Zeca has two rubber ducks in tuxedos and top hats. We got them at Pride many years ago but she only recently dug them out of the toy bin to play with them in the tub. Last night, she held both in her hands and told me a story: “These two ducks are gay and they are the two dads to this duck.” She says this as she points to a smaller yellow duck wearing a blue scarf. “You see, they are a family of boys - just boys.”
She releases the ducks back into the tub and picks up a scuba diver. “This is a diver and he is trying to kill the shark.” She allows the scuba diver to sink beneath the water and reaches around under the surface until she pulls up the shark. “And this is the shark who wants to eat the ducks.” She looks at me to make sure that I understand the gravity of the situation. I furrow my brow and nod and only then does she allow the shark to descend into the murky depths.
She picks up one of the daddy ducks. “When this duck goes under water to look for the shark, that one stays on top to take care of their son.” Then, she picks up the other dad and says, “Sometimes, this dad goes under water to look for the shark while the other dad stays on top to watch the child.”
This is a sensible family of ducks.
I say, “Well, that’s how it works in families, isn’t it?” My question is a wish, a shiny penny thrown into her bathwater. She watches the ducks for a few seconds before turning to me and saying, “Yes. Yes, it is.” And with her simple assertion, my wish comes true.