Family and Fairness

During the summer between my  second and third grade school years, I made a schedule on notebook paper. I know it was that particular summer because my second grade teacher gave me a stuffed Garfield and a farewell card at church the Sunday after school got out. I loved that Garfield immediately, but I was torn about how his new arrival would affect my other stuffed animals.

I had a small yellow bunny, a Snoopy, a larger pink rabbit in overalls and a Winnie the Pooh. I already felt bad for Pooh because his felt eyebrows and mouth had crumbled years before and Mom had to keep redrawing his facial features. Now I felt worse that he’d have to accommodate Garfield’s addition to the familial unit, so I made a schedule. I rotated all five animals’ placement trying to painstakingly ensure they received the same attention during bedtime cuddles.  I wanted to be fair.

Appeals for fairness had to be carefully considered in my house.  I was an only child of a divorced child protection social worker. Any time I whined or logically stated that something wasn't fair—that I didn't have shoes, clothes, Pop Tarts, or a dad in the house like my classmates—my mom came unglued. She’d disclose what kids in her caseload had suffered. In retrospect, the details probably weren't appropriate for my age, but  I sure got the picture. Life was not fair, and someone always had it worse than I.

When I consider the plight of others, it’s easy for me to champion the fight for fairness.  Garfield deserved to split time with Snoopy and Pooh! But when I consider championing my own fight, I still hesitate. I feel a lecture from Mom coming before I open my mouth or sit down at my computer.  I've concluded that simply sharing some of my own experiences offers a glimpse into what the Fair Pocatello campaign is about.

My family has always been contrary to the norm, or at least contrary to what is painted as what the norm should be.  Divorce is often no less sad today than it was when my parents split, but it is much less taboo nowadays. I was never teased, per say, for being a child of divorced parents, but I was certainly recognized as different and told by young peers that I didn't have a real family.  

What is family? My definition includes a unit which contains and instills love, devotion, a sense of belonging, lessons in interdependence and contributing, sometimes at your own sacrifice, to the well-being of the other members. That sounds a lot like mom and me and my other familial relationships today.

In 2002, when my partner’s father died and I needed to ask for emergency time off work, it was a gauntlet from my cubicle to my manager’s office.  When I had a catastrophic neck injury in April of 2011, she debated about how to ask for time off to accompany me to Salt Lake.  Each of these stressful, traumatic, and sadly normal human experiences were compounded for us because sexual orientation is not a protected status for employment.

My ex’s daughter is finishing her junior year in college. She competes on her collegiate cycling team and on many Mondays this spring, she sent updates and pictures from her racing weekends.  Her emails were addressed to her mom, dad, aunts, uncles, grandparents and me. She began them with “Dear Family.”  I choked up every time she wrote.

My family is different. Regardless of the many spins, facets and arguments around Pocatello’s non-discrimination ordinance and the upcoming vote, to me it’s about family and fairness. Whatever my family is and whomever it encompasses, it brings me joy, comfort, and support, and it’s as goofy, fun and complicated as any other.  Whatever my family is, the idea that I could be fired or denied housing because of it baffles and saddens me. I should be able to support and nurture mine like any other family, shouldn’t I?

My mom might even entertain this appeal for fairness, and it’s in that vein that I already early voted “no” on prop one.