joan garry

I enjoy Facebook very much.  I resisted for a long time but I am now a true convert.  I like the self-expression element and I have  found it an invaluable networking tool.   And yes, I have even connected with a few friends from high school.

This weekend,  I received a friend request from an unfamiliar name.  Kathy Gould.  Along with the request came  a personal message, connecting this Kathy Gould to a high school chum,  Kathy Zappia.  As I usually do, I have a quick look at the profile picture, the one you see above.

I immediately assume that this Kathy named Gould is the one with the glasses is on the left because there is no question that Kathy Zappia is the one on the right.   “Zap” as she was known (high school chums are well known for novel and original nicknames) was a fiery adolescent.  Fiery smart with fiery red hair to match.  A driven student.  Class valedictorian. Well informed opinions on every imaginable subject.  Complimented by a steady and sweet boyfriend who was not at all fiery but clearly basked in the glow of fiery.

So I see my two Kathys in this photo, arms around one another and I gasp.  OMG, I thought.  Could it be?  I would never have suspected that Zap was gay but I beyond clueless on this front in the 1970s so this meant nothing.

What an exciting discovery.  I quickly accepted Kathy Gould’s friendship and begin to write a message allowing us to virtually share in the knowledge that we are kindred gay spirits.  Then I stop myself.    I suppose I could be wrong.  I look closely at the picture.  Maybe they are just friends.  I better not assume .  So I wrote Kathy Gould the following message:

if i am way off the mark here, smack me. but are you and kathy zappia a couple? or as a gay rights activist, do i just presume that all people are gay until proven otherwise? i’m either presenting myself here as hilarious or crazy or pathetic. or all three?

Perhaps you have long ago figured out the punchline.   Kathy Gould is Kathy Zappia.  And Kathy’s profile picture is a lovely photo of her and her college daughter Allison.  Kathy Zappia is not gay.  She is straight.  Joan Garry is not smart.  She is a big idiot.

It was lovely and mortifying all at the same time to catch up with her.  It was also lucky for me that Kathy is not fiery against homosexuality.  And that she still thinks I’m funny.

It strikes me however, that thanks to more and more images of gay couples out there for the world to see,  we can assume more.  Just a few weeks ago, my partner Eileen and her business partner, Melinda, were at a grocery store picking up food for a meeting.  They each grabbed for the heavier bag but  Melinda won out.  The woman behind the counter, smiled that knowing smile.   “Awww, she loves you!”

Melinda was clueless but Eileen picked right up on it.   She thinks we are a couple, Eileen said.   The world is changing they acknowledged.   Eileen told Melinda that when we would vacation together in the mid-late 80s,  people would always ask if we were teachers.  Or librarians.  Or our very favorite: sisters.  No one even imagined you might be a couple.  And now people who are not couples are assumed to be.

And so too it was with me and Kathy Zappia and her daughter.

Yet again, Facebook offered me the pleasure of reconnecting.  It’s quite a nice feeling.  Although I must admit a certain sadness in learning that Kathy Zappia was happily married to a man  (and I don’t mean it that way) I remember her as a terrific person.  I was kind of hoping she’d be in our club.

happy birthday julian.

This is my friend Kate Kendell.  This is her son Julian.  For his thirteenth birthday, Kate brought Julian to Washington DC yesterday  for the White House reception for gay leaders.  Julian had wanted to be the first African American president.  Now he has decided he wants to be the first  African American president with lesbian mothers.  I think that spot is still open… And he has my vote.

It was quite a remarkable afternoon.  We mingled, took photos and then made our way into the East Room for the President’s remarks.  There were high expectations for them - so many of us wanted to hear so much.  And his remarks were good.

At the very end of his speech, he said “, I will continue to be an ally and a champion and a President who fights with you and for you.”

Now, I know what he meant. He meant that together we would fight for full equality and that he would advocate for us to get there. But the line is also true if you look at it the other way. Over the rest of his first term (this is how I like to think of it), he will continue to battle with the gay community. Because we are impatient.

Maybe the Obama administration didn’t anticipate just how impatient our impatience would be. But it makes sense if you think about . Let’s say you were locked out of a house for eight years. And then let’s say that after those eight years, a man you saw as a kindred spirit, a community organizer just like you, opened the door and invited you in. You’d have a lot to say. And you’d try to say it loud and fast, worrying that the door may once again be slammed in your face.

Yesterday, several hundred of us - gay leaders from all across the country - were invited in. Literally. We were there to celebrate Gay Pride Month and the 40th Anniversary of Stonewall, a police raid in a gay bar in the West Village where the impatience of our community reached a tipping point. No president had ever invited a big bunch of us over for cocktails during Pride Month before. The event was remarkable. Historic. I was proud to be there. Proud to have my partner at my side.

He brought out the good china, he brought out his two most senior advisors (Jarrett and Axelrod). He brought out the baby lamb chops. They tried very hard. They even hired a DJ to play house music (OK, maybe they tried a little too hard).

“Welcome to your White House,” the President said to those assembled. It was a smart move to invite us, it was strategic. And he no doubt bought himself some time, gave us a bit of permission to be a bit more patient.

His remarks were good. He honored the work of the gay community, he honored the struggle, acknowledged the progress. He wove a powerful narrative about the evenings of the riots and reminded us that the work will happen “step by step, law by law, mind by changing mind.”

And of course I wanted more. (I believe I have already established the impatience theme). I wanted the language of the Department of Justice brief, comparing homosexuality to incest and pedophilia, to be offered as a teachable moment about the prejudice that lives even in those who stand with us. I wanted to hear more about the role he will play in pushing Congress to get these bills to his desk. I wanted a kitchen table story. I wanted to know that he and Michele (and Malia for that matter) talk about the issues of the day over dinner, including ours.

But most of all, I wanted President Obama to come out. OK, I don’t mean it that way. I wanted the President to come out as a kindred spirit.

Listen to him read Dreams From My Father sometime. Don’t just read it. Listen. Listen to him talk about a world in which he was often an outsider . Listen to him talk about his own struggle to own and honor his identity. To find his place in the world. Listen to him talk about reading Heart of Darkness in an effort to better diagnose why people hate. Listen to him talk with empathy and passion about his work as a community organizer.

He peeked out yesterday at the White House when he said “The truth is when these folks protested at Stonewall 40 years ago, no one could have imagined that you, or for that matter, I would be standing here.”

But if our kindred spirit President, who has traveled his very own and very personal journey, can open his heart to us, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue will be more than just a house. We can make ourselves at home.

Note:  You will also find this piece published today on The Huffington Post.

I often go to ‘Google Hot Trends’ to see what people are talking about.  It reminds me that either I am an alien being or that I am the only sane one.   And it seems that the death roll continues.   First Farrah Fawcet, then Michael Jackson.  Then (in an oddly crushing blow to our fourteen year old son Ben), Billy Mays, the OxyClean man.

Things seem to be going to hell in a handbasket.  Now googlers are over the edge, googling the death of everyone it seems.

This morning my heart stopped when I realized one of the top searches was “Miley Cyrus Death.”  I frantically googled myself and it appears that Miley is alive and well, complete with nose pierce.  Further down the list, I saw “Bruce Willis dead.”  Bruce Willis is NOT dead.  He is way older than he was when I first saw him on Moonlighting, but big difference between old and dead.

Even Eileen got into the act last night.  We received a terrific dvd of Ben and Kit’s 8th grade graduation ceremony and I was oohing and aahing about it.  Did we get two of them,  Eileen asked me.  No, just this one.   But Ben and Kit each need one, she said.   I don’t think so, I said.  This dvd is for us.  She stopped.  But Ben and Kit will each need one when we are dead.

While in this current climate, I guess Eileen’s train of thought makes some sense, the fact is I wasn’t thinking quite that far ahead.

I’d like to report that this death frenzy has escaped me but no such luck.   When Ben came down on Saturday morning to tell me that he had learned of the sudden demise of the OxyClean guy, I went into an momentary emotional tailspin thinking that Willy Mays had died.

I caught myself.  Willie Mays has been dead for some time I thought.  And this joke, that I confused these two deceased men, one of modest notoriety and one of fame,  that was to have been the point of this post.

And then I googled THE Willie Mays.  He is alive and well at 78.

Now I think I know how these things get started…..

My family is unusual in certain ways and quite traditional in others.  Quite traditional in many ways in fact.  This picture illustrates an unusual way.  Not becuase we dress in costume.  Not because we ask someone to photograph us like this.  But because it wasn’t taken on Halloween.  I get that this could be seen as unusal.

Another non-traditional element of our family illustrates itself quite clearly on Father’s Day.   I thought readers might enjoy not only the above snapshot but a snapshot of Father’s Day in a home with lesbian moms.   Hope you enjoy and to all of the fathers we know and love,  Happy Father’s Day!!

I know it seems odd.  Ironic even.  I was listening to the President’s speech to the veterans on Omaha Beach, commemorating the anniversary of D-Day and it hit me.. Funny. Here I was listening to him address military veterans and I realized what is missing in the President’s approach to gay civil rights.

On Sunday June 6, he spelled out, as only he and Jon Favreau can, the significance of the day not as some pedantic history lesson but as a narrative.  The tale of ordinary men who found themselves in the most extraordinary of circumstances.    And sure, every president throws in an anecdote about someone in the audience but for Obama, it is more than that.

My kids have had a gifted middle school history teacher.   No textbooks for Judy Berecski.  She brings the lessons of history to life through the personal narrative, giving our kids the opportunity to walk in the shoes of slaves, of soldiers, of those expanding America to the west, to immigrants arriving to find a home in the United States.  Why?  Because she believes that without empathy as a lens, history is meaningless.  What choices did those men and women have?   What could they have done differently?  What would you have done in that situation?  It is through questions and discussions that our kids realized that history is simply the reading and telling of the most remarkable story.

When first asked about the criteria for selection of a Supreme Court Justice,  the President caused a stir by using the word empathy.   He wants justices who understand the impact of the law on real peoples’ lives.  Empathy is about personal connection, about caring.  Not something you learn in a textbook.  It is the most important ingredient in the human experience.  Caring about your fellow man.

Whether it is an address in Cairo or at Buchenwald or in Philadelphhia on the campaign trail,  the President speaks so eloquently, so empathetically about the real impact of the fear of difference in our society.

This is exactly what has been missing from the President on gay rights.   Empathy

I believe with all my heart that the President is in the right place on all our issues and that we will see more progress in an Obama administration than we could hope for.  The impressive record of the first 100 days (and the work since)  tells me that.

But I haven’t heard evidence of empathy. Yet.  And its absence has begun to create an air of suspicion – a growing sense among bloggers and activists – that we once again were courted for our votes and our dollars and then promptly left on the back burner.  Or maybe not on the stove at all.

It would be instructive to remember that it was not very long ago that the former POTUS stood before the American people and announced that he was pushing for an amendment to the Constitution banning marriage equality.  It was not so long ago that we could be charged as criminals in many states for who we love.    We may be on TV and even hosting the Tonys but let’s be clear.  We are second class citizens.    We have every right to make noise and to push our new administration.

But what we need most of all is a President who illustrates that he cares about us.   A President who honors our struggle, honors our plight, honors those among us who have been fighting the good fight.  We need a President who can weave a heartfelt narrative that reminds the American people that equality for gay Americans is not simply an issue of law, of right and wrong.   But that as members of a global community, we have personal connections and obligations to the people with whom we share this world.

The message must come, not from his head, from his vast understanding of Constiutional law, but from his heart.  Why?    First, without the inclusion of empathy in the narrative of history, we learn nothing.   And secondly, the gay community knows full well.   We are controversial,   Going to bat for gay and lesbian equality requires more than simply having logic and intellect on your side.   We’ve learned.  The hard way.

Leaders who have been successful in moving gay rights forward are right.  Of course they are.  But equally as important, they care.  And they communicate that commitment by helping others to walk in our shoes.

Empathy.  The President took heat when talking about this as a criterion for a Supreme Court Justice.   But not from me.  I thought it was absolutely spot on.

Now I’d like some empathy from the POTUS.    It would make the waiting easier.  I could be more patient.  And if he can weave empathy into a strategy of diplomacy I believe we have elected a President who can lead us in tackling the most important civil rights issue of our time.

Note:  You will also find this piece on The Huffington Post this morning as well.

I know you thought that my son Ben spends all his spare time playing Sims 3 which arrived last week. But he has made time to practice the marimbas. Ben is an awesome drummer but has learned marimbas as well and performed in a recital last night. It’s The Maple Leaf Rag and it should make you smile. 3 minutes for a smile. Seems like a bargain. Eileen said this morning that she wished my father were here to see it - he would have really liked it. Agreed.

Sims 3 Release Date. Today. Be still my heart.

Bring me your well clothed, your three dimensional, your Sims masses yearning to be manipulated.  They should be here any minute.  Ben has restless body syndrome just thinking about it.  The Sims 3 fever is contagious and now it seems that I have caught it.  So much so that I was up at the crack of dawn writing about it for The Newark Star Ledger.  It is called ‘Sims 3 Midnight Release:  Much Anticipated.”  Not the catchiest title in the world but hey, it was 6am.

So where does the gay community stand with regard to its fight for marriage equality in light of the Proposition 8 decision in California.

Some states allow us to get married. Just today we learned that some of us were allowed to get married in one state but now the rest of us can’t. None of us are allowed to get married in most of the states. A state or two will recognize those of us who got married in some other state but in the vast majority of states, those of us who were married in those states in which we were allowed to get married are not actually married at all when we are in those other states.

You probably had trouble following that.

Me too.

Read more about my reaction to the Prop 8 Decision on The Star Ledger’s Parenting Blog:  “Proposition 8 and its impact on families.”

When my partner Eileen was pregnant with our first child, we obsessed about names.  But like a good Jew, Eileen obsessed in a very focused way.  It had to be a name that started with an S after Eileen’s Aunt Sarah.  Eileen never met Sarah.  She died in the camps.  Along with every member of Eileen’s mother’s family.  Sadly there were many deceased relatives to select from but in terms of order, Sarah was next in line.

You’d think this would make it all easier but it didn’t really.  We still bought multiple books (no internet yet), thinking that each new book would have that perfect S name we’d yet to discover.

While we began to orbit around the name Sarah, we also talked about the name Scout.   Yes, as in Finch.  As in the spunky and brave daughter of Atticus Finch.

But we couldn’t go through with it.    At the end, Eileen and I were just too traditional.  (I suppose I should pause here to allow you to absorb the intended irony here).

And besides,  given that Eileen’s mother had told us that if she ever got pregnant, she would slay herself in front of her, we figured we had enough things stacked against us.

So we went with Sarah.

We told this story to Sarah one night when she was about 10.   We thought she’d think it was sweet.  Hardly.  She couldn’t believe we DIDN’T name her Scout.  She loved that name and everything it represented.    Her disbelief turned into a form of agitation.  We encouraged her to add this to her therapy list.  I told her that people always talk about their mothers in therapy and that she was going to be a jackpot customer at some point down the road.

For the next two or three years, she refused to answer to the name Sarah.  At school, at camp and around the house.  It was interesting for us.  A very feisty, spunky thing to do.  Scout-like in fact.

And then the name faded for a few years.  Was it just a coincidence that after the name faded, Sarah embarked on a few rocky years.  Or was it just what happens in high school?  I don’t know.  But during some of the darker days, I hoped she would dig deep and find her inner Scout.  The brave and spunky Scout.

She did.

During the college application process.    I’d like to go away to college as Scout, she told me.

Now I know there may be folks reading this wondering if my daughter has identity issues or multiple personalities.  I assure you she has neither.  First off, if your personality was a big as Scout’s,  you would know that there was no room for another.  And as for identity,  my own sense is that few people I know work harder at understanding themselves than my daughter.

And so it was Scout Opatut who arrived at Emerson College in the fall of 2007.  And except for those moments at the beginning of each semester when her classmates wonder who the hell Sarah is when the professor takes attendance,  she is Scout.  All the time.  Every day.

And so when she informed as that she had done her homework and filled out all the papers for a legal name change,  Eileen and I found ourselves surprisingly OK with it.  I thought maybe Eileen would feel bad that the name Sarah was disappearing (although I did threaten to change MY name to Sarah just to mix things up) but Scout starts with an S and so Eileen was fine.

And so yesterday,  Scout stood before a judge, making the case for the name change.   I .knew she would be asked why she was interested in changing her name and I was really interested to hear what she had to say.  I’ll be honest.  I thought her response would be good material for a blog post.   But the Honorable Donald Goldman didn’t ask.  He assumed.  “So, you like the name ‘Scout’ better than the name “Sarah”, he asked with a certain confusion on his face.  Yes, Your Honor, Soon-to-Be Scout responded.  He then shrugged his shoulders and said (this is true.  He really said this):  “Who am I to judge?”

I could barely contain myself.  I’m thinking that when you take Judgeship 101, there must be a list of statements one should never make from the bench and “Who am I to judge?” would just have to be on that list.

But I have taken the judge’s comment to heart.  No judging.  I guess it falls out this way for me.  Scout is one of those names that just has to fit to be right. Pretty sure that Eileen and I discussed this very thing as we struggled with names.  And if I have learned anything in these past nineteen years, I have learned that our daughter is indeed Scout-like.

And what better evidence is there of brave and spunky than a name change?