Although I’m a dad, I think it’s time to put an end to Father’s Day.
When I was a kid, I always saw myself throwing a Frisbee with my future children. But when I came out at USC in 1992, gay parenting was still in the closet. My fathering prospects seemed dim, until I met Peter. His easygoing style hinted at papa potential too.
Nine years later we trudged through mounds of paperwork and a home study so we could adopt. Our newborn immediately became the center of our lives: two middle-aged white guys with our darker-skinned daughter. We looked like Cam, Mitch and Lily on “Modern Family.”
Once my little girl started nursery school, she presented us with felt pumpkins, turkey lookalikes and pipe cleaner hearts, something for every non-religious holiday, and I joyfully hung them all on the refrigerator. But when Mother’s Day rolled around, I panicked. My child has many different mothers: a godmother, two grandmothers, a birth mother. But no mom, because she has two dads.
A week before the May mommy celebration, I approached the preschool director. She suggested a plan: “We were thinking you could receive the tissue flowers. Your partner would get the baseball collage on Father’s Day.”
Read More at LA Times
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