On Fathers

Ah yes, it's true. QueerBabyMaking missed the requisite Fathers Day post, in which I tell you all about how my family is okay even though we don't have a father. Blame the internet, which was down all weekend. Or blame my own father, who has never, in the entire history of my life, been on time for anything. So perhaps it's appropriate that this brief rumination on fathers comes some days after the fact.

Several thoughts to share:

1. I did spend part of Fathers Day at the Home Depot, not in search of tools for dad, but rather, an appropriately sized o-ring. My local happy feminist sex toy shop was all out, and I foolishly believed the salesperson who cheerfully said, "Oh just go down to the Home Depot. You can pick one up there!" Just in case anyone's wondering, no, in fact you can't just walk in to the Home Depot and be immediately directed to the hardware for your sex toys. Or maybe you can, but, amidst all the dads and families browsing new grills for fathers day, I was too shy to reveal my exact intentions, and instead, kept referring vaguely to a "project" that I'm sure confused the many middle-aged men I enlisted in my quest. I never did find a metal one, which is what I wanted, but should anyone else be looking for the rubber kind, I suggest you check out the plumbing section.

2. I also remembered to call my father to wish him a happy day. He asked me to use the computer to try and find him a ticket to Greece (where he was born and raised). I asked him about his planned travel dates, and discovered that he wants to be out of the country from early July through October. Upon pointing out that I would almost definitely be having a baby in the next seven or eight weeks, and suggesting that perhaps he might want to be around for that, he said, "Yes, of course. If I can't afford a ticket to Greece, I will definitely come." Right.

3. Finally, on Monday, I went to pick up Loverboi J from the airport. He arrived, but his bags did not, and we thus had a long and somewhat uncomfortable interaction with Patrick, the extremely friendly but not so queer-savvy luggage coordinator for Northwest Airlines. While we sat around waiting for the various lost-luggage paperwork to be processed, Patrick, in making what seemed to be his trademark attempt at friendly conversation, first asked us if we were sisters. He then demanded to know why we were laughing as we answered with an emphatic "No!" This line of questioning was happily dropped when Patrick noticed my pregnancy. I then, however, had to field a number of questions such as:

Patrick: "Where's the dad?'
QueerBabyMaking: "There is no dad."

P: "But I don't understand, everyone has a dad."
QBM: "Nope, not this kid."

P: "Oh, is he dead?"
QBM: [looks helplessly at J] "Nope, not dead. No dad."

J: "Actually, we're both going to raise it."
P: [looks helplessly at us both] "Ah, well, I hope that you are very good parents."

Amazingly, J's luggage did eventually show up.

The whole interaction was sort of comical, except for all of the ways in which it wasn't. And it drove home again all of the ways in which having a queer family means constantly explaining yourself, even in circumstances that have nothing to do with you or your kid. The privilege of having your family accepted at face value is indeed a heterosexual one. Even though the majority of people I meet and talk to are in fact very friendly and accepting of my family, my choices, I still have to explain them. Every time. Over and over again. This work of constantly outing one's self, constantly educating others, constantly being a happy, smiley role model for those freaky queer breeders everywhere, is exhausting sometimes. But I keep doing it, because I do honestly believe that it matters.