Mom once asked me if there was anything I would like her to do to show her support for me as a lesbian. I replied, “Be able to say LGBTQ without stumbling.”

That’s what I tell any straight person who asks me how to be an ally. It’s a simple, straight-forward request. It doesn’t require a change of beliefs, a “conversation” or, cringe, “listening to my story.”

It does require a small commitment to learning something that a straight person will only use when referring to the gay community. It requires attention, a little practice and doing something solely because somebody asked you to.

Initially the idea behind the request was out of sheer frustration at the number of public speakers who make a complete hash of the acronym, even when they claim to be supportive.

They pause, briefly, but noticeably, gathering their wits like they are about to pronounce the name of a Hawaiian volcano, a French painter or a Dutch surname with a surplus of vowels. Except, gallingly, they rattle those off with aplomb, but can’t string together five letters in their own language. (Pro Tip: Learn it as 5 letters, rather than trying to think “lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer” as you speak.)

If someone asked me to be their ally and said what they’d like me to do is learn a five-letter acronym, I’d say, “absolutely.” Then I’d practice and make sure I could nail it every time.

Why the heck would I argue? Yet, people do. I can’t keep the letters straight, they say. (In my head I think, correct!; we’re not straight, hence the letters.) Or, aren’t there other letters, too? Yes, some people add “I” (intersex) and “A” (asexual.) We are a generally open club. If there’s a lonely letter, hey, join the string.

All the fussing comes down to the essential truth that it’s darn difficult for the majority culture to give up any control of the narrative, to allow anyone to have a story that makes no sense to them and has no appeal to them. Yet, millions of us do have such a story. All we are asking is for you to know the broadest chapter headings of our collective novel: LGBTQ.

PS. My mom is 84 and nails it. Don’t make her come to your house with flash cards.