When my daughter "came out of the closet" my reaction was. "Oh, cool. Ok." And we ran with it. I've always known she was a little diffrent, but I choose to allow my children to be themselves and nourish and nurture every amazing little thing about them.
I myself am, after all, a little queer.
I may not be a butch, or a lesbian, or even a very good bisexual. After all, I'm monogamous. But since my definition for queer is.. well it's just "Different from the norm" I am most assuredly quite queer.
I am this way because my father let me climb trees in dresses. My mother while not really understanding it, let me date a girl without any real fuss. My uncles and aunts, bless their crazy Irish Catholic hearts, loved me.
I am this way thanks in part to my uncle Tommy. He died quietly, still a little in the closet of double phenomena brought on by HIV. He refused treatment. He thought he deserved the disease.
I never want any person I know or meet to feel that way. Like they have to hide who they are. The only way I can do this is by lving loud and brave and proud of who I am and what I believe. If my beautiful queer teenage daughter can strut her amazing self down the street with her head held high, then I am doing my job right.
And, don't tell her this.. it'd swell an already overlarge ego. But damn I'm proud. I'm proud of her. I'm proud of me. And I'm a little proud of Tommy, who pulled me aside in a soft sweet hug once before he left us too soon. And said "I love you, Amber. I love you no matter who you love. You know that right?" And I said "Ditto, Tommy. Ditto"