my eldest came out, I told myself I had a daughter. Now I am getting used to the idea of having a non-binary child. And while that distinction may seem merely a clumsy trick of the English language, the implications run deep. More on that another time.
My husband and I are experiencing something that is both utterly unique and increasingly common. Here’s a peek into the types of conversations I’ve had during the last year with well-meaning relatives and friends. Continue reading