News Channel 8 photo by JOHN WINTERROWD
Four years ago, a Pinellas County judge ruled that the two sisters could live indefinitely with Curtis Watson and Scott Elsass.
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Published: January 1, 2009
SEMINOLE - It lingers in the back of their minds while they eat supper together, get ready for school or sing at church.
Even though a court order gives Curtis Watson the right to act as his daughters' father, the mental health counselor is not legally their parent.
Neither is his life partner. They can't be because they're gay.
Florida law doesn't allow homosexuals to adopt children, but a Miami judge recently overrode the ban, approving the adoptions of two brothers by their gay foster parent.
The state plans to appeal the ruling, meaning the case could lead to a Supreme Court decision on whether Florida's 31-year-old prohibition should remain.
"My job is to uphold the statute," says George Sheldon, secretary of the Department of Children & Families, which oversees foster care and adoptions in Florida. "But regardless as to how anyone feels about this issue, it really ought to be resolved. And that can only happen in a higher court."
That could take months, if not years. Meanwhile, Watson and his family dare to dream.
"We're being parents, doing what we need to do," Watson says of the care he and his partner of 12 years provide for the 10- and 11-year-old sisters.
Adopting the former foster children would ensure them a permanent family and give them something more.
"I want to make sure they know they are special," Watson says.
The sisters already seem to know that.
Four years after a judge's order allowed them to live with the two men indefinitely, the girls are experts at explaining their situation.
"We're special because we have two dads," says the eldest, a precocious fifth-grader who reluctantly allows little sister to interrupt.
"Dad and Daddy," the dark-haired sister chirps. "Daddy is the one with hair."
That's Watson, a muscular 44-year-old whose gentle demeanor suits his role as counselor to troubled teens and children. Dad is Scott Elsass, a 49-year-old health care director who is all business until you ask him about his girls.
The couple knew early on they wanted children. Elsass, who has a 20-year-old biological son, didn't anticipate any barriers. Watson longed for the chance.
When they moved to Florida, they learned adoption would never be an option as long as they lived here. The Sunshine State is the only one in the nation that explicitly excludes gay men and women from adopting.
Utah and Arkansas allow only married couples to adopt children in state custody, and the states don't recognize gay marriages. Mississippi bans adoptions by couples of the same gender, but not specifically by gay individuals.
Gays can become foster parents in Florida, providing temporary shelter — and love — to abused and neglected children in state custody. Watson and Elsass quickly signed up. They cared for three teenagers first.
"We were adamant about taking children nobody else wanted," Elsass says.
Then the couple got the younger sister, a 4-year-old with behavioral issues who had been targeted for abuse in her family. By the time she landed in the men's care, she had been in 26 other homes.
The older sister came later, after visiting her sibling at the men's home. She badly wanted to live with them, Elsass says. She shared with them a dream she had: She was trapped in a fire and the two men rescued her.
Pinellas County Circuit Judge Irene Sullivan was asked to determine whether the girls should remain with the men, not whether the state discriminated against them because they are gay.
After telling DCF it owed the men a debt of gratitude for the way they cared for the girls, Sullivan granted the couple long-term custody of the sisters in March 2004. At the time, it was the closest a gay couple could come to adopting in Florida.
DCF at first supported the move, but then motioned to reopen the case after receiving criticism it hadn't searched hard enough to find the girls an adoptive family. Officials also said Elsass hadn't completed mandatory training, although he says he did.
Six months later, the men agreed to settle for only Watson as the long-term guardian. It was the quickest solution to ensuring the girls stayed put, he says.
The pair tried through Watson's will to ensure the girls remain with Elsass if something happens to Watson. Because the state does not recognize the men as parents, though, there are no guarantees.
And no perks. Like the $417 monthly stipend available to parents who adopt a child in state custody. And the four-year college scholarships given those children.
Watson and Elsass say they can afford to provide everything for their daughters, but what if they couldn't?
"The ban is ridiculous," says St. Petersburg attorney Deborah Eldridge, who represented the couple. "It serves no purpose. The best interest of the child should be the Legislature's and court's concern."
Eldridge is anxiously watching the precedent-setting case in Miami, where circuit Judge Cindy Lederman called the ban unconstitutional and cited new studies showing same-sex couples are equally qualified as traditional couples to be parents.
Her finding came two months after a Monroe County circuit judge issued the same ruling. In that case, the adoptive father already had status as a long-term guardian. DCF does not plan to fight that adoption because it is not a party in the lawsuit, says Sheldon, the DCF secretary.
None of that matters to the two sisters in Seminole. They like the idea of having their fathers' last names, but, really, Watson and Elsass are their parents.
"Family is who loves you," Elsass says.
The girls shop for new dresses and shoes with Daddy, and go to birthday parties and horseback-riding lessons with Dad. They have chores such as laundry and dish-washing, and get help with homework.
The four eat out every Friday. Saturday is movie night, when they stay in and order pizza. Each Sunday, the family goes to church and hosts a huge dinner with friends who have morphed into favorite aunts and uncles.
Aunt Fuzz has agreed to take one of the sisters for a few weeks each summer — an opportunity for questions they might feel more comfortable asking a woman. The girls, though, say they can talk to their fathers about anything.
Except, maybe, for boys.
"Ick!" the older one says and rolls her eyes.
When asked what she will tell her own children someday about having two granddads, she pauses thoughtfully.
"Doesn't everyone have two grandfathers?"
Reporter Sherri Ackerman can be reached at (813) 259-7144.
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