Ruth and I met for the first time at the Kiev for brunch. We talked about Larry, the mutual friend who had set us up, and about the terms of our potential arrangement.

We discussed how the omission of my name from the birth certificate would mean I was not recognized as the father. I would have no financial or parental responsibility, visiting as often or as little as I wanted. I would also give up all legal rights to the child, and Ruth would give up all claims on me as its biological father.

Why then attempt fatherhood at all? Truth told, I want a child but not a live-in baby. Besides, unlike Ruth, who has a longtime companion and longs for motherhood, I am still single and deep down fear affecting a child the way my father affected me.

After that brunch at the Kiev, I felt less confident than ever about donating my sperm. Even though Ruth and I have many similarities–we are both descendants of Russian Jews and place this heritage above our gay identity–I wondered if two total strangers, living very different lives, could have a healthy child. Before we parted ways, Ruth offered me her hand and said, “Think of this as an investment in your future.” Her words rattled something inside me. Perhaps it was simply my fear of eventually having to tell my mother and father, from whose house I had escaped years before, that they might be grandparents.

Growing up in the ’70s in San Antonio, Texas, where cowboy boots and hunting rifles were the norm, definitely had its drawbacks. Bullied by the other kids at school for acting “different” and for excelling at my studies where they failed, I knew that Texas could not hold me for long. Although I played soccer and tried to fit in as best I could, something about me always kept people at bay. At 17 I moved to New York, ostensibly for school but in actuality to find people more like me.

For a number of years, I lived a pretty cliche gay life. I cruised the streets because that’s what I saw so many other gay men doing. I didn’t know at the time that there was another way to live. Slowly, as friends and lovers came and went, I began to realize that I’d run away from Texas because I’d thought that I’d find my true family in New York.

After meeting Ruth, I began to take stock of my life. At 30, I no longer use anonymous sex to bolster my self-esteem. Rather, my sense of self comes from my own accomplishments as a writer and from the peace I’ve made with my parents. However, the boy who fled Texas in search of a new family still pursues me. At sea in a city such as New York, I want an anchor to hold me in place. Could this anchor be a child?

At first I shared my wishes and fears of becoming a father with friends. Inevitably they would ask, “Why the hell do you want a baby?” The last man I dated could not understand my desire either, so we broke up. I’m no longer surprised to hear these reactions from other gay men. What I have found true of most families holds true for the broader “gay family” as well. That is, live the way we tell you to live or we will not respect you.

After many conversations with lawyers and other men considering sperm donation, I decided to father Ruth’s baby, though I’m still not sure how involved I’ll be in its upbringing. Since a few weeks after our first brunch, we’ve been trying to get pregnant. In the meantime, I’ve attended a support group of single men, both gay and straight, who are attempting to create an alternative kind of family. But I had yet to tell my own.

So, with much reservation, I finally made the dreaded call to my parents. Their reactions astonished me. They said they could not wait to be grandparents. Before we hung up, my father asked, concerned, “Are you sure you’re making the right decision, David?”

I ask myself this question even as I grow to accept the idea of becoming a father. I think of this baby as my own second chance. But more than this, I think of this baby as a way out of a life that no longer suits me. It may sound strange to someone who’s never been an outsider, but I simply want a more traditional, well-rounded life. Maybe fatherhood is the first step in attaining it.