Reading about a shocking anti-LGBTQ legal case from Indiana last week, I flashed back on my struggles to become a gay dad. My partner and I had to fight because authorities didn’t understand queer families and didn’t have the tools to evaluate us equally. More on Indiana in a second, but for just a moment, let me show you how it feels to be LGBTQ and fight for parental love.

There’s a lot of love in this room

My boyfriend and I, along with our not-yet-official foster son Brent, suffered a lot of prickly nerves and sour stomachs before the senior case manager’s words let the air out of our tension.

I was actually sweating through crisp air conditioning when I walked in. How intimidating to have love on the line and face down a finger-drumming older woman in a business suit sitting beside a young man in a tie holding a clipboard.

The boy who had become part of our family ran to his social worker Gloria — the third person in the room — as soon as we walked in. He was all smiles and hugs in his brand new chinos and polo shirt, but she cut him short. “Brent, go sit over there with Jason and Jim, please.”

We weren’t on trial, but it sure felt like it.

While the stone-faced man scribbled notes, the case manager started things off with a brisk voice. “I’m glad you could come, because it’s important I meet you personally. Understand this is all highly irregular, and I’m not quite sure what to do.”

I watched Brent’s smile melt off his face as his eyes widened

I wasn’t surprised. I knew social services weren’t going to hand over a barely 14-year-old boy to be raised by two gay men — the younger not much more than a decade older than the boy — without some tough examination.

Gloria had told us not to worry too much but to do our homework. “Be absolutely honest,” she advised, “no matter how trivial a question might sound. Don’t even come close to shading the truth. If they catch so much as a hint you aren’t being transparent, you can kiss Brent goodbye.”

Why!? I wanted to howl. What have we queer folks ever done to deserve you trying to hurt us like this?

That was the one time her grandmotherly Jamaican accent didn’t comfort me. She was Brent’s fierce and devoted protector, but as I applied to become his official guardian, most of the power trickled out of her hands. She wanted him with us, but his placement wasn’t her call.

She told us we didn’t need a lawyer and that having one wouldn’t help, but Jason and I sat down with our immigration attorney before the meeting anyway. We didn’t have any legal questions, but he was used to dealing with government bureaucrats so we wanted his wisdom.

He recommended dressing down but nice. “A business suit will make them feel like you’re competing with their authority. Chinos and a sport short. Or even dress jeans and a nice shirt. Look humble and be humble when you walk in that room.”

He stirred his martini and wished us luck.

The subway ride over to the government building was hard. Brent was bubbly and looking forward to a special lunch treat after the meeting, poutine with smoked meat. He didn’t understand how consequential the day was, because Jason and I chose not to tell him.

I later regretted the harsh shock he got, but my protective mistake might have worked out for the best.

The case manager started in with almost no preamble

“Jason, what will you do on a Saturday night when your friends ask you to a party and nobody’s home to watch Brent? Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. Can you give me a set of workable solutions?”

“Jim, what will you do on a school morning if you have an important meeting at work and Brent’s throwing up in the bathroom?”

Those were easy questions.

Brent backed up our responsible care with first-person bellyaching! We didn’t leave him home alone enough even though he was “way old enough to take care of myself.” I explained about the parents across the street who helped us out sometimes. As in, it takes a village.

I started smiling and cooling down, then the questions got tough.

“Jim, your partner is ten years younger than you. Is that a pattern? How will you feel about Brent a few years from now when he looks more mature?”

I thought, What the hell, lady! while I tried to keep my face neutral.

The question pissed me off, not because I thought she shouldn’t have asked, but that she asked in front of Brent. He was young for his age, still prepubescent owing to a hormone imbalance caused by abuse and malnutrition early in life. He was barely sexually cognizant. I explained that most of my lovers, including my late partner Lenny, had been older than me, but I was shy about getting into details with Brent sitting right beside me.

That’s when he started getting upset. Five minutes into the questioning (grilling?) I could see he realized continuing to live with us was not a given.

I don’t remember which question set him off, but something produced a near tantrum. He jumped up, threw himself at me in a long hug, then huddled in a corner, crying.

Jason knelt and comforted him.

That’s when the severe-looking case manager melted. “I can see there’s a lot of love in this room,” she said after a short cough. She nodded at the note-taking young man and then at Gloria. “I may not be able to quantify that, but I shall certainly take it into account.”

Brent blinked a pair of teary eyelashes at her, throwing her a smile she returned with evident warmth. “Well, if we can just work through three or four more questions, young man, perhaps we can have you out of here in time for a nice lunch.”

My certification as a foster parent arrived in the mail about a week later, along with news of Brent’s placement with me. To say we celebrated is to do a complete disservice to the word celebrate, but that’s a story for another day.

Brent is all grown up now

It took a while, but he mostly recovered from his early abuse. He’s much taller than me and older than that serious young man with the tie and clipboard. Years later, Brent surprised me by claiming most of his tears at that meeting had been of the crocodile variety.

I’m not sure I buy it, but if true he deserves an Academy Award.

Tears shouldn’t have been necessary, of course, any more necessary than my answers to intrusive sexual questions posed in front of a child. But young as he was, Brent understood what I understood. Queer families have to fight if they expect to be treated with anything approaching equality.

To be fair, this happened a long time ago, and the case manager was outside her comfort and experience zone. In some places, things have gotten a lot better. The reason I’m writing this story is that families like ours still have to fight too hard in many parts of the US.

LGBTQ familes face obstacles to love

Queer families today often face obstacles to equality and happiness, often deliberately, with no severe case manager around whose heart can melt at a show of genuine love.

As a gay dad, I follow LGBTQ family news pretty closely. The issue matters deeply to me and the people I care about.

I’ve written at length about, for example, how the U.S. State Department goes the extra mile to deny same-sex parents the right to pass their US citizenship to their children.

I don’t write about the problem just because the unfairness outrages me (as it probably will you) but because I can’t wrap my mind around the denial of love. At least when Brent, Jason, and I sat in that room, real love meant something. Whether Brent’s tears were fake or not, love won the day.

And shouldn’t it?

Isn’t that what it means to live in a society with laws and rules designed to protect the weak and increase the welfare of all? Shouldn’t love for our neighbors be the driving spirit of how we order our communities?

What’s happening in Indiana is outrageous

When I read in Slate last week that the State of Indiana is suing to strip parental rights from eight women in same-sex marriages — in identical sperm-donor situations to parents in mixed-sex marriages whose rights are never questioned — my stomach clenched.

Why!? I wanted to howl. What have we queer folks ever done to deserve you trying to hurt us like this?

The legal details are interesting if you want to read Mark Joseph Stern’s analysis, but it’s the human details I want to write about today. I’d like to know why the State of Indiana has so carefully strategized, so well timed their case, that it’s likely to be granted favorable review by the Supreme Court.

What cold-hearted human being decided that?

How could they have decided to take proactive steps to terminate the parental rights of women who have been mothers to their children for years? How could they decide the State has a legitimate interest in stripping the rights of even those mothers who carried the children in their own uteruses and gave birth to them?

Is there a point besides cruelty? I can’t imagine what that point might be.

Stern is afraid the high court’s new conservative majority will look favorably on the case, Box v. Henderson, using it to start whittling away at Obergefell v. Hodges’ guarantees of equal marriage.

I’m afraid of that too, but mostly I’m afraid of the implications of living in a society where the love of a parent for a child holds little value. How did we get to this dark place, and how do we climb out of it?

James Finn is a gay dad, a former Air Force intelligence analyst, long-time LGBTQ activist, an alumnus of Queer Nation and Act Up NY, an essayist occasionally published in queer news outlets, and an “agented” novelist. Send questions, comments, and story ideas to jamesfinnwrites@gmail.com.