Tonight, my six-year-old daughter and I were walking, and ahead of us, two men were holding hands. We’re seen stuff like this many times, and it’s no big deal–this is New York City, after all. (In fact, the members of her school van had a discussion about gay marriage. A second-grader insisted men weren’t allowed to marry other men, and the other nine kids on the van were like, “Uh-HUH, yeah, they can!”) So, anyway, we’re walking, and she sees the guys ahead of us. This is what she says: “Look, they’re in love! That’s nice. I’m not gay, because I like boys, not girls. (pause) Unless maybe I’m gay and I don’t know it yet? I mean, I’m only six and a half. But I’m pretty sure I’m not, because I like boys.” PS – She told me that she writes in her diary about the boy she likes. Her father is dying to read it–but has vowed not to.
I’m glad we can talk, but as long as I don’t become this mother: