Not most like Debbie, anymore

I just spent two and a half hours sitting at a booth in a local fast food restaurant with a mom talking about our gay boys. Ah yes, another PFLAG mom has been welcomed into the fold. I liked her. I really, really liked her.

I've met a lot of PFLAG moms. We come in all sizes and temperments. We enjoy all kinds of foods. Some of us are shy, quiet, and thoughtful. Some of us are outgoing, loud, and brash. Some of us are Debbie's and some of us are Jennifer's (bonus points if you know who Jennifer is).

But we all love our kids. We love them passionately. We will stand up for them, and we will kick ourselves later for all the times we didn't.

Sometimes it takes us a while to blossom. Over the past seven years I have held the hands of many moms. Mostly I have encouraged them, told them they can do this. They are strong enough. I have played Debbie for countless Jennifers.

See, I'm not Debbie, but until today I had to confess that I was as close as our chapter came. Though I am quieter, and far less confident of my own sense of style, I can be loud, and I am certainly willing to to be blunt and say what I believe needs to be said. I have embarrassed my children in my efforts to be genuinely supportive.

But today I get to pass the designation "local mom most likely to be compared with Debbie" on to someone else.

I mean it never even occured to me that I should make up for the fact that my adolescent boy did not have any gay uncles from whom he might steal appropriate "adult" materials.