|
|
It was to be my first Thanksgiving in California. I can see that from now on, my Thanksgiving day celebration is going to have to be different. I have a sister in Sacramento, her name is Mary, we have always been very close. She's my baby sister, she was the first member of my family that I came out to. I knew that if any member of my family was going to accept me as being gay, it would have to start with Mary. I was living in Massachusetts at the time, I called her on the phone. I beat around the bush for a while, and then I dropped what I thought was a bomb. She was not even slightly flustered, I remember very clearly what she said:
"Stephen, I love you, and if there is someone else
who loves you, I love them too."
Can you see why I feel so close to Mary ?
She called me a few weeks ago. She wanted to know what I was doing for Thanksgiving. I told her I had no plans. I was telling her that I had no invitations and she knew that. She explained that she and her husband John always go to John's mother's, right there in Sacramento. I've met the family before. Eight years ago, maybe nine, in the dark days of my divorce, when I was still in the closet, I had flown out here on vacation in May. We all had gone to an exclusive country club for Mother's day. John's siblings are very well to do, mostly all doctors, exclusively rich. They were very pleasant to me, as I was with them. At the time I kept the truth about myself from everyone, especially myself. But I knew that I was not their kind of people, and it had nothing to do with sexuality either. So Mary invited me to come and join them at her Mother-In-Laws. I had seen John's mother this past summer and I was reminded of what a very nice lady she is. Very warm and personal. I like her. So I agreed to go. I knew I would be a bit uncomfortable, but I had not seen my sister, her two daughters, or John in quite a while. And I wanted to have a talk with John, an important talk, which my sister kept asking me not to do. I wanted to Come Out to John, he is rather homophobic, but he is my brother in law, a guy I see all the time, the father of two nieces I love.
"It is better to be hated for what one is than loved for what one
is not."
--Andre Gide (1869-1951)
So I left early on Wednesday for Sacramento and I got there
just before John got home with a load of firewood, I helped him
unload it. Then Mary got home, and little Kelly saw me, and came
running right up to me, calling me "Eee", delighted to see me. She
has just learned how to walk, she's a real cutie. Kelly loves me
and I love her, nothing gets in the way of that for us. I was
beaming. Valerie gave me a big hug too, she's a little older. She
had a drawing she had colored for me, it is on my refrigerator now.
Valerie and I love each other too, nothing to stop us. I told Mary
I intended to talk to John. She wished I wouldn't, she was afraid
his reaction might be so bad, he might try to keep her from having
any contact with me.
John works nights. I was out in the garage, smoking a cigarette, when he was getting ready for work. He keeps his work jeans in the garage. So he walked out, took off the jeans he was wearing and started to put on the work jeans. As he stood in front of me, partially nude, he had to say something.
"I'm sorry Steve, I'm not trying to come on to you, I just
keep these jeans out here."
"I understand John, besides your not my type.
I remembered that sense of relief I used to feel. I felt
like a burden had been lifted from me, like I could suddenly come to
visit my sister without having to pretend. I was pleased that John
had taken my news so well, glad he had not asked me to leave. John
used to tell fag jokes around me, and I used to let him because of
my sister's concerns. From now on I imagine things will be
different. John asked me for one favor, would I be kind enough
please to stay off the subject with the rest of his family. Mary had
already extracted the same promise from me, before I arrived. Like a
fool I agreed. That night we built a fire in the fireplace. I felt
the onset of the holiday spirit. Mary was still ill at ease. I
played peek-a-boo with my nieces and they screamed like they always
do. When John got home from work the kids were in bed and the three
of us went out in the hot tub. It was very nice.
Thursday morning, Thanksgiving day, John and I went to get some firewood, four loads of it. By the fourth load it was clear to me that I would be feeling the effects. I don't do much manual labor usually. But it was good male bonding time with John, and he was just as friendly with me as he always had been, maybe more so. I felt glad I had done as I did, I felt more relaxed in their home than ever before. Afternoon rolled around. There was the typical panic of trying to get two small children presentable. I had my plum colored dress shirt, purple socks, purple t-Shirt, tight jeans. If I wasn't going to "act gay" I at least wanted to "look gay". Most of John's family had not seen me for so long I had to be re-introduced. The greetings were warm and friendly. The house was perfect. There was lots of expensive wine. John's father died many years ago, as did my own, and his mother has never remarried. John has a number of sisters, one or maybe two of them are doctors. A number of the husbands are doctors. There are college age children and some young grandchildren. There were Porsches and Mecedes Benzs parked outside. My van, with the bumper sticker that says "Hate is NOT a Family Value" was safely parked at Mary's house, miles away. My keyring with the whistle and the condom pouch was back at Mary's house. I had no stickers on my clothing. I must have seemed like a "normal human being" to everyone there. Patrick arrived. Patrick is married to John's sister Betty. They are both doctors. Patrick is a surgeon. He hates a lot of people, but the best of his hatred, the peak of his condemnation, is reserved for the queers. I had the opportunity to listen to a number of his opinions. I had made a commitment to my sister and my brother in law. I am a man of my word. I stood there in the kitchen and stared at these people who hated the faggots so much, they seemed so spiteful to me. Patrick's son Matthew was there. Matthew is in his early twenties I guess, a student in Berkekely. He seems to me to be definitely heterosexual. Lucky for him. Imagine if Patrick had happened to be gay. I had moved to a corner of the room. I wanted to hide under the table but Patrick had his elbow on it. I wondered if I might fit in the freezer, it was one of those side by side refrigerators. Betty leaned over to me, wanting to be polite, feeling I was left out of the conversation, and she said "These queers want everything you know." She had this conspiratorial smile on her face, this knowing expression. I guess the rules say that in any social gathering, if you want to get along with everyone there, not raise any difficult subjects, you can always bash the queers for a while. Then everybody will know that you are OK. I was speechless. I just stared at her. She finally looked away. Doctors, healers, physicians, we entrust these people with our lives. I hope I don't have an accident with a pink triangle on my shirt, at least not around Sacramento. I left the bigots to have their fun in the kitchen and I went into the livingroom where all of the children were. My nieces came running to me as I sat cross legged on the carpet. One of them sat on each of my legs. I hugged them and kissed them and I noticed some of John's family looking at me as if they saw something in me that they liked. Sure I love children. I'm no two headed monster, just a fag. My sister came and sat down beside me. She squeezed my arm and whispered "Sorry" in my ear. It came time to gather around the table. John and I were getting the chairs from the garage, the folding chairs. He took the opportunity to apologize for his family, and thank me for being calm. I wonder if he knew what an effort it took on my part, it seemed like he did. As the meal wound down I went to the phone to call my own children back in Massachusetts. They love me for who I am. We went back to John and Mary's house, I crashed early. In the morning I got up and made breakfast for my nieces. They love me unconditionally as do my own children. I left to come home about 9:30. It felt good walking into my own home. Gay bashers are not welcome here, they are not invited. Next year I will surround myself with fags and dykes at Thanksgiving. That's a promise.
|