We're all sitting on the rocker on the front porch. It's a sunny Sunday afternoon. Out of the blue, Eli asks, "Mama, what's heterosexual?"
      I'm startled by the question, but try to remain nonchalant: "It's when a man and a woman love each other and want to be together as partners."
      "What's homosexual?"
      Karyn tackles this one: "It's when two men or two women want to be together. Like us. Your parents are homosexual." I feel a slight tightening in my chest as she actually gives it a name. Karyn pauses, then adds: "I used to be heterosexual. That's why your brother Bryan has Richard, his dad. But now I'm homosexual."
      I'm definitely starting to sweat now. This is really one of those significant conversations. Will we get it right?
      Karyn adds: "Bryan is heterosexual. He has a girlfriend."
      Eli doesn't miss a beat. He's still going after those answers. "Mama, what's sex?"
      Karyn jumps in quickly on this one. "Men are one sex and women are another. That's what sex means."
      I think she's copped out, but his next question reveals that she probably hasn't. He sings out, laughing, "Mama, what's pexual? What's pexual, bexual sexual, DEXUAL?" The pleasure of the rhyme has overshadowed all else. Our serious talk about sex degenerates into silly rhymes and snuggles.
      I breathe a sigh of relief. We're risen to the challenge — at least for today.

      Until now, I've found it relatively easy to talk to Eli about his body and about sex. I haven't been flustered by his explorations of his penis or his curiosity about bodies. Lots of questions came up while I was pregnant with Lizzy, and I felt relaxed handling them. Eli's learned about fallopian tubes, uteruses and the role of sperm in conception. He knows about tampons and periods. He can say the word vulva without flinching. But somehow this feels different.
      Sexual orientation is about us, his parents. It's about choices we've made that will have an impact on his life. I can't talk to him about the word "homosexual" without thinking about the teasing or disapproval he's likely to face someday. In my mind's eye, I imagine kids screaming "faggot" at each other on the playground and teachers standing idly by, doing nothing.
      I wonder, "Should I should warn Eli not to gallop down the Mall singing at the top of his voice, 'My moms are homosexuals!'" And if I do, and he asks, "Why not?" how shall I answer him?
      Should I introduce my four-year-old to the idea that some people think our lives are wrong? That there are people who will feel sorry for him because he's growing up in our family? Is now the time to talk about oppression? Or do I wait for him to come home one day, shocked and hurt because a kid insisted, "You can't have two moms," or a grown-up said something worse? Do I mar his innocence now or do I wait for the ignorance in the world to show itself?

      Fifteen years ago, I left Santa Cruz and moved to a rainy island in Alaska for a job in public radio. During my years there, I met and lived with Peg, a woman who'd spent her whole life in Southeast Alaska. Although she'd lived with her former partner, Marian, and their four children for over ten years, she'd never spoken the word "lesbian" out loud and in fact, had never talked to anyone about the woman she loved. She lived in fear of being found out, so deep in the closet there wasn't even a door.
      Peg had a seven-year-old daughter, Katie, who'd never had her parents' lesbian relationship explained to her. Once at a midnight softball game played in the fading light of the Alaskan summer sun, Katie innocently mentioned to two other girls, "I have three moms," referring to her mother, Marian, and me. The response was immediate and hostile and Katie was completely unprepared for the onslaught. In the aftermath of that incident, Peg and I talked long and hard about the price of shame, secrecy and silence.

      In the years since then, I've often wondered how Katie could have been better prepared for her first experience of the world's cruelty. Should she have been cautioned to keep her life at home a secret? Warned about the conservative biases of people on small rainy islands? I don't think so.
      What would have helped Katie most was growing up in a home where her parents felt comfortable enough with themselves to live openly. She needed to see her mothers' strength and courage, so she could learn to stand up against ignorance and bigotry, not to live in fear.

      Eli and Lizzy are growing up a world away from Katie, in a different time and place. As lesbian parents in Santa Cruz, we can afford to be open and matter-of-fact about who we are. Family members, friends, care providers, and teachers uniformly support our family and we expect them to.
      Yet the day will come when our children will face homophobia first-hand. When it does, I hope our clarity, honesty and example will have prepared them well — so they can feel compassion for the ignorance of others rather than shame at having something to hide.