I really don’t know why I can’t seem to see these things coming.
I blog about them. I write about prejudices, I have argued with countless anti-gay people, and I have diligently parented to the best of my ability.
And yet, these situations emerge and again, I am caught like the proverbial deer in the headlights, unsure which path to take, and positive that all choices lead to certain destruction.
The latest happened during a casual conversation with my ten-year-old son, Jesse. We were talking about our day’s events when suddenly he remembered something he had been meaning to ask me.
“Oh…DAD!” he blurted out interrupting me, “I wanted to ask you. If we don’t have camp this summer, can I join the Boy Scouts?”
My mouth went dry and I knew that if I tried to use it, the best that would come out would be a stammer. “Blah blah blah blah..” Instead, Jesse continued, “They are really neat. They do all these different things and help people. You get these badges every time you accomplish something. It is…SO COOL!”
The Boy Scouts have not taken a lot of my head space, honestly. We don’t know many in the area. It did not appear to be a pressing issue. I shared the outrage of many against their public policies and found their treatment of gay scouts and gay parents to be offensive. I had even made some notes in January for a possible blog when they decided to delay their decision on the anti-gay policy until May.
“Well,” I started slowly. “Let’s talk about that. I do think all those things are great. Really great. The problem I am dealing with is having you in a group that would not allow me to be one of its leaders and participate with you.”
“Why wouldn’t they let you?” he asked baffled.
All the anti-gay rhetoric that I had read over the years from the Boy Scouts came washing through my brain like a tidal wave. I could not repeat all that to him.
I could not tell him that I had tried to research the standards they expected from leaders only to find that their website was more about marketing and economic values than moral ones, save endorsements from hate groups like Focus on the Family.
I also could not tell him about the survey the Boy Scouts had recently sent out asking respondents to react to the idea of someone like me having access to their children as if I was a potential pervert.
“They don’t like men like me,” I said simply. “They would not let me be involved.”
“WHY?” he said with a look of absolute shock. It was obvious that it had never occurred to him that anyone could not like his Dad.
“Because I am gay,” I answered.
His bafflement did not wane. “So what?” He asked, clearly not having an iota of an inkling as to why that might be an issue.
“They don’t like gay people,” I responded.
“So they would not let the kids of gay dads in?” he asked.
“No, I think they would be fine with you being there,” I said, not quite sure I was correct. “It is me that they don’t like.”
He shook his head. “That is just weird,” he concluded.
His attention deficient disorder (caused by his drug exposure in the womb) kicked in and he was suddenly off chasing down Legos. I was glad for the distraction.
As he ran off, I was left with a feeling of frustration, anger and shame.
I felt violated that the spirit of Boy Scout bigotry had descended on my home and that I was forced to explain to my son that I was not as universally loved as he supposed.
In his article, Kevin discussed the view of his own gay dad:
“When my father came out, many in our community refused to accept it. Each day I saw my classmates, my friends, my educators and even family members questioning my father. Quietly questioning his ability — and even his right — to be a parent. But mostly, people dealt with my father’s life … by ignoring it. This quiet shame, this silence, was worse for me than outspoken hatred. My journey and my challenge was growing up knowing that society saw my father as unequal.”
This has been a state of affairs that my sons have been blissfully unaware. Until now.
Later, as I went down to tuck my sons in and kiss them goodnight, the residual Boy Scout taint still weighed on my mind. Jesse, it turns out, had processed it much more efficiently than I had.
I leaned down to kiss him. “Good night Pal. Sweet dreams. I am sorry about the Boy Scout thing.”
“That’s ok Dad. It’s no big deal. They are just jerks.”