A picture of some of Florida
Well, Florida finally did something right.
Last month, a circuit court judge in Florida made the decision to allow a gay man by the name Wayne LaRue Smith to legally adopt a son.
The boy had been living with Mr. Smith (and his partner Daniel) as a foster child for seven years; apparently seven years is all it takes for a Florida court to realize that you’re fit to adopt.
But the decision, though victorious for me and my proud homosexual race, wasn’t what caught my attention when I read about this business. (I have no interest in adopting any angsty, pubescent 12-year-old right now.)
Apparently, the 12-year-old’s teacher showed up in court to testify to how great the gay dads were as parents, and she had this to say:
“I must confess, the first year I had him [in class], knowing he was of gay parents, I looked for things, and I found nothing.”
I’m sorry… you looked for things? You looked for things? What kind of things exactly was this bitch looking for? Perhaps she waited behind her desk, hoping for the boy to walk in wearing a fabulous new pair of Prada loafers. Or that for “show and tell” he would come in and teach everyone new ways to apply their eye shadow.
Seriously? She was looking for conspicuous indicators that might tell her if he was turning out to be a homosexual. As if she was going to find him remodeling his cubby during recess. (Note: I know I’m citing hugely stereotypical gay traits that are not applicable to all — or even most — gay men.)
I’ve got news for you, teacher woman. My parents aren’t gay, and look how I ended up. (I ended up awesome like them, but also homosexual.) In fact, consider all of my gay friends — all of their parents are heterosexual, too.
Gay parents don’t make any more gay kids than heterosexual parents do.
Teacher: Why don’t you stick to teaching 6th grade, and leave the biological basis of sexuality to someone else?
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