I remember....

I remember. 

I remember when people who were not heterosexual were called queers.  When people would physically harm them, even kill them, because they were different.  I remember when, in the name of the Lord, those amongst us whose bodies marched to a different drummer were chastised and banned from the church, from society, to live their secret lives in darkness.   I remember.

I remember. 

I remember when I thought their sexual nature was their choice.  I remember when I realized that their propensity was not optional. I remember when I knew in my heart that my friends were different, yet they longed to be ‘normal.’  I remember when I defended them against the cries of others, professing their integrity against all odds.  I remember the agony, the discomfort of witnessing them living in their bodies.  I remember the alcoholism, the drug abuse, the suicidal nature…. which sometimes won.  I remember the pain, the tragedy of the rejection, alas - the heartache of losing a loved one, witnessing them slowly destroy themselves, simply because the world did not understand them.  I remember the horror, the pain of one unable to tolerate the isolation, the criticism.  I remember their decision to exit this earth.  I remember the agony of wondering why I could not have stopped them.  I remember the guilt. 

I remember…. And I still cry.

I remember. 

I remember when I realized that it was not a choice… that it was biological.  I remember how I vehemently fought their oppressors.  How I loved them for who they were, comforted them, cried with them and for them.  I remember how I gave them my undying love… yet, worried that it would not be enough to sustain them through life.  I remember how I embraced them, shedding tears.  Yet my tears were a mere drop in an ocean of sadness that they had already cried.  I remember rejoicing that the world had become a place of acceptance, of understanding.  I remember when they came out of the proverbial closet.  I remember when life became worth living for them, no longer ashamed, no longer despised, no longer scorned.

I remember. 

I remember.. And finally I rejoiced!

She is a beautiful woman, full of life, love and grace.  So why, tell me, just because her biological chemistry tells her that she is lesbian, should she be deprived of the privilege of becoming a mother? 

It is 2010, and thankfully, we have moved far past the cultural rejection of lesbian mothers and gay dads. 

I must admit to you that as a woman, I felt a calling.  Much like a preacher feels ‘the call,’ for me, it was instinctive, almost animal.  I wanted a baby, I needed a baby, to make my life complete.  Once I was presented with that blessed child, it changed my life forever.  My life’s mission, here to forward, was to craft that being into a productive citizen.  To give the world a gift… the gift of my precious child who could change the world!

So, why, I ask you, should the calling be any different for a woman whose biological propensity is different?  Whose preference in a partner is not one of the male gender?  Are her hormones different than mine?  Are her desires to propagate, to be fruitful and multiply as were mine?  Does she not feel the same motherly desire as I did?

Technology has been the answer for many women who are… OK, I am going to finally say it… lesbian.  Through in vitro fertilization, many lesbian couples are able to bear children, biological children, to complete their families.  While some still opt for the male partner, most turn to artificial insemination to impregnate one of the females in the couple, thereby producing offspring.  Offspring with two Moms. 



Cherrie Moraga



If you have not read the writings of Cherie Moraga, I encourage you to take a peek.  Cherie is a lesbian who became involved with a partner who had a child.  She became extremely attached to the young child and loved him beyond belief.  When the relationship with his biological mother ended, she mourned the loss of his company, of his love, and of her maternal relationship with him.  She realized that, although she was a butch lesbian, she longed for a child of her own.  A being born of herself, crafted in her image, to whom she would never again be parted.  At the age of 40, she bore the child that fulfilled her destiny.  She described her son as “waiting in the wings,” waiting for her to open her heart to him, to give him life… to fulfill her life! 

Welcome to 2010, my friends; when parents are not Ozzie and Harriett. 
When by the grace of technology, what is not humanly possible is possible.  

And yet, I still remember!