Terry’s Journey

What is a journey? Is it moving forward toward some goal of achievement with the earth rolling beneath us as we roll over the top of it? Is it a series of small events along a metaphorical path, and leading to an end, shared with like-minded tourists of that particular road? Or is it for some, a dedicated pilgrimage, with only the end vision in sight, with no turning left or right to take the time to stop and enjoy the scenes adjacent to our focused view.

For us, the journey to parenthood is one of challenging, sometimes even difficult moments and then again, many joyous ones. A path of mental, emotional, and physical ups and downs. I look back now on the journals I wrote over my time as an intending parent and a new parent, and my face is creased with a smile of contentment. One such entry perfectly describes the roller coaster of parental angst.

“... OK – with that said, I must tell you about the famous ‘titty’ long weekend. I was the labour day long weekend, last weekend, so I found myself at Sunday school again*. To my surprise at the end of the service, it was announced the R & M had won prizes (attendance three whole times!) Anyway, they were called up to the front to select a prize. I think they both thought they were going to get another ‘bickie’ (the holy host) so they raced up to the front. M was first and R following, holding my hand for support. By the time we got there M was slightly bemused because there was no sign of the biscuits to be seen anywhere, only the spinster-‘ish’ (should that be deliberately barren? I dunno, ask Tony Abbot) Sunday school Ma’am with a box of goodies resting primly on her knees.

I directed M & R over to choose their ‘lucky dip’ prize. M swiftly picked out the first brightly coloured largish parcel close to hand, I suspect lest the box be suddenly withdrawn, leaving her empty handed. R on the other hand, peered into the box a little longer (awkward - as the congregation’s feet started to shuffle and shift, whilst they waited) but once she’d chosen, she knew exactly what she wanted – the DVD. We came home and as the day was far too hot to be outside playing, we watched it. Lovely, gentle stories about a little boy and his household adventures. Absolutely darling!

The next morning – early... too early, the girls woke, so I rose to get myself a cup of inspiration and focus my mind on what was to be done with them. M answered the question for me when she ‘begged’.

‘Watch TV? Watch TV Daddy?’

I sighed but before I could answer, R announced out of the blue.

‘I like TITS Daddy!”, trying to compose my face into a calm but serious resolution, I steeled myself to ask my child what exactly it was that they liked about tits**, but before I’d forced the words from my mouth and, not to be outdone, M announced with even greater gusto.

‘I like TITS TOO!’

At this point, I began to wonder if it was too late in the year to get into a new day-care centre and set my face for my best dead pan.

Both children dashed to where we keep the kids DVDs and excitedly jumped, pointed and otherwise gesticulated while shouting in their best whiney voices.

‘Watch TITS! WATCH TITS DADDY!’

At this point I probably lost facial control as I’m sure I felt my jaw slacken and wondered if one of our more exotic adult entertainments may have made its way into the children’s set? So frowningly went over to see exactly what they were so hett-up about.

To my horror, they were pointing at a green DVD case. I slowly pulled it out of the position on the shelf to reveal the title ‘TITCH!’; the title on their Sunday school prize. A small piece of me died and then reanimated immediately. And it shows how the preconceptions of an adult can completely skew the meaning of a child. I learnt a lot from that experience.”

And it is these laughable, teachable, crazy parenting moments in our journey that need to be shared. We all look out over the view, some of us see the majestic mountains ahead, with the face of their peaks turned to the sun, while others, look to the valley below with its rush of sparkling water and soothingly cool shadows. But then in sharing that view along our journey we broaden our perspectives, and it helps us see the absolute glory of the way. The way, that for some is occasionally so focused on the end that we lose the ability to enjoy the progress along it.

The questions every parent asks, with no right or wrong or specific answer are the same for Gay Dads, as everyone else, if anything we have more of them. How should I become a parent, what is right for me. Should I even become a parent (that one is tricky)? Who can I turn to for support and advice? How did others achieve this? What might I encounter on my way? And this is where the GDWA information sharing, and socialisation helped us so much. It is so wonderful, particularly as Gay Dad’s, to realise we are all normal, our struggles have all been done before and already been events ahead of us on our road and our joys are only ever multiplied when shared with those who have had the common experience and our sorrows only ever diminished.

GDWA was established as a scion of the Gay Dad’s Australia group, itself established only a year or two before. We were inaugural members of our group, with I think the first official gathering occurring around Easter 2011 but the dedicated volunteer work of Greg and Mark, two icons of the group, was the driving force to set it up. To them I will forever be grateful for the normalisation of the mad fun that is rainbow parenting of rainbow families. The group has slowly grown and expanded from a few core members, gathering for ‘father’s days’, ‘mother’s days’, Easters, random events etc. to the group we find today. An information forum, a social hub, an outreach, and a group marching in the Pride Parade. We’re here, we’re queer and we’re proud of our offspring and proud to be fathers.

*This is but one angst of many for a Gay Dad; to attend or not attend to a culture that may jar with their very core being in order to access a particular kind of life choice, it was a difficult mental and emotional juggling act, but we finally found a balance that felt right. This was nowhere near the first of such struggles and I’m sure it is far from the last hurdle we will ever face.

Some choose not to compromise their principles and see that as a shining example to their children of moral and ethical principle, others choose to soften their stance and see that as an education to their children on how to walk through this world with an art of compromise, yet others have been and are totally at ease with this world as it is, teaching their children the art of happiness. And none of them are right or wrong; they are all just different ways of seeing the view before them.

**You can imagine dear reader how my mind raced. ‘Will we – and, horrors, our community; be judged for having turned our children gay? Is this because I couldn’t breastfeed them, curse my shrunken dry mammary?... and oh, so many more’.