So I was thinking about what I should title this blog and it occurred to me that the best way to go about it is to just state the truth. Get it out there and show everyone what it’s all about. I’ve always said that. Or maybe I’ve always said, “Let it all hang out and see who comes along and how much they’ll pay you.” Yeah, that sounds more like me.
Right, so my grandmother is a homophobe. That’s right, you heard it hear first. (Unless of course you’ve talked to me, in that case you probably heard it over the phone first.) The woman I have worshiped and adored my entire life has turned her back on me. Though because she tends to be very sneaky, it’s very hard to tell that she actually finds the life I lead and the man I love to be an abomination to her Christian sensibility. For example, when I went over to her house today she gave me a hug and chatted politely, but I’m sure that when I left she cursed my very name and burned a gay flag in effigy. That’s just what homophobic grandmothers do.
“But Mark,” you might be saying, “hasn’t your grandmother always been against the gays?” And my response would of course have to be a resounding “Yes!!!” But that does not give her the right to hate on me. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I think we need to go back. It all started on the eve of the Battle at Little Bighorn…wait, that may have been too far back. Ok, I’ve got it. It all started Saturday. My sister, Megann, (you see how I did that Paige…made sure you knew which sister right off the bat.) took me out to dinner at the Red Lobster. Mostly because it’s the only place the five of us can ever agree on and how can you go wrong dining at a place that features a Lottacolada on the menu? So I’m halfway through my 2nd Grey Goose Martini (dry, extra olives) when she decides to tell me that my grandmother has decided that she doesn’t feel comfortable having Alex coming home with me for Christmas because my “Grandfather doesn’t need that stress.”
Ok, let’s address the obvious problems with this situation one at a time. To start with I’d like to say that I was a little tipsy, and not just because I’m a lightweight…which I am. No, it had more to do with the fact that I am trying to shrink my ass down to a size 6 by October and have devoted myself to the Low Carb Lifestyle. This meant that I wasn’t really eating all that much and instead had turned to liquor to fill the void a 6:00 in the evening. All of this led to me almost starting to make a scene which I think really entertained some little girl who was very rudely eating a giant piece of chocolate cake in front of me (oh you just wait little girl, your day will come!!)
So the second problem is that my grandmother thinks she can hide behind my grandfather and how sick he is. I know he’s sick and since I haven’t ever brought up the fact that I’m a flaming queer in front of either of them I think she can safely assume that I wouldn’t ruin her perfect holiday (which by the way is rarely ever perfect…not even close) by being all gay with Alex. I suppose she thinks that I’m going to waltz (and I do mean waltz, people…when gays are involved real life takes on a Broadway musical quality) into her living room with my flamingly gay boyfriend in tow, sit on my grandfather’s lap and make out. Doesn’t she know that homos don’t do that kind of thing until after they’ve had their commitment ceremony on Maui?
I adore her. I always have and I always will. This is what makes all of this so very difficult. I just wish for once she would stop being such a perfect WASPish prude and look me in the eye and tell me what she thinks. At least that way I can explain to her that though I love Alex very much, given the opportunity to pick whether I were gay or straight I would most probably pick straight. If only to make her life that much less difficult. And if that isn’t love and devotion then I’ve obviously gotten the whole thing wrong.
So in the end I don’t really know why I’ve just written all of this. Perhaps I think that someday in the not so distant future she will come across it and pick up the phone. More likely she will never see it and my life will go on just as it always has; only I’ll be leading it quietly 5,000 miles away. I won’t bother her with stories of how Alex and I spent a weekend in Florence or how he surprised for my birthday. I will never be asked what she should get him for Christmas or how he’s doing at his job. I will miss out on so many things, but sadly, I’m afraid, she will miss out on so much more.
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