Amy Hirshberg Lederman is a writer, educator and attorney in Tucson.

Education
Assessment Technology, Inc
Social Studies Content Writer General
CORT
WAREHOUSE/DRIVER Construction
Komatsu Equipment Co
Mechanic Health Care
Rio Salado College
PA's/Online Instructors General
CORT
Warehouse Supervisor

I am officially coming out of the closet — not as a lesbian myself, but as the mother of a gay son. It's taken me years to "out" myself, primarily out of respect for my son's privacy and because it should be him, and not me, who decides if, when and to whom to disclose his sexual orientation. But he has been gracious and bold enough to give me permission to write this in the hopes that what I share may open the hearts and minds of others.

Joshua came out to his dad and me the night before he left for college. We were not surprised; in fact, we were deeply grateful and relieved. Grateful that he trusted us enough to tell us, and relieved because we suspected he was gay for many years and it was wonderful not have to dance around the issue any more.

Yet being openly gay requires giving up something we all value, our privacy. It means that your sexuality is a topic that others can, and most likely will, discuss — and often in unkind ways. Even if this openness has helped our society become more aware that many of the people we know and care about are gay, there is an undeniable social stigma for those who admit to being part of the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender community.

I grew up in a home where homosexuality was never discussed until I brought my best friend, Rick, home from college and learned the ugly meaning of the Yiddish word "fagelah." My parents and I parted ways, with me fuming at what I saw as their ignorance and prejudice and them worrying that they had sent me to a college far too liberal for my own good. I was convinced that my father was homophobic, and given the period and attitudes in which he grew up, I was probably right.

After Joshua came out, we asked him how he felt about us telling others that he was gay. He said it was fine with him but then hesitated and said, "But don't tell Grandpa because I'm afraid it will change the way he feels about me."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat and thought, "Some things don't have to be said to be understood."

Time passed, and I could tell my parents suspected Joshua was gay. I asked Joshua if he still felt the same about me not telling his grandfather. I knew my father adored him, and he must have known that, too, because he told me it was OK to tell him. So I did.

I began the conversation somewhat defensively, but when I told my father that Joshua was gay, he responded simply and without hesitation. "I love my grandson and as far as I'm concerned, his sexuality is a nonissue," he said.

And that was the end of the conversation. Thirty five years and a grandson later, my father opened his mind and heart to loving someone so completely that he was able to set aside his previous feelings in order to be close to his grandson. I sat still, moved beyond words to be a witness to this transformation. Everything I might have harbored against my dad, the pain and injustices of my own youth, was forgiven in an instant of his unconditional love.

But it is not only my father who has changed. My religious tradition has also evolved over time to accept the reality of homosexuality as a way of life and a part of the human condition.

For many years, the reform, reconstructionist and renewal movements of Judaism have ordained gay and lesbian clergy and permitted rabbis to officiate at same-sex commitment ceremonies. In December 2006, after years of debate, the conservative movement voted to permit the ordination of gay and lesbian rabbinical students and permit same-sex unions. It also left in place the prior ban against gay unions, leaving individual rabbis and congregations to choose which ruling to follow.

I am the proud mother of a gay son and I am also a proud Jew. Proud that my son is the person who he is and proud that my religious tradition has evolved in such a way to embrace every member of my family equally.