This is a story about love, resilience, and the challenges of single gay parenting. It spans many years and countless moments that defined not just my life, but the life of my son—a boy who found a home, a future, and love against all odds.
Raising a child as a single gay parent in South Africa was no easy task, especially when prejudice and societal norms worked against us. But it’s a journey I wouldn’t trade for anything. This is our story, told in snapshots—moments that shaped our lives and proved that love, not sexual orientation, defines a family.
A Boy, a Single Gay Parent, and a New Beginning
“That’s it, then?” I asked as he slammed the door of the old Land Rover shut. Back then, those old Landys needed to be slammed, and so did this moment—it marked the end of one chapter and the start of another.
He glanced at me, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly before he busied himself with his seatbelt. This was a boy of few words, a boy who had learned not to trust the world too easily.
It had taken a year. A long, gruelling year of battles fought and lost, but in the end, we had won.
The lad was leaving the children’s home.
But this wasn’t just any placement. It was groundbreaking—a white teenager placed with a single gay man in a country like South Africa, where prejudice and conservatism ran deep. This wasn’t a special-needs placement or a trans-racial one. It was something far more controversial: a white boy placed with a white gay man.
For the prejudiced and homophobic, we were the stuff of nightmares.
Two Plastic Shopping Bags—The Start to Single Gay Parenting
The battles raged on every level imaginable—from the impressive boardroom tables of the Union Buildings in Pretoria to the threadbare couches at the children’s home. But we won.
The boy wasn’t spared his own battles, though. Jealousy brewed among the other kids at the home. They conspired to make his life as unbearable as possible. He was shunned, alone, his world in tatters. His only hope lay with me, a man embarking on the uncharted territory of single gay parenting.
Even then, the minefield wasn’t over. Days before he was set to leave, he was accused of stealing washing off the police flats’ line. The social worker, a police captain, and I sat around a table.
“Captain, if you do this, he will be lost forever. Give him to me, and I promise it’s in the past,” I said.
Thank God, I won.
Finally, we were on our way home. He had only a pair of broken sneakers, a small tog bag, and two plastic shopping bags of belongings.
We didn’t talk much. We stopped at Wimpy for a quick bite, then headed home.
The First Weeks: Adjusting to Single Gay Parenting
The first weeks were unremarkable—just the daily grind of life. Mornings were for school and work, evenings for cooking, dishes, and homework. Weekends were for cleaning and errands. Slowly, I began to introduce small gestures of care—a T-shirt here, a pair of jeans there, socks, and sneakers.
One day at the mall, I felt his hand in mine. I gave it a gentle squeeze to let him know it was okay. It was his first sign of trust.
Then came the big question.
“Uncle Warren, if I start calling you Dad, do you think it’ll upset my father?”
“Come, sit down,” I said.
“You have a father. He’s the one who made you, and all he wants is for you to be happy. Lots of boys have two dads, and that’s okay.”
A long pause.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Can I sleep here tonight?”
“Of course,” I said. “Climb in, son.”
It was the first of many nights.
Challenges and Healing
Being a single gay parent came with its own challenges, and the first big one came unexpectedly.
One day, I yelled at him for not doing his chores. He stood there silently, and I stormed off. Later, I couldn’t find him. I checked his room—nothing.
Finally, I noticed his duvet sticking out from under the bed. There he was, hiding.
It broke me.
We sat down to talk. I learned of the abuse he had endured—an uncle who drank and hit him, another who hosed him down naked with a garden hose for bed-wetting. I learned about sleeping in shop doorways with his mother and sister, washing cars to buy food, and the shame of the battery alarm the home attached to his genitals to stop bed-wetting. He had learnt to hide to protect himself.
He had endured so much. Not one tear did he shed. Life had taken that from him long ago.
A Glimpse of Hope
A few weeks later, I heard him whistling in the shower. It sounded like an asphyxiated kettle, but it was music to my ears.
One day, I found him in the storeroom with the very same two plastic shopping bags of broken toys and other junk from the home spread out between his geeky 14-year-old legs.
He looked up straight into my eyes, smiled, and said, “Don’t want these anymore.”
That was his way of letting go of his past, finally. Secure in the knowledge his life had finally come around.
Me? I shed my tears.
Building a Family
As the months went by, we started building a life together. Each day brought small victories—his first laugh, his first time bringing home a good report from school, his first real birthday celebration.
We had our share of challenges, too. He struggled with trust, with believing that this life was real and permanent. But slowly, he began to settle.
One day, he asked about his father’s grave.
“I want to put up a headstone someday,” he said.
That was his way of honouring the man who gave him life while embracing the man who had given him a future.
Ups and Downs of Single Gay Parenting
Over the years, there were ups and downs. He moved out, moved back in, and moved out again. He got high and crashed his car—I bought him another. Through it all, he worked hard, contributed what he could, and eventually met Jacky, the mother of his children.
Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was real. We fought, we laughed, we forgave.
The Circle of Life
On August 25, 2009, at 13:50, Ayden was born. He weighed 3 kilograms.
Standing in the hospital, I watched the circle of life complete itself. My son—tall and in tears—held his firstborn son. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
A year later, I held my granddaughter Caylin for the first time. She looked at her dad with an expression that seemed to say, “I know who you are.”
A Promise to the Next Generation
These children will never know the struggles my son and I endured — that is my promise.
Being a single gay parent isn’t just about raising a child—it is about breaking barriers, defying societal norms, and proving that love is what defines a family.
Epilogue
As the father of the groom, I sat in the front row of the church, watching my son—awkward in his tuxedo—tear up as his bride walked down the aisle, their daughter beside her, and his son carrying the rings.
Now I live in the cottage of the house I bought them, and now my son takes care of me. I don’t cook or clean anymore.
At 61, my chapter is closing, but a new one is unfolding. My job now is to spoil my grandchildren. Their parents’ job is to un-spoil them.
For those who demonize us for who we are, I have only this to say: sexual identity does not define one’s ability to be a parent.
This story isn’t just about me; it’s about my son and the family we built together. It’s a story of single gay parenting, of resilience, and of love that transcends prejudice.
Additional Resources
Here are some valuable resources for readers interested in single gay parenting, LGBTQ+ family rights, and adoption in South Africa:
- Triangle Project – A South African human rights organisation offering support to LGBTQ+ individuals and families.
- OUT LGBT Well-being – Provides health and advocacy services to the LGBTQ+ community in South Africa.
- Proud2Be Project – A UK-based but globally relevant platform celebrating LGBTQ+ identities and family structures.
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