Lessons in Diversity with Ross Gellar

When I was in elementary school, I took to watching early 90s television shows with my mom when she’d let me stay up.  During the Friends episode where we find out Ross’ wife Carol is a lesbian, I asked my mother what it meant to be someone’s lesbian life partner.  At seven, this felt like a pretty regular conversation.

The next day, we had the following dialogue:

Me: Do you know what I don’t want to be when I grow up?

Mom: What?

Me: I don’t think I want to be both a ballerina and an oncologist.  I think I just want to dance.

My mother obviously was not distressed about my future career choices.  (That did not happen until much later when I studied English in college and wanted to join Teach for America.  That’s another story.)  We went about our afternoon as planned, which probably meant we danced in the living room and she helped me struggle through my Hooked on Phonics.

A few days after that, our little family unit was at the dinner table eating spaghetti.  My step-father had just gotten home from a business trip.  The conversation began again while I twirled my pasta:

Me: Hey, Mike, want to know what I don’t want to be when I grow up?

Mike: Sure. What?
(Wait for it.)

Me: I don’t think I want to be someone’s lesbian life partner.

The last bite he had taken flew right back out of his mouth and the coughing began.  My mother, on the other hand, thought this was fine.  She thought it was only logical that I’d weighed potential options after learning about them but decided it wasn't for me.

Years later, I learned it wasn't quite that easy.  For some people, sexuality is fluid.  The people you fall for aren't always the people you expect. Things will happen that will cause you to call into question what you thought you knew about yourself.  (For a great movie that tackles this, I recommend Kissing Jessica Stein.  It’s hysterical, and who doesn't love Jennifer Westfeldt?)

Maybe this particular example doesn't resonate with you, and that's okay.  All the same, something tells me there are likely certain attributes about a significant other you've had that have surprised you, even if they don't have to do with gender.  It's the same gist.  We’re constantly working to understand ourselves and how we fall into place with others and the larger context we operate in.  

I was lucky to grow up in a home where I could be anyone or anything that made sense to me.  As fate would have it, I have two left feet and those dreams of dancing were far flung.  Instead, I’m a person of faith that started a high school Gay/Straight Alliance many moons ago, interned at a GLBT Center in graduate school, and led ally trainings at a university for faculty and staff.  It doesn't make sense to a lot of people, but it works for me. 

Life comes full circle.  I have a sister that’s fourteen years younger than me.  During a visit home when she was about the same age I was during the Friends incident, I happened to be in the kitchen while my she and my mom watched Glee in the next room.  There was a scene where two boys kissed and my sister verbally expressed some shock and discomfort. 

Mom: Brooke, how about you come in here and talk to your sister about this?

Me: Okay.  Let’s talk about what you saw.  Let’s talk about how it made you feel.  But let’s also talk about how those two guys would feel if they heard your reaction…

When we’re talking to youth, we’re leaving lasting impressions.  We can help shape a child to be loving and respectful, or we can teach a child it’s okay to discriminate.  I'll never tell someone what to believe, but I will argue that we should all be able to coexist peacefully, regardless of whether others share our particular set of values or beliefs.

How have you had successful conversations about diversity issues with the youth in your own life?  What messages resonate with you from your own childhood?  I'm far from being a parent, so I'm curious.