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Allies' Voices

A Mother's Witness

Speech given by Marolyn Frogley (1932-1995)
November, 1994
University of Utah

I grew up in Canada and spent all my summers in Waterton Lakes National Park. Our most exciting game was to hunt for bears. We usually found them. We would play a game of seeing how close we dared get to the bear. But our parents always told us to never tease a bear if there were ever any cubs close. Mother bears with cubs around were very aggressive and dangerous. I am very much like those mother bears we used to encounter. So if my remarks tonight are a little militant or acerbic just chalk it up to the mother bear in me.

One New Year's night two years ago, my son was pacing nervously saying he had something to tell us. Little did I realize the change that particular conversation that night would make in my life. As he talked about the Kinsey scale explaining where he thought he fit on it, my original response was, "You're wrong," knowing deep down in my heart that he wasn't wrong. My next response, was, "Then you can be celibate! With our longevity gene, you only have to be alone for about 45 more years," again knowing that deep down in my heart I was not being realistic. And I remember the intensity of his reply when he said, "I will not be alone the rest of my life."

I've thought of that conversation many times, and how easy it was for me to proscribe his celibacy from my little cookie-cutter existence. I who have never known loneliness. I who always had someone. I who know the strength and comfort that comes with a loving and committed relationship. I, who have many children and grandchildren to fill up my life. I who have the legal and religious right to choose my way of life. I who know the strength and comfort that comes from always having someone close who loves and cares. How easy for me to quote a doctrine of a church whose very own prophet (Howard W. Hunter) found singleness at age 86 not a happy condition and chose marriage at age 86. How lucky he is to have that religious and legal option.

After that New Year's night conversation of course I went through the usual gamut of emotions that all you parents out there know only too well. There were many tears. My husband was very patient and kind as I switched from anger to tears and back again. Anger is so consuming that sometimes it felt so good. My anger of course was for all of the hateful rhetoric that lurks out there and has trickled down into our churches and homes. The Jerry Falwells with their Chicken Little mentality of misinformation and abuse. One thing I want to make very clear. My tears were never because of my son's sexual orientation. I could not love and be more proud of him. I would not change one thing about him. My tears were because I literally and physically hurt when I thought of all those fragile miserable years of his growing up, trying to reconcile his feelings with what he knew was the "accepted" way to feel. Ulcers and depression were a very real part of his life and as we have talked more he tells us suicide pervaded his thoughts during his Junior High years. My tears were because I wasn't there and as perceptive as I should have been. How I wish there had been a few words in a text book, explaining the subject or an enlightened and understanding Bishop to talk with. Many times since I have asked Kent "What were you thinking all those years, on your mission, after your mission, as you dated girls, as you talked about marriage. As you tried to make relationships work. His answer was always, "I kept thinking I would change." "Pray hard enough and you will change." That is probably the most destructive little piece of advice that a well meaning prophet has ever given.

In the meantime such conservative groups as Eagle Forum, the Christian Right, the Pat Robertsons are out there dealing their fatal blows of lies and misinformation to the fragile feelings of our children. And we watch for the telltale obituaries that inform us that one more child has given up the fight.

A few weeks ago a group of us parents went to San Francisco to a P-Flag Conference. I wasn't sure what to expect knowing that big liberal city and its wicked reputation. I wondered if I might find myself parading down Market Street carrying a sign saying something like "My patron Saint is St. Francis, a sissy." I was so very pleasantly surprised. It more resembled a BYU Leadership conference. There was a very strong feeling of love and support from those parents of SSO [same-sex orientation] children. The interesting thing was that not once did I hear the word change, or choice, or reparative therapy. Those parents dearly loved and accepted their children just exactly as they were. It was then I decided it was time. I had been indulging myself in this insidious silence that affects all of us but helps none of us. Silence is not a healthy condition especially for me who has always valued dialogue, interaction and discussion. If I as a parent can't talk and break down the "fact-proof screen" between myth and reality, that has clouded this whole issue, then when will our children ever be validated as the wonderful productive citizens that they are in our society. When we as parents are silent we have also taken a stand. My silence sends many wrong messages. My silence is helping others to avoid their own prejudice. My silence says that I believe the lies and gay bashing that so-called Christians have turned into an art form. My silence says I am content with the institutionalized discrimination that occurs in churches and society. My silence says I agree with those religious zealots who have hijacked the word Christian and redefined it to mean "sanctified hatred." My silence says I am intimidated by a religion that defines itself by whom it excludes. With the black issue I grew up with institutionalized discrimination. I learned to tolerate it because it didn't directly affect me. I threw off any feelings of guilt because a centralized body I trusted condoned it. Is this why friends and family have become so adept at desensitizing themselves to this issue?

How can I be open to any religious truth when I associate it with persecution and exclusion? My silence says I choose secrecy and martyrdom over openness and dialogue. My silence says I value other's good will and opinion, and approval rather than speaking out to defend those in this marginalized minority who are maligned. My silence says I will allow others to define what my own experience, common sense and intelligence as a mother know to be true about my child. My silence says that I agree with friends, family and church as they look with utter scorn on the legitimate emotions that my son was born with.

The story of Abraham and Isaac was never my favorite. Are we as parents sacrificing our children on the altar of a hormonal miscue? It makes no sense to my pragmatic nature. We are discarding our choicest spirits.

I would like to formulate a beatitude for our Family Fellowship group. Blessed is the one who rescues the sheep the shepherds have chased from the flock. I believe that Christ's church has room for everyone. If not then it only becomes a museum for perfected Saints. And anybody who's been to a museum knows that everything in there has already died.

Christ exhorted us to "love one another." We love others by serving, listening and understanding—or maybe even serving and listening without complete understanding, but with a love that encompasses and includes—not one that isolates and alienates us as children of God.