What Heaven Is To Me - Monday, July 12, 2010

No, this is not going to be a morbid post about death-n-dying, nor a judgemental diatribe against the many organized religions of the world. Regardless of what your spiritual beliefs are or aren't, it's a given that at some point or another every one of us is gonna kick the bucket. The only things I hate about the concept of death is that it seperates people from their loved ones and is so damn final; but, I'm not here to talk about that either. Most people, when you ask them about their beliefs (or lack thereof) regarding an afterlife or what they think "Heaven" will be like, give a varied list of responses. Oh sure, we hear about the perenniel telling of there being a tunnel we walk down and at the end of it is this giant, bright, white light; but, what comes after that? You hear all kinds of ideas and theories but that fear of the unknown can drive a person to distraction. Well, not anymore.

Short and simple, I think Heaven is exactly what you want it to be and though I would never tell any of you what to do, I'd like to suggest that people take a bit of time to think about this subject because I personally think it may alleviate any irrational fears you may have about it, if you have any whatsoever. For me, Heaven is more than just being free of disease(s), free of pain and being eternally happy - it's about being reunited with the loved ones that have gone on before you - and so much more. Every beautiful, amazing, miraculous experience that you can possibly imagine becoming a reality - that is what Heaven is to me. And I know exactly how I want it to be too.

Personally, I use to think I'd like to do what my great-grandmother did when she bit the dust - just go to sleep at night and then never wake up. But, I've heard that that's not always the way to go because you can end up sorta in-between everything because folks who die in their sleep usually wake up and don't realize they are dead - wouldn't that be a sucky situation to find yourself in? I can see it now..."May I have some extra syrup for my pancakes please?....uhm..why are you ignoring me Aunt Ethel? What's wrong, you act like I am not even here!" No thank you, I'd rather be totally aware of what the hell is going on around me, even when I end up six feet under. Okay, let's get to it....

So I'm dead, I make it through the usual 3 to 4 day period you're allowed to stay on until after your initial death (no, not the heat or drugs guys, I am fully alert right now) and now it's time to start the journey down the tunnel. I make it through to the end and very shortly after I walk into the great, white light.....

I awaken. I find myself napping on a grassy hill sloping down to the ocean. The skies are blue, the sun is shining, it's about 75 degrees fahrenheit and there is a slight breeze coming off the water. All of a sudden I look up and there she is, a beautiful liner I have waited my entire earthly existence to gaze upon, a ship that I never got the chance to see while I was alive because her existence ended about 15 years before I was born..behold, the proud, the gallant, the "Ship Beautiful", the Cunard liner AQUITANIA - yep, all 45,000 tons of pure Edwardian glamour floating right up there in Heaven. I see steam trickling out of her funnels for soon she will begin another voyage. Then I look down a bit, close to her waterline and see what looks like a sea tender steaming towards shore - is it coming for me? Indeed, yes it is. When it reaches shore, a sailor with a strong British accent asks me "Do you have any luggage, Sir?" I respond "Just a little." I forgot to mention that when I say Heaven, I mean every single detail - for before I laid eyes on the graceful Cunarder, the first things I did upon waking from that nap are opening an ice cold bottle of Coca-Cola and lighting up a Carlton 100's, non-menthol cigarette - hmmm, Heaven indeed! My luggage consists of a six-pack of Coca-Cola and my black backack with pink triangle etched on it, stuffed to the limit with about 6 to 8 cartons of my favorite earthly cigarettes! Like I said, Heaven...lol.

As the tender steams me out to my beloved AQUITANIA I not only look up at all her decks alive with activity from the 2,000-some other passengers aboard her but I view her sheer size with awe, every single detail of her railings, her lifeboats, her promenade decks - she is perfect, just as perfect as the day she was launched in 1913. As the gangplank to the first-class cabin area is lowered for me - like I said, Heaven, sheer Heaven - I begin my final ascent to her main deck. When I arrive, so much damn happiness overwhelms me that is goes beyond the word unfathomable - there they are, my loved ones.

The first person I see is my Jack and oh my God, the embrace, that first touch after so many years of being apart - totally indescribable. Laughter and hello's and hugs from my little brother, my Grandpa and my Dad, my Aunt Elise - and so many other reunited moments with so many others. My Grandpa's parents whom I never got the chance to meet; my Dad's parents whom I also never got to meet; and my Mom's grandparents whom I always loved so dearly. So much joy, laughter and yes, even mirth and merriment too! But then, for a split second, I notice there is only one thing missing. I turn to my Dad and say "Where's my baby, where is she?" And he tells me "There's a tender waiting for you on the port side." Jack and I walk over to the other side and he tells me to get in and that he will wait for me - it's Heaven, so regardless of how happy I am to finally see him again, I know he will be waiting for me upon my return.

As the tender reaches the shore opposite of where I was originally picked up, I start to walk up to a grassy knoll and at the top of it is a meadow surrounded by hundreds of blue spruces and Chinese maple trees. In the meadow are growing a few of my most favorite flowers - my beloved Lily-of-the-Valley, purple Violets and yellow Daffodils. The sun is still bright, the skies still blue, simply a gorgeous day; and, then I start to look for her. I start to call her name - nothing. Then, all of a sudden, I hear a tiny bark from the opposite side of the meadow from where I am standing and there she is, my little baby, my little sweetheart whom I havent since the day she died in my arms back in '86 - my dog!!! I start running towards her as she bullets towards me, barking and whimpering and when I pick her up I just hold her so tightly and smother her with hugs and kisses - and the sheer joy of that split-second moment when her and I are finally reunited is so overwhelming that we actually begin to levitate and spin around in circles together!  All the pain and sense of loss totally wiped clean from my memory banks, all those years of mourning her loss and never ever getting totally over her death are gone in the flash of a nano-scond.

And that feeling of finally holding my little dog in my arms again, Hell, Heaven just doesn't get any better than that. Don't get me wrong, nothing could be better than being reunited with all my loved ones who have gone on before me, but all means all, including my dog. Say what folks will say, there is no relationship more unique, more special, than that between a boy and his dog. She's in my arms now and no matter what happens from here on out in Heaven, I will never ever be seperated from her again - never.

Suddenly I hear all four of the proud funnels of the AQUITANIA releasing steam as the ship sounds her whistle and her bridge bells clang. The sailor from the tender tells me it's time to leave, so my little dog - all 7 and a half pounds of my miniature teacup black French poodle baby - and I board the tender and head back to the ship.

Once back on board, Ma'Ma' (her nickname, it's a long story, another post..lol) and I are reunited with Jack and my other family members and we all proceed to the First Class dining saloon where my favorite meal is being served - grilled Italian Steak sandwiches (Midwestern style), onion rings, Coca-Cola by the pitcher and for desert, a giant Hot Fudge sundae bigger than your head! Hmmm! Hmmm! After dinner we leisurely stroll out to the promendae deck and sit at one of the cafe tables and light up, those of us who smoke. Suddenly the ships starts to blast her whistles and I ask one of the stewards who is walking by what's going on and he says to me "Sir, you didn't know?" I said to him "Didnt know what? I've only been here about an hour or so Sparky, give me the skinny please." He laughs, apologizes and says "Before we set sail her Majesty's ship AQUITANIA and all those on board her will be part of a great naval review." I asked "Really? What kind?" His answer almost makes me fall over "Why of every ship that you've ever loved, Sir." My mouth drops and I literally jump up-n-down - but not too high, the gravity in Heaven sucks, Jack has to grab me by the ankles (I know, I am thinking the same thing, naughty thoughts in Heaven, tsk, tsk!) to pull me back down!

All of a sudden, the seas around the AQUITANIA are filled with the sounds of dozens of ocean liner whistles and no matter which deck I stand on, for miles around the entire circumference of the ship herself, I see every single liner I have ever read about and studied in my entire earthly life steaming around and near us - each one in brand-new mint condition, each one with thousands of well-wishers lined up on every single deck - so much happiness, so much celebration, so much beauty and grace afloat on the seas around me. Truly an overwhelming feeling beyond human comprehension. And they are all there, every single one of them including  the White Star liner TITANIC; the Compagnie Generale Transatlantique's ILE-DE-FRANCE and NORMANDIE; the Cunarders  MAURETANIA, LUSITANIA, CARONIA, CARMANIA, QUEEN MARY, QUEEN ELIZABETH (I); Ellerman Line's CITY OF BENARES, complete with all the children on board, alive and reunited with their families; Canadian Pacific's EMPRESS OF IRELAND, with the same status as the CITY OF BENARES; and, Canadian Pacific's flagship EMPRESS OF BRITAIN. Plus, a few that only existed on paper and blueprints but now, finally, into reality - the EMPRESS OF CANADA, an identical sister-ship to the EMPRESS OF BRITAIN; the sistership the NORMANDIE never had, the BRETAGNE; and, finally, the superliner the White Star Line proposed but never had because of the 1934 merger with the Cunard Line, the OCEANIC. Sheer bliss and utter contentment for any ship lover - indeed.

The bands of each liner are playing the song that was played on the QUEEN MARY's maiden voyage in 1936 - "Happy Days Are Here Again" and everyone everywhere is just so damn happy - talking, singing, dancing, making love - it's all there. No worries, no cares, no wars, nothing but Peace everywhere, for all eternity. Heaven beyond compare - nothing could ever top that.

And that, is what Heaven is to me. That's what it should be to those of you who do believe in a place called Heaven - it's whatever you want it to be, whatever makes you happy, whatever you consider some of the best ways you would like to spend eternity. For me personally, just the people I love, my dog and my beloved ships, that's all I require. And when you really think about it, look at all the wonderful things God has created - do you really think that desiring Heaven to be the way you want it to be is really asking too much from Him/Her? Justa thought. Thank you for reading.

Posted via email from Luctor Et Emergo

Friends List Reflections - Sunday, July 11, 2010

I've already written a few times about what I feel constitutes a friendship, whether it be real-life or internet-wise, but that's not what this piece is going to be about. I'd like to address the subject of those individuals who are on your Facebook Friends List, especially those who are on your list but you don't know why they are there and worse yet, those individuals who dont have any idea why they are there either! Though this is the internet, just as in real life, there is always a reason why we are friends with the people we choose to be friends with - perhaps they have a shared interest with you, or they are an expert on a particular subject or philosophy that you embrace close to yourself, or maybe you just think the person is downright sensational and you want to be a part of their existence. Regardless of the reasoning, like with everything else in your life, it's a matter of personal choice, personal discretion if you will.

But the thing that I don't understand is the people I am friends with who I truly don't know why they are on my list. Don't get me wrong, I love people and I am the type of person who would be a friend to everyone on this planet if it were humanly possible; in fact, you will never see me remove a friend from my FB Friends List unless, of course, an unresolvable problem existed between myself and the other individual. Otherwise than that, I have an open window/open door policy when it comes to friendships because I personally feel if any of us can share even one single idea or concept that will help someone else out, we as decent human beings should do so without even thinking twice. Be that as it may, allow me to give you a few examples/thoughts of what I personally feel is questionable when it comes to some of these alleged friends.

Number One: The people who send you a Friend Request and then AFTER you've added them, you never hear a peep out of them - not even one. Now I realize that it is virtually impossible to have even the briefest of chat conversations with everyone on your Friends List, there just isnt enough time in the day to do that, at least for the majority of us; however, if someone, anyone, is gonna be on your List, shouldn't there be at least some degree of open communication between you and the other individual? Hey if I'm wrong about this, any of you reading this please dont hesitate to correct me, by all means. Usually, 9 times outta 10, there is a reason someone wants to be on your Friends List and I don't think we need to crossdrill anyone on that; however, I would feel more comfortable if I had more of an idea of why. True, there will be those folks who request or add you just because they think you are neat, and that's okay too; but, regardless, I still think there should be some degree of open communication.

Perhaps the aforementioned individuals fall into one of the following catergories - those who think adding your name to their List will somehow, in some small or large way (depending on the severity of their OCD condition) make them look good or those who figure yet another name on their list will further promote their various soapboxes or even their miscellaneous blogs. On the former point, I'd be extremely flattered, as well as honored if that were the case but I don't know. As much as I treasure my FB friends, can you imagine your local English teacher friending me and then when others review his/her Friends List they come across "HivSpice" between Mrs.-Middle-America and Dr.-I-C-Spotz? They'd probaly react the way most do - "What or Who the fuck is HivSpice??" I suppose stranger things have happened. In regards to the latter scenario, I have no problem with either part of that listed example. After all, the internet is also about networking and as long as it is done in a non-harmful, beneficial way for all parties involved, I see nothing negative regarding that. Plus there are a lot of important, crucial causes out there and I'm more than happy to show my support in any way I possibly can, both for the causes and the individuals who stand behind those causes.

Number 2: The people who friend you, exchange messages with you and then when you attempt to chat with them personally they behave as if you are bothering/disturbing/interrupting them. Now look, good manners are the backbone of civilization so IF I or anyone is doing any of those things to you, all you have to do is be a man/woman about it and simply say "I'm very busy at the moment, can we chat later perhaps?" Communication people, that's all it takes. But, one encounters those individuals who simply insist on having an attitude about it, which point blank is downright ugly - and ludicrous. Now I'll be the first to admit that sometimes I can be one of those Chatty-Cathy types, but regardless, if I contact you and you are busy, just tell me, I can handle it and I won't even need a support group that meets every Tuesday night at 9 p.m. in the bad part of town to pick up the pieces, I promise. However, my bottom line on this subject is this - if you're not going to communicate with me, not ever, then please, don't add me as a friend. And for those who dont communicate with me now and are on my List, I'm not gonna remove you but it is my sincere hope that at some point you will drop me a teeny tiny note letting me know what the skinny is.

Number 3: The people who you are Friends with yet whenever you comment on any of their posts in open newsfeed they NEVER EVER acknolwedge and/or comment on your comment. Once again, I realize that sometimes folks are just too busy doing their online projects to address any/all the comments others makes on their posts. Hey, I dont have a problem with that angle of the subject because it happens to me too, I'm guilty too, but I do try to respond to everyone, I really do. BUT, when you see other comments being acknowledged, ya know, like 5 to 7 people comment and your comment is the one that constantly gets ignored, then that not only is a problem, but I think it's safe to say the person who posted is not your Friend in any sense of the word. Perhaps this does happen to me personally because there still are a few folks out there who are uncomfortable with and/or find my name humorous, that's just something I have to (no, "should" though there have been a few folks I've wanted to bitchslap over it! lol) deal with; however, I personally do not feel that is a sound basis to non-validate someone else's remarks and/or sentiments. 

If anything, every one of us should feel complimented that others are taking the time to comment on our posts; however, for those of you who are guilty in the other extreme, I'd like to say something to you. Rather than continue to exhibit such prepubescent behavior, wouldnt it make you feel more mature (there's a concept) to simply remove the other individual from your Friends List? Allow me to provide a personal example. Out of the ton of fellow Hiv/AIDS activist friends on my List, there are 2 in particular that no matter how sincere, humorous or important of a comment I make on their daily postings, they refuse to acknowledge me. Doesn't matter what I say or do, I simply don't exist in their world; in fact, one of the two hasnt graduated from middle-school behavior yet - one of his friends I tried to friend had the nerve to write me personally and say "Well, he doesn't like you so that's a good enough reason for us to not be friends." Hmmm...fancy that. Look, everybody has their own idiosyncrasies and shortcomings as a human being, myself included, but c'mon, let's be adults here, such behavior is unacceptable in my eyes, as well as my life, so I figure its that individual's loss, not mine. Here comes one of my most favorite words again - when you don't validate someone you're going beyond ignoring them, you're showing disrespect towards another human being and you need to ask yourself why you would do that when you want others to support your causes and/or idealogies? The two just don't go hand-in-hand, they do not make any logical sense whatsoever. Bottom line on this one - it's not only a good idea to know who you want on your Friends List, but sometimes even a better idea to know who you dont want on your list, as well as why. Just makes good common sense.

I'll be the first to admit that I am not the perfect Facebook friend but it has nothing to do with myself personality-wise, there are simply times I just cannot keep up with all the notifications, requests, private messages, as well as trying to keep up with the spicesational blogs all my friends have. Internet or not, I do feel bad about this because I think of all the great people who take time to speak with me as well as check out this blog and I wanna meet all my friends and readers more than halfway because I do sincerely care about each and every one of you. But, I'm only human and please know that I will always do the best I can, not just for me, but for all of you too. Thank you for reading.

 

 

Posted via email from Luctor Et Emergo

For Elise - Thursday, July 8, 2010

Very rarily do I put my heart-n-soul into a piece of writing and then totally scrap it, rough draft and all, but that's exactly what I did when I originally wrote this piece over 2 nights ago. When I looked at the finished result I thought to myself "Who the hell is gonna wanna hear about a great-aunt of mine? People will probaly think it's boring so just press delete." And that's exactly what I did. But then the last couple of days I re-thought my stance and reminded myself once again that this blog is not only what I choose to write about, but why not celebrate someone who made a positive difference in my life? Surely that can't be that boring...

My great-aunt Elise was more than just my Grandma's older spinster sister, more than just my Mom's favorite aunt, she also happened to be my friend. I remember as a kid all the fun I use to have with her whenever we went to Michigan for our summertime visits to my Grandma's house. During those visits, Elise and I would do everything fun any kid back then woulda loved. She would take me to the local park to play on the merry-go-round and have our private little picnics, just the two of us, complete with her miniature homade blackberry pies that she would make just for the occassion. On windy days we would go to the very same park to fly kites and afterwards lay on one of the hills and just watch the clouds go by, simply daydreaming to our hearts content. Some days we'd drive over to Lake Huron and go swimming, or just walk along the shoreline talking, laughing and searching for the somewhat elusive Petoskey stones that would wash up (Michigan's state stone) on shore. Those summer days were the best with her. But it was more than just spending time with her on those fun-filled days - nights were a treat too.

Every night that she would tuck me into bed she always told me one of the many colorful bedtime stories she had hid up her imaginary sleeve. My most favorite one was "De Warlock van Kolmarden" (The Warlock of Kolmarden). Following a quick shower and racing to get into my jammies, we would sit at my Grandma's giant kitchen table for a night-time snack of ice cold Ovaltine (have always loved that stuff!) and a couple of her homade Pecan Shortbread cookies and then off to bed I went. Elise would sit in my great-grandma's rocking chair, next to the little bed in my Mom's old bedroom (my sisters were always in my aunt's old bedroom, so I always got Elise to myself, yes!!), and turn on the small night-light above my head, shortly after tucking me in and then the story would begin.....

Once upon a time, a very,very long time ago, in olde Sweden, there was a young shepherd boy who lived at the edge of the forests of Kolmarden with his family. Every week his mother would send him to the market at the end of the forest to purchase a big bag of flour so that she could make their weekly supply of fresh bread. But to get to the market the young boy had to cross the bridges that ran over many of the forest streams but he didn't care about the weekly journey for he adored the forests and all the woodland birds and creatures that lived within them.

One night as he was making the 2 mile journey to the market, as he was approaching the one end of the bridge he heard what sounded like the cries of small children and when he reached the bridge he saw a little boy and a little girl holding hands and crying. He set his lantern down and asked them what was the matter. They told him that they were on their way to meet up with their parents but could not find them so when they came to the stream, they decided to sit on the moon-lit side so their parents could find them. He felt so bad for them so he gave them each a huge hug of comfort and told them not to worry, that he would stay with them until their parents came for them. So he took the lantern and made a small campfire for the three of them. As soon as the children were calmed down they all started talking with each other - talking about the beauty of the forest, what was each of their favorite Kylie Minogue songs and why (sorry, I couldn't resist!) and how pretty the beams of moonlight were dancing on the waters of the stream. Just as their conversation was ending, out of the woods on the opposite side of the bridge appeared the children's parents - instantly the two children let out a yelp and raced to their parents - their little family was united and both the mother and the father could not stop thanking the young shepherd boy for the good deed he had done. They wished him well and wished him much good fortune for his kindness and then they all parted each other's company.

The shepherd boy, feeling quite good and proud of himself after his good deed, took off his hat and filled it with water from the stream to extinguish the small campfire he had shared with the two children. All the while that he was doing so he kept getting the feeling that someone or something was watching him; but, he shrugged it off when the campfire was totally out and proceeded on his journey to the market. He was right, he indeed was being watched but not by any human, nor any animal, but something entirely different from the two. That entire evening he was being secretly watched from behind a veil of faerie glamour by a mixture of faeries, elves and the vendekom who revelled in awe by the young lad's act of kindness towards the lost children. While he was purchasing the sack of flour from the market, these immortals of the Kolmarden forests (as they were called back then) decided to have a meeting where they would decide on how this young boy would be rewarded, for there was not one single dispute amongst those present against his honorable deed.

On his way home, just as he had finished crossing the bridge over the woodland stream, he was so startled by what he saw that he stopped dead in his tracks and dropped the sack of flour out of his hands - two vendekom greeted him and said to him "Don't be afraid, we are not here to frighten, nor harm you." He asked them "What do you possibly want with me?" The two told him the story of how they watched what he did, staying with and protecting the lost children, and comforting them, making them feel safe. He told them that he did what he felt was right and they assured him that for his noble gesture he would be rewarded tremendously.

So the immortals of the Kolmarden Forest revealed to him, his just reward. From that day forward, he would be like them, immortal; and, he would have the command of the woodland birds and creatures at his beck-n-call and that as long as he lived, there would never ever again be lost children in the land of Sweden. The powers bequeathed to him were to be used to protect not just all the children of the land, but all the kings and queens, both faerie and elve alike, of the woodland forests and the woodland streams - the perfect balance between mankind and nature. And, for those times when the young shepherd boy would feel alone or lost or even seperated from the world he knew, a simple crystal ball given to him by the vendekom glassblowers of the forest would illuminate and guide him away from obscurity, both his own and that caused by the world itself. No witch, nor goblin, nor wizard, nor even one single tiny evil thought could be a match against the noble and valiant Warlock of Kolmarden, for from that day forward, in both the worlds of man and nature, that is who he would be known as. The young shepherd boy thanked his benefactors graciously and from that day forward never once was a child lost in the land of Sweden ever again.

That story use to blow my mind when I was a kid, I just adored it! And after hearing it, I would always drift off to sleeping imagining what it was like to be able to communicate with all the different birds of the forests, especially my favorites, Cardinals and Chickadees. I also wondered to myself "Wouldnt it be kewl if that boy coulda summoned the trees of the forest to chase his nasty sisters across the stream????" Maybe I was a little bastard at times after all. Still, I'll never forget those summer nights spent at my Grandma's house and the tremendous friendship I had with my great-aunt Elise.

Elise and I maintained our friendship over the years and remained very close long after those childhood summers in Michigan became a thing of the past. I use to call her once a week to chat on the phone, every Sunday afternoon, and of course there were the birthday and Christmas cards exchanged, spending time with each other on holiday visits and family reunions. Every year, every Christmas she would always whip up a batch of those fantastic Pecan Shortbread cookies that we use to share at my Grandma's kitchen table on those summer nights and ship them to me no matter where I was living at the time.

In the spring of 1992 she was diagnosed with melanoma and by the time they detected it, it had spread throughout three-quarters of her body. I remember the many nights I would visit her in the hospital, always watching over her carefully as she had done for me so many years earlier, making sure she was comfortable, feeding her ice chips whenever she wanted them and more than several times holding her hand and telling her how much I loved her and that it was gonna be okay, everything would be okay.

The night before she died I was sitting by her hospital bed and had nodded off for a couple of minutes when she summoned me awake by shaking my hand. She told me in a soft, gentle whisper "There's something I want to tell you." I asked her if she was in pain and she said it wasnt anything like that. She told me to come closer to her and she put her hand on the side of my face and said to me "I wanted to let you know that I love you very very much and I couldnt love you more than if you were my own child. I know you've been through a lot in such a short amount of time in you life but you must promise me something - never give up on life and never stop dreaming for it is when we stop dreaming that we truly grow old. Always let your light shine for in my heart I know that if any one person could ever change the world, it's you Dear Boy, it's you." Instantly I started bawling - you know me, good 'ole waterworks - and I said "Oh God Elise, don't you give up, don't you dare die and leave me here all alone. You need to fight this, please, don't leave me." She motioned for an ice chip and when she was finished with it, as I was drying my numerous tears, she said to me "I'm never gonna leave you, I'm always gonna be here, no matter what. I'm not dying, I'm just tired. It's gonna be okay for you too. Now go home and get some rest and I will see you in the morning, alright?" At first I didn't wanna leave but she insisted and I thought that with what she was going through, I could not deny her request. So I left.

The next morning my Grandma called me from the hospital and said that Elise had passed away that morning in her sleep. I lost it, totally lost it and threw on what clothes were laying on the floor and raced over to the hospital. When I entered the room, there she was, as if she were resting peacefully and with the largest smile on her face. After my Grandma and I comforted each other and were leaving the hospital, one of Elise's nurses stopped us in the hallway to offer her condolences, as well as to personally deliver a message to me. She said that about 10 minutes before Elise slipped under for good she told the nurse to tell me how much she loved me and that I would never ever be totally alone, not ever. Naturally, I lost it again and started bawling (when don't I in these experiences, ya know?).

Two weeks after Elise's funeral - I had placed a swag of fresh Lily-of-the-Valley flowers on top of her casket, our mutually favorite flower - I had stopped over at my Grandma's house for some coffee. Midway through our chatting my Grandma got up from the kitchen table and told me she had something for me that Elise wanted me to have. At first I thought "What the hell could she have left me?" because I truly had no clue as to what it could be. When my Grandma came down from the fruit cellar attic where all things old and personal were kept in those days, she was holding a small, leatherbound sachtel that was old and tattered, yet still intact with Elise's initials emblazoned in gold near the handle. She told me "Open it." And when I did and put my hand inside of it to see what was in it, I felt something heavy, I couldn't lift it with just one hand. I peered down inside the sachtel and lost my breath - with both hands I pulled up and out of it the most gorgeous, sparkling crystal ball I had ever seen in my entire life! My Grandma said "Oh my, look at that...!" Instantly I started laughing and crying at the same exact instant for it was then that I realized completely that I would never be alone again, I would always have that one extra guardian angel watching over me, my Aunt Elise. Then my Grandma said "Don't forget the card" - there was a tiny sealed envelope attached to the handle that I must've overlooked and when I opened it, the message comforted my inner soul - "Don't you ever give up on life, never stop reaching, and never stop dreaming. Love, Aunt Elise." In closing, I'd like to give a special Thank-You to my Aunt Elise, for always believing in me and for always sustaining me with strength when I thought there wasn't any left. Thank you for reading. 

Posted via email from Luctor Et Emergo

Friends and Family - Monday, July 5, 2010

When I think of the word "friend", so many different thoughts and images come to mind, but one that always is at the top of the list is one of my most favorite films of all time, "Fried Green Tomatoes" because this film is not only a story about friends, it's actually a definition of that term. A friend, a real friend, a true friend, is someone who sticks by your side and never leaves you, be it "through thick-or-thin" as they say, or "come hell or high water" - you get the point. But over the years I have noticed, both in my own life as well as in the lives of those people whom I consider friends, these friends of ours are more and more becoming family, and going way above and beyond the definition of the word friend, or at least the definition I learned while growning up.

Families are suppose to be people to whom who you are related to via blood/biological ties, but also the one group of people that you can always count on, who will stand beside you throughout your entire life with open arms and unconditional love, no strings attached whatsoever. I do believe that such families do exist and for those of you who do have such a family, you are truly blessed. However, in my own case, I've never had a family like that. Oh sure, there is my grandma and a few cousins scattered throughout America who are truly there for me, but this concept of having parents and siblings with a touch of that pseudo-Brady-Bunch feel to it? Realistically speaking, I know that is not the case in my own life.

My immediate family, which nowadays consists of a remarried parent and siblings, is, simply put - too involved with their organized religion to give a rat's ass about me - and no, that's not a complaint, that is the truth. In their eyes I exist only in memories of when I was younger, I'm already physically (as well as spiritually, naturally) dead in their eyes for as I have mentioned in previous posts, I'm an abomination, remember? Believe it or not, I actually laugh whenever I see that word cause when I was growing up one of my friend's parents jokinly said  to one of their kids "Stop being an A-word."(without saying the actual word) I automatically thought "You mean you're an abomination too??" I didnt even realize they meant "asshole" till I found out a coupla days later; and, all that time I thought "Oh good, I'm not the only one!"

Whenever one of us members of the LGBT community starts talking about family problems and the journey we went (or in some cases are still on) through regarding our sexuality, people almost always automatically think "Oh let's exchange therapy stories" which is fine-n-dandy, but I really don't have that type of story to share. Like with any situation under the sun, if you have a problem with someone or a certain group of people, you simply need to communicate with those individuals to either resolve and/or make a compromise with them; however, in those somewhat rare circumstances, IF no positive repoire can be mutually agreed upon, then you have two choices - you either put up with all the bullshit for the rest of your life OR you turn and walk away. 

With my immediate family, the answer was crystal clear - I turned and walked away. I truly did try to make things work but I realized rather quickly that there is no way on earth that I, nor any other person for that matter, could compromise their sexual orientation. It's not like you can say (though there are many who actually do attempt to do this) "Okay when I am with you guys I will not be gay, I will drink a 6-pack of Bud Lights, discuss how much I love the Bible and re-arrange my crotch every time I see a gal in a string bikini prounce across the tv screen, how's that for a compromise y'all?" That's not anymore realistic to expect than if the shoe were on the other foot - "But when y'all come to see me you can only drink Tuscan Moon Chianti - 2006, discuss what is your favorite Kylie Minogue song and why, and yell "Oh Mary!" every time we see a player's basket jiggle during the World Cup games, okay, how does that sound Hon??"

This piece isn't suppose to be about how I've risen above all the personal family bullshit in my life to succeed with my life (though it most certainly could be a runner-up for that kinda story, couldnt it?), it's to deliver a message to all of you out there reading this this very moment. You may already know it - people do NOT have to be blood-related to be your family. Please, don't ever forget that, always keep that one single factoid close to your heart, always. Of all the truths I have shared or attempted to message in these entries, this is one of the Top 10 to remember. My leg surgery this past month is a prime illustration of this - did you know that my own mother didn't call me, throughout the entire process, not even once? Nor my sisters? The only people that were even the least bit concerned about my welfare and well-being were my grandma, a few of my cousins and a whole lotta folks on my Facebook friends list. Hey, that's good enough for me, I am tickled every color of the rainbow by that, and am truly a blessed individual. Here's the lesson - when the people who care about you the most, not just through a leg surgery, but through every day of your existence, through rain-or-shine are people who aren't even biologically related to you, guess what? Those people are not only your true family, those people are the definition of what is a family.

And, up until the time of my most recent leg surgery this past month, did you know that I have gone through almost everything similiar to that alone? No shit. Oh I have many friends, the majority of them scattered around the world, dont get me wrong; but, no one realizes what it's like to be laying in a hospital bed watching everyone around you have visitors, receive Get-Well cards, even flowers, until it actually happens to them. Well it's happened to me, more than once, and if you want to talk about what being alone or extremely lonely is all about, go through that. I'm serious. You hear so many people today saying "Oh I'm so alone, I need to go do this-n-that"; but, when you're confined to a hospital bed there isn't a damn thing you can do about it except keep your chin up and realize that it's not gonna last forever. And as corny as this may sound to some of you, you know what kept me company during that last hospital stay? Every single good-wish message that came from my Facebook friends that was relayed to me via my cousin in Seattle. Like I said, from my own mother, nothing - from about 20 to 25 of you out there? Priceless.

If there are any of you out there right now experiencing any kind of difficulties with your friends, or those people whom you consider the closest to you, I want you to promise yourselves and I something, okay? Please, communicate with those people and work together as a team to resolve your differences. The reason I am making this request is because you just might be surprised someday by who is there holding your hand (both figuratively and literally) when you need it to be held the most.

When I look back on the adventures of  Ruth and Idgy in "Fried Green Tomatoes," those two characters were there for each other through every phase of their lives - birth, various renewals of life, death, even a murder trial - and always with their friendship intact from beginning to end. We always hear that life is all about taking chances and that it's always constantly changing, and even though that is the way it is, you always hear someone pissin-n-moanin and saying "Why can't things just stay the same?" Even I too have been known to say that from time to time, I think we all have; but, I think what can make all the difference in the world is knowing that whatever happens to you in your life, those who care about you will be there for you, to rally around you and believe in you, as any true friend would. But when the dust from whatever life situation is settled, and the world is calm, you may look over at the person standing next to you and say to yourself "They're still here." And, that is who you call family. Thank you for reading.

 

Posted via email from Luctor Et Emergo

Bostonspeak: 101 - Friday, July 2, 2010

Boston is the birthplace of American Independence so how fitting that I write this piece as the Fouth of July nears closer.  I could go on and on about how this place and that place is the kewlest thing to check out in Boston, but that's why they create travel websites, so you can zoom to whatever area you want to explore and take it from there. If you had told me years ago that I would someday leave California and fall in love with the Boston area and make it my home, I would've told you that you were 2 sandwiches shy of a picnic basket. But, it's true, I can't imagine living anywhere else, unless of course, the right guy came along and he lived elsewhere or if that rare group of friends that us single folks consider family said to me "We love you and we want you to consider coming here to live" - unless one of those two scenarioes would take place, I think it's pretty safe to say I will reside in Beantown indefinitely.

Based on my semi-excessive use of the Trenchmouth Dialect in my posts, one wouldn't think that I know a whole helluva lot about the English language but it was one of my majors in college and I guess when it really boils down to it, I just happen to be one of those warped individuals who feels that profanity does have it's place in the English vernacular, depending on how you articulate it into a sentence and/or exclamation phrase. This, of course, depends on what type of writing you are doing as well - in a personal blog, it has it's place; in a professional setting such as a newspaper or newsmagazine, then that's quite a horse of an entirely different color. Be that as it may, let us proceed onward to the subject material of this piece.....

On the issue of dialect, I've read in many different English language guides over the years that people speak differently in every region of the world because sometimes they get too comfortable with the syntax of their own language and "get lazy" with it. That might have a teeny tiny shredd of validation in the academic sense; but, I disagree with this concept for the most part because quite frankly, I think it's too broad and general of a statement to make regarding regional dialects and/or accents. Plus, it sounds downright judgemental if you ask me and I don't like that one bit. Regardless of the reason, depending on where you live across this great land of ours, you are gonna hear people talk differently no matter where you go.

When I make comparisons in this piece, it's not going to be from the angle of correct English versus Boston's regional dialect, but rather from comparing the dialect or way people spoke in the various places where I spent most of my childhood in the Midwestern US states to the Boston way of speaking, or as us transplants sometimes refer to it as "Bostonspeak." Before I provide any specific examples of these comparisons, a couple of things. The best way to describe Bostonspeak to a general audience is that it is somewhat similiar to the strong, guttural accent of the New Yorkers, only not as intense and not as abrupt. The main difference between those two areas, as well as the simplest way to classify it is this - it's more or less a matter of how the Bostonians pronounce certain letters in their words. Grammatically, I think it's the way they slur those letters as well. I will provide a couple of sentence and individual word examples, using the average Midwest example followed by the same sentences/words in Bostonspeak. Hopefully you will find these examples interesting, and perhaps even a bit entertaining.

Midwest: When you go to the market to pick up some carrots, will you please park the car by Harvard? And then when you get home will you please put the carrots on the card table? Thanks.

Bostonspeak: When you go to the mahket to pick up some cahhots will you please pahk the cah by Hahvad? And then when you get home will you please put the cahhots on the cahd table? Tanks.

I am not making fun of the way the Bostonians speak but that truly is the best way to describe it. The difference in the way they speak is rather simple - they subsitute the letter "R" with the letter "H" and then in certain words where there is an "H" they leave it out- Thanks and Thank you always turn into Tanks and Tank you. Yes, in some cases the way they speak can sound very humorous but over the years, I have actually fallen in love with it. Yet another truth - when you do live in a certain area, you do begin to speak like the natives, no shit. Some people say I still have a touch of the southern-sounding, western Ohio dialect, but I think I have lost most of that and do indeed sound like a Bostonian on certain words. As an example, I say the word "Sweetheart" they way they do, "Sweethaht" and sometimes I even spell it that way! In addition, rule of thumb is that the further you get away from the downtown Boston area and it's affluent neighborhoods such as Cambridge, Kenmore, Belmont, etc., the lighter the accent as well as the slur on certain letters.

An example of this would be people who live in the North Shore (with industrial revolution towns such as Quincy and Revere as well as Lynn, birthplace of the United States Navy) and South Shore (Scituate, Randolph, Taunton, etc.,) areas. People from both of those areas not only do speak the way most of America speaks but if they ran into anyone speaking Bostonspeak, they too wouldn't know at first what to make of it either.

Midwest: Help! There's a shark chasing me across the backyard!

Bostonspeak: 'elp! There's a shahk chasing me across the backyahd!

And it's not just in sentences either. Even the names of certain towns are not excluded from Bostonspeak. 

Midwest:" Worcester" would be pronounced "Wore-Cester."

Bostonspeak:" Worcester" would be pronounced "Woo-Ster."

By the way, Worcester is Massachusett's second largest city in the state, second only to Boston itself. Speaking of which, there's another good example....

Midwest: "Boston" would be pronounced as "Boss-Tun."

Bostonspeak: "Boston" would be pronounced as "Bah-Stun."

And my personal favorite, only because I recommend everyone to go visit the Peabody Museum in downtown Salem, MA should they come here for a vacation....

Midwest: "Peabody" would be pronounced "Pee-Body."

Bostonspeak: "Peabody" would be pronounced "Pee-Ba-Dee."

Congratulations on earning your degrees in Bostonspeak. Keep in mind that it's not just the various dialects or accents that people use when they speak that makes their own region of the country unique, it's the combined flavors of the various cultures, the way their cities were built, the terrain of the land and yes, even the very air itself that make every location a different planet unto itself; and, 9 times out of 10, there is always something to be appreciated regardless of what area of Boston and/or Massachusetts that you choose to visit.

The concept of each destination being a different planet unto itself not only applies to Boston, Massachusetts but to the entire world. California itself is a good contrast to Massachusetts. There still is nothing better than a June evening's sunset in Northern California. The colors of the sky, the lapping waves of the Pacific Ocean against the rocks, the scents of the air - just the feel in the air of sucha night like that is unlike any other. The same is true of Boston. The sun setting over the backdrops of the Brownstone buildings, the clanking of Samuel Adams lager bottles as folks sit on their front stoops and listen to the current Red Sox game over at Fenway Park; and, my personal favorite - little 80 old ladies driving Camries and Hondas, wearing their bonnet-like hats and yelling out their windows as they speed towards Storrow Drive, "You crazy sonnuvabitch!! Get the hell out of my way!!" Ah, life just doesn't get any better than that....thank you for reading.

 

 

Posted via email from Luctor Et Emergo

My Coming Out Story (Part 2) - Thursday, July 1, 2010

I think I first realized I was different from the other kids at my grade school when I was 12 years old. All the guys would be talking about girls and how sweet or cute this-n-that one was and how they wanted to "bang" or "hump" this-or-that one and all I kept thinking was about the one boy who lived across the river from the town we were living in at the time. Looking back I can truthfully say those sleep-overs with him were definitely defining in my life. Children at that age, regardless of gender, are bound and determined to "experiment" with each other; however, I never "graduated" onto other things. That boy and I were both 12 and let's just say we were rather close up until the time he "graduated" to being with girls only, around age 13. I remember feeling rejected and isolated when he stopped coming over, and when we drifted apart as friends, but I think I knew that I was bound to that particular course of study for life.

As I got older and became a teenager I still was having both those emotional yearnings and physical desires for members of my own sex but I just thought to myself "Well, I'll try to fit in with the others and try this girl thing." Boy, was that a mistake! I'll never forget my "first time" with a girl. She was 17, I was 15 and my family had gone away for the night to one of my sister's cheerleading events and the scene was set. We both went to my bedroom, stripped and the first thing she said to me was "I know this is your first time but just relax, take your time and don't worry, I'm on the pill." Looking back I shoulda been the one telling her not to worry. Back then I didn't know a whole lot about foreplay, but that worked out just fine because there wasn't any. We tried kissing a little bit but then I stopped because my inner voice told me "This does not feel right, not one bit." So I stopped. And then just as I was about to...I once again stopped. She asked me "What's wrong, are you feeling okay?" And I looked her right in the eyes and I calmly, very sincerely told her "I'm sorry, this just isn't gonna work me" and she said very calmly in return "Is it me, have I done something wrong?" and at that point I had put my undies back on and I laid next to her on the bed and said, looking into her eyes, "It's not you, it has nothing to do with you. It''s me, this just isn't me and I am sorry." What she said next still blows my mind to this day "Don't be sorry for who you are, it's nothing to be ashamed of - besides, I think you're pretty special just the way you are." Words of wisdom that I still believe in to this day.

I guess this is the point where I should tell all the straight guys out there that if they ever run into an older woman whom they're really interested in, it's true what they say - they are more mature and more wiser! So all in all, I'd have to say that my first and only attempt into heterosexuality was not a life-scarring experience, but rather a life-defining experience. Some critics may say "You were too young then, you really don't know what might have been had you gone all the way." No, that's not true, my instincts, my inner voice told me very clearly as I was about to, you know, "This is not you, this is not who you are" and I have no regrets paying attention to my instincts, especially at such a young age. That was enough to convince me that I knew the inner truth all along. What happened that night was yet another confirmation of it.

Getting back to the aftermath of that June evening in 1982....I can't remember if it was a Monday or a Friday, that June 13th, but I did indeed ride my bike to my grandparent's house and when I told my grandparents everything that had happened, my Grandma insisted that I stay with them for a couple of days, until things settled down, so that's what I did. And when I went back home, even though everything was calm, I knew that things in our family would never be the same. 

I tried the counseling route, both through your average psychotherapist as well as just one session with my family's Pastor and let me tell you what happened. The therapist told my family something that I was equally surprised to hear come out of her mouth - "There's nothing wrong with your son. He is a homosexual, pure and simple. If anything, the problem lays in the family dynamics, within each of you, but certainly not him." Naturally my family rejected her evaluation of the situation but I beamed larger and brighter than a giant Siamese cat when I heard those words come out of her mouth. As for the Pastor? He reminded me that it was a sin to be homosexual and that I would surely be damned to hell for my evilness, for God doesn't create such abominations, only the Devil does. I very firmly and most emphatically told him "Ya know Pastor, you're not as much of a Christian as you say you are because God created me too and God does not create garbage, people like you create garbage!" And that marked the end of my association with any and all organized religions. Just as with coming out, leaving the world of organized religion behind me was equally liberating because it was exactly like coming out in one very distinct regard - it was 100% for me.

Speeding things up from those paltry summer days of 1982, to July, 2010, so much has happened in my life since then as I'm certain it has in all of yours too. I'll give an update where things stand now between my family and myself....

As you may recall, my Dad died in 1989; but, we had made amenz with each other before he died and I am very grateful for that. The comment he made the night I came out was strictly out of ignorance and anger. No, I'm not defending him but merely pointing out that he reacted the way he did because he didn't know how to react. He hadda very hard time accepting me for about a year or so after that but once again, my Grandma stepped in and told him "He's your child, you just can't turn your back on him. He is the way he is and you need to learn to accept him for who he is." Eventually, he did. I still can't believe this, but he actually went to a few PFLAG meetings after I left the Midwest and went off to college; and, he did come around.

The last conversation I had with him was a few days before he died and was very moving yet so sad. The stroke that hit him affected his speech as well as his memory and I get very choked up when I remember that conversation because it was the same exact thing he said to me before I left for college and thank God his memory banks were allowed to retain that before he died. Towards the end of that conversation he said "...just remember Son, I love you very much. You need to get away from here and live your own life and be happy. This life isn't for you, you need to go to California and be happy." He remembered the speech he gave me before I left home and that was good enough for me.

As for my Mom, she too has come a long way since those days and we have a so-so relationship for the most part. We only get one mother and I do love her but without going into a lotta personal drama, let's just say that I'm closer to my Grandmother because she just has been in my corner ever since I can remember.

As for my older sister, we're not that close either. And as for younger sister, she is totally immersed in organized religion and feels the same way that that nasty Pastor who I read the riot act to felt. As for my nieces and nephews, I'm "not allowed" to tell them anything about my personal life because homosexuality is "wrong and an abomination in the eyes of God." Oh well, I see them maybe once a year if I'm lucky and they know I love them just as they love me, but they dont really know a thing about me. It is true what they say - children arent born prejudiced, they are spoon-fed bigotry and hatred by their parents. It's so sad but like they say, when you do your best to make a situation work and the other people involved won't put any effort forward, then all you can do is know that you did your best and you need to walk away from it.

So there you have it. In reviewing what I''ve written I'm sure there's a lot of you out there who can identify with what I went through. For myself and for you I wish that some of the situations we experienced wouldn't have been so negative, but rather than mourn what happened, let's be thankful that we survived it, appreciate that it made us stronger individuals, and best of all, celebrate who we are as people. No matter who you are or what you've been through in life, just remember that there is only one you and you're pretty damn special just the way you are. Thank you for reading and if you're traveling this weekend for both the Fourth of July holiday as well as for Pride celebrations here in America, Canada and beyond, please have a proud, safe and happy holiday weekend.

 

 

Posted via email from Luctor Et Emergo

My Coming Out Story - Thursday, July 1, 2010

I wasn't sure if I was ever gonna write about that day or not but with Fourth of July just around the corner, I think it's an appropriate time to write about my own personal Independence Day. I love it when others share that special day in their lives with me as well because it's more than just a shared experience, it's also a bonding experience as well. The thing I remember foremost about that day was the huge weight of chains that had fallen off my shoulders, like a giant personal wall of bricks, metal and mortar had been dashed to smithereens not from some weapon, not even from sheer human physical force; but, from the inner spirit's desire to live life totally open, totally proud. And duhhhhh, Pride celebrations all over the world are taking place as I write this piece this very moment, so yes, now is indeed the time to tell that story.

But right before we jump into my own personal experience, two things I need to put out on the table right away. First, for those of you who haven't come out, I want to share this with you - the act of coming out was one of the most liberating experiences of my entire existence. No one can tell you when or how is the right way to come out because it's totally a matter of personal choice and personal discretion. For me personally, the year or so before I did come out was so intense emotionally, that I truly could not avoid it. I had spent so much time reading books and articles from the Advocate about how others felt and the experiences they shared not only made me feel less alone but gave me a great deal of inner strength. What was the final, deciding factor for me? Every author of every coming-out story I had ever read from the first couple years of the 1980's put it best in a question that I answered by coming out - why live a lie? It's cliche but it's true - the truth shall set you free. And I will never be able to fully describe via the written English language how indescribable and immeasurable the sense of freedom I felt when I came out. Second, in case you didn't already know, this one will probaly be a two-parter guys.....

It was June 13, 1982, I was 16 years old and had finished my junior year of high school in the Midwest. I'm pretty sure that school had let out June 10th of that year and like most teenagers, it was so friggin nice to not have to get up at 5:30 a.m. that morning to get ready to catch the bus by 6:15 a.m.! Thank God that personal hell would be over with till the first week of September. Since we had an actual house at that time, no more living on military bases, I spent the entire day doing nothing at all, well, that is, in adult eyes. In teenager eyes I was having a great day - watching HBO off-n-on between laps in the swimming pool out back. Oh to be that young again. Laying by the pool, Madonna and Dead-Or-Alive blaring on the radio, nice ice cold Coca-Cola in hand and a cigarette hanging outta my mouth - life just couldn't get better than that, ya know?

As I was laying by the pool and soaking up some rays, around 2 in the afternoon, I rolled over and laid on my stomach and stared into the blades of grass next to me (back then I didnt even know who the hell Walt Whitman was, I swear - being blonde I just thought "Wasn't he Russell Stover's rival in the candy business?) as the sun beat down on my backside, and I started to think of how so many of the kids I knew, as well as myself, always thought that the adults around us were always ragging on us about not being "mature and responsible enough, especially when it comes to your own actions!" And, the lightbulb turned on. If you don't know me as person well enough by now, then you need to know that I rarely back down from a challenge - and my teenager years were definitely no exception that rule. I had made my decision, I would come out to my parents and my two sisters that evening, I just could not wait, it had to be then-n-there and it had to be my Independence Day.

Before I go any further with my story, let me just say this - please, for any of you who have not yet come out, I beg of you, never do it at the dinner table in the middle of dinner!!! Looking back, I wish I woulda waited till AFTER the meal, but I was just so bound and determined that evening.

We sat down to dinner and like I said, I shoulda waited justa tiny bit longer; but, as an impatient teenager the minutes counted as hours and I just could not wait any longer. The meal was a family favorite - my Dad's homeade spaghetti-n-meatballs, with homade garlic bread and a wonderful tossed salad too - hmmm, good eats for a carbohydrate-burning machine such as I was back then. My Mom was asking how everyone's day was and when it came to my turn, I said "Uhm, I don't know how to tell you all this but I've been doing a lot of thinking and a great deal of soulsearching and I need to tell you all something" - less than a nano-second after I said that, all gorging of food (yeah, the food was really that good!) stopped and everyone turned and looked at me, and my Dad said "What is it?" I took one deep breath and then let it all out (actually I had rehearsed some of it the week prior) "I just wanted to let you all know that I am gay. I'm still the person I've always been, it's just that my sexual orientation is a bit different from the rest of you. I love you all as my family and I hope you will still love me, as well as accept me." What happened next I was not only shocked at, at the time, but it also made me giggle a bit - that must be an anxiety release mechanism with me, ya know?

Almost instantly, everyone reacted to my statement like a stack of dominoes falling around the dining room table! My Dad coughed on his food and turned and looked at both my Mom and I and said "Oh Jesus Christ you sick sonnuvabitch, I knew you were your Mother's child and not mine!" to which my Mom said nothing, notta single fucken word, she just smiled as if it was some kind of sick joke and went back to eating, whereas my Dad left the dining room table to go toss his cookies in the bathroom. My older sister simply said "Thanks for letting us all know this but I figured it out about a year or two before you did Honey!" It may not have been full-wide acceptance at that point in time but for the moment her reaction was good enough for me, plus it did make me laugh and I thought to myself "And all these years I thought she was just some nasty bitch I was unfortunate enough to be related to. Gotta rethink that...."  As for my little sister, she actually started flipping out and crying and left the table to go toss her cookies in the other bathroom. After all the commotion had dissipated I turned and said "Ya know Mom, I didn't say this to upset anyone, it's how I feel and I don't wanna pretend to be someone I'm not." And she turned and said to me "Well Honey are you absolutely sure about this, totally sure? You sure you don't need to get some counseling for this?" And I said to her "Mother, it's who and what I am, it is not a form of mental illness" to which she said "Well I still think we need to get you some counseling for this, maybe even get you to talk to the Pastor" and my Mom, knowing how I felt about organized religion backed off a bit. So I said to her " Why can't you just love me and accept me for not only who I am, but for being honest about it?"                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               After I said that, I got up from the table as everyone else was re-entering the dining room, wiping their tears - what the hell was all the crying about? It's not like I said "I've decided to become a mass murderer" - and looked at them all in their faces and said point blank "I'm not the one who is sick here, you all need to get some goddamn counseling, not me" (yes, even back then I had horrible trenchmouth) I was beyond pissed off so I got on my bike and rode 2 and a half miles down the road and went to the only place I ever knew true acceptance - my grandparent's house.

In spite of all that happened that evening, looking back 28 years, I still do not regret coming out when I did. My viewpoint now is the same it was then regarding that subject - just do it and get it over with, that way there are no lies, no awkward situations, and all the facts are up on the table. Maybe I do owe a lot to being an impatient teenager because it certainly changed my life for the better. I remember the following year when I went to visit my aunt in California for the very 1st time, she would tell me how proud she was of me for being such an honest person and that "you should never ever hide your light from the world, do you hear me? To thine ownself always be true dear boy, always." I remember hugging her and telling her how much I loved her and how bad I wanted to get away from the Midwest. She use to say "Don't worry, you'll get away from there, I know you will." And as we all know, I most certainly did. 

Thank you for reading everyone. I plan to do a follow-up to this piece either later this evening or sometime tomorrow morning, it all depends on how my neck holds up. 

 

 

Posted via email from Luctor Et Emergo