Does This Baby Make Me Look Straight?: Confessions of a Gay Dad by Dan Bucatinsky Page B

extra points out of that. I was always singing for my supper, putting on shows, acting like a clown, and generally trying to overcompensate for the fragile, anxious, bed-wetting gay boy in training (GBIT) that I was. I managed to get a lot of attention from my parents, thanks to both the anxiety and the clowning. Did my sister resent me for it? Probably. So I overcompensated. I supported her when she was struggling and I tried to lift her spirits when she was down.
    One of my earliest GBIT memories is of her winning the Barbie beauty pageant held by her friends in our building in Manhattan. Even at four I remember feeling a pure joy and relief I’ve rarely felt, if ever, since. I was similarly invested in my sister’s winning a spot on the junior varsity cheerleading squad. I almost cried when she made the squad. Perhaps, sadly, maybe even happier than she was about it.
    “Smile more this time!” I’d coach. “Louder! Say it like you mean it! And the left leg is starting to lag on the eagle jumps. You’re going to want to watch that.” She’d jump and cheer, then look at me for feedback.
    “Good! Do it again!” I’d shout. She’d jump and cheer.
    “That’s it! Yes! You’re awesome,” I’d cheer back at her. I remember feeling happy. Like it was us against the world and we would be okay as long as we stuck together. Perhaps seeing nearly everyone else as an obstacle to my happiness wasn’t the healthiest of attitudes, but it did foster a drive to work together with a partner against a common enemy.
    So why now all these years later does this competitive drive of mine surprise me so much in my relationship with another man, living, working, raising a family? It doesn’t always feel like we’re working together against a common enemy. It’s trickier, navigating the power in our marriage and our roles as parents. Who decides what? Who compromises? I think there are certain unwritten rules in the straight-parent couples I know. Dad’s voice is heard but Mom’s is listened to. She dictates the schedule, the menu, and the itinerary. The who/what/where and when. And Dad doesn’t even try. But in a same-sex couple? It can sometimes feel like two magnets approaching each other from the wrong sides. Here’s a conversation Don and I have had, sadly, more than once:
    Dan: “I told the kids they had to be in bed by seven thirty.”
    Don: “Oh, I told them they could watch a movie.”
    Dan: “Right. But I said no movie. I don’t want to back down and lose all credibility with them.”
    Don: “Right. But wouldn’t I lose credibility if I back off the movie thing?”
    Dan: “Or you could come off as supporting what Daddy said. What movie?”
    Don: “ Over the Hedge , and how about you coming off like you support Papi ?”
    Dan: “That movie is rated PG.”
    Don: “So? It’s animated. It’s cute. It’s not scary.”
    Dan: “Maybe it’s not scary to you, but to a three-year-old? You know what cortisol is? It’s a fear hormone secreted in the brain. Movies like that trigger—”
    Don: “Okay. You’re fucking crazy, you know that? What gets secreted in their brain from having a fucking crazy daddy?”
    Dan: “I’m crazy for caring about what my kids are exposed to? According to commonsensemedia.org, that movie’s not for kids under ten. Our kids are five and three. That doesn’t even add up to ten!”
    Don: “I guess I just don’t care enough about my kids to pick a movie that freakyself-righteousparents.com recommends. You’re a better parent all the way around. Congratulations. You win!”
    Dan: “Feels better to say it out loud, doesn’t it?”
    All the issues a man has in this society about feeling relevant and powerful, productive and successful, multiplied by two? It’s tricky, being a man in a relationship with another man who is also by nature competitive. Add to that the fact that we’re two creative artists straining to catch a drop or two from the stingy tit of show business in a