I have always loved Josh Hutcherson.
I had a crush on him before he was Peeta, before he was cool.
I’m kidding. He has always been cool.
However, I did find respect for him at the 2012 GLAAD Media Awards when he said, “I am so sick of hearing of the words gay and lesbian. They’re just people… And one day I want my son to come home from school and be like, ‘I found this guy and I love him.’ And I’m gonna be like, ‘yes, you do, and that’s ok.’
Josh, I have never wanted to make babies with a man, as much as I did when those words came out of your mouth.
Let’s make gay babies.
Or straight babies. Whatever they are, whatever they want, whatever they like.
And if I fall in love with a woman I fancy, a female like no other, I’ll ask her for children.
When she gives me a daughter, I’ll pack a lunch for her every day. Next to the juice box, behind the peeled clemantine and cookie there’ll be a note that says, “Maddie dear, your mommies love you. Have a great day at school.”
On Mother’s Day, when the class is making cards for their moms, the teacher will lean over my youngest son and say, “Mason, the apostrophe goes before the S, not after” and he’ll say, “I know where it goes miss. I have two moms.”
And he’ll flash her that beautiful smile that radiates naivety and innocence because he’s too young to understand what her pressed lips and raised eyebrows really mean.
If my son wants to paint his nails, I’ll let him borrow my nail polish.
If my daughter wants to cut her hair like Beiber, I’ll drive her to the salon.
If my child is transgender, I will hold her hand in the men’s department; teach him about the power of makeup.
Regardless of the gender of the person I marry or the sexual orientation of my offspring, I want my children to live in a world they can feel comfortable in. I want your children and future blessings to be comfortable. Not just comfortable, happy.
In my house, we’ll have tolerance and respect for everybody because the gender of the person who holds your hand, who kisses you good night and spoon feeds you soup when you’re sick- doesn’t define you.
It does not bind you or diminish your being. You are beautiful.
Today, I am old enough to understand that just as I think it’s OK to be gay, it’s OK for other people to think otherwise. I respect your religious lifestyle, your traditional family value, as long as it’s done tastefully. Last time I checked, hatred wasn’t a family value.
Conflict is caused by misunderstanding and fear. And we don’t understand. Maybe we aren’t ready to understand. Maybe we don’t want to understand.
Somewhere, in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming, there is a gay 13 year old boy being bullied. He feels alone. He turns on the news coverage of a local protest. The screen focuses in on delightful people holding signs that read: “God Hates Fags”
Seconds earlier, he felt alone. Now he feels alone and unwanted.
A few days ago, I turned to the news on National Chick-Fil-A Appreciation day and was hurt.
I’m nearly 18.
Nearly 18 and still, I saw a line, of neither supporters nor appreciators, but of hate.
A line of hatred and misunderstanding. I never thought that the disgust and anger of people I don’t even know could mean something to me. Their despise towards a small part of me, felt like complete rejection.
So much and I’m nearly an adult.
Now imagine what that 13 year old feels.
I know it gets better but I want my mind to rest at ease knowing that that 13 year old will live long enough to find this out for himself.