Right

There was absolutely nothing remarkable about our walk this afternoon. It was another cold, dreary day with small breaks between storms and clouds, which have amassed over the mountains and spilled down on us in unending increments for the past week. The grass is green but the ground beneath it is soggy and makes sucking noises when stepped on. The soccer parents have gathered despite the weather, wrapped in blankets and huddled together, or sometimes sitting alone in their cars talking on their phones while their children slide through the wet muck that is the playing fields. The kids are determined and some of their dedication seems to have rubbed off on a few parents. Today as Duncan pulled me down the sidewalk, past the running cars, around various trees and garbage cans, winding between the few milling parents, we passed a couple who were leaning into one another, their hands intertwined while they watched whichever running, splashing, kicking child was theirs. They were ordinary in every way and it wasn't until we'd moved down the sidewalk and turned toward the empty baseball diamonds that I noticed what wasn't even worth noticing: they were both women. Fifteen years ago it would've caused a stir not only in this conservative, middle-class Mormon corner of Denver but in much of the country as well. And here they were, not flaunting anything, not turning their love for each other into a political statement, not protesting or picketing; they were simply standing together watching their child play soccer, doing exactly as all the other parents were doing. But the part that does deserve attention, was that no one seemed to care. Not in the slightest bit. In a sense they were like Duncan, who doesn't seem to notice that he has two daddies (actually he has only one, Ken. I'm his Papa). Duncan only cares that he has someone to love him and someone to love in return, which, I think, is what most of us want. In that sense we are all exactly alike.

*Images borrowed from Animal Clinic Calgary and Google Images