Every family has a story. Very few have one like ours.
My name is Joe. I am a single gay man, and for the past fifteen years, I’ve had the usually good—and sometimes great—fortune to be dad to Daveon, now twenty-three, and Mark, now twenty-one. Our decade and a half together has been . . . wow . . . has it been.
Magic Lessons: Celebratory and Cautionary Tales about Life as a (Single, Gay, Transracially Adoptive) Dad is a collection of stories and reflections: part memoir, part lessons learned. It’s based on a simple premise: Alternative families are people, too.
The book includes everything from the kids’ first trip back east to meet Grandma, the aunts, the uncles, and the cousins, to our strange but ongoing relationship with the Queen of England, to Dad’s through-the-looking-glass experience of being a gay parent in a straight world. Along the way it touches on topics of race, single parenthood, and sexuality.
If the book were a graphic, it would be a set of concentric circles. At the center are stories and issues particular to transracial adoptive families. In a larger circle around these are stories and lessons that apply to adoptive families of all types. And in the largest outer circle are observations that apply to parenting in general.
The book is divided into two main parts. The first one, “Magic,” falls more on the memoir side of the equation. These are the stories of how we became “us,” followed by some of the more notable qualities and quirks that define us. The second section, “Lessons,” presents snapshots of the experiences that taught this (single, gay, transracially adoptive) dad what being a (single, gay, transracially adoptive) dad is all about—including the pains, struggles, and major mistakes. With a few parenting approaches and techniques thrown in for good measure.
How do the two halves make a whole? I think about it like this: Fairly early in my life as a parent, I found myself caught in the (not-uncommon) loop of harping on all the annoyances, inconveniences, and aggravations that were part of the daily grind. I spend my life in my car! I spend my life (in the car and out) providing all these openings for my kids to be honest, expressive, and happy—and they’re still often sneaky, bratty, and closed-off! Straight people—don’t get me started! And so on.
It took me only about five years to recognize what I was doing. (Never let it be said that I’m a quick learner.) When the light bulb finally went off about how my mental world was built around complaints, I made a conscious decision to—at least occasionally—take a breath and think about what went right on any particular day. This, in turn, helped me realize that my time with the kids actually included a large number of magic moments—things that didn’t just go right, but were fun and funny and amazing. And maybe this is just a case of rose-colored glasses, but I would swear that the more I paid attention to magic moments, the more of them occurred.
So, in a way, the entire first half of the book represents what might be my first parenting lesson: The more you focus on the positive aspects of your life with your kids, the more positives there are to focus on.
I think Daveon put it best: “You should write about our life, Dad, because we’re a success story! Maybe we can inspire or help other adoptive families.” So consider the “Magic” section a snapshot of some of our more notable successes—and, if applicable, may they inspire and help you.
It works in reverse for the second half. Reminding myself of our little magical core often helped make some of the more difficult, even painful, lessons of parenting easier to bear. I hope that, by sharing our ups and downs, our story might provide some encouragement or insight—especially when you’re facing challenging lessons of your own. May “Lessons” help you remember that you’re not alone—and maybe provide a solution or two that you’ll find helpful.
There’s also a short third section, “Empty Nest,” that answers the question: “What happens to magic and lessons when your kids grow up and move on?”
This is book is, of course, for anyone who is part of, or considering creating, an alternative family structure—especially, but certainly not limited to, LGBTQ prospective or current adoptive parents and their kids. More broadly, I hope it might speak to those who consider themselves, or their life, alternative in any way. By sharing a bit about who the boys and I are and some of the things we were up against, I would be happy to make even a small contribution toward normalizing the experience of anyone who feels different. And maybe, just maybe, help to dissolve the distinction between “different” and “normal” in some tiny way.