D&D

From "The Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Dungeon Master's Guide" by Gary Gygax:

THE EFFECT OF WISHES ON CHARACTER ABILITY SCORES

"It is quite usual for players to use wishes to increase their ability scores in desired areas, whatever the areas might be. It is strongly suggested that you place no restrictions on such use of wishes. However, at some point it must be made more difficult to go up in ability, or else many characters will eventually be running around with [the maximum ability to do everything]."

The elephant in the room, of course, is the fact that both of our kids will grow up and not have a mom.

This was a difficult thing for me. Not nearly as difficult as it will be for them, but nonetheless, a painful, philosophic hurdle that kept us from adopting for many years. I don't know how other gay parents handle the personal responsibility of denying a child one-half of a "conventional" nuclear family, but in our home, the discussion was not sidestepped by any means. It was agonized over.

I love my mom. She was in my childhood, and remains in my adulthood, the single most important and formative part of my life and my character. And the thought of denying a child the equivalent of that, quite frankly, took adoption off the table for Adam and I for many, many years. Call me old-fashioned. Call me politically incorrect or stubborn, but I believe that a child needs a mom, and loving as I am, I didn't want to be the person who removed that vital component from the equation by the nature of my very existence. Sue me, HRC. Revoke my membership. That's the kind of stuff I worry about.

Adam and I were discussing a curious realization the other day.

The fact that we're gay dads enters our minds...oh...about...zero times on a daily basis.

Seriously. Zero.

New dads, yes. Dads who are busy, struggling, and often essentially clueless, most definitely. Dads who are learning, dads who are staggering under the bulk of a crazy, frustrating County DFS system, sure, every day. Dads who are raising two special needs children and doing our best to navigate the minefield of textbooks, catch-up, and personal experience? Oh, yes...endlessly. Amen, and pass the ammunition.

But does the fact that we're two gay dads ever manifest itself as any cognizant, mindful priority? Do we wrap ourselves in a rainbow flag and see it even remotely as an important aspect of our children's upbringing? Ever?

God, no. We're just too damn busy being dads to worry for a second that we're gay ones.

Aside from some play dates with a very important Las Vegas group called "We Are Family," a network of moms/moms and dads/dads we occasionally foray with so our kids can see that other kids with same-sex parents are just as normal, fun, and splashy at a waterpark as they are, the whole "gay parenting issue" (whatever that might be), never really enters the picture at all. There's really no time for it. There are too many other adventures going on.

When I was a teenager, I played a game called D&D. That's Dungeons & Dragons, for those of you who weren't geeks. Adam played too. The game, was essentially, role playing story time. Adventures acted out. You and your merry band of friends, sitting around the comfort of the dorm room or the kitchen table, went "adventuring" in the form of a guided, interactive, storytelling journey that went on ad infinitum.

One of your friends was the "Dungeon Master." (Today, I have to put the title in "isn't that funny" quotation marks to distance my dignity from all the years when Dungeon Master, capital D, capital M, was an authentic force to be reckoned with). Your DM led you through caverns, forests, castles, dungeons. There were monsters, trolls, battles, and treasure. Potions, gold pieces, and yes, there be dragons.

You were an elf maybe. Or a halfling, or a human. You were a ranger, a fighter, a magic-user, or a druid. With a roll of the dice and a little bit of luck, you could be anyone, and as the narrative of the game progressed, so did your character. So did your skill.

But life, I've discovered of late, is not just a lucky roll of the twenty-sided die. (Yes, there actually was such a thing and I still have mine, may my eternal geekiness never again be questioned). In dungeons deep or happy forests, we may be a merry band of adventurers - me, Adam, J1 and J2 - but the narrative's not always as straight-forward and laid out on a neat map of graph paper like the game I nostalgically remember from my youth.

What D&D most certainly never prepared me for, was the beautiful, tumultuous character class those letters eventually came to mean in my life. Who would have thought back in 1985, when I was a half-elf ranger named "Xl," D&D would eventually come to mean something more authentically adventurous and astoundingly perplexing. Dad & Daddy.

Confession time. Adam and I both wanted to be "Daddy." Something about the tender diminutive of the extra "D-Y" on the end brought to mind bonus love, extra cuddliness, extra warmth. Of course, that was back before we got the kids and assumed cuddles and warmth were still on the table, straight out of the box.

We tried all sorts of "who will we be?" variations. "Daddy and Papa?" No, "Papa" sounded too grandfatherly. "Daddy and Aba?" Our Jewish friends suggested "Aba," the Hebrew word for Daddy, but knowing our Jewish-born kids were fresh off the boat from a three-year stint in the Land of Mormon Foster Care, "Aba" to them would have no meaning as an endearing word at all. Might as well call us "Daddy and Blah-Blah." (Which sometimes they do).

So, we settled for Dad and Daddy. Daddy and Dad. Seemed to roll off the tongue. Pretty good fit. And after much jockying for position, both of us wanting "Daddy," Adam, prince among men, decided to give it to me, because, number one, I'm the big old mushy softie in the family, and number two, that's just the kind of nice guy he is.

So, before the kids arrived, I was going to be "Daddy," and Adam was going to be "Dad." Done, signed, the ink was dry.

But the best laid plans of mice and men.

The kids nixed that one lickity-split. I outweigh Adam by the weight of a small pony, and because I'm bigger, more "solid" (again, my dignity-saving quotation marks) and I certainly have the capacity to yell a hell of a lot louder, it turns out I got to be plain old grouchy "Dad," and Adam got to be softer, gentler "Daddy." Damn the bad luck.

But really, it turns out it was 100% okay, because the first time they called me "Dad" in their sweet little voices, I melted on the spot. Dad I was, and Dad I'll forever be. From the first time I heard it, its resonance in my heart was perfectly in tune. "Dad" is who I unquestionably should be.

So...D&D. Dad and Daddy. Which means, if you Dungeon Masters are still paying attention, we still don't have a D/M. A Dad/Mom combination to fill our little nippers' lives with dual-gendered support.

Those of you who vote a little more on the red side of the curtain than I, will be pleased to hear when they dole out adoptive kids to two gay dads, they're at least very cautious during the interviews and paperwork to ask, repeatedly, "who will provide female role-modelship for the children?" As if to say, "listen, we're glad you're two nice men, and good luck with the whole fatherhood-times-two thing, but seriously, you better have a chick up your sleeve."

And God bless our family and friends, we have ever-present women aplenty.

These are the good, strong, remarkable women you want your children to emulate. The soft, nurturing, mothering forces you've always admired. The women you hope will never stop wrapping your children in their arms. A mother's love we can't provide. And we are blessed, learning, and letting go, hoping the envy in our hearts becomes the quiet joy of watching our children flourish in female care, knowing those hugs, kisses and cuddles on the couch from their abundant substitute-moms are exactly what they need now, and may we never discourage them from seeking more.

Mom, Mommy, Heidi, Jodi, Ingrid, Jenn, thank you. Dawn, Julie, Susie, Wendy, Aimee, Danielle, Sarah, Mariana, Marla -- all the beautiful, strong women our kids have already cuddled on the couch with -- our hearts are already full of gratitude for the roll you play, and will continue to play in their grand D&D adventure.

And to my sister Erin and my niece Jaime, who live now in Wisconsin, but decided this summer to be the ultimate frosting on our motherless cake -- thank you, most of all. We can't wait to have you in our lives, and in the lives of J1 and J2, when you move here to live with us in Las Vegas, just a few houses down the street, to provide daily, warm, mothering energy to two kids who will need it as they grow up. That's cool. That's family. Our four hearts are overjoyed knowing we'll see you both on November 7th.

To my own mom, Judy, who had Erin in her town and in her life, right beside her, for 39 years, and her granddaughter Jaime, her heart's treasure, for 18, you're perhaps the bravest of us all, Mom.

You're 71 years old now, and at a time in your life when you probably thought it would just be nice, comforting and fitting to have all your kids and grandkids right next to you, somehow you managed to find the courage and grace, at great pain to yourself, to say a difficult, geographical, hometown goodbye to the two people in the universe you hold the very dearest as they come out here to live with us.

It's hurt you immeasurably, but I love you so much, and I thank you. You're lending us the two people we need the most to start our new family, and it doesn't escape my attention for a moment what a courageous, selfless sacrifice that was for you, too. Every day, our gain is something that came at your expense, unanticipated and sad, but oh, how your grandbabies will be blessed for it, I promise you.

So. That's where we are folks.

D&D. Dad and Daddy.

Plenty of strong women already here, and reinforcements on the way. Good women, smart women, the kind of women you know will give your kids a good life, even when they're being raised by two gay dads, who very seldom think of themselves as two gay dads, except when they worry about not being moms.

When I was just a little girl,
I asked my mother, what will I be?
Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?
Here's what she said to me.

Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be.
The future's not ours to see.
Que sera, sera.

Thank you, Grandma Judy. See you soon, Aunt Erin and Aunt Jaime. We love you all very much and say this with the beautiful, hopeful confidence that comes with letting go and putting part of our children's lives in the helpful hands of the people who love us the most:

Our lives will be good.

And what will be, will be.

"Que Sera, Sera (Whatever Will Be, Will Be) c.1956 Jay Livingston and Ray Evans.