Where Does A Gay Man Fit In At A Co-Ed Baby Shower?

When you don’t fit in with the men watching football or the women discussing breastfeeding at a baby shower, where do you go?

I often write about street harassment—a phenomenon that focuses on public spaces as (heterosexual) male spaces. And when I arrived to set up for my sister’s baby shower this past weekend, I assumed that, much like the street and other public areas, spaces would be gendered there as well. I knew several male relatives would be present (in addition to a few other men) and was certain there would be somewhat of a divide. But when I entered the host’s home, as he showed me around his house (well, mansion really), I was sort of surprised by how explicit he was in pointing out exactly where he thought the men should spend their time (in a separate part of the house watching football) and exactly where he thought the women would sit (and, you know, do whatever they do). No exceptions. He even made loud roaring noises to explain why he would need to close some doors between the two groups.

After I heard this explanation, I immediately began taking notes on my phone. If gendering the spaces within his home was such a huge priority for him, I was certain I’d need to write about it later.

And I have to say, it made me really uncomfortable. While I wasn’t completely sure that I wanted to spend a couple hours eating, playing games, and opening presents with a room full of women (and babies) anxious to talk about baby-related things, I definitely knew I didn’t want to sit in a room full of men watching football. Those were my only two options though, as ordained by the host. I really didn’t feel like I belonged in this vision of what men and women should want or have to do at a baby shower. Or anywhere. But I had to make a decision.

I chose to stay with the women since I was, after all, there to see my family. I sort of felt like Kurt on Glee, always opting to be on the women’s side of the room whenever Mr. Schuester split up the glee club by gender.

As a gay man, it’s similar to the feeling of seeing a heterosexual couple walking down the street holding hands and thinking “I can’t do that without being harassed,” or of hearing them talk about their impending marriage and considering whether that will ever be a legal possibility for me. Spending time around that many women—some with babies, some without—was a reminder that, even if I wanted children, my path to becoming a father probably wouldn’t be easy (and definitely not traditional).

If I had thought (prior to accepting the shower invitation) about how I might feel while in attendance, I may have considered declining—though I’m not sure that anyone would have accepted my explanation. And I know it could have been a lot worse.

My sister does not know the sex of her baby, and the gifts she registered for reflected that. But her list accidentally included blue blankets that, unbeknownst to her, had cars on them. And my dad, so certain he will soon have another grandson, bought them. There was some chatter about this, and I jokingly made the comment that the blankets were clearly for boys because girls can’t drive (that’s something only boys do, right?). When my dad came into the room and someone commented on his car theme (he also bought my sister a car seat), he was quick to talk about the car blankets. “GIRLS CAN DRIVE TOO,” I shouted, but he only responded with “they’re blue blankets!”

And he was right, they were blue blankets. But that doesn’t mean they are reserved for male use only. If the blankets happened to have donkeys on them to signify the Democratic Party, I know my dad would have never bought them. But cars? Definitely. They’re blue AND have cars on them, so they were surely manufactured for little boys. This was the sort of gendered logic that I expected to encounter at a baby shower and, quite honestly, I knew going into it that I’d probably have something to write about when I got home. I knew I would hear some things I didn’t want to hear.

But what I was surprised by was how this environment affected me personally (which I know may be a little selfish to think about). Being trapped in this particularly heteronormative setting forced me to replay in my mind all the times I’ve felt that I didn’t belong because of my identity. What many may view as normal or traditional temporal realities—like getting married or having children—I see as events that may or may not happen for me depending on social and legal shifts, or depending on how much money I’m willing to spend to travel elsewhere to marry or to take advantage of certain reproductive possibilities.

I suppose I shouldn’t be thinking about this when I’m at a baby shower to support my sister, but I sort of can’t help it. It’s difficult to overhear conversations daily that remind me of the unequal opportunities present in some of the most important decisions people will make in their lives. And as I’ve written about before, I’m aware of my privilege. I know that this probably seems trivial compared to the struggles of others, such as those who are economically-disadvantaged and have similar and more serious concerns. But it’s still a struggle, and something I wish people recognized more often. I’m not blaming every heterosexual person for being heterosexual and for doing heterosexual things, but I think it’s important, at least every now and then, to talk about it. It’s one of those daily, internal battles that we face as a community—and something that I think needs to be shared.

Patrick McNeil is finishing his Women’s Studies master’s thesis at The George Washington University in Washington, D.C. His work focuses on whether and how gay and bisexual men experience street harassment and how this form of harassment intersects with and diverges from the gender-based street harassment of women. You can follow him on Twitter at @patrickryne.

Related Links:

Posted in Life and ,