Dear Tallulah -

Kidnapped...my Adoption Story.

2009-10-03T12:12:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah,

People often forget that I was adopted. I don’t talk about it much. It’s not that it bothers me or that I have particular issues surrounding my adoption; the subject just never seems to come up much. My adoptive parents were always open about it and I have always known “I wasn’t expected, I was selected.”

Up until the time I was about 16 or so I was always told the same story: I was born in Germany…my birth parents were killed in an automobile accident and I was given to my aging grandparents who decided that I would have a better life if I had younger parents who would better be able to raise me and offer me more than they could in their advanced age…so they put me up for adoption. At the age of 1 ½ , I was put into a German orphanage. I was adopted by the time I was 3.

When I turned 16, about the same time I came out to my family and was sent to Seabury Hall to attend my final two years of high school, I was given a folder that contained all of the information surrounding my adoption…all the correspondence, all of the signed documents, and even my original birth certificate. Many of the papers were in German, but the folder contained translations as well. The original documents that would have transferred custody of me to the orphanage were included. They were signed by Ruth Meyer Dohle, aged 24…my mother. She was alive at the time I was put in the orphanage and of course it raised a lot of questions in me. My adoptive parents, Gene and Betty, said the story they had always told me was easier to explain…easier than trying to figure out why my mother would have given me up…and of course it raised a lot of questions for me that at the time seemed unanswerable. Mostly, and to this day, I would just like to see what my mom looked liked. For some reason, I’ve never had much curiosity about my birth father, but my mom was different.

My adoptive Father, Gene wrote a short memoir about my adoption…about being stationed in Naples, Italy and how he and my adoptive mother, Betty, had sent letters to adoption agencies around Europe stating that they were ‘in the market’ for a child. Dad was in the Navy at the time and they had just purchased a town home in Naples. Betty could not have children naturally and in all honesty, if there ever was a sign from God to a human being, this would have been it…Betty was not meant to have children. Gene was.

Mid March, 1970, I was 2 years old. Instead of the normal first years of life afforded most people, I had been shuffled between my birth mother, my grandparents and ultimately an orphanage. If the psychologists were correct in their assumptions about a human forming their “trust” with the world in their first year of life, based on the stability of their given environment, I was already outside of the ‘box’ and I guess I have carried this trait with me throughout my life. There was anything but stability, and I don’t know how long I was with my birth mother, or why she decided to give me up. I’m not sure I even really spent time with ‘grandparents’ and by the time I was 1 ½ , I was already an orphan, the youngest of a large German house full of parentless children…all waiting for a new set of parents.

Gene and Betty received a letter in the mail near the end of March 1970, attached to the top of the letter was a thumbnail photograph, a picture of a blonde haired boy in a snowsuit and a simple paragraph underneath.

“Jerry is an active and alert child that has adapted well to his surroundings.” Jerry was my original name; Jerry Wayne Dohle.

I’m sure with much anticipation and trepidation, Gene and Betty completed the needed paperwork to initiate my adoption from Italy and with the subsequent go ahead from the German government drove from Italy to my orphanage to pick me up. Along the way there was much nervous chit chat: “What if he doesn’t like us?”…”What if we don’t like him?”…accompanied with half felt reassurances that everything would work out. I’m not sure if they felt like expectant parents or more like they were picking up a really neat ‘gadget’ to complete what they felt was lacking in their lives.

They arrived at the orphanage, and like visitors were escorted around the grounds, among the children and made no attempt to immediately approach me, but filtered among all the children and observed. I was the youngest and they saw a lot of the other children showering me with attention. In the office, they signed some final forms and were told, in broken English, “We think the best way to take Jerry, is just to go in the playground and scoop him up, put him in your car and just go!” It sounds odd, but they planned my kidnapping essentially. There would be no goodbyes, no Hallmark moments of meeting, no packing my things…it had all been planned and the orphanage official gave Gene and Betty my pre-packed suitcase along with my beloved blankey.

With the best of intentions, Gene and Betty pulled the 68 Cougar convertible they arrived in to the front of the play ground and left a back door ajar. They circled the playground and watched me with my friends for awhile before they made their move. When I had wandered away from a group of children, they scooped me up, walked directly to the car, put me in my car seat, slammed the back door, got in the front, started the engine and drove off. I protested, they assumed, in German, which they could not understand. I pointed out the window and began to cry. I cried until I fell asleep and when I woke, I began again, in German, asking questions perhaps, wondering what was going on, who are these people, where are we going, what happened to my friends….thinking, perhaps…am I safe…but mostly…what the fuck just happened? Gene and Betty eventually stopped on an American Military Base and found someone who spoke German to interpret what I was saying. And that action would be repeated all the way back to Italy. I would cry, speak, and they would stop and ask someone to tell them what I wanted.

I could not get Gene or Betty to dig this memoir out of their files, they say it’s buried somewhere and they’ll look for it. The first time I read it, I cried, loudly. I cried for this child, this part of me I don’t really remember, but I know has been carried within and has touched every part of my life since. I cried for their ‘good intentions’, I cried for my lost ‘family’…the birth one and new one I had at the orphanage. Mostly I cried for the three year old German speaking boy that was kidnapped one afternoon and thrust into yet another life he had not chosen.

I wonder what my real mother looks likes. I wonder if she misses me. I wonder what my life would have handed me as Jerry Wayne. I wonder if I found my real mother, if she would welcome me. I wonder if being sent away to Seabury Hall was so difficult at first because I felt like an orphan all over again. I wonder if that Ruth Meyer I found on Facebook could be my real mom and I haven’t the nerve to find out because the thought of a rejection keeps me from it. I wonder if there’s a German family somewhere feeling a hole where I should be. I wonder if I have a brother or a sister. Life is always full of “What ifs”…these are my biggest.

Love,

Steve

Gay Called...It's for Kevin.

2009-09-17T06:44:00.000-07:00

CONTINUATION…

Of course I don’t think I made it beyond the first 10 minutes of Kevin’s arrival home before I spilled everything about my conversation with Stefan. I don’t know what I was expecting from Kevin, fireworks, a fist through wall perhaps…I wouldn’t have put any of it past him. I think he was in a real state of shock. If you assume that life exists on a range of say 1 to 10, there are many people who go through their entire lives living between 4 and 7. When something outside of this number range actually takes place, the varying types of responses are as different as the people they are happening to. With Kevin, I handed him a 10, at least in his world and it just didn’t seem to be computing with him, as if there was no reasonable way for him to process anything of what I had just told him. I know he wasn’t happy. He barely spoke to me for two days, but would occasionally offer a weak, “I can’t believe I’ve been ‘outed’ in Europe.”

For those of you who missed the story picked up by the Associated Press, at least in Germany, the air waves were abuzz…from Berlin to Heidelberg…a ripple of shock and awe was felt traveling down the Rhine and reports of mass disbelief came from as far as France. Kevin had been OUTED in Europe…yes, fans, it’s true…no doubt disappointing some, but in general adding to his already freaky superstar status there. I fielded calls from Cher, Bette Midler and Richard Simmons…Obama’s office was ready to issue a statement but Kevin informed me on Sept. 11th that they had decided to fly the nations flags at half mast instead, no doubt in memoriam for the throngs of women who were mourning the lost possibility of ever carrying Kevin’s seed to fruition and producing an heir. I draped all the mirrors in the house in with a lovely black toile that Kevin himself picked out on a fabric shopping spree just weeks before the story broke. Here in the States it has been my general policy to neither confirm nor deny, but the wave of water cooler talk had, by week’s end, been felt from The Hague to the Vatican. Had it not been for the 9/11 anniversary dominating the press, I fully expect Kevin would have had to call a press conference to address his saddened and adoring fans. It may take years before I am fully forgiven and economically, Kevin is able to recover from the fallout and backlash…and on a side note, Glen Beck, your telegram was just hateful.

I tried to listen in on Kevin’s subsequent phone conversation with Stefan the following weekend, but decided to leave him and his friend in peace. Stefan has been calling and emailing me anyway, and if he wanted to share anything, I’m sure I would hear about it at a later date.

It has now been about a month since Kevin’s mother left our home, and few weeks since all of Europe was deprived of Kevin’s heterosexual prowess…and things at home have thankfully settled back into our normal routine. I, of course, hide all the bags of fan mail expressing distain and disgust at Kevin’s ‘choice’. Mostly there has been a lot of productive conversations about how Kevin can effectively set healthy boundaries with his mother so her next visit, due around Christmas, by the way, won’t be as painful. I have also had my travel agent forward many brochures of top of the line spa vacations that I may choose to embark upon and have Kevin pay to send me too, should I decide I don’t want to deal with Mary on her next visit. No joke. At the very least, leaving the brochures lying around the house has provided good impetus for Kevin to continue to deal with resolving many of the issues of the last month in a timely fashion. I’m not asking for solutions to everything overnight, but there has to be a general commitment to moving forward, and so far, Kevin has not disappointed…I just have to remember that it won’t all happen in MY time, but his own.

My fingers are a little achy from all this typing, probably the longest letter I have ever written. I hope you are enjoying a productive visit to Ireland and hope you have a safe return. I’ll let you know when Kevin’s interview with Oprah is due to air…and until next time…kisses.

Love,

Steve

Secrets and Lies....

2009-09-09T09:28:00.000-07:00

CONTINUATION…

Now this phone call was not entirely unexpected. Even before Stefan and Katrin left, there were promises made concerning the sharing of photos that had been taken during their stay with us and some of our day trips around Puget Sound. I believe we all felt the easiest way to share our pictures was through Facebook, since we would most likely be posting most or all of the photos there anyway. I know that Stefan and Kevin were friends on Facebook and I think Stefan asked me to send him an invite, so we could share our photos as well. I have never ‘friended’ Kevin on Facebook and with reason. I don’t want to be censored. That is the same reason he has never read this blog. Kevin is fully aware of the blog and the subject matter. I am very comfortable saying that there is very little, if anything, written here that has not been said to Kevin first. Writing to you just helps me process and sort through things to gain a little more clarity and distance from situations. So then you may ask why not let Kevin read it. Because it is MINE, and just as I am not privy to Kevin’s conversations or letters to his friends, I choose to keep “Dear Tallulah” unedited by a biased voice. I’m going to leave it at that. Anyway, I didn’t mention it at the time, but Stefan had called me at home several weeks ago. Actually he had called for Kevin but he and I ended up talking for awhile and he reminded me to send him a friend invite on Facebook, so he could share his photos with me and vice-versa. I knew that once Stefan had access to my profile on Facebook, he would also have access to “Dear Tallulah”…and I did stop and ask myself, “Would I take the time to look at a blog written in another language, because it belonged to someone I knew?” I would, even if only to look at the pictures. Now Kevin thought it was a little odd that Stefan and I would have had a whole conversation on the phone, after all he was Kevin's friend, but I reminded him that Stefan stayed in my house too, and we were also friends now, but I understood where Kevin was coming from…it’s that awkward moment when you realize that two previously separated parts to yourself are suddenly colliding and there is that split second, for most of us, when we quickly try to fetter out what inconsistencies about ourselves might be brought to the surface. For most of us, it’s a split second. For Kevin it must be an eternity. The Kevin that Stefan knows and the Kevin that I know are two different people. During our first conversation, the first time Stefan called, I not only had to be the person I was when he visited, “the straight roommate”, I also had to uphold Kevin’s persona; the person that Kevin had created for his friends and family. It was all getting very complicated for me…in-fact, I felt my end of the deal on this whole “Straight” thing was getting far more involved than Kevin’s end. And I don’t lie, especially to my friends. As for Kevin, I think he had been lying about his sexuality for so long that he no longer even viewed it as deception…it had just become par for the course, especially having been in the military for 20 years.

“You know,” I said casually to Kevin as we drove somewhere several weeks ago, “Once I ‘friend’ Stefan on Facebook, I imagine he’ll find out about us.” I turned to look at his face. The sunlight filtering through the trees that were rushing past the car flashed blotches of light and shadow on his face. I imagined Mother Nature holding a disco ball above the Pssat as we drove and smirked at the silly image I had conjured up.

Kevin looked at me quickly and caught my smirk and misinterpreted it. His eyes narrowed briefly as he tried to understand my amusement and he quickly asked, “Why?”

“Because I don’t censor myself on Facebook and it has the link to my blog.”

“I want to read your blog.” He stated.

“You can’t.” I replied. There’s nothing there that you don’t know about, Kevin. My blog is my release valve and it’s an easy way to communicate with my friends all at once. Besides, you know that if you read it, you’d be trying to edit what I write and I’m not going to play that game with you.”

“Is it all about me?”

“You’d love that wouldn’t you?…Why would MY blog be about you? I write about you, sometimes, but it’s my blog, about ME and my reactions to the world around me.", I stated firmly, leaving no room for discussion about how I would conduct myself on MY blog.

And that was that. Honestly. I knew at the time that he was not putting two and two together for some reason, or was he? Maybe Kevin, on a subconscious level, thought this would be a great way to come out! Every instinct inside me said “No” to that thought, but it still left a nagging voice in the back of my head…what if he really wanted to come out, but just didn’t want to do it himself? Maybe he didn’t even realize he wanted to come out. And these weren’t really whole thought out conversations I was having in my head, they were more like passing notions…quick, ‘what ifs’. I sent the friend request to Stefan on Facebook and couple of days later he accepted. I was anxious to see his pictures but they never came. Kevin offered to show me the photos Stefan had on his Facebook wall and I AGAIN said to him, “I imagine that Stefan knows about us by now.” Kevin said nothing. Was I missing something? All this bitching and moaning and kvetching for five years about keeping him in the closet and it did not make sense that he wasn’t picking up on this. So I again thought that perhaps he must really want certain people to know. I admit I did not push the issue either. I knew I could, but I felt like there was a reason that Kevin was acting like this, subconscious or not. On one hand I couldn’t quite believe it or understand it, and on the other, I wanted to see how this hand played out.

“Really, Kevin?” I asked. “No response to that?”

“What can I say? If it’s already happened or it’s already done?”

Very odd, I thought. My guess is that Kevin didn’t really believe anything would come of it. What else could I think? I had been almost a week or two since Stefan accepted my friend request and I still had not heard anything further from him. I realize now he was no doubt reading and digesting “Dear Tallulah”….and now I was on the phone with him.

I was pacing the kitchen floor and listening to Stefan speak. He started out by saying that he had always known about Kevin, even when they knew each other in Germany, years before I had even met Kevin. Stefan thought everyone knew, except Kevin. When he came to visit us in Washington, he knew my place in Kevin’s life within three minutes of being here and neither he nor his girlfriend, Katrin, could understand why Kevin and I were putting on such an elaborate show. They had a nice visit with us, but he thought that it would have been much more relaxed and enjoyable if I had not been staying in a room that was very clearly never used. That made me laugh. Stefan went on to add that he had given Kevin chance after chance to open up to him, clearly saying that if Kevin was gay it meant nothing to him, but he needed to have the honesty from Kevin…the honesty was the important thing. And that is what really impressed me about the whole conversation with Stefan…he was upset because, as a friend, Kevin had not trusted him with the truth, and that had led Stefan to question the very foundation of their friendship. I agreed with him wholeheartedly on every point. And for the next 30 minutes or so, we both tried to figure Kevin out and failed. It was clear that Stefan was trying to be a good friend and it was also clear that Kevin really had a weak grasp on true friendship. If you lie to a friend, I think you are really saying that you don’t trust your friend enough to exercise their right to love you unconditionally and if you can’t do that, is it really a true friendship at all? And here is where Stefan was stuck…not wanting to lose Kevin as a friend…extending the bridge that would allow Kevin to suture the gap between superficial understanding and deeper insight..., but not knowing how to approach Kevin. If Kevin had gone to such great pains to hide everything from someone he truly believed was his friend…well, it called into question the very nature of what a friendship meant to Kevin and I understood Stefan’s confusion and hurt…when this type of betrayal (and I honestly feel Stefan felt betrayed) is played out upon you, you can’t help but question yourself too, and wonder, “What did I do to make my friend lie to me?” Dishonesty disarms a person. You can’t work with lies, but given the truth in any situation and one can either choose to adapt or remove oneself. Stefan really endeared himself to me during this conversation and I was frantically searching my brain for something to say to make him feel better, something that would ensure the chance for a continued friendship between Kevin and him. Thankfully, I was relieved of that responsibility. Stefan said he had thought about writing to Kevin, then thought about writing to me and then settled on a phone call as there was too much to say. He knew that Kevin and I were planning on visiting him in Germany next year, but now, he didn’t want us to come if Kevin was going to play these games with him…he just wanted Kevin to be honest with him and trust him to be what a any good friend would be…unconditional.

My mind was spinning. I had promised Kevin never to ‘out’ him, but I’d done just that. I was thankful it wasn’t his mother on the phone. If it was, I might as well go upstairs and pack my bags. Then it occurred to me…had I really ‘outed’ him if Stefan already knew?…I had only confirmed suspicions…but that’s just mincing words, I thought…it would make no difference to Kevin and I knew that. I told Stefan that I wasn’t really sure how Kevin would react and I asked him to please give me a couple of days to approach Kevin and gauge his reaction before Stefan spoke with him. Based on what Kevin had said so far about ‘not being able to undo what was already done’, my gut told me that it would be alright that Stefan knew about Kevin and I, but Kevin would NEVER want to talk about it. But that didn’t feel quite right to me either, the truth was, I really didn’t know what Kevin was going to say, or how he would react. By the time Stefan and I got off the phone, I knew that he and I were in many ways closer to each other than he and Kevin had ever been. I knew that bothered Stefan but I wondered if it would bother Kevin…would it even occur to Kevin? I let go of that and quickly focused on the real task at hand. Kevin was due home in a few hours, and there was no way I could carry this around silently for a couple of days…it was going to come out tonight.

TO BE CONTINUED…

The 'Outing'

2009-09-02T06:17:00.000-07:00

CONT…

I truly believe that when you concentrate hard on something, “it” is put out into the universe and the universe responds. It’s like that moment when you need a quarter for the pay phone and don’t have one. Then you find one on the ground. Most of the time we dismiss such a coincidence as just that, but I believe there is something divine that we attract in these moments through our energy. Aside from all my concentration on NOT outing Kevin, the energy in the house was this odd focus on the relationship between Kevin and me. Mary was determined to either undermine what I had been trying to build with Kevin for the last 5 years or find out the exact nature of our relationship and it didn’t seem like I was going to be able to do anything but go along for the ride. The universe was already conspiring to respond though.
Frankly, I am tired of talking about Kevin’s mother, Mary already. I allowed her to rent far too much space in my head for the whole time she was here visiting. I told Kevin about the run-in I had with Mary in the kitchen. His main concern of course was whether or not I had actually confirmed her suspicions or not. I had not and Kevin was dismissive of the whole incident. As long as he was still in the closet, I guess he was thinking that he could deal with anything else. Of course, neither one of us knew that I would, in fact, indirectly “out” him before the month was up. Not to his mother, unfortunately, though. Kevin has spent 30 years creating an image of himself for the world to see and undoing his handiwork requires baby steps. This blog would be the catalyst for what I hope is a series of progressing baby steps. I know you keep asking why I put up with all of this, but please understand, there is love involved, 5 years of invested time, and 96% of my life with Kevin is great. Three weeks out of the 260 we have spent together is not grounds for divorce, in my mind.

Anyway, after I would butt heads with Mary, I always extended an olive branch. I fully intend to be an indirect part of her life, through Kevin, for awhile, so no need to burn bridges, right? After an altercation, I would go out front and cut some roses to put in her room, on the nightstand by her side of the bed. I did this several times, and it was my way of saying that I still respected her enough, as Kevin’s mother, to make sure that her stay was pleasant and I thought it was a nice gesture. It didn’t require words and like several other things, I found out after she left that she really appreciated it. That simple act of giving her fresh flowers, almost daily, may have been what kept things from completely falling apart.
Needless to say, I survived the whole visit, but not without quite a bit of collateral damage. I had lost a huge amount of respect for Kevin and did not gain any for Mary. When Kevin said we would be roommates ….he really meant it and he played his part to the hilt. I was unable to even sneak into our bedroom at night to steal a kiss or hug from him. I tried. Even though Mary and Archie were downstairs watching TV, Kevin would have none of it for fear of being caught…at least that’s what he said. In reality, his mother had gotten him to “thinking”, about how his choices concerning me were impacting his ‘image’ mostly. His mother could just not wrap her mind around me, as a ‘roommate’. It didn’t make sense to her and with good reason…it was because of her having one hand tied behind her back that I was always able to return to a space of graciousness and not completely go off on her. I don’t blame her for acting like a mom, truly, but Kevin needs to set clear boundaries with her, especially when she is visiting.

So now they are gone and in their wake, I am left feeling hurt, lonely, betrayed and of course, I was dying to have it out with Kevin. I finished gathering my thoughts and processing what I could, but decided to just confront Kevin, diving in and seeing what his thoughts or feelings were.
You would think that after three weeks, both Kevin and I would be totally up for some hugging and kissing and hot sex. Honestly, it was the last thing on my mind. No matter what the circumstances are, I have always trusted Kevin to honor and protect me. My trust had been shattered and there was no way I was going to give of myself intimately to him. Even if he had wanted to, which I found out he did not, I felt that having sex would have been a reward and he was in no way deserving. I didn’t even want to kiss him or hug him. However, I did want to know why he didn’t want to hug or kiss me.
Mary and Archie left early on Saturday morning. Kevin spent the weekend and Monday in his own world…barely talking, sad because his parents were gone and he said NOTHING about their stay...no apologies...no feelings to share….NOTHING….and I thought, OK, he doesn't know how I am really feeling, or, he doesn't know what to say....Kevin has never been good with apologies and frankly he is often short sighted and too into himself to evaluate where he might be wrong. He really lacks the ability to empathize and understand exactly how his words or actions affect others...his whole approach to the world is often based solely on how HE is feeling...so if he says or does something hurtful and it doesn't come back to bite him in the ass, then no harm done...at least that's my interpretation.

“You're just going to ignore the last three weeks, aren't you...and hope it all goes away?” I finally said to him Monday evening.
“What do you mean?” he said.
Honestly, as if he didn’t have a clue. Fucker. I got mad.
“It’s been hell for me, here, the past three weeks, and here's an idea Kevin...say to me, ‘Thank you for putting up with my mother and thank you for putting up with my bullshit and hers’, because it is bullshit, Kevin...’I know how hard it was or must have been for you, but you still made my parents comfortable and I don't know what I was thinking when I invited them here for so long, knowing you would have to spend more time with them than me. I really need to come to some conclusion about what to tell them and my friends, because I see that hiding and lying is a behavior that is not working now that I am in a relationship. I really would like to make it up to you, but I don't know how or what to say." I responded, incredulous. It all came rushing out as if I’d been practicing it, which I hadn’t. I had had plenty of time to sort of script out an approach, but this was purely off the cuff. Now, part of the dynamic between Kevin and me does NOT include arguments…it just never has. My anger and the raising of my voice was pretty new to him and drove my points home. I learned early on, as did Kevin, that yelling and arguing was just not a productive way for us to communicate. It just never worked as well as waiting for a time when we were both receptive and talking calmly. But, I was too pissed to care.
He said, "Is that what you want to hear?"
I said, "Yes… or some variation of that." He would not indulge me though. What he did say was,
“I’m just confused and thinking about some things my mom said.”
It amazed me that I was the one that was upset, and hurt, yet the conversation was now going to become about HIM? I played along for a second.
“What...what are you thinking, what did your mom say, and what are you feeling?”
“I don’t know.” replied Kevin. That just set me off again.
“That's an eight year-old's answer. An adult does not spend three days brooding over inner turmoil and not know what he's thinking or feeling. You’re coming across as emotionally stunted. If you are telling me that we can spend 5 years building a life together and your mother can show up and in three weeks begin to undo what you have already decided makes you happy by making a few comments about you needing to get married, or having kids, which you hate anyway, don't you see how that would affect me? Don't you see how threatening that is? AND what if I just stopped talking to you? Just stopped. No reason given, like you’ve pretty much done since Saturday, and then in all other aspects, tried to make you think you were crazy and that everything was fine? This is not the way you treat someone that you love, Kevin. Since they have left, we have not kissed, or hugged, or snuggled and here I am thinking, thank God, they're gone, now we can get back to our life and really, they might as well have stayed...because you are still acting like we are just roommates.” I said in another rush of words and pent up emotions.
He actually said something about trying to make himself CELIBATE, to see if he could do it or some stupid shit along those lines, to see if it was possible to approach the idea of doing what would make his mother happy… CRAZY, STUPID, misguided, just nuts I thought!
“How about this,” I began, “ you stop feeding your sick little secret, stop giving it and your mother so much power and come clean...You've been skirting around the fact that you're gay since high school...and you always come back to your true nature...if I wasn't with you, you'd be trolling Craigslist and Gay.com again....NOT trying to find a girlfriend, or a wife, or to have kids...Will your mother stop loving you?... NO…Will the world stop spinning…NO...Man the hell up, get over yourself, snap the fuck out of it and stop acting like an 8 year old caught in some nefarious web...you've created this situation, and you know how to extract yourself....it's like you keep hitting this brick wall...so you back up and instead of taking a left or right turn, you slam yourself into it again and again, and each time, you expect something different to happen.” I was on a roll. I didn’t even need to hear him say what he was confused about…I knew.
“I don’t have any answers right now…I’m still processing everything.” he offered weakly.
I didn’t really want to, but I kept getting louder and said, “Then why don't you SAY that then? You have given me nothing...you could have said that on Saturday, or Sunday, or 10 minutes ago... “
So the rest of the evening, he tried to suck up and he kept asking me why I was so quiet, what's wrong now?...I said the same thing is wrong...UNBELIEVABLE!
“I told you how I felt and just because it's expressed, doesn't mean there is a resolution...I'm sick of everything being solely on your terms...I played that bullshit game for three weeks with your parents and now it's time for you to think about ME...now fuck off...!”

I was pissed, and that's where I was. Wednesday, he came home and asked if he was still in the dog house...wouldn't it just be a matter of time before he got out of the dog house?... I said, “No, some answers and a direction for us to take as a COUPLE will get you out of the dog house...”
He said, “Are you just trying to give me a taste of my own medicine?” referring to my silence.

“I’m not playing a game, Kevin. I'm hurt and waiting for your adult response to some real issues that are important to me. I want answers….or I want counseling, or I want out.”

That's pretty much where we left it. This morning he was all kissy and trying to be nice before he left and I just won't have any of it. I am so happy to be home alone and loving the quiet and the space. It’s exhausting being mad, so I needed a break from that too. Then the phone rang…It was Stefan, from Germany. You remember, he and his girlfriend, Katrin had just stayed with us before Archie and Mary came to stay. I had to play the straight roommate when they were here too.
I told Stefan that Kevin was at work, but that he had his cell phone with him.
Stefan said, “No, I wanted to talk to you. I have read your blog, “Dear Tallulah.”

Oh Fuck! I didn't think the universe would use this route.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Egg on Momma's Face...

2009-08-28T07:00:00.000-07:00

Dear

Tallulah,

Picking up from my last letter....

I told Kevin at some point that I knew Mary had no intention of ever cooking during her stay. I knew this because I heard her say it. The guest room is right next to 'my room'. I heard Mary talking on the phone, more than once. I wasn't eavesdropping; there was no way NOT to hear her. I don't know who she was speaking with, but the continuing refrain that caught my attention was always, "I'm supposed to be on vacation!"....as in, "I'm not going in that kitchen, I'm supposed to be on vacation! Let Archie make dinner." Let me add quickly that around day 5 Kevin had offered to do some laundry for his mother and Archie. I have to say that Kevin LOVES to do laundry and he LOVES his front loading washer and dryer. They are not too complicated, but if you are used to a simple washer with a dial and a start button, ours can appear overwhelming...so Kevin offered to do it for them. Mary said she could do her own laundry and Kevin said the machine might be hard to figure out and Mary laughed adding something along the lines of "I was doing laundry before you were born, I'm sure I can figure it out." Anyway, just keep that little tid-bit in mind. When I suggested to Kevin on day 5 that it would be a good night to eat out, giving me a kitchen break, I was in no way suggesting that he try to get Mary to cook, like she said she was going to....even though I was looking forward to tasting some of her meals that Kevin has bragged about. I KNEW Mary had no intention of cooking because she was supposed to be on vacation.

The next morning I slept in some. There was really not too much of a reason to get out of bed at this point. No day trips had been planned. The TV downstairs and the computer would be taken over and if I got up too early, I might be tempted to make breakfast for everyone too, but I was standing my ground. I can deal with nightly dinner fixing, but I was not going to be roped into three meals a day for another two weeks. I was awakened by the sound of something being slammed...repeatedly. I opened my bedroom door and found Mary in the laundry room standing in front of the washing machine, on the phone, with her back to me. I don't know who she was talking to but, again, I hear, "I don't know why I'm trying to do this....I'm supposed to be on vacation!" I backed up and shut my bedroom door behind me to announce my presence. See....still trying to be polite. Mary turned in my direction, a little startled and ended her phone call. I was tempted to just walk by, but I asked if she needed help and kept my sarcastic thoughts to myself. I did say, "I know I heard you tell Kevin you could figure out any washer..." in an amiable way, "..but this one is difficult." I added a second or two later. I got her clothes started for her and offered a quick tutorial, but she insisted that Kevin would finish her laundry for her. Whatever.

After a hot shower, I went downstairs for my coffee. Both Archie and Mary were in the kitchen. Three cabinet doors were wide open and they were obviously in the early stages of deciding to make themselves something to eat. GOOD. I left them alone and they both watched me, kinda over their shoulder, as I filled my coffee mug. I knew their staring at me was an invitation to ask if they were OK, or needed anything.....I ignored them.

Mary asks, "Where's the bacon?"

I know it came out sarcastic, but it was said humorously and with out a bite .... "Oh, you can't find it in the cabinets? Must be in the fridge then.", I offered.

Archie called me a smart ass and laughed.

I went to the fridge and pulled out the bacon then asked if they wanted the eggs too.

"Yeah", said Mary, "And some cheese and green onions."

Archie had already slipped into the living room and was again searching for the Golden Girls.

I pulled out some cheese and green onions for Mary and as I was placing them on the counter she turned, started to walk out of the kitchen and says:

"While you're at it, you might as well make me an omelet."

That was it. Enough of this shit. Maybe she could pull this on Kevin, but Archie was preoccupied, Kevin was at work and it was just her and me now. I briefly thought of being tactful, but some people need it plain and blunt. I usually reserve tact for people too stupid to understand sarcasm and having been on the receiving end of Mary all week, I knew she was too conniving to be taken as stupid.

"Look, Mary, I know you're supposed to be on vacation, but the omelet bar is officially closed. If you want an omelet every morning, and lunch every afternoon...to be made for you, I think you should go to the Casino down the road and have it. You could even pay for a room there and they could do your laundry too. I'm thinking you're confused as to my 'role' here, for lack of a better word...but it's not to wait on you hand and foot. I PAY to be here...no one is paying me." I had to elude to the fact that I pay rent, which I don't. I put the down payment on the house that Kevin and I live in. Kevin is paying that back by covering the mortgage for the first 3years or so...but I couldn't say that.

"Well, what is your 'role' here? Since you brought it up, 'cause people ask me that." I was surprised at Mary's boldness but I was also glad this was coming to head now and we weren't going to have to pussy around it for another 2 weeks.

"Ask you what?" I wanted to know. I mean I KNEW, I just wanted to hear her say it.

"If you and Kevin are gay....people ask me that, you know." she replied. She was uncomfortable and trying to hide the fact by getting louder. I know my lack of shock caught her off guard. Straight men are supposed to act indignant when they are told that people might suspect they are gay...at least I knew that's what she thought. I wasn't biting.

"So what?" I shot back. "There are worst things than that, LOTS worse. And even if we were gay" Yes, I was still attempting to protect Kevin here..."who's business would it be?"

"It's my business." Mary said with motherly authority. "I want Kevin to be happy."

I asked, "And if he was gay, then he couldn't possibly be happy? Kevin's happy Mary, and if his happiness depended on being married and having children, like you want, I think he would have done it."

She raised her voice again...and her indignation, "How do you know he's happy? 'Cause he's with you!?"

I had seconds here...less than that really. It was right in front of me and I could answer, "Yes, because he's with me." and end this bull shit. If I waited too long to answer, it would be the same as saying yes. If I showed shock at the question, my change in countenance would be the same as saying yes. Should I protect Kevin and his wishes to remain in the closet....should I out myself and effectively Kevin too? I had no time to think here.

"I know he's happy, Mary, because we talk and because we live in the same house." I said in an over calm and confident voice, absolutely sure of myself and knowing I was right too. I had let the opportunity pass...but gave neither a confirmation or denial. I also couldn't help myself from smirking a little. I knew how uncomfortable Mary was and her anger was her only protection. On some level, I had pushed her right into this very conversation and I realized, while she was saying and asking what I wanted her to, it was more for my benefit than hers. I don't think she wanted a confirmation, not really. She was looking for the denial. It never came and her face dropped a little when she realized it wasn't going to come.

Archie piped up here and said, "No way Kevin is gay, not with the way he talks about women." I made a mental note of that...Kevin was having 'pussy' conversations with his step-dad?

"I can't imagine my mother intruding on my personal life like this." I added when I realized that Archie was done.

"Well, Kevin's already put me in my place about this anyway." she said.

I feigned ignorance, still playing my hand close to my chest.

"He told me to stay out of his business in the car yesterday...that he didn't need me to help him find a woman or anything. So we already talked about this."

Time for the final blow.

"I know. He told me." I said. And he had. I don't know if Kevin was sick of hearing her go on and on about a wife and kids, or if he saw my fading patience in listening to it... but he had told her to butt out. My saying that I knew he had told Mary to butt out was all the confirmation I would give and all the lack of denial she was gonna get. We both knew what I was saying and what had been said. The slippery thing was, what I hadn't said was what she and I were both focused on. Mary's mouth actually dropped open slightly, but she caught herself. Those five little words had signed, sealed and delivered the very coupe d'gras I had intended. "I know. He told me." Mary may have thought that she was more privy to Kevin and his inner thoughts than anyone else, after all they spoke on the phone at least four times a day...even while she was visiting...AND she is his mother... but, I live with him. I had just put her in her place and repositioned my self as roost ruler and we both knew it. Mentally, I was smacking her imagined tiara off her chubby little head and bad hair weave. Mary turned sharply and went upstairs.

I made myself an omelette.

Now...what to tell Kevin about all this.?

TO BE CONTINUED...

Boxing with Momma

2009-08-24T02:31:00.001-07:00

Dear Tallulah,

I could only be writing this to you since you have a very tight grasp on the fact that I am a big boy and am not looking for sympathy. There are times in life when one is presented with a situation where one must simply “Suck it up” and move on. I say this in reference to the last three weeks. Am I going to "Suck it up" and move on? I am still plotting my next move, so I don't know yet. Yes, the In-laws finally left, early Saturday morning. I was awake for most of the night before their departure, in reposed anticipation…and when their car door slammed and then I saw the last bit of tail lights disappear around the corner as they left my neighborhood, I had a delicious chill creep up my lower back and spread between my shoulder blades…that always happens when my nipples get hard.

I had almost skipped out on the second week of their visit and wanted to go down to Tacoma to visit my lil Opihi...except, I KNEW that Kevin's mother was perched, ready to pounce on such an opportunity to do something like invite that cute female bank clerk she met in town over for dinner to MY house...hoping she could set something in motion with Kevin that I could not stop. Yes, this was how she was operating!

I kinda just stood there a moment, in the empty driveway, gauging my instinct to rail Kevin into the nearest wall and ram my frustrations through his breast plate against my need for peace and quiet. I looked at Kevin, who was still waving to a car that was no longer in sight. I rolled my eyes hard enough to hear what my mother used to say, “Keep it up, you face will freeze like that.” So I closed my eye lids and imagined the suction like release of my eye balls from somewhere near my pituitary gland. Knowing I would need to gather strength for the post In-law “clean up”, I made my way upstairs to the bedroom I had pretended was mine for the last 21 days, flopped on the bed and let my war weary mind drift over the highlights of the last three weeks. And that's how I feel now....War weary. Like I was tensed and needed to be en-garde for three weeks.

Now, I know there are concessions made in every relationship. I would not believe any couple who told me otherwise. I have been in relationships with liars, addicts and plain old misfit bad boys. I have also gotten out of all those relationships. When I met Kevin, I knew he was law abiding, decent, honest, and on the ‘vanilla’ side of life. He had a successful career and wasn’t a gold digger. He rarely swears and I knew he loved his mother. Did I know she had a strangle hold over him and that she had long ago replaced the apron strings with bungee cords? No. Had I known - would it have made a difference? No. Even now, staring at the ceiling of a guest bedroom in my own home, I was actually thinking, “It’s over. Is this a battle I am wise in choosing?” All I could think about was confronting Kevin. BUT, how to do so without seeming like I was trying to pit him against his mother...his mother, who could do no wrong, in his eyes...it was going to take alot of thought before approaching this battle.
The first couple of days of thier visit was like a slow warm up, a gradual snow ball effect took place as Mary did little things that in and of themselves didn’t seem to warrant any confrontation. She took my place, my spot on the sofa…but we have two sofas and a love seat…and she’s a guest. She took the front passenger seat in the car when we went out…my seat…but she’s a guest. She kept bringing up the fact that Kevin needs to find a wife and work on grandchildren. Then the news came on with a story about gay people protesting in Seattle and she sees some men holding hands on TV and says, “Disgusting!” I know what kind of power that wields when a son, who is gay and in hiding, hears his mother make a comment like that. You think, “My God, if she knew about me, that means she’ll think I’m disgusting.” I heard my mother do that too…and I had enough by age 16…and Kevin’s 46…that’s fucked up!

I admit, after Round one, when I called Kevin’s mother, an idiot, I had to stop and reassess things. I spoke to Courtney and she agreed that Mary was operating with one hand tied behind her back. So, does the fact that she SUPPOSEDLY doesn’t know I’m gay and that I am entering into the sixth year of a relationship with her son, excuse her bad manners? Suppose I was blind and spend three weeks telling nigger jokes…would that be ok? Because I didn’t KNOW I was being offensive? Is that why I had to sit around and listen to her negative banter about gays?

Here are the facts: Kevin hasn’t had a ‘girlfriend’ in at least 7 years and I have been with him for 5. He had never lived with anyone until he met me. He retired from the military and moved to Washington State for his new job and I ‘followed’. We shop together, I cook for us, Kevin does our laundry, and everyone knows this, including Kevin's mom. How could anyone NOT know what’s going on between us? I can’t answer that except to say that they know, but they remain highly confused by Kevin’s frequent and adamant denial of it...and until there is a confirmation, they operate under the hopes that Kevin will still find the right girl and settle down. The whole visit was like a three week long battle of wills, played out behind Kevin and Kevin's stepfather, Archie’s back. Who was more important?….who REALLY ruled the roost?…Was Mary going to "turn" Kevin straight, or was I already entrenched too deeply....that's what the battle felt like. I honestly felt that Mary did not come to visit Washington to look for a new home, like she said. She came to investigate, stir up some shit, and see what she could get away with.

Round Two: Before they arrived I prepared their bedroom and bathroom…the same one you stayed in and used when you visited. They THINK, that I clear out that bathroom and take up residence in the master bath with Kevin to accommodate them. In reality, ever since their last visit, I never did re-occupy the guest bath after I had to make room for them. It was too much of a pain to move and clean every time we had guests. So when they arrived, they were shown their room and their bathroom. Having run my parents Bed and Breakfast for so long, I tend to overdo on the details a little bit….rolled washcloths on the counter, new soap and toothpaste laid out…toilet paper folded to a neat little point…flowers placed on the back of the toilet…hand lotion, cotton balls, ear swabs…all placed strategically for a pleasant visit. Besides, I'm gay...c'mon! So it's THEIR bathroom. Day four of their visit, Kevin told me that his mother was using our shower, in the master bathroom because she liked it better than hers.
“What?! I don’t want her using our bathroom.” I said. “Did she ask…did you say it was ok?” What the Fuck?! When did she do this!? Where the hell was I?!
“No.” Kevin replied. “She likes ours better because it has the built in seats and she likes to sit down and bathe, I guess.”
Then he shrugged, as if to say, “That’s mom.” and walked out of the room.
I had to think for a minute. Would I ever walk through someone’s master bedroom, into their private bath and use it if I was staying in someone else’s home…after I had been given a bathroom of my own…without asking? Was my family strange in that way? Was I missing something that I didn't understand? Would I even do that at my parent’s house? No. No. And, No!! I marched downstairs to interrupt the fourth day of another Golden Girls marathon. I addressed both Mary and Archie.
“Which one of you is using the master bathroom?” I asked in a light, curious tone…looking at Mary.
“Huh?”
“What’s wrong with your bathroom?” I tried again, dropping some of the light tone of voice.
“Nothing’s wrong with it, why?” Hmmm...I dropped the light tone and she picked it up! The non-admission of guilt did not escape me. I took one glove off…
“Because, if I wanted to share a bathroom with you guys, I wouldn’t have cleared mine out so you could have a bathroom of your own.” I offered.
No response. Archie clearly had no idea what I was talking about and Mary could see there was no way to be rescued by him.
“I mean, if I came to San Diego and stayed with you, and you gave me my own bathroom to use, It would never occur to me to just help myself to your private bathroom…” I was already taking my second glove off….
Mary cut in, “You could use whatever bathroom you wanted…..”
“Well, that’s just odd, Mary” I continued. “I know I would at least ask first…and if you like the shower, this bathroom downstairs has the exact same one …why don’t you use it? Have you lain in my bed yet? You might like my mattress better than the one in your room.” I arched my right eyebrow for emphasis. I quickly ran the whole thing through my head again…it was no use…IT WAS ODD. Was she testing Kevin, or testing me? Was she trying to prove something to herself or me? I gave up on guessing the motive….it was just fucking weird! I knew her oft repeated refrain, “I’m your mother, I can do what I want.” was perched on the tip of her lips and she was at a loss for an excuse. Yeah, you're not MY mom.

Mary turned to Archie, “You better not use that bathroom again!” she shot at him. Archie still didn’t know what was going on…and he returned his attention to Sofia and Dorothy and Rose, after shooting me a puzzled glance and waving his hand in our direction...clearly indicating this was between Mary and me.

In our little battle of Who Rules the Roost, that was as good an apology as I could expect. Not exactly a knock out…but technically….it was. I still couldn’t believe that Kevin was unwilling to set this boundary. I know that often children can do no wrong in their parents eyes, but I never knew it happened in reverse.

Mary and Archie stayed in their pajamas for the majority of their stay. Mary, stayed up until sometimes 2am and slept in. Archie was up at dawn. By 10am they were both downstairs, monopolizing the TV and the computer. Around 2’oclock, Kevin would make his 8th or 9th call home to see what they were doing and to say he’d be home in an hour. I waited anxiously for that phone call every day. As if AT&T reached through the phone and inserted a firecracker in their butts, and then lit it, they would hang up with Kevin and go upstairs to shower and get dressed. Well, they started to get ready...the entire process would last until about 5pm. It was like his arrival home signaled the sun to shine and the day to begin. They never went out further than Walmart, or the video store, but it gave me an hour alone while they were gone and I looked forward to it. I usually ended up in the Kitchen making dinner during this time, but it didn’t matter, I was alone.

I had no way of knowing that Round 3 would take place because an omelette.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Moving on...

2009-08-17T20:21:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah,

You'll have to forgive my leaving you hanging, but as you know, I have guests. I've also had time to redirect my anger.

I did call Kevin's mother an idiot. At the time, I felt very justified and self righteous about it too. I have listened to her prattle on about race issues, Obama in office, finding Kevin a wife and about her wanting to be a grandmother. I may have been right in calling her an idiot and even Kevin and her husband agreed with me, but still I find myself feeling bad about it. Since I last wrote, it has not been an easy task to play the gracious host but I got to thinking, "Why am I directing my anger towards Mary?" When I stopped for minute, I realized that she is operating under the assumption that Kevin is telling her the truth, and he's not. She has no idea what part I play in Kevin's life and therefore no way of knowing when and if she is stepping on my toes. She loves to use, "I'm your mother, I can do what I please...." line with Kevin and perhaps in their mother and son world that's ok....Kevin lets her use the master bath (even if it is really Kevins and my bathroom), Kevin indulges most all of her whims and wishes...of course she thinks she can come here and "rule the roost". I've been directing my anger at the wrong person and I can't even apologize, now that I realize how moody and uptight she must have thought me. I would never call my own mother an idiot, no matter what I am thinking, so it is one of those rare instances when I wish I could take back what I have said. At this point, I can only treat her with the respect and care that most mother's deserve from their children's' spouses...even if she doesn't know I am an in-law (so to speak). I will continue to try to educate her on gay issues, but more gently. And I will continue to make her omelette's to order and pick up her wet towels, but with a bit more sympathy, the kind one reserves for those less informed, through no fault of their own.

Perhaps given some time after this stay, I may again revisit their vacation here with a healthy dose of humor. For now though, I am off to deliever a piece of apple pie to Kevin's mom...as she watches TV in my spot on the sofa.

It's easy to negotiate "the rest" when love is enough....but how to negotiate love....when "the rest" is not enough?

More soon, I promise,
love and kisses,

Steve

Transgendered Penguin Addicts and Kevin's Mother.

2009-08-13T05:11:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah -
Well, where to start. Of course you know that Kevin’s mother and step father are here visiting, for three weeks. I think I sent you a short update on Monday, detailing my run in with Mary on Sunday, where I actually ended up calling her an Idiot….only took me four days. I should have paced myself better.
Kevin has this hang up: He will not come out of the closet with 98% of his friends and 100% of his family. It is his belief that none of them know, don’t need to know, will NEVER know, can’t know. I came “out” somewhere around 16 and just never looked back. I can’t even describe the inner turmoil that trying to keep something like that secret caused me, even at 16 years old. Actually, I don’t remember the inner turmoil, it was quite awhile ago, but I do know that I was absolutely compelled to free myself from having to pretend to be something I wasn’t. First, I didn’t know how to pretend to be straight…whatever that meant, and second, I just never cared about what ‘you’ thought of me enough to worry about changing something about myself for anyone other than me. I don’t know why I never cared….I mean, certainly in high school and even today, I want my friends to like me, but I don’t try to be something I am not to make ‘you’ my friend first….if we become friends - THEN I care about ‘you’ liking me. You know how God seems to give small animals VERY big egos and personalities to compensate for their lack of size?….Well, growing up gay 30 years ago was no easy task and God must have compensated for the trouble I would go thru, by removing my “I give a shit” gene. So having been nothing other than “ME” for all this time, I absolutely do not understand Kevin’s decision to remain in the closet. What does this have to do with his mother visiting? When she is here, as when Kevin’s friends visit, Kevin and I become roommates. No displays of affection, obviously, no stories about ‘us’, no sleeping in the same bed, no making lunch for Kevin as I do most mornings before he leaves for work at 5am….clothes must be moved into one of the guest rooms which then becomes MY room… the list of “don’t’s is really quite big and it’s silly and it’s a pain. However, I basically feel like since I have so little understanding of what it’s like to be in Kevin’s shoes in this respect that I really can’t comment or even help him. I will not ‘Out’ him, that is his business and while it is spilling into my life on some levels, I knew this when I met him, I agreed to play along, I knew the job was dangerous when I took it and I think it dumb to start complaining too much at this point….5 years later.
So, much preparation goes into Kevin’s friends or family coming to visit and I hate it every time….I make my displeasure known and then I deal with it as best as I can. Kevin’s friends are no big deal for the most part. I believe they all know or suspect anyway and just don’t care, but they play along with Kevin’s rules while in his world. Mary, Kevin’s mother is a different matter. She has made no secret of her feelings about gays and her disparaging and backhanded comments are probably a huge reason that Kevin won’t fess up to her. And it’s not like she doesn’t have her suspicions either…but when she asks, Kevin squashes her doubt and I remain silent. Now, I do speak up for the gay population, I’m not a pussy….but I don’t confirm her ideas about Kevin and I.
It completely chaps my ass that a Black, woman, who has no doubt experienced many forms of discrimination in her lifetime and has seen a nation finally begin to move past our history, by electing Obama into office would have the nerve to be discriminatory towards anyone or any group of people. The limited amount of discrimination I have felt over the years as a gay man has been enough that I am accepting of the most diverse groups you could imagine….I really don’t care if you are a Transgendered Jewish Republican Drug Addict Penguin Fucker….honestly….I don’t have to sleep with your penguin….rock on sister friend. Mary, however does seem to care and often makes her views known…and loudly. You can imagine what might happen over the course of three weeks when having her and me in the same house. She arrived last Thursday, so it's been about a week......If you can’t imagine what could transpire with Mary and I under the same roof, hang on and fasten your seatbelt…..

TO BE CONTINUED….

Not Funny.

2009-08-08T04:38:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah,

So, I have been sitting on the conclusion to this memoir for a couple of days and feeling wholly guilty that I have left you hanging. You must trust me here...were I able to find any more humor in this story, I would write it. I'm surprised I found as much as I have so far. Truth be told, what humor has come across so far I have perhaps subconsciously inserted just to make the entire truth bearable....more palatable and worth remembering.

I did not have to pee out of the cage to get any one's attention. I can only say that in the next half hour, several small miracles occurred. I don't know how else to explain....someone was watching over me, good karma, maybe....small miracles....definitely.

As I seriously thought about shedding my underwear and just letting loose a much needed torrent of urine on the dance floor below, the lights in the club stopped pulsing, the music was lowered and everyone turned to the stage....a spotlight flitted across the crowd and settled mid stage, shining on a club manager/person/owner who had appeared with a microphone in hand.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, once again Rockin Robins would like to thank all of you who have participated in our annual AIDS awareness dance contest. We have raised a record amount of funds that will be donated to ACTUP (Aids Coalition To Unleash Power), this years beneficiaries and sponsor of tonites festivities. For our contest winners....please direct your attention to the cages above you....you have each won $500 and have all been declared first place honorees...."

All at the same time and amid a roar of hoots and whistles and clapping, our cages were slowly lowered to the floor of the stage. By some stroke of kindness, a club worker greeted each of us with towels as we stepped from our little prisons and walked center stage to receive an envelope that held $500. It did not escape my attention that I was the only one in my underwear. I was just grateful that the spotlight pretty much blinded me from having to look directly at anyone in the audience. To say I was mortified, well...mortification would have been something to downgrade to. I followed the other three 'dancers' off stage and we were shown a dressing room, I guess...at least it had my clothes there...neatly folded, in a small pile. My wallet was still in my pants pocket and still had $65 dollars inside. I was not in the mood to small talk and quickly dressed and hoped to find a back exit. I wanted to cry. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to be home in bed. I wanted silence and the chance to recuperate. I was in a state of shock and more than likely could not process anything as I was also dealing with substantial alcohol poisoning. I was still sweating and my breath was no less potent than sniffing directly from a bottle of 90 proof vodka. I knew that when I got home and drank some water, I would throw up violently. I wasn't sweating because I was hot anymore, my body was in a fight to expel some of the massive amount of poison I had been consuming. As I slunk outside of the club I had to pass a bartender on a cigarette break. "I see you found your pants."

I ignored him and walked up the putrid alley quickly trying to escape the myriad of smells that were signaling my stomach to heave.

I was at a loss with myself. Yes, things turned out OK in the end, but I still had no clue what had happened to me in the last 5 hours or so...and the hours before that were sketchy at best. Prior to this night, I had probably experienced black-outs of sorts, but they happened at home. I would wake up some mornings and not know how I got to bed, thinking the last thing I knew from the night before did not coincide with putting on pajamas and crawling under the covers. Once I had to go to work in terrible pain and I didn't know what I had done. A trip to the ER confirmed I had broken three ribs...but I didn't know how. Often, after a night of drinking, I would have to call all my friends and "feel them out"...you know, try to gather information on the evening before....had I offended anyone, hit anyone, thrown up on anyone?....and I had to find out while trying to act like I remembered everything, just wondering if YOU had a good time. But now, I had aired my dirty laundry in public and I was flat out ashamed of myself. Up until now, I had managed to convince myself that I liked myself better when I was drunk and so did everyone else. There was no amount of denial or bullshit that could convince me that my evening in the cage was anything less than sick and a serious cry to change my habits.

I'd like to say it happened overnight...I woke up, attended my first AA meeting, found a sponsor, worked the 12 steps and found the light of a higher power shining brightly upon me. In actuality, I was sick as a dog for about 4 days...throwing up, shaking, sweating...and once I did feel better, guess what...I wanted a drink.

I have been sober for many years now, and it was not fun or easy or any of the things that the Hallmark channel would have you believe when they broach the subject of alcoholism on a movie of the week. I have had relapses....I've made my peace with them. I have also pulled myself back from the brink and have survived my own attempt to slowly kill myself too. My little opihi likes to say she is a work in progress....I like that. I too am a work in progress. I have made peace with myself.

I think this all started because you asked if you should bring wine when you come to visit. I'm sorry I got sidetracked...yes, please bring some wine, there is none here and no, it will not bother me if you drink. I am so looking forward to your visit and perhaps someday, I'll tell you some of the stories that paved my road to recovery.

Love you Tallulah,

Steve

Not good...Not good, Batman!

2009-08-05T02:33:00.001-07:00

I am in a Birdcage?! I am in a Birdcage. I became very aware of the fact that all anyone in the club needed to do was look up and there I was....in full red undies glory. I looked at my crotch....I had to...wouldn't you? It's not like I was wearing something that was meant for mass public consumption like a speed-o. My boys had a simple cotton patch and some not so new elastic between them and possibly getting arrested......and about 300 people. Had my boys been out? I don't know. It seemed way too late to be embarrassed but it's not as if I could just slink out a side exit...I was hanging in the air. My legs ached and my 24 hour hairspray gave up hours ago, succumbing to the enormous amount of sweat still coming off me. I had to look at my crotch again....yup, there I was....and I watched some of my sweat fall to the dance floor below me. Gross. It did strike me as funny that I thought I was glad I wasn't standing below me. And my legs ACHED.... what sort of acrobatics had I attempted? I was also still dancing, sorely aware that to look like I had just come out of a coma would somehow add negatively to my current situation. So, as my mind raced to catch up to reality, I kept dancing. Without the brave fuel of alcohol tho, I might as well have been trying to gyrate on a pair of rubber bands. I am pretty sure that this was not what I had envisioned when I left Castro with those Asian boys.

Even with all this going on, all this new info and sudden inundation of external data that I had just moments before been unaware of, you know what my main concern was? I was suddenly, hopelessly and uncomfortably sober. I remember thinking, "Why now?" When I most needed to be numb and blissfully ignorant, I was actually hyper alert and tuned into the series of humiliations not only going on...but the many that were bound to present themselves in the next few minutes. It also dawned on me that there was no way I was going to get a bartender to deliver a vodka on the rocks....I was going to have to figure a way to get down and try to look good doing it. Yes, I had my priorities straight.

I knew I had not hoisted myself up 20 feet above the dance floor. I also knew that I must have either consented to someones request to get here, or had somehow convinced someone to let me have the privilege. I scanned the horizon...there were three other cages within the club. All in descending heights, mine being the highest, and each gracing a different side of the stage....two in each corner. You could have started a chain saw and not heard anything above the music. Erasure was playing, "A Little Respect." Perfect. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew getting down wasn't going to be my biggest challenge. Getting home was, if I didn't find my clothes and my wallet. And if I did find my wallet, what were the chances of it having any money left inside. I didn't even remember how I came to be undressed, much less where I had put my things in this unfamiliar club. My only chance of getting down quickly was to get the attention of the boy in the cage about eight feet below and a little to the left of me. I had to take the leap of faith that he was not also in the same predicament as me and would know how to get me down. I honestly thought I was going to have to take off my underwear and in a stunt of athleticism I knew I was not capable of, toss them so they would pass in front of his eyes and get his attention. I hadn't worked out the kinks yet. I had very few options here....but I did have to pee.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

The Birdcage...

2009-08-03T03:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah,

It really surprised me that I had not told you in any of our conversations that I don't drink anymore. In total, I have not had a drink in almost 10 years, tho there was a slip about 5 years ago. Since I have trouble keeping things short, this may have to come in installments.

When I returned from modeling in Japan for Coca-Cola, I entered into one of my first long term relationships with a guy who came to Hawaii to visit his ex-fiance, who was renting a room from me in Waikiki. We had a two week whirlwind romance that I thought for sure would end when it came time for him to return to LA. Brandon was just a couple of years older than me and he loved visiting Hawaii, but living there was not to be. We decided as a couple to move to San Francisco. Looking back we were a pair of young kids playing house, but at the time, it was real and substantial....we had a beautiful house, a dog, we threw dinner parties, both of our careers took off and we thrived. We took vacations, shopped without much care to cost, attended all the latest plays, and our families often visited and stayed with us. I had begun a career in hotel management and worked from 6am to 2pm...giving me time to hit the local produce market and come home in time to cook gourmet dinners for Brandon and myself after walking the dog in a nearby park. It was idyllic...we were young, successful, independent.

I drank every day the whole 8 years we were together.

I start the story here, not because it's where I started drinking, but because it's where my consuming alcohol crossed from being fun and became an issue, a necessity, and an addiction. Why alcohol and not another drug....could have been anything that worked quickly, frankly. Instant Gratification took too long and alcohol was quicker than pills, didn't require rolling or chopping or calls to a supplier, and it was legal.

When Brandon came to Hawaii, he was on vacation. I lived and worked in Waikiki. Mostly tho, I played there. I lived about 1/2 block from where I worked at Canlis Restaurant...at the time, a swanky place that happened to be right next door to Hula's...THE gay club in all of Honolulu. Next door to Hula's was a block long strip of up and coming gay friendly, or gay-owned businesses....Hamburger Mary's, 80% Straight, various clothing stores and of course the obligatory video shop. I went to work at about 2pm, got off work at 11pm, went home, changed and went clubbing until dawn, then slept until it was time to do it all over again. Most of my friends did the same. So when Brandon showed up on his vacation...he just joined me in my routine. When we got to San Francisco, I simply continued my behaviors, minus the clubs. Brandon did not do the same, yet, he had no clue as to how much or often I drank for about the first 4 years we were together. I would drink mostly as I cooked in the kitchen and while I would have a bottle of beer on the counter for show, my real drinking was limited to the vodka I hid in the pantry. I bought a pint on the way home and carried the empty bottle out with me in the morning. On weekends, I drank what we had in the house for parties and if I drank too much, I poured water into the liquor bottles to keep them looking full, until I could replace it with real liquor during the week. From the outside looking in, and for me, looking back...these were obvious signs that my drinking was out of control...but while it was happening, I held a job, paid bills, advanced my career, and rarely stepped outside of myself enough to recognize that something was not right. I did not actively understand that I was feeding an addiction. I did know that I woke up "shaky"....withdrawals....and hungover....and that I couldn't wait to get home from work, so I could have my first drink of the day. Understand, I never overshot the runway here....I did not drink at work and really was a model employee.

To keep this focused on me and not the relationship, I summarize here....Brandon and I broke up at one point, tho not over my drinking. He even moved out and went back to LA for a period of time. He came back and things were never the same. There was too much resentment and hurt. Try as we might to get things back to where they were, the next three years, our last three years, were spent growing apart, arguing, working too much ..... while marked with brief periods of amicability, I cannot look back upon this time and remember it as happy.

My first "public" black out became the bottom I needed to push me into recovery. I had started to drink very heavily and eat very little. I was between jobs and Brandon was travelling at least 4 out of 7 days of the week for his new job. On this particular day, I had started drinking vodka before noon....while I normally held out until after noon, this day I did not. By about 4pm, I got a wild hair across my ass and decided I needed to go dancing. I took a taxi to the Castro district...where all the gay clubs were. It was still too early to find an active dance club, but at least there was music....and men. I made the rounds to most of the clubs on the strip and at some point I noticed several young and cute Asian boys up ahead of me...on the sidewalk, next to their car. I remember only pieces of this, but I'm sure I was unable to walk straight and was surely slurring my words. However, I was able to flirt enough with these young boys to convince them to take me somewhere to dance....what did I promise them? Who knows....maybe they just hoped an opportunity would present itself...I'll never know. They took me to Haight/Ashbury to a club called Rockin Robins. It used to be a theatre, and where the seats should have been, there was now a dance floor. The stage, however, I could see upon entering the club, was where the management invited the "Cool" people to dance....and that's the last thing I remember....heading to the stage, ditching the Asian boys ...KNOWING... that I would dance on the stage. It was about 7pm.

Fast Forward.....11:30 pm.....I slowly become aware of my surroundings...there is music, loud....cigarette smoke....my legs hurt, I am covered in sweat, I AM IN MY UNDERWEAR....and oh yeah, I am twenty feet above the dance floor in what appears to be a large bird cage.....

To Be Continued......

It's just you, Gerald. Idiot.

2009-07-27T16:20:00.000-07:00

Well, this just put a hair across my ass and since it's my blog, why not....here goes.

I never thought I would get political here. However, my mother sent me this blog entry and I
am not sure how she found it. I don't know why she sent it with only this to say, "Interesting
Reading."

She knows who I voted for and we all know how she feels about Blacks, much less Democratic Black Presidents. I'm sure I don't have to point out that my mother is one of many who kept Bush in office. Yes, I did send my response to her, as written below, and if I hear back from her, I may post it. My theory is it will go ignored as my parents sit in one of their three homes and snicker to themselves about the silly view points of the Democrats and pat their morally righteous backs.
The blog post she sent me is here:

"If al-Qaeda, the Taliban and the rest of the Looney Tunes brigade want to kick America to death, they had better move in quickly and grab a piece of the action before Barack Obama finishes the job himself. Never in the history of the United States has a president worked so actively against the interests of his own people - not even Jimmy Carter.
Obama's problem is that he does not know who the enemy is. To him, the enemy does not squat in caves in Waziristan, clutching automatic weapons and reciting the more militant verses from the Koran: instead, it sits around at tea parties in Kentucky quoting from the US Constitution. Obama is not at war with terrorists, but with his Republican fellow citizens. He has never abandoned the campaign trail.
That is why he opened Pandora's Box by publishing the Justice Department's legal opinions on waterboarding and other hardline interrogation techniques. He cynically subordinated the national interest to his partisan desire to embarrass the Republicans. Then he had to rush to Langley, Virginia to try to reassure a demoralized CIA that had just discovered the President of the United States was an even more formidable foe than al-Qaeda.
"Don't be discouraged by what's happened the last few weeks," he told intelligence officers. Is he kidding? Thanks to him, al-Qaeda knows the private interrogation techniques available to the US intelligence agencies and can train its operatives to withstand them - or would do so, if they had not already been outlawed..
So, next time a senior al-Qaeda hood is captured, all the CIA can do is ask him nicely if he would care to reveal when a major population centre is due to be hit by a terror spectacular, or which American city is about to be irradiated by a dirty bomb. Your view of this situation will be dictated by one simple criterion: whether or not you watched the people jumping from the twin towers...
President Pantywaist's recent world tour, cozying up to all the bad guys, excited the ambitions of America 's enemies. Here, they realized, is a sucker they can really take to
the cleaners.
His only enemies are fellow Americans. Which prompts the question: Why does President Pantywaist hate America so badly?"

MY RESPONSE:

MOM:

I don't know where you found this article and the only interesting thing about it is that someone would actually have it published. Mark Twain said, "Better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to speak and remove all doubt." This guy should have listened.

"Thanks to him, al-Qaeda knows the private interrogation techniques available to the US intelligence agencies and can train its operatives to withstand them" I'd like to see the "How To Get Waterboarded and Like It 101" class. What a waste of ink, paper and cyber space.

Obama embarrassed the Republicans? They ought to be embarrassed all on their own....and for many many reasons aside from this.

With everything that is going on in the world, having one national embarrassment exposed and outlawed by Obama is the least of our worries. Cannot believe that anyone with a modicum of intelligence could possibly think that because we won't waterboard anymore that there is not a plethora of interrogation techniques still being used or at our disposal. What a non-issue and sorry I can't have this brain space back. Sorry you can't either.

Twittering Away to Nothing

2009-07-24T04:47:00.001-07:00

Jesus.....ANOTHER follower from Twitter felt it necessary to post this photo of himself. I hope he enjoys being single.

I is computer good at speak it....

2009-07-24T01:30:00.000-07:00

I received the following email from a friend and follower of this blog....I may be admitting to being less than completely computer savvy, but at least I'm honest. My response to the email is here too.

Hi, Steve,

I've been following you anonymously through my Google account and I'm now following you publicly. Do you know what it all means to be a Follower? Does it mean I'll get email updates, or does it just provide you with a list to keep track? Do I have to log into my Google account? Should I check for an RSS feed? Do I sound lost? (I am.) I'll check it all out. I'm still trying to figure out Digg too.I'm loving your writing. You are gifted.

Best,
LL

My response:

Dear LL -

You will have to tell me if you receive email updates through google now that you are a follower...you can always comment anonymously....I don't know what an RSS feed is but it sounds suspiciously like to a colonoscopy tool, so I am gonna stay clear of that for now...unless there is mood lighting, dinner and a cigarette afterwards involved. Thanks for keeping up with the blog...your comments inspire me, so thanks for that.

PS...now that you are a follower, you have become a part of the church of Steve and must willingly donate 10% of all your local kine food to my doorstep, wear a tinfoil hat to block all Republican transmissions, swear to don a Tiara while cleaning the house, eschew Rush Limbaugh publicly and never wear while after Labor Day. I will never ask you to drink any funny Kool aid.
Your membership card and detail will be mailed soon.

kisses

Before she was my "Lil Opihi"

2009-07-24T00:15:00.000-07:00

When I first moved to Washington State, Tallulah told me that Courtney lived near me. Turned out she was only an hour away. We corresponded for the first time since high school and hit it off as if no time had passed between us at all. It was like falling onto your favorite spot on the sofa...just warm and comfortable and even after so many years, surprisingly familiar. This is one of my first letters to Courtney, before she became "My lil Opihi"

My Dear Ccourtney -

What nice surprise to hear from you. I did see that you sent a 'Hi' on classmates.com, but I have not officially joined and did not have a way to write you till now. Of course I should have known that Tallulah would have had your info.
What am I doing in Poulsbo? Good question.
Thus far the cold and all the quilt fairs are going to my brain. After my fabulous life as a super star top model I have eschewed all forms of glamorized socialization and any form of urbania...settling down into early retirement and enjoying the occasional mile long trek to the main road to retrieve my mail. Gotta love it here. Woke up this morning and it was a sultry 25 degrees out. Good thing too since I have taken up glass cutting and am now able to use my nipples for all the delicate work.

You know, Kevin (my other half) is on Facebook and I make fun of him all the time, getting all into who's going shopping, who's making a cake, who's changing a diaper. Anyway, I think I'll join Facebook just for the Seabury hookup aspect. Kevin and I go to Tacoma a couple of times a month for the shopping as I get tired of wearing feed bags from the local "Bait and Tackle" and hopefully I'll get to see you soon.

Kevin and I have been together for about 5 years now and he recently retired from the Air Force after 20 years of service and being told they were going to sent him back to Iraq for the third time! He found a great civil service job on base in Bremerton and I basically followed him here, unfortunately knowing nothing of the job market crash and even less of Poulsbo. It really is lovely here, but I did go through culture shock. I left my job in Hawaii as a Hospital Administrator...I have pretty much given up modeling...just not ready to move into the "Dad sporting Golf clothes for Macy's" portion of my career yet. I have sent a photo from my last shoot for Coke a Cola in Vegas. My biggest gig was being sent to Japan for Coke years ago, but I still have a very friendly relationship with their advertising department. I can't believe you still have that piece of ceramic ware I made at Seabury.... I have also carried old art around with me...two water color paintings that Tallulah made for me, and she got a kick out of seeing them when I mailed them to her.

You are always welcome to visit dear, just give me a days notice so I can clear a path through the woods for you. One thing that has improved during my winter internment is my cooking skills, so shed a few pounds before coming. Last night was a lovely goat cheese and rosemary stuffed chicken with a white wine reduction and garlic mashed potatoes and fresh brussel sprouts with a balsamic glaze. Kevin has taken to actually photographing these meals for some reason. I bet he's secretly posting them on Facebook...."What I'm eating right now.."
Seriously...send me an invite for Face book and I'll join. "What my nipples are cutting right now..." Really. Not kidding.

It is hard to believe that our years at Seabury are 20 years away...my memories are so fresh. It was like yesterday and I vividly remember you and Tallulah in your Mod hats. I don't know where to begin or how to catch up. Please send a photo of you. Bring me up to date on your life and I'm sure we'll be caught up enough after a few emails to actually want to meet. I bet we do get to Tacoma in the next couple of weeks and it would be lovely to see you.

Are you a mom? Tallulah says she will be working on a baby and the thought is so freaky to me, but I have seen "Alien" too many times. Perhaps Kevin and I will adopt...a nice 18 year old, ready to move out or at least contribute to the mortgage. I think I am too selfish to have children...they are really just little homeless people aren't they? So I am looking forward to hearing from you and seeing a photo. What are you doing in Tacoma?

"Right now I am throwing on a white lace body suit and hoku lei to go dance on my front lawn as a fertility rite for my friend Tallulah"
Sugar kisses...

Jesus "Dress-Up"

2009-07-21T18:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah,

Since we are both on Facebook, I'm sure you have noticed that I have been relentless in my pursuit of Irreverent Jesus humor. I am not an atheist, but don't really consider myself religious either. I am not sure why I find all these Jesus references so humorous, but I have spent hours on the web posting ideas and 'sayings' about Jesus that one would normally not think of:

Jesus died for my sins and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!

JESUS SAVES... He Passes It To Gretzky... Gretzky Shoots... He Scores!

God was my co-pilot but we crashed in the mountains and I had to eat him.

And on and on. Today tho, I found the Mother lode of Jesus fun. You have to check this out! It's even better than the Snow Globe that has Jesus on the Cross in it! On the left hand side of the page you can choose what MOTIF you would like to dress Jesus in ...from Star Wars to Wizard of Oz...Brilliant!

Source: www.jesusdressup.com

I wonder what Santa will think of my wish list this Christmas?

xoxo

Steve

2009-07-20T13:23:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah,

Twitter is a hoot, and not for the short of attention. No sooner do I post something wry or outright laughable than it is buried beneath what other people no doubt believe is equally witty. I don't really have the patience to put up a fight and don't stay online there for long. I truly believe that instant gratification takes too long and having that need met on Twitter is a battle lost before it's begun.

Today, I hit the Jackpot tho....Yoko Ono is now following my posts. I don't know why, but I am all giggly and tempted to try to contact her directly, but if she didn't get back to me with a proposal that involved me coming to New York to be the sole subject of here next living art project, say within 10 minutes, I'd be crushed. Besides, I've never been a star-fucker, but wouldn't it be a hoot to have her for dinner? I mean OVER for dinner - personally, I'd much rather eat Julian. I mean since I have a choice and all.

Loves you.....

Steve

Twitter Dee and Twitter Dumb...

2009-07-20T00:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah:
I wanted to extend a heartfelt thank you for hooking me up with Twitter and for all the helpful hints in getting my blog out there and noticed,..... then THIS:

This guy is now one of my "Followers" and even the virtual thought has me bothered on several levels. I recommended he follow you too.

Cheers!

You have to love Martha....

2009-07-19T11:09:00.001-07:00

Dear Friends,

Christmas is tight this year. I've learned to make bedroom slippers out of maxi pads: You need four maxis to make a pair. Two of them get laid out flat, for the foot part. The other two wrap around the toe area to form the top Tape or glue each side of the top pieces to the bottom of the foot part Decorate the tops with whatever you desire, silk flowers, etc. These slippers are soft and Hygienic; Non-slip grip strips on the soles; Built in deodorant feature keeps feet smelling fresh; No more bending over to mop up spills; Disposable and biodegradable; Environmentally safe; Three convenient sizes: Regular, Light day, and Get out the Sand Bags.
Let me know your sizes.Happiest of holidays! Martha Stewart Inmate 55170-054
.........

A Love Story for the like minded.

2009-07-18T10:39:00.000-07:00

The love story of Ralph and Edna...Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.
Ralph and Edna were both patients in a mental hospital.
One day while they were walking past the hospital swimming pool, Ralph suddenly jumped into the deep end. He sank to the bottom of the pool and stayed there. Edna promptly jumped in to save him. She swam to the bottom and pulled himout. When the Head Nurse Director became aware of Edna's heroic act she immediately ordered her to be discharged from the hospital, as she now considered her to be mentally stable.
When she went to tell Edna the news she said, 'Edna, I have good news and bad news. The good news is you're being discharged, since you were able to rationally respond to a crisis by jumping in and saving the life of the person you love. I have concluded that your act displays sound mindedness. The bad news is, Ralph hung himself in the bathroom with his bathrobe belt right after you saved him. I am so sorry, but he's dead."
Edna replied, 'He didn't hang himself, I put him there to dry.
How soon can I go home?"

God lives in my refrigerator.

2009-07-18T10:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah,

Seems as if the first days of spring are just out of reach now...the evenings smell of roads still to be traveled.....the sound of new leaves blow in the trees like an unsettled feeling in the blood....the desire to get in a car and just drive.

A man and a dog descend their front steps. The dog says, Let's go downtown and get crazy drunk. Let's tip over all the trash cans we can find. This is how dogs deal with the prospect of change. But in his sense of the season, the man is struck by the oppressiveness of his past, how his memories which were shifting and fluid have grown more solid until it seems he can see remembered faces caught up among the dark places in the trees.
The dog says, Let's pee on all the fire hydrants we can find. Let's dig holes everywhere. Above the house the man notices wisps of clouds crossing the face of the moon. Like in a movie, he says to himself, a movie about a person leaving on a journey. He looks down the street to the hills outside of town and finds the cut where the road heads north. He thinks of driving on that road and the dusty smell of the car seats.
The dog says, Let's go down to the diner and sniff people's legs. Let's stuff ourselves on burgers. In the man's mind, the road is empty and dark. Pine trees press down to the edge of the shoulder, where the eyes of animals, fixed in his headlights, shine like small cautions against the night. Sometimes a passing truck makes his whole car shake.
The dog says, Let's go to sleep. Let's lie down by the fire and put our tails over our noses. But the man wants to drive all night, crossing one state line after another, and never stop until the sun creeps into his rear view mirror. Then he'll pull over and rest awhile before starting again, and at dusk he'll crest a hill and there, filling a valley, will be the the lights of a city entirely new to him.
But the dog says, Let's just go back inside. Let's not do anything tonite. So they walk back up the sidewalk to the front steps.
How is it possible to want so many things and still want nothing. The man wants to sleep and wants to hit his head again and again against a wall. Why does it all seem so difficult at times?
Over a cup of coffee or sitting in the park or walking the dog, he would remember some incident from his youth - nothing significant - climbing a tree in his backyard, waiting for the coach to blow his whistle, sitting in a parked car with a six pack; memories to look at with curiosity, the harmless behavior of a stranger, with nothing to regret or elicit particular joy.
And tho he had no sense of being on a journey anymore, such memories made him realize how far he had traveled, which, in turn, made him ask how he would look back on the person he was now, this person who seemed so substantial. These images, it was like looking at a book of old photographs, recognizing a forehead, the narrow chin, and perhaps recalling the story of an older second cousin, how he had left long ago to try his luck in Europe. And he saw that he was becoming like such a person, that the day might arrive when he would look back on this present self as on a distant relative who had drifted off into uncharted lands.
But the dog says, Let's go make a sandwich. Let's make the tallest sandwich anyone's ever seen. And that's what they do and that's where Kevin finds me, staring into the refrigerator as if into the place where the answers are kept - the ones telling why you get up in the morning and how it is possible to sleep at night, answers to what comes next and how to like it.

"It's bruise....it will fade."

2009-07-14T11:24:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah -You'd think I went to bed fuming after last night, but I did not. I went to bed sad and spent. Kevin and I did not have the confrontation I thought we would. Instead there was a short war of words.....VIA text messaging.....no doubt to spare the Germans embarassment.Bottom line: I don't know why I expected more out of Kevin in this situation and not even sure why I reacted as I did. I was really caught off guard and intstead of turning the situation into a litmus test for "How Kevin Deals With Being Gay" I should have just moved on, like Steffan did. For Steffan, it really was a non-event and certainly not the first time I have ever owned up to my own truth. There are just defining moments in life that you can either dwell on and make yourself crazy with or learn from. I am choosing to learn. In life I have no control over other people and can only keep my side of the street clean, so to speak. The only thing I can change or control is my reaction to lifes little "Fuck-You's" I did expect more from Kevin and I don't know why....but that's the last time I will wait for him to step up to the plate. Very sad tho...still.

2009-07-14T00:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah -

Just writing this at this moment makes me feel better because it is a connection to you, intimate and soft. I need that.
So the evening goes like this...
Kevin and the Germans return from Bowling...happy, "up"...they know a great dinner is being prepared and they have brought the "surf" to the turf that I already have marinating. I tell them to play "Knitchtch"...the German version of Yahtzee and that dinner will be ready in an hour. The air above the kitchen is full and laughter and talk and foreign language and translations and joy is present. I grate lemon zest, reduce white wine, steam asparagus, spear whole mushrooms, warm plates, fold napkins, and lay the silverware with abandon.
Dinner is a great success...even more than I had planned as there is NO conversation...everyone is too busy chewing and poised to shovel in the next bite....and all plates are cleaned minus a lemon rind and parsley sprig. I clean as I cook so there is no need to negotiate who will do dishes and then coffee is served.
Almost immediately, a game of UNO is begun....someone lost, someone won...new game, somebody else lost, somebody else won. Time for a cigarette....everyone moves almost en masse to the front door...and it continues....for an hour or more: jokes, games, translations, laughter....and things wind down...slows...the heavy meal sets in, truly settles, and the call of sleep approaches - stealthily but with sure foot. And we start to grow quieter, but quieter together, as friends.
THEN....the question comes from Steffan, "When did you come out.?"

HOLY MOTHER FUCKING SHIT...I thought we were just puffing a toke out here dude....But it sounded like this: 'Vhen did jhou comen s "out".?" And in a nice way, really, just a German guy trying to get to the truth.

I had hoped for this moment, in front of Kevin, and thought it out even, my answer....yet, here it was - -and I was caught off guard!! Kevin was standing behind Steffan, and I could see his eyes and they flashed, like mine had at the shock of reality slapping you on the cheek and then the words came...out of my mouth. "I was very young, I was 16...." and l let the words, no.... let the admission hang in what I felt had become VERY thick air....thinking the response would super-stun-shit-kick the next words that would be required out of my mouth, or at least spur a new question. I darted my eyes to Kevin...he was standing behind Steffan...and with that subtle open-eye lidded communication of : "I see you and I understand" glare, I asked Kevin to join me in the truth.

*** Breathe**** Right now****Take A Moment**** It's imperative.

Kevin added nothing.
Steffan changed the subject. To him it was a "non-moment". He spoke of other things.

And suddenly I was left....alone....the "gay" guy - and questions ensued. There was a sudden ringing in my ears and I understood the questions and I answered...but as a LONE ENTITY...I had no backup...my lips and chin were betraying my superstar icy exterior and they quivered as I attempted to catch Kevin's eye. We had never had a falling out, so to speak, but we were about to.....

Tallulah, Booger and My 'lil Opihi.....

2009-07-13T13:22:00.000-07:00

I have this thing whereby I feel a real need to refer to my closest friends by names other than the one they were given.

"Tallulah" is a nickname I have given a very dear friend of mine who convinced me to start this blog. Her real name is nothing close to Tallulah, but if I had been in charge on the day she was named, it would have been Tallulah. She loves being called this; it makes her feel exotic. Kevin, I affectionately call 'Booger' and it in no way is a reference to anything olfactory and is not a passive aggressive stab at him either. But he has become my "Booger". Courtney is one of three friends that I have kept over the years, since high school in fact. We went to a small private school on the island of Maui, called Seabury Hall. I lived on campus.....a side note, I was sent there about 2 weeks after I came "out" to my parents. You interpret the message there. Courtney and I have very few boundaries when we are together and there is no topic off limits, no joke too taboo and our honesty with one another has endeared her to me. She is "My lil opihi"....opihi's are limpets, small round and conical, they are found on the lava rocks that skirt the beaches of Hawaii, and can be eaten. They are a delicacy and recently the Hawaii government has limited the amount one can harvest. Opihi's hang on to the rocks with fierce determination and perhaps their loyalty to the lava, their sheer determination to hang on despite all the pounding of the waves, connected, in my mind to Courtneys approach to friendship. She has become, My lil Opihi and she is as loyal as any I have ever known. Tallulah, Booger and lil Opihi have all captured a place in my heart that decided they needed their own private name. I don't just rename anyone, unless you cut me off on the highway...then I rename you VERY quickly. We should all have someone or two in our lives that are worthy of a nickname that captures what they mean to us....allowing true expression of "intimacy and affection". I wish this for all of you.

A month of Sundays....

2009-07-13T09:17:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah -

Once again, we have guests in the house....you remember that Kevin had his mother and step father here after Christmas. Now we have friends of Kevins who knew him in Germany while he was still in the Air Force. Now normally, I love to have company....I enjoy entertaining and especially cooking for friends or guests. However, you also know that since Kevin thinks nobody suspects that he is Gay and wants to keep it that way, I am 'delegated' to my own, separate bedroom and while his friends or family is here, I become his 'straight roommate'. I guess denial runs very deep because I cannot imagine anyone really buying this story - anyone who knows anything about the situation as a whole.....and his friends and family know this:
Kevin is 46 and NEVER lived with anyone in his whole life until we met.
Kevin has never married.
Kevin has never had a steady girlfriend and while he still likes to call himself bisexual (because at one time he was able to sleep with women) he has not been with a woman sexually in over 7 years.
I have been living with Kevin for 5 years.
Kevin and I lived in Hawaii and then he retired from the military after 20 years of service and moved to Washington State....I "followed" him.

Do the math. No, I do not think anyone with half a brain buys Kevins story.

I have always operated under the premise that who I am, when people get to know me - is, "Steve"...after a while they may come to know that I am gay, but I am not "The Gay Guy", who's name is Steve. I am Steve...I happen to be gay. There is a big difference. I have never openly walked around and proclaimed my 'gayness' to the world, however, when asked, I have never lied about it either...this includes my parents who asked when I was 16. I told them. Contrary to some beliefs, I did not CHOOSE to be gay, I don't REALLY want to be a woman, and NO, I don't know your cousin Ray who just came out of the closet....I would have to check the National Gay Roster first to see if we have ever crossed paths. I don't know how to cut hair, or do your makeup....I do like Liza, some musicals and yes, I dress well and care how I look. However, I also know how to fight like a man and have doled out more than one smack down on a big mouthed homophobe. Enough said.

Back to the guests....for the next week, I have my own bedroom and pretend to be Kevins roommate. This often involves perpetuating several lies in order to help Kevin think he is still safely in his closet. I hate this.....all of it....especially the lying. Personally, if you don't like me, FUCK OFF! I have never formed my sense of self worth around what other people think about me. It is that simple. I didn't do it with my parents, I never did it for friends, employers or neighbors. If you have some problem with who I am, I really don't want or need you in my life. Kevin, obviously, hasn't reached this plateau yet.
When I met Kevin, he was in the military and had 20 years of service under his belt. He had alot to lose if anyone found out he is gay. I understood this. I knew the job was dangerous when I took it. I signed the contract, accepted the baggage and have really tried to adopt a "Live and Let Live" approach to how Kevin operates.
What really bothers me, is that the same people that we lie to really could not care less about who Kevin is sleeping with. His mother might, but she would get over it. Mine got over it.
The German friends tho, the neighbors, even the clerks in the grocery stores....I can see in their eyes and how they speak to us, how they relate to us....that they know. They treat Kevin and I as a couple and rightly so. We are. So for me to have to spend the night in a spare bedroom while we have guests, pretend to have a different closet, lie about having to move my things out of MY bathroom and into Kevins so the guests will have their own space....all of that has become a bone of contention between Kevin and I. However, I will not "OUT" Kevin. I would not have wanted anyone to do that to me, and I just won't go there. I do however point out that it's just not right and I don't like it. I told Kevin, "Imagine me having some of my Southern relatives over for a visit and me delegating you to the back bedroom because you are Black. Try to imagine....how you would feel...how it would eat at you to cook for these people, have them in your home, take them places, treat them to a night in Seattle. It's not right." I could see the light change in his eyes, the way eyes tighten slightly and reflect a change in thinking....while what I said seemed obvious to me, it was clear he had never thought about this before. He went back to his, "I told you it would be like this when we met." defense. I responded, "Just because I knew about it, or that you warned me, doesn't make it right." It was clear he understood in new way.

We are all works in progress and I have no idea what 20 years in the military might do to a gay man and his sense of self. 20 years of conditioning won't come undone overnight and there are signs of progress. Two of our neighbors, on separate occasions, have asked how long Kevin and I have been together. Before the lies can come from his lips, I have answered them truthfully....then they talk about something else...it's great to see Kevins reaction when he realizes that they don't care if we are gay...and they still treat us with respect.
It's uncomfortable for him, but growth usually feels like that.

Now, his parents are coming for another visit, I think I told you...FOR THREE WEEKS...obviously a whole other letter. When time drags in the South, you experience a "Month of Sundays"...I'm sure those three weeks may as well be three months.
Thanks for the mention in your blog....I sent out a notice on facebook, but have had little reaction thus far....how did you "promote" your blogs, aside from the CNN thing? I still haven't heard much from Courtney, but her plate is full at the moment. Our other alumni says she is checking flights so she can come visit the same time you and Courtney will be here....should be fun.
Still waiting for the Germans to wake up so I can open the Omelet bar. Beyond that, I am again participating in lunch time Middle East Peace talks as well as spending the afternoon consulting with Sonia Satomayor over some of the tougher questions she is facing. After that, perhaps I will clean the fish tank. Monday is usually blue sweater day, but I have thrown caution to the wind and am wearing red. This is how I roll.

Write when you can.
Kisses....mon petite possum.

Steve

Martha -n- Me

2009-07-13T05:25:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah -

I'm so excited about your upcoming visit to my little corner of the world. You'll be happy to know that I have decided on a main course for our dinner...but have to give credit to my idol Martha Stewart for her suggestions and access to her exclusive fish hatcheries located world wide.

I will be offering a Chilean SeaBass, caught in 52degree waters. Instead of the stressed and tradional "hook" caught variety, ours will have been actually lured into the boat. I will infuse it with a tarragon butter sauce while it is still alive and can appreciate it. I intend to pan sear it immediately after reading to it from the Canterbury Tales.

Kevin wants me to incorporate Bacon somewhere in the meal. I hesitate to put it in the salad since once you add bacon, it's no longer a salad really....just a little treasure hunt among all that annoying green shit. No doubt bacon finds lettuce dubiously annoying to get around while traveling your veins, seeking an artery to block. "What is that? A piece of lettuce!?! Out of our way, C'mon 'bits....we're going for the main ticker." Kevin currently thinks bacon bits are just the fairy dust of the food world. I tried to serve a baked potato last night and it wasn't going over well.....until Bibbity Bobbity, Bacon....and forget the fish, the potato became the entree. It is amazing tho...give a pig an apple and it makes Bacon...how great is that. Beats the whole give a woman sperm and she makes a baby thing....when babies come out smoked and ready to fry up nice and crispy, I'll be the first in line to donate of myself.

I am also stumped over dessert at the moment. I was trying a cake recipe earlier and it just dawned on me.....if you add flour to water, you have glue. Add some eggs and sugar, you have cake....but, what happened to the glue?!. I'm just not comfortable with that at the moment. Perhaps Courtney will volunteer desert again. :)
So Julia, any food restrictions or real dislikes of yours or Kurts,?, please let me know. Courtney can't have eggs and is off salmon and Dan can't have strawberries, and neither will eat meat purchased anywhere white trash associated like Walmart.... so I figured while I am already operating an allergy clinic out of my kitchen, I should extend you the courtsey as well.

Only two weeks now, so I'll see you soon.

xoxox
Steve

Lab Coats and the Air in Macy's

2009-07-11T14:56:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah -

I was curious about your 'make-over' trip where you actually had fake lashes put on. I was wondering if you did it more for fun, or because you were suckered into it. Now, I have spend alot of time with makup people, facialists and the like, and I still find myself suckered. I went to Macy's recently and what struck me, after I left was how they attempt to create an aura of superiority by wearing those lab looking coats, as if to insinuate that they have some sort of medical authority to instruct you on what products to use. I was passing the Clinique counter, something caught my eye and I sidled up to the display, just eyeing what was there, half interested really. A Lab coat approached and stopped near me. I looked up to catch it looking at me with this half lidded, well manicured scrutiny. It acted like I had caught it in the act of making it's assessment and quickly erased the look and replaced it with a fake, closed lip smile. I looked away hoping not to encourage nor engage. It was too late,...."I see your problem." it said. "I think I can help you." it continued. (WTF! ) I'm sure my eyebrows briefly scrunched in surpise and I quickly acted as if I hadn't heard it....all the encouragement it needed to continue. Dammit. I am aware of all these tactics and yet I still took the bait. Were my pores large enough for her to crawl into? Was I so oily my eyebrows were doomed to just slide off my face? If I was lucky, she just saw a booger and would hand me a kleenex. No such luck. "With these four products we can address the simple issues that affect us as we age." it half wispered. GASP, it was worse than I thought. I am aging. Double Dammit. I quickly turned to the mirror it had slyly pushed into my elbow and I leaned into it, closer to it...... the Lab coat too, hoping the PA system announcements would cease. Convinced all of Macy's had ceased operation and turned its attention to the Clinique counter, I quickly whipped out my wallet and I felt I earned some sort of gold star when it flashed a genuine smile, the Lab coat was pleased. I had somehow appeased it. "You've made a great decision. I'm sure these six products will fully begin to rectify your quick descent into the geriatric phase of skin problems." Well, something along those lines. It was hard to hear over the rushing blood in my ears and the adreneline rush fear causes was making me light headed. I don't even think I could pick which credit card....it would have been easier to sign over the deed to my home at this point so I just sort of offered my whole wallet, in open palm style and pleaded with my eyes, "Make it quick." It nodded, knowingly, a touch of saddness even, how many cases a day like this had it seen? So I quickly signed something and held open my bag like a trick or treater as it dumped the 8 products I had purchased inside. It patted my hand, releasing me from it's nefarious grip and with the "I've just given you another gold star" smile, instructed me to return in three weeks for a free re-evaluation and product update. I slowly backed away, clutching my 10 miracle tubes of rejuvination and promise of youth restored. I came out of my trance later, at home....back in normal lighting, as I arranged my 12 Clinique products on the bathroom counter and happend to notice I had, yet again, spent the equivalent of a months worth of groceries on something I knew better than to purchase. I have to wonder what Macys pumps thru its air ducts and I picture you at home, back in flattering light, with those fake spiders glued to your eye lids....only you just giggle and pull them off....while I have to set my alarm an hour earlier to accomodate the 14 new skin care treatments that are guaranteed to restore my youth. I am a sucker.
Fucking Lab coats!

That's What I Love About the South

2009-07-11T14:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Tallulah-

I can't sleep. I hate that and it's probably because I love coffee so much and try as I might, not to drink it after 4pm, there always seems to be a mug of it left in the kitchen that I sip on, as I did earlier. It is staying light here until almost 10:30, which doesn't help...the sun looks like it's about 5pm when it's really 8pm, so I keep sipping the coffee until it's too late.

As soon as I approach my writing like an assignment, it goes straight to shit. It seems the best writing I do happens when I sit down to fill you in on the latest. I have yet to come up with a whole lot on what happened on my trip to Virginia. It was uneventful and actually pretty boring. Only so much can happen sitting in a home, miles from anywhere, overlooking the banks of a river. There isn't even a paved road after all these years and the closest neighbors are cousins whose house you can't even see by just looking out the window.
Growing up and even into adulthood, my extended family has mainly consisted of the relatives on my mother's side of the family. They all live in Virginia, Georgia and Alabama. My mother belongs to the Daughters of the American Revolution, a strictly blueblood collection of aging debutantes who all can claim some blood line connection to a great, or at least historical figure of the South, before it lost the war. My mother, Elizabeth Tayloe Washington Lewis, is a descendant of George Washington. Her side of the family has it's own 'family crest' and many direct connections to some now famous and historical antebellums, including Sugar Loaf, Woodpecker, Chatterton, Mount Vernon and Monticello.
For some reason, Southerners like to name their homes and the current residence my parents keep is called Imaihama; not exactly blue blood, but more of reference to Japan, where my parents met and having the home named is still in keeping with the southern tradition. Imaihama means 'beautiful beach', so named because the house overlooks the banks of the Potomac river....the same river that George Washington supposedly threw a silver dollar across. The true story is he threw the silver dollar over the Rhappohanoc River, a far less formidable toss by miles.
Anyway, my mother "Betty" grew up among this knowledge and tho our family was in Hawaii, there were certain 'southernisms' that became part of my social makeup. I have often been accused of being a real gentleman, and no doubt this largely the reason why.
I was taught:
Anyone older than you is addressed by "Sir" or "Maam". Period.
Men hold open doors.
Men stand when a woman leaves or sits at a table.
A woman never, never pumps her own gas.
NEVER give a woman a can to drink out of, pour it into a glass. If you are out and about and no glass or cup is to be found, a straw may be a suitable replacement.
A man always walks on the "street" side of the sidewalk when accompanying a woman (A throwback to the horse and buggy days, it being the mans duty to take the mud splashes as a buggy went by.)
A woman never lights her own cigarette and NEVER walks and smokes at the same time. (If you visit the south, you will see that the women who smoke, well, the ones with class, according to my mother, sit, when they smoke.)

The first born male in a southern family is 'special'...just ask my sister, who claims to this day that I was always given preferential treatment, because I was oldest and male....thus groomed as the family's golden child. I live to disappoint, according to my mom.

Every southern family has it's 'black sheep' and most are readily accepted and treated as just eccentric....the uncle that likes to wear dresses....the manic depressive cousin that prostitutes....the mother in law that believes she was abducted by aliens and now wears a tinfoil hat to block their transmissions...the consistently drunk grandmother that "Loves Jesus, but likes her wine".....the aunt that talks non-stop and once consented to Electro Shock Therapy to fix herself (It didn't work....it did something, but not what she intended)
Yes, these are all members of my extended family. Then there is me, the once to be golden child that is gay and lives with a black man. I don't care what anyone from the south tells you about accepting black people....there is deep prejudice that is alive and well and practiced daily. Even the uncle that likes to wear dresses is cool, because he is married, and aside from Blacks, gays are the next on the list of 'lynch-ables".
At this point I would love to insert some witty anecdotes about my recent visit to Virginia, but truth be told, I was bored spitless and found the visit to be more about observing my parents in their old age. They have mellowed, slipped into routines, and even walking into Imaihama, I was struck by the smell....it smelled like my Grandmothers house used to smell! There was a point where I realized that my parents death was not just something that might happen, but became something that is going to happen...and sooner rather than later. Now, mom is a spitfire and will live to close to a hundred if not beyond, like many of the women from her side of the family. Dad, however has already outlived his fathers age by almost 20 years and ALL the ages of the other men in his family by at least a decade. Frankly I think he's too scared to just die because he knows how much it's going to piss my mother off. I remember a day at Seabury when I got a call on the public phone that sat on the lower corner of the boys dorm....a very strange thing since I had been ordered to call home every Sunday...the call was from my mother and she says, "Have you written your Grandmother lately?" I really hadn't and limited my contact to most of my relatives to holidays. C'mon, I was 16. I'm sure I told my mother, "Yes, I wrote last week." She sort of grunted a "Hmmph." and quickly added, "Well, your grandmother is dead. I hope you told her you loved her." ....then click. Mom had hung up. I was 16. I had absolutely no concept of death nor any reference point. I don't even think I told anyone at the time, because I was afraid I was supposed to be feeling something that I wasn't. It was awhile before I felt something, or at least recognized a feeling I could associate as having been produced as a direct result of knowing my Grandmother was dead. It was a shock, I hadn't even thought about her as being old enough to die, Christ, I was 16. Now, I am mentally preparing for the inevitable, my parents are going to die, and there is no way to prepare...no way to mentally steady yourself so that when the news does arrive I will be able to calmly exhale and think to myself, "Thank God, I was ready."
My parents adopted me relatively late in their lives, I was two and my father was 40, my mother 33....old for the time. That makes them, well, old enough now that I am writing this.
*************************sigh*******************************

Father's Day....Whew!

2009-07-11T14:49:00.000-07:00

My father once helped me to make a pine wood derby car out of balsa wood, even melting lead and pouring it molten in to a hollowed out part to make it front heavy for the boyscout race event. I think the prize was a cake. We didn't win, but I was proud of that car, even tho I knew I hadn't done much except watch dad create it. I looked on in awe.
My father once played catch with me in the front lawn of our first house in Hawaii, in Foster Village and I was happy to be with him even tho we both knew my calling would never be in sports. He once watched me make a soccer goal - for the oppossing team. I don't know if I cried, but I'm sure I wanted to.
My father once pulled me out of school, kindergarden maybe, in Virginia. I felt important, because he had so much pull that his just showing up at shcool and saying, "Give me my son." had weight over all my teachers. We toured Washington DC and I remember him being dressed in his Navy Whites and all day I felt important and loved. He bought me a hot dog near the the reflecting pond by the Washington Monument and I have never tasted a hot dog like it since.
My father once drove all the way from Italy to Germany to save me from a life as an orphan, to save his life too.... and provided for me a very good life. I never met my fathers parents and his relatives that he visits on a regular basis now remain out of my life.
My father, more than once hung out in a separated bedroom, while my mom spanked me.
My father never once laid his hand on me. Never. I don't know what was more painful...not being touched, never being hit, knowing he was standing by as mom dealt her worst.
My father once traveled back to Ohio, where he grew up to bury is first wife whom's death certificate states death by overdose of barbituates.
My father was a disc jockey in a former life....then spent 30 years in the navy.
My father once stood in a bedroom removed from mine and listened.....while I was made to go into the garage and pick out a 2 x 4. I carried it into the bedroom and handed it to my mother without looking at her. Fuck the "switch"...I would rather have had a 'switch". I got the 2 x4. By todays standards, yes, abuse...but back then, discipline - and what 8 year old has the nerve to stand up and do something like tell a neighbor....call the police? "It's complicated", put so succintly in your blog, Tallulah. And it is complicated.
There is love, avoidance, neglect, complacency, passive agressiveness....and all the while, as an adult, I have always allowed my Father the words, "He did the best he knew how with what he had." I know that you use that allowance, the same words, too. What else would we use...how else could we negotiate the feelings, stand up to the pain, grow beyond something that sucks so obviously...the child I once may have become sits on the bank of a river in Virginia with my fishing pole. The fish seem blind and nose violently past my hook.
They could take it, let the barb sink deep into a lip or cheek. They choose not.
"Even discontent is better than nothing. Even a denial can be an affirmation."
As an adult, I tend to look upon my feelings about my parents like a bowl of fish hooks....I can't just pick one without ALL of them straggling along too....I agree with...you.
It's complicated.