When I first
started writing, I had no idea it’d be ten loooong
years before I’d make enough money to exceed the poverty level. To pay my
fair share of living expenses, I took a part-time job in a school working
with special-needs kids. They weren’t physically or intellectually
challenged; most were falling behind because of absences, learning styles
differences, dysfunctional families, or emotional burdens children should
never be forced to bear. (Define “ One day I was
in the teacher’s lounge eavesdropping on a group of teachers. Parent-teacher
conferences were coming up and one teacher said, “I made these special
certificates for any of the fathers who come. What if both of Nick’s moms
come?” Another
teacher said, “I know. I was going to teach a family unit and now, with Nick
in my class, I can’t.” Why not? I
wondered. For years this simmering anger grew in my gut. Why can’t you teach
a family unit because one of your students has lesbian parents? What if a kid
had bi-racial parents? Would that be okay? Would a single-parent family be
acceptable? What about a blended family, or a kid who lives with relatives or
in foster care? Are those families ones you could
validate as a “family unit”? Twelve years
and that snatch of conversation never left me. To get it out of my head, and
to explore my feelings about alternative families, I knew I’d have to write a
story. One story became many stories and their interleaving became the book, Between Mom and Jo. The challenge
of writing queer literature for mainstream audiences is two-fold: First,
finding the universal truths that any reader can relate to (our
commonalities), and second, embracing our extraordinary differences. Not
special—out of the ordinary. A child of gay parents has unique issues to deal
with—in his family, extended family, at school, in a society where he’ll be
called upon to defend his parents at some point in time. Overcoming misunderstanding,
oppression and bigotry give our stories a particular depth. I always consider
sharing our stories an opportunity to expand a reader’s knowledge of the
range of human experience. In Between Mom and Jo I wanted to answer
these questions: Is the bond between a boy and his mother different from the
one he forms with a father? If it is (and I believed it was) what would
happen if a boy with two mothers, whom he loves equally, is put in the
position of having to choose between them? To feel Nick’s
love for each of his mothers and experience how the three of them function as
a family, I wanted readers to grow up with Nick. When I began, all I had were
random vignettes—Nick with Erin, his biological mom, Nick with Jo, his heart
mom, Nick with Mom and Jo, Nick at school, Nick at home. One day this vision
of a watermelon seed taped to a sheet of scrapbook paper provided the flash
of inspiration I needed to pull the book together. The intricate structure is
somewhat experimental, since it requires readers to empathize with a
three-year-old Nick in the beginning, and to stay with him until the end of
his journey at age 14. But I always trust young adult readers to explode all
the myths about their reading habits. Between Mom and Jo earned me my first ever Lambda
Literary Award (yay). I’d love if it you’d give
this book a read and drop me a note to let me know if Nick should be allowed
to have any more pets. (You’ll have to read the book to get that joke J.) © Julie |
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