After years of planning and months of emotional anticipation, my partner gave birth to our first child in February of 2011. Eva is awesome and considerably well-adjusted for having two moms. That’s the catch and what I hope to point out. Twice a month, I will be sharing traditional stories happening in an untraditional family. There are differences and challenges my partner and I will experience as a same-sex parenting team, but at the end of the day we are like any other parents. We are two people who love our daughter.
The surprisingly popular Bible mini-series on History Channel forgot an episode. The influence of God was alive and well—I guess—on the streets in front of California’s Supreme Court as arguments surrounding the Defense of Marriage Act and Proposition 8 were presented a couple of weeks ago. In a parallel scene to Moses parting the Red Sea, police officers separated two sides of one topic: God Hates Fags vs. Reasonable Facts.
History will be made by the minds of many judges, not one almighty judge in the sky. The court will decide the fate of my family around the same time my twin boys will be born this summer. No matter what the verdict, I will hold, love, and protect my kids in a way only their mother can, even if I am not biologically related.
My partner and I are not prepared for these boys. We don’t have car seats, cribs, or even names picked out for them. I don’t have time to write a to-do list to get organized, so I certainly don’t have time to argue with the God Hates Fags people. If I can’t convince my daughter to sit in her chair during dinner, I am certainly not going to change the minds of God fearing Christians bearing witness.
But just like I question my daughter’s desire to dance in her chair rather than sit, I have questions for the good people of the Westboro Baptist Church, who proudly endorse the God Hates Fags message. If I’m not mistaken, they are an extension of God and by questioning them, I am questioning God, which is encouraged to strengthen faith, or so I heard during my youthful years of attending a church full of born again Christians.
So here goes. Why don’t the picket signs read “God Abhors Fags”? That’s the word used in the scripture quoted on their website. Is that word too hard to spell? Do the good followers not understand what abhor means?
Does God hate fags only, or does he also hate lesbians and the entire rainbow of people who are not identified as straight? The message is a bit confusing and should be more comprehensive. Does he hate the kids of fags, friends of fags? Seriously, be more clear.
And if God was such a hetero, why did he create a man to keep him company? I guess Adam wasn’t so much a roommate as much as someone for God to watch, teach and test. Creepy, but still, why not create a hot chick first?
And what is Jesus’ take on the subject? All bets are off if you don’t agree with him, right? I mean, if he’s the guy I am supposed to ask to be my Savior and passport to Heaven, what do I care what God thinks?
I debated on bursting the bubble of religious mystery, but I’m going to come right out and say it: God speaks to me too. What God really hates are Cool Ranch Doritos.
He hates that they are so delicious and how he can’t resist eating a whole bag in one sitting, as if he were his stoner son plagued with the munchies. He hates the way the yellow flavoring on the chips coats his fingers. Don’t get him started on how much he hates the blue, unidentifiable flecks of seasoning that get stuck between his front teeth. And despite brushing his teeth multiple times after eating Cool Ranch Doritos, he really hates the way his breath always smells like cat vomit.
God also hates suspenders; buy a belt for Christ’s sake. And rumor has it God hates scones, bookmarks, and liquid shower gel too. What’s wrong with good ol’ fashioned bar soap? God’s not real thrilled with his hippie son either. The hair, dress, and sandals are almost too much to take.
But Jesus is his son and he loves him unconditionally. More importantly, Jesus always keeps a stash of Doritos on hand. And as much as God hates them, he can’t get enough of those triangular bursts of addicting flavor. Whether he acts on his desire to tear open a blue bag of temptation, or torture himself with restraint, I dare say his Cool Ranch loving taste buds are not a choice. They exist and God loves to hate them.