A Single Father’s Reflections on Parenthood, Assumptions, and Awkward Moments—
Sometimes I think it would have been much easier to simply lie to people who ask me and say:
“Yes, I’m gay.”
Not because it’s true — but because it would save me a lot of explanations.
Being a single man over fifty, living alone, rarely going out, and not often seen in the company of women somehow leads many people to the same conclusion. Over the years, as my solitude became more deeply rooted, that assumption turned into a familiar background noise in my life.
In the 1990s, like many others, I found comfort in seeing the world through Jerry Seinfeld’s cynical lens. I leaned heavily on his humor, especially one legendary line. Whenever I felt the need to explain that I wasn’t gay, I would add with a half-smile:
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
I hoped a little humor would deflect the conversation — at least until the next time it came up.
Assumptions, Labels, and Good Intentions
Let me be clear: I have nothing against the LGBTQ+ community. Truly. Many of the artists I admire belong to it, and everyone deserves to live exactly as they are. People should be free to love and define themselves in whatever way feels right to them.
And yet, there is something unsettling about how quickly assumptions are made. As if being quiet, single, and slightly off the expected script automatically places you into a predefined box — no questions asked.
This became far more noticeable when I began the surrogacy process. For many people around me, that was the final proof: a man choosing to become a single parent must be gay. Even after explaining, repeatedly, that I’m straight — always followed by the same Seinfeld line — the assumption persisted. It appeared in conversations, in paperwork, and even in official settings.
It was rarely said with malice. Usually it came wrapped in politeness, sometimes even warmth. But it still revealed something deeper about how easily we label people.
The Only Man on an Island of Women
Since my daughter Sara was born, I’ve often found myself as the only man in spaces that are, understandably, dominated by women. The peak of this experience came during the birth itself.
Try to imagine being the only man hospitalized in a maternity ward. I felt like a foreign agent who had accidentally wandered into sacred territory. An island of nursing mothers, conversations about breastfeeding, exhaustion, sore nipples — and there I was, standing next to a bassinet.
In the nursery, I received instructions on feeding and diapering alongside new mothers. But the most awkward moments happened in the cafeteria, when husbands came to visit their wives and found me sitting alone, eating, with my newborn daughter beside me. I felt their glances. I knew exactly what they were thinking.
And inside my head, my inner Jerry Seinfeld replied for me:
“Guys, I’m not gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
In those moments, I truly felt like the Seinfeld of the maternity ward.
Thankfully, at least one thing never happened — no one ever asked me if I needed help from a lactation consultant.
Fatherhood, Identity, and the Real Concern
Of course, it didn’t end at the hospital. At pediatric appointments, parenting clinics, and every place where new parents gather, I’m almost always the only man. The one people quietly label and move on from.
In the past, this bothered me deeply. It felt like a mark on my forehead. There were even moments when it led to tension, including at work. But since becoming a father, it affects me less. Maybe I’ve grown thicker skin. Maybe fatherhood simply recalibrated my priorities.
My real concern now isn’t about me.
It’s about Sara.
I know the day will come when she’ll have to explain why she doesn’t have a mother. I also know that questions about her father will follow. Children hear fragments, misunderstand them, and fill in the gaps. It often starts with adult whispers and quickly reaches young ears.
The near future keeps me awake at night. I pray that Sara grows up confident and strong, able to answer calmly if one day someone asks her:
“Is your dad gay?”
And if she replies, with effortless cool:
“No. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
Then I’ve done my job.
Like Family — We Don’t Choose It, We Learn to Live Together
I wish health, peace, and long lives to everyone — gay and straight alike.
And more than anything, I wish we could make fewer automatic assumptions and show a little more human curiosity.
In the end, we’re all just trying to raise our children with dignity.
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Read Next
If you’d like to read more about Sara and our life together, here are two more posts you might enjoy:
Beyond the Blog
Alongside this blog, I also give talks about late fatherhood, surrogacy, and the emotional journey of becoming a parent later in life.
Sara and Me 