During our second visit with Xavier, I was feeding him baby food when he started to gag—the caseworker told us he threw up all the time when he ate and that he had problems with chewing and swallowing. This time when Xavier gagged, I quickly blew into his face. It startled him and made him forget all about gagging—so no throwing up! He thought it was funny and started to smile at us. We knew by the end of that first week that this child had potential; he just needed attention and to be loved.
On July 21, 2012, one week before his first birthday, Xavier came to live with us permanently. Oddly, Xavier was born the week before we lost our baby in 2011. It was something we felt was more than a coincidence: He was meant to be our son.
And so it began. Our journey has been loaded with some fantastic people who have openly accepted our relationship. In fact, everyone we’ve worked with, from Xavier’s caseworkers to his therapists (he has physical, occupational and speech therapy) has showered us with compliments and said we are exactly what Xavier needed. Xavier has blossomed from that baby who couldn’t sit up and was afraid of crowds to a very smart two-and-a-half-year-old who runs, talks and shows affection. He just needed someone to believe in him.
Xavier’s adoption was finalized on October 24, 2013. We decided to keep his first name the same, because we love it. His middle name is now Cory (after me) and his last name is Garrison (Casey’s last name). We also had the opportunity to meet Xavier’s birthmother and his baby sister (Xavier is one of seven siblings) before she voluntarily signed away her rights. The birthmother requested to meet us before she did. She was very thankful and felt comfortable enough to ask whether we might consider taking Xavier’s baby sister too if she ever came into the foster care system. Casey and I assured her that we would absolutely take her into our home.
Our message to other LGBT couples is to believe! If you want to be a parent, believe it will happen for you. It may not be the way you planned it, but be open to other avenues. You may be surprised how many supportive, accepting people you find on your journey, like doctors, nurses, caseworkers and judges. The world is changing and you can’t live in fear. Be proud of who you are and don’t be afraid to go after what you want!
Duke and Steve Nelson
DALLAS, TEXAS
I always knew I was meant to be a dad. I remember thinking about the kind of parent I wanted to be: the kind who cuts the crusts off peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and helps make rocket ships out of building blocks. I wanted to help my kids with homework and projects. I wanted to take them to parks and museums.
When I was a kid, we didn’t have much money. But my sisters and I had a really good childhood—not idyllic or perfect, but happy. We went camping in the snow, took road trips across the country and hit up every roadside attraction from coast to coast. With all those adventures came the stories, stories that defined and helped me become the person I am today. Growing up, I always imagined myself having a family as well—I also envisioned becoming an architect and marrying a red-headed woman. Boy, was I way off. So for years, I pushed those things aside.
But the dream of a family was always with me. It was the image of being a dad and having kids who I could share my own experiences with and create new ones. I wanted to be at little league games and dance recitals. I wanted to sit around the dinner table and share stories of when my mom was a little girl. I wanted to kiss boo-boos and sneak money under pillows after the excitement of losing a tooth. Being an uncle is great, but it’s not the same as being a dad.
When I met Steve, we were nineteen and thought we had it all figured out: Be together forever and have a family. Easier said than done. The trouble was there weren’t many role models out there to show us that we could have kids, much less how to do it. Life has changed quite a bit in the past twenty years.
There was very little mainstream gay—no Will and Grace, Ellen and Rosie didn’t have shows yet, Neil Patrick Harris was still Doogie and Lance Bass was still on tour with *NSYNC. We didn’t know any same-sex couples who had kids. We knew they existed, but like the Loch Ness Monster, they were the things of legend.
I guess this is the reason I want to share our story, to help others who want the same and don’t see their reflection in their own families or communities. I want them to learn from our mistakes, to exist and be visible, so we can all just be dads and not “gay” dads.
Many years and many ups and downs later, Steve and I were gearing up to celebrate our fortieth birthdays and agreed that if we didn’t do something soon, our own personal window for fatherhood was going to close. Over the years, I had researched adoption and surrogacy. We had friends who had gone both routes and we grilled them, learning more with every conversation, article, book or website. Each time we thought we were ready to make a decision, we weren’t. Work, life, our relationship—anything became a perceived obstacle or an excuse.
One night we were in bed talking and doing some research on adoption in our home state of Texas. That’s when we came across the TARE website, through the Department of Family and Protective Services. The website showed so many kids—all ages, races and personalities—with these bright faces and amazing smiles, desperate to find a family and home where they could be safe and grow, where someone could take care of them and let them realize their potential. That did it. We signed up for a foster care class the next day. We were extremely focused. Five weeks later, we got approved by the state for foster care and adoption. That was quite a process.
The first foster care class reminded me of college English 101—a bunch of people there on the first day, which eventually dwindled down to four or five by day three. In an effort to share the “reality” of being a foster care parent, the instructors actually made it a bit scary. But we were not going to be deterred.
Throughout the whole process, we were never treated differently because we were gay. We did a little research, so the agency we selected was accepting of LGBT foster parents. In fact, we were even asked to come back several times to speak to new groups of foster parents, both gay and straight, about our experience.
We moved through the training faster than they could schedule it. We had to stay on top of everything from scheduling to paperwork, just to make sure there were no delays. Getting the city to come and approve our house took the longest. We had to schedule that ten days in advance.
The training sessions were mainly concerning safety—quite a bit of common sense with a splash of technique. It seemed the largest focus was on liability. It was all good information, just not exactly what new parents might need. Apart from not harming the kids, there was absolutely nothing practical—like which formula to buy or how to change a diaper. For that, we had to use our network of family and friends.
The other foster parents in class were divided into two camps. One group was like us: people looking to adopt or to contribute to the community through the temporary care of needy children. You could tell who was in this group by the questions they asked. Some of them even had kids in their family who were already in the custody of Child Protective Services (CPS) and they wanted to care for them specifically. The other group treated foster parenting a bit more like a business with a clear return on investment. We heard personal stories of kids stacked ten deep in foster houses and parents getting certified to accept even more. It is a desperately needed side of the foster care system that we had no idea existed.
Home visits were interesting. They looked for random things. We were asked to move our eggs to the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. Because we were fairly informed of the state’s standards, we actually discovered discrepancies between the state and agency we used. We learned early on to ask lots of questions—sometimes more than once.
The day we got our license, three children were placed in our home. It was crazy. I got an e-mail one Friday at noon with our license and a follow-up phone call stating our names had been put in the system to accept any race, sibling group of up to three kids or any child aged under six years old. At three o’clock,
I got a phone call letting us know we were picked for an emergency placement. The only information I had was an e-mail with three bios that had the wrong races and genders on them.
Steve was flying home from a work trip, so when he landed he had a bigger shock. I at least had a couple of hours to adjust to having kids. Steve only had about thirty minutes and a handful of text messages.
At five o’clock, the kids were dropped off: all under three years old, all related and all in diapers. There was Sean, a month shy of his third birthday and our little escape artist, who could unlock the front door and tried to work the microwave in the first twelve hours. Next came Luc, who at eighteen months showed no emotions except when hungry, not even responding to his own name. And last, but not least, was Willow, beautiful at six weeks old, who slept on my chest for the first two weeks.
We were in love. Overwhelmed, but in love. That love got us through the first few weeks of the dramatic change in our lives. At one point, we even considered backing out, because we were afraid of getting so attached and then possibly losing them. It was the most emotionally difficult time in my entire life.
By the third week, Steve and I had decided that no matter what happened, whether the kids were with us for a month or for the rest of our lives, we were going to give them everything we could. Steve later told me about the moment he realized that Luc could be his son: Steve was eating something in front of the TV and Luc walked up, looked at the plate and smiled at him. Steve gave him a bite.
My moment came at the end of the first two weeks. I was exhausted and surviving on minutes of sleep at a time. Just when I thought I couldn’t get out of bed or mix another bottle or change another diaper, I watched Willow sleeping on my chest. She was so quiet, so peaceful. I knew at that moment that I would do anything for these three beautiful children.
While we took care of the kids for the first nine months, they had weekly visits with their birthparents. Early on, the birthparents were at every visit. That fell off as time progressed. When we first heard the mother’s backstory, we were really rallying behind her. From what the caseworker shared, she had been dealt a pretty rough hand and it looked like the fathers were at least making an attempt.
Then we met them.
The mother spent more time on her phone than she did with the kids. We wondered why the kids never asked about their mom. During the visits, they didn’t even acknowledge her presence. It was like she was someone they knew, but weren’t excited to see—almost as if they didn’t recognize her. It was really strange. Both fathers were in and out of jail, one a registered sex offender. There were no questions from them about the kids, like how they were doing or what they were eating. The birth-parents didn’t make eye contact at all during the visits.
It wasn’t until their parental rights were terminated that we saw each other eye to eye. Even though we were on their side in the beginning, they viewed us as a couple of guys who were trying to take away their kids—like CPS—so our interactions were not always positive. We understood their apprehension.
CPS’s process is focused mainly around reunification. We knew that going in. When the kids first came to us, CPS was already vetting fourteen different family members who could potentially care for them. That took almost nine months. Each family member was removed from the running for one reason or another: some only wanted one child, while others had a criminal record or a record with CPS. The children were not going to be placed back with their parents, but it became very obvious that there were no viable candidates within the family. In Dallas County, there is a goal to have a plan for the kids by the six-month mark. By month nine, CPS informed us that they planned to split up Sean, Luc and Willow and try to place them with some of the fourteen original family members who did not pass CPS’s initial review.
We were shocked and heartbroken for the children. They had known no other existence than with each other. The thought of them trying to adjust not only to a new environment, but a new environment without anyone they knew, was terrifying.
We discovered that, in Dallas County, foster parents typically have no rights regarding the future of the children unless they’ve been placed in care for more than twelve months. We were not only some of the first foster parents to argue for a place at the table prior to twelve months and win, but we were also the first same-sex couple that we know of to do so.
At the end of the nine-month mark, parental rights were voluntarily terminated and we petitioned to adopt the kids. The adoption process took another nine months. We had no other hurdles, but there was always the worry or fear that someone might come out of the woodwork and lay claim to one or all three of the children.
It took us one day shy of eighteen months for everything to be finalized—and we are still working on finishing Steve’s legal adoption today. Since I was the parent licensed—at the time, Texas didn’t offer joint licensing for same-sex couples—I was the primary parent. Steve and I are getting married this year and he’s changing his name. At that point, we’ll complete his adoption of our kids.
It was a long road and at times we thought we might lose the kids or our minds. We are very lucky and very happy. There are many things they don’t tell you about foster care and adoption. I didn’t realize how much bureaucracy and red tape comes with a government agency. It was a forty-hour workweek just managing the paperwork, visits and appointments, added onto a full-time job and chasing two mobile toddlers around. To this day, I still haven’t figured out how I gained weight during the experience.
We had committed to the birthparents to allow monthly visits with the kids. We’ve never heard from one of the dads and the other parents were no-shows so often that we opted out of continuing the visits. After talking with the kids’ doctor, it seemed the best approach was to end all contact at that point.
Fast forward to now. We are a bit like the “It’s a Small World” ride at Disneyland: Steve is Hispanic, I’m Caucasian and our three kids are African-American. When we pile out of the car, we know we all look so different, but it hasn’t really mattered. We take each of our cultures and heritages seriously, but not so seriously that we can’t function.
It does mean that we get quite a bit of attention. Most of it is positive and accepting. We have been pleasantly surprised at how accepting people are when they realize that we are a family. Rarely, there is a look of confusion; even more rarely, a look of disgust or anger.
When you put information like wanting kids out into the world, the world always gives you lots of information back, usually in the form of advice. Most of the advice we’ve gotten has been spot on—even if it was unsolicited and, at the time, sometimes unwanted.
Family and friends with kids are always quick to share their experiences—some good, mostly bad. You hear the sound of doom in their voices:
“Your life won’t be your own.”
“You’ll never sleep again.”
“You’ve got to pick the right school.”
“Hover versus don’t hover.”
“Stay at home versus day care.”
There are opposing views on almost everything when it comes to kids. Who knew parenting could be such a competition?
Steve and I thought we knew what to expect from this advice. Boy, were we wrong. Well, except for the comments about never sleeping again. That part is true. Between listening for tiny whimpers or coughs in the night and worrying about their overall happiness and well-being, I don’t think Steve and I have slept a full eight hours between the two of us.
But it’s more than that. Everyone tells you about that stuff, but no one tells you why you worry, why you sneak into their room and watch them sleep or why you try to protect them from everything. It’s because these kids change you; they change you completely, right down to your cells. Everything you thought you knew about yourself becomes different. Advice doesn’t prepare you for the experience.
No one could ever prepare me for the rush of feelings I get when I hear “Daddy!” after walking throu
gh the door. No description can do justice to the feeling I get on a cold Sunday morning when two of them sneak into bed and snuggle. No words can describe the fear and worry when a little runny nose turns into a hacking cough and we debate if this warrants a trip to the emergency room or not.
The future has more in store. Will Sean do well in school? Will Luc make friends? Will Willow meet someone special (please, please, please after she’s twenty-one)? I worry about them sneaking out with their friends, buckling under peer pressure and getting hurt on the soccer field or whatever sport they may or may not choose to play. I worry about them being good and kind people and loyal friends. I worry about the choices they make every day.
Nope, no one can prepare you for why you feel this way. There’s no brochure at the adoption agency, online video or class you can take. It just happens. And you are caught off guard, completely immersed.
It’s been a wild ride. I can’t believe it’s been over two years since those three came into our lives. We’ve already started having our own amazing adventures.
Diana Buchbinder
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
A lot can change in thirty years and this is especially true where gay parenting is concerned. When I started this journey in 1981, most gays and lesbians who were parents had conceived their children as part of heterosexual relationships. During that time, the time of Anita Bryant, the Briggs initiative and the beginnings of the AIDS crisis, coming out as gay meant risking everything, including your job and your children. At the age of twenty-eight, I fell in love with a woman, divorced my husband and came out. Of all the possible repercussions associated with that decision, the only one I was truly concerned about was how it might affect my ability to become a mother.
My husband and I did not have children together, although I loved children and taught at a preschool. I had always intended to have some of my own one day and my new partner assured me that I still could as a lesbian. But I was unsure how to proceed. The idea of gays conceiving and being allowed to adopt was still very new and not widely spoken of. There was not yet a network of fertility clinics, although there was a small underground circle of community women who served as “go betweens” for women who wanted to conceive and men who were willing to be sperm donors.
Journey to Same-Sex Parenthood Page 9