A MOMMA’S BOY

From: Bear World

 Today  is Mother’s Day. Whether your mom was Joan Crawford screaming about hangers or Betty Crocker in the kitchen, presently with us or unfortunately deceased, your best friend or someone you haven’t spoken to forever, you will be thinking about your mom at some point.

I’m a momma’s boy, proud to say it and always have been.  For good, or for bad (just ask my exes), it’s been my mom and me flying through life like a musical theater version of Thelma and Louise – learning about life by the seat of our pants.  My mom never got married, wasn’t really ready for me and didn’t really like kids.  Join the club.  And although she chews too loud, talks through movies and doesn’t appreciate Real Housewives, she’s the kind of mom a child would wish for. 

 I could tell you about the time she “talked to” my sixth grade bully until he peed his pants, or the time she ran down the aisle of the church during Christmas Eve Mass to stop the priest (mid-sentence, mind you) from starting the service so I could sing O Holy Night, or maybe the time she spent her first Christmas bonus on a Nintendo set for me, or the many times she took me out of school midday to go see the latest Star Trek film, or the time she drove an hour and a half at 3 am to West Hollywood because I had thought my car was stolen (I did not in fact, thank God, drive my car that night),  the time she drove a float for Long Beach Pride, and, for sure, I should tell you about the time she flew me to New York City for ONE night just so I could see Broadway Diva Patti Lupone in concert.

But what I want to tell you is the reason she is wearing the same four outfits in all of our family photos from grade school through high school, the reason she is missing from my pictures of trips to Europe and Israel, the reason I had the best education along with voice and acting lessons, the reason I can laugh in the face of adversity, and the reason I can be out and proud is because my mom, along the way, gave everything she had to teach me what unconditional love means.  I came out in November (of course, Thanksgiving) and by June, she was speaking on a panel of professionals for Chapman University’s first ever Gay Pride.  Her message?  You deserve unconditional love, friends are family too – sometimes even more so.  She pushed me through the doors of my first gay club, she convinced me to go to my first GSA, and she convinced me that being gay was another facet of my personality to shine brightly. 

Am I bragging?  Maybe just a little.  But – not all of us have these mothers in our life.  During my mom’s volunteer work in the community (everyone calls her Momma Rose) she is constantly hit with stories from the LGBT community (adults and kids alike) of being abandoned physically and emotionally by their family.  This is not something people can heal from alone.  Trying to avoiding the schmaltz police, we do need to love and be loved.   Especially in this current political climate, we all need to “mother” a bit – regardless of gender or age.  The verb to mother literally is “to bring up (a child) with care and affection”.  In this age of cynicism, viral videos of people attacking each other, and fear of being different – we need to mother our community.  I don’t just mean the LGBT or bear community, I mean the community: the elderly, the foreigner, the cat lady living by herself, the ignorant and ill informed, the disabled, the poor – that is our community. 

I wouldn’t want you to take tips from my mom on balancing a check book or creating a budget you stick to, and I certainly wouldn’t want you to take cooking tips from her, but her “mothering” tips through example are pretty damn good.  A hug, a shared meal, a phone call, opening the door for someone, sticking up for someone, sharing a joke, even just smiling – its all mothering for our community.  This Mother’s Day, let’s all be mothers. 

My name is Alexander, and I’m a Momma’s Boy. 

Google Doodle for May 14, 2017

Mother's Day 2017

What Mother’s Day Is Like When You’re A Trans Mom

By Dawn Ennis 
From: NewNowNext

Rain splatters on my iPhone as I cross the Walmart parking lot to my car, juggling bundles and scanning my phone for new texts and emails. With each one that pops up, another raindrop slaps the protective screen.

I wipe the drops, and the messages, away with my finger. It’s 9 pm on a Sunday, but my youngest just remembered a huge school project that’s due Monday.

I clutch the keys as I balanced a posterboard and plastic bag with of markers, stickers and a glue stick. My purse digs into my armpit as I hustle through the lot, avoiding puddles and skimming that bright screen for more messages. I know that waiting for me at home is a 1,200-word article to be edited, plus another 750-word one fluttering around my brain.

Every one of those stories is money in my pocketbook—another dollar to keep us afloat. But even before my seven part-time jobs, my children’s needs come first. Always. Even when I asked on Friday, and again Sunday morning “Are you sure you got all your homework done?” And heard back, “Yes, Dad! All done.”

That’s me: “Dad.”

It’s never been easy raising three children, even when they had a mom and a dad. For one parent—a widow? How about a mom whose kids call her “Dad?”

Although my kids long ago accepted me as a woman and respect my pronouns, I don’t push the “M” word on them. Their Mom is gone. These three amazing people lost the most important woman in their world. We lost the heart of our home, just as I lost the love of my life.

Before my wife passed last year, I felt strongly that title of “mom” should be hers alone. I even declared “Don’t wish me a ‘Happy Mother’s Day!” on social media. I’m a woman who feels fine being called “Dad,” honored even, despite the occasional odd looks. Sometimes well-meaning strangers address me as my children’s mom, and if the kids are by my side, I feel compelled to correct them. Or more accurately, apologize for myself.

“Sorry, I’m actually their dad. I’m transgender.”

Usually, I get a smile, or an unnecessary apology in return. Or that tilt-of-the-head stare a dog makes when it hears a strange sound. Many times, when I’m out of the kiddos’ earshot, I just let it go.

Because, as it turns out, I am a mom.

I prepare my kids’ meals, buy and mend their clothes, clean what no one else will clean, and I always make time for a hug. I enforce the rules—and bend them with alacrity. On my meager earnings, I provide my kids with the necessities for school, worship, and fun with their friends. I’m their taxi driver, their homework-checker, and their teacher-interrogator.

Sure, single dads do all those things, too. But being a woman as well as a dad, I’ve earned a title that, at first, seemed as farfetched to me as “widow.” (Another one I never sought.) I do the job of a mother. Am I my kids’ mom? Nope. But I’m still no less a mom.

At the other end of that parking lot, I fumble for the fob, pop open the trunk and plunk my soaked self into the driver’s seat. A new text chirps its demand for my immediate attention. Someone my wife and I asked long ago to be guardian to our firstborn if something happened, someone who’s turned into my inquisitor ever since my wife’s death, poses a question in a familiar, prosecutorial tone.

“What do you mean when you write that you’re a ‘mom?’” she asks. “I need clarification: are you now going by this title?” Clearly implied in that text was “How dare you?”

I can feel my heartbeat quicken, and sense what I think is my blood pressure rising. But I was ready. “Can’t respond right now,” I typed, “On deadlines with kids and work. Let’s have a conversation tomorrow?”

I hit send, put the iPhone away and drove off, confident it was best to avoid getting into a showdown, given everything on my plate.

“BUZZ BUZZ” comes the sound from my phone, before I even leave the lot. I pull into another space, and reluctantly decide to see what response awaited me. “No need for a conversation. I just believe that title should be reserved only for their mom.”

Since I don’t recall asking what she believed, I resolve to ignore her bait and press on. A lonely, rainy road separates her unsolicited judgment and a welcome hug from my son. Driving off, I think back to a few months ago when he and I sat in synagogue, listening to the new cantor sing “Oseh Shalom.”

This bright boy of mine turned to me, clasped my hand, and whispered: “I know Mom would love this. She was the best mom ever. But I want you to know, you’re doing a really good job as a mom, Dad.” 

It’s from that, more than anything, that I draw the distinction of mom being my job and it being my name. And it is from my children that I draw my strength on this Mother’s Day. And everyday.

Gap’s New Mother’s Day Ad Celebrates Every Kind Of Mom

Liv Tyler's short film "Mama Said" features a lesbian couple and their children
From: NewNowNext

 Mother’s Day comes early with a new Gap campaign ad that includes an adorable family led by two moms.

Liv Tyler directed and stars in the clothing retailer’s short film, “Mama Said,” which celebrates the joys of motherhood. Photographer Cass Bird and director Ali Bird appear in the clip with their two adorable children, Leo and Mae.

Candice Swanepoel, Coco Rocha, and Jurnee Smollett-Bell, Jussie Smollet’s sister, also appear in the ad with their children.

The film is in support of Every Mother Counts, a non-profit dedicated to making pregnancy and childbirth safe.

Watch “Mama Said” and a behind-the-scenes bonus video below.