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By Bob Gasper, Penn State Parents Council

As we start Pride Month at Penn State, I can’t stop thinking about a word someone used at a Parents Council meeting last year.

I joined the Parents Council in 2019, after my son started at University Park campus. Council often has guest speakers, some from administration, some professors—all in an effort to show us the state of things at State.

At this particular meeting, Brian Patchcoski, Assistant Vice President for Diversity, Equity, & Inclusion, was telling us about the Center for Sexual and Gender Diversity, and the programming that is available for students. Throughout his presentation, he kept calling the students “queer.” Repeatedly. The “queer students” do this. The “queer students” respond to that. I was really taken aback. I thought we had moved on from using the word “queer.”

It might be helpful if you knew a bit about my back story. I was born on the west bank of the Lackawanna River in Scranton, PA … Ok … maybe that’s a bit too far back. Here’s what you really need to know. I’m gay. I met my husband on the stage of Penn State’s Schwab auditorium. We had a marriage ceremony at a friend’s home in historic Boalsburg (not far from campus) back in 1992. We have two sons and one is a Penn State Agriculture Major, Class of 2022.

The 80s and 90s at Penn State were tumultuous times with us gays. (And, back then, the term “gay” encompassed everyone in the entire community). “We’re here! We’re queer!” had become one of the battle cries. The whole point was to re-appropriate the word “queer,” to take ownership of a word that had historically been used to as a derogatory term intended to belittle and shame. There was even a book in the 90s titled Beyond Queer—all about where the gay rights movement was headed.

So, at the council meeting, I raised my hand to ask if we, as parents, should be referring to students as “queer identified.” “It just didn’t feel quite right,” I said. “If our students have a friend who is gay or lesbian, do we show how ‘hip’ we are by knowing the lingo and asking during dinner ‘so how’s your queer friend?’” I’m finding that I’m practically afraid to speak at all so as not to potentially offend anyone.

Patchcoski said that, as with so many things, it depends on the context. Later, he emailed me. “Trust me, while I do this work for a living, it’s constantly moving and redefining itself,” he wrote. “Ultimately, it’s human work— and work that requires us to be vulnerable and supportive, even when it’s something we are not familiar with.”

To be perfectly honest, the whole situation also made me feel very old, and a little bit guilty for not keeping up with “what the kids are saying.” Sure, life gets busy. It’s tough enough to get through the day— work, dinner, laundry, binge watching Season 1 of Ted Lasso… not to mention a, you know, pandemic. Even the most well-meaning ally might find that it feels as if the language is a mine field and the mines keep moving.

I suppose I should explain what an “ally” is. For the LGBTQ+ community, an ally is a straight and/or cisgender person who supports and advocates for LGBTQ people. I also suppose I should define what “cisgender” means. I looked this one up. “Cisgender: a person whose sense of personal identity and gender corresponds with their birth sex.” And maybe I should also define LGBTQ+. It’s an acronym for “lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer or questioning” PLUS a bunch of other identities like intersex, asexual, ally, pansexual, agender, gender queer, bigender, gender variant, pangender and the list goes on and changes all…the…time.

It’s interesting to me that, included in the Plus is “ally.” As you know, being an ally is more than acceptance. Sonya Wilmoth, Interim Director for Penn State’s Center for Sexual and Gender Diversity, explains that being an ally is “active.” It’s more than just being cool with your friend being gay. I mean queer. Right? Queer. True allies advocate for the LGBTQ+ community. They aren’t just pro-queer; they’re anti-homophobic.

It’s a work in progress for all of us all the time. A very well-meaning friend, who has always been an ally-with-a-capital-A recently posted on Facebook: “Parenthood is not for sissies.” For someone who has been called a “sissy” countless times, that has quite a negative slant to it. I replied: “Sissies are truly some of the strongest and bravest people I have ever met.” Her joking reply: “Nothing. He lets us get away with nothing.” (Insert smiley face.)

Words really do matter. We’ve come a long way since I graduated in 1990. My husband and I have had six different “weddings.” Back in the 90’s I think we called it a “Commitment Ceremony.” Then came “New York Domestic Partnership” and then “Civil Union.” Then we moved to New Jersey … another “Domestic Partnership,” then another “Civil Union.” Then, there was our official “wedding”—finally!—during David’s lunch hour at a local burger joint in town. Our terms for each other have also shifted over the years. Boyfriend, partner, sweet baboo—until, one day, I said, “I think it’s time we start saying ‘husband'—so many people have fought a long time to give us the right to use that word.”

You may have noticed on some Penn State correspondences after a person’s signature they will list (he/him/his), (she/her/hers) or (they/them/theirs). These let everyone know what pronouns are used by each individual. Using someone’s correct personal pronouns is a way to respect them and create an inclusive environment. Conversely, actively choosing to ignore the pronouns someone has stated that they go by, could imply an oppressive notion that intersex, transgender, nonbinary, and gender nonconforming people do not or should not exist.

To be sure, it can be very confusing. Very. I was working with a student who, the first year I knew her, used “she/her/hers.” Then, the next year, it was “they/them/theirs.” I struggled to get it correct. I would try speaking slowly, literally one - word - at - a - time. I became tongue-tied. I messed up—several times. I appreciated that THEY were very understanding.

I’ve learned the key is simply to fix your mistake and move forward, and that asking for someone’s pronouns is OK to do after you share your own. It shows that you are coming from a place of inclusion in your language, and simply that you respect all identities. I found this website to be super helpful in learning how to navigate this: https://www.mypronouns.org/.

So, now you’re ready for Penn State’s Pride Month. Linguistically, at least.

I hope you now feel a bit more comfortable with some of the phraseology the “kids today” are using. You still may royally step on a language land mine—I know I have. Your goal is simple: to be respectful.

Remember what Patchcoski said: that this is all very human work. Human work is messy work. But it’s hugely important. Wilmoth notes that Penn State considers this all to be a human rights issue: “The university supports the whole person, and that support comes from President Barron on down.”

As parents, we won’t be perfect. But we certainly should join Penn State in its/their/our goal to provide greater inclusivity and a community that is truly welcoming to everyone, even if we take it one - word - at - a - time.