Dad called them pillow parties.

I was 16 or 17 when he brought it up, once, over dinner. Mom, Dad, my little brother, and I were watching TV. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” was a thing then, and 60 Minutes was asking and telling plenty. It made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t out to my family. I was barely out to myself.

Dad, an ex-Marine, wasn’t helping. He hated the thought of a gay man serving in the military. When the segment ended, he muted the TV to make sure we could hear him clearly.

“You know what we used to do with ‘em?” It was rhetorical. He continued before we could answer. “We’d throw pillow parties for ‘em.”

He explained: pillowcases, heavy rocks, a group of Marines, and an unsuspecting, suspected gay man asleep in the barracks. A bruised bedtime story. A sadistic Semper Fi sleepover. A pillow party. And if you want to see such hate in action, watch Stanley Kubrick’s Vietnam War movie “Full Metal Jacket.”

Great family dinner conversation, Dad. Pass the potatoes.

When I read about Ohio’s new “Parents’ Bill of Rights” (House Bill 8) being signed into law, which will take effect next school year, I didn’t feel the same sinking fear I did that night. This time, I was angry – because I know exactly what State Rep. D.J. Swearingen (R-Huron) and Gov. DeWine are up to. Their bill isn’t about protecting parents’ rights. It’s about forcing their beliefs onto others.

The new law claims to protect families, but what it really does is put LGBTQ+ kids in harm’s way. It forces teachers and school staff to out students to their parents if they come out at school – whether it’s safe for them to do so or not. On top of that, it bans LGBTQ+ topics from classrooms, shutting down conversations that could help kids feel seen and understood.

Supporters call the bill a victory for “parental rights.” Rep. Swearingen even went so far as to claim, “This critical legislation will ensure parents have a voice when it comes to the health and well-being of their children.” But here’s the truth: parents already had those rights. They’ve never lost them. This law isn’t about protecting parents – it’s about furthering a culture war agenda.

This law prevents LGBTQ+ students from forming the trust they need with teachers and school staff – adults who could be their only safe outlet. It assumes that parents are always the best or safest advocates for their children, ignoring the reality that this isn’t true for everyone.

According to the Trevor Project’s 2024 U.S. National Survey on the Mental Health of LGBTQ+ young people the numbers speak for themselves: 55 percent of LGBTQ+ students in schools with anti-LGBTQ+ policies have seriously considered suicide in the past year, and 1 in 4 (24 percent) have attempted it. In these environments, 78 percent report feeling constant anxiety, and 67 percent battle depression.

It gets worse. LGBTQ+ students in schools with policies like this one are twice as likely to drop out because of mistreatment. These are the kids who need a lifeline the most. Instead, Ohio lawmakers have chosen to cut it.

This law doesn’t pro­tect kids – it puts them in danger. It gives parents veto power over lifesaving support systems at school, whether that’s a Gay-Straight Alliance, a trusted teacher, or even access to a gender-neutral bathroom. (Of course, Ohio already addressed the bathroom issue, just check out the “Protect All Students Act” signed into law in November. Parents’ rights. Students. Even sports teams. So much “protection” being doled out, it’s hard to keep up.)

Ohio’s “Parents’ Bill of Rights” isn’t about protecting parents’ rights. It’s about enforcing conservative ideology and morality onto everyone, whether they agree with it or not. It forces schools to prioritize politics over safety, eroding the well-being of LGBTQ+ youth to score points in a culture war. Legislators like Swearingen and DeWine call it a victory for parents, but parents didn’t need this law – Republicans did.

My parents had all the rights they needed to raise me. They were good people, doing what they thought was right. But they hurt me. And that hurt stayed with me for years. Today, they’re the parents they should have been all along – loving, supportive, and proud of the man I’ve become. But it took time. A lot of time.

For kids growing up now, laws like this one rob them of even the possibility of finding a trusted adult at school to confide in. It strips away their safety net and leaves them to navigate fear, rejection, and hopelessness alone.

This law doesn’t protect kids. It punishes them. Ohio’s lawmakers are forcing more LGBTQ+ kids to live through the same pain I did – and some won’t make it through.

This isn’t inevitable. Ohio’s children deserve better – all of them. It’s time for politicians to stop using kids as political pawns and start creating laws that protect their future.

---------------------------------------

Matthew (he/him/his) is a Cincinnati native and a near 30-year Columbus resident who lives in Westgate with his husband and three paws-itively purr-fect cats. A librarian who doesn’t work in a library, Matthew has worked in public sector HR and training roles since 2005. A neurodivergent anti-theistic progressive, he’s writing about this issue to share his perspective as someone who survived the kind of harmful shame and trauma this insidious Republican law will unnecessarily inflict on others. Find him on BlueSky @wireddifferently.bsky.social.