THERE'S NO STORY HERE

Except to say Mom and Dad turned right around re-my upcoming marriage and they did it as abruptly as they'd expressed their initial apprehension. To recap:

Day One: Announce to the 'rents that my companion of 35 years and I were finally going to make it legal. They tell me they have "misgivings".

Day Two: Dad calls with an itemized list of reasons why my marrying Bill is a bad idea. I have him read it to me twice - you know, to be sure it all really sinks in.

Day Three: Dad calls again, this time to apologize for any hurt the first response may have caused and to express their congratulations.

I don't know they why reacted so ignorantly on Day One and I don't know what made them do the one-eighty only forty-eight hours later. All I know is, they did. I'm not digging any deeper.

This column was published last week in the local newspaper of the suburb where I grew up, directly across the river from Montréal.

I imagine Leonardo thinks he's hip to the ways of "many enlightened folks". He's made an astute observation on an ironical occurence, he believes.

Do truly enlightened folks pad their accounts of street crime with preconceived notions of the races of the individuals implicated? When the author draws attention to the purse-snatching - which certainly isn't a big news story in and of itself - and so-called "role reversal", he perpetuates the very stereotype he means to refute.

Shame on David Leonardo. The sad part is he's probably entirely oblivious to it.

I'm re-publishing his words here lest anyone forget that ignorance is still running rampant even in supposedly progressive places.

PAPERWORK

It might actually be easier to find a husband around here than to interpret the forms to be completed before you can marry one.
"Enter the name of officiant only followed by 'designated officiant' for officiant's quality."
Say what? Holy moley. Only in Québec.

I'M ABOUT TO BEGIN WHAT COULD BE THE MOST EVENTFUL FOUR WEEKS OF MY LIFE SO FAR

I'll be turning 50 years old, I'll be joining the Quarter Century Club at work and I'll be getting married.

Oh do I ever want to savour every minute, luxuriating in celebrations of the wonderful life I've cobbled together in spite of having been a complete loser for the first twenty years of it.

And I want the fuss to be over with already. Ironically, while I'm an attention whore, I'm all queasy inside when I'm at the centre of it.

But if I've ever learned anything about the human condition it's that we have to allow for the contradictions in ourselves. No one is just one thing.

Celebrations start this evening. Happy Tank.

A bottle just like this was left in the locker room at the gym tonight. Is it just me or does something about the product seem vaguely incongruous?
Dippity-do was a popular styling gel in the '50s and '60s, applied when the fairer sex had their hair done. My mom had it laying around. It's translucent pink and has a unique smell that conjures up memories of my childhood. Picture ladies installed beneath hairdryer bonnets, immersed in movie magazines. But frankly, I'd forgotten all about it.
So, Dippity-do Sport. Really?

SAMMY TURNS MY HEAD AROUND

...when she emails me this note after reading my bits about the 'rents and my current marriage issue:

As a parent, I can honestly say that we say and do the stupidest things sometimes... As much as you probably don't want to hear it right now, it comes from love, fear, shock, etc.

I can remember my wedding day, I was almost 7 months pregnant and as my dad walked me to Klaus he whispered in my ear... Sammy, you don't have to do this. You can come home with me and mom.

I'll never forget it. Dad passed away last month and to be honest, it's one of the fondest memories I have of him... and I have alot of wonderful memories.

My oldest son was married last month (what a month!) and I'm still struggling with accepting the relationship. She's a wonderful girl, perfect for him. Wtf, I don't understand it myself.

So there's my little contribution. Live your live baby!

Sam

My brain had been polluted with anger, hurt and frustration. Sam's message completely shifted my mindset. She helped me realize Mom and Dad are just as able as anyone else to say really dumb things. Which is actually a relief.


*****

Sammy had been a pal of Teresa, a girl I dated when we were teenagers. Thirty years later we reconnected on Facebook and had lunch last summer. Now she steps in and saves the relationship with my parents.

You just never know when a seemingly random person is gonna show up and make a difference.

THE NEXT DAY

Dad called back. He'd gathered I'd figured out that he and Mom had "misgivings" (his word) about the marriage. And thus he'd prepared a little speech, he advised me, and would be consulting his notes as he spoke.

I had to smile because I recognized myself in the old guy: When I was younger, I too would draw up an outline when I'd something important to communicate to someone significant.

As the years go by I'm realizing there's an indelible connection between my father and I, despite my having tried to distance myself from him and what he represents since I was a teenager.

He read his diatribe, an itemized list of stuff I'd done and said in the past, all of which supposedly contradicted the concept of my marrying Bill now. Then I thought to have him read it a second time.

The first time, his arguments astounded me in their absurdity. I won't even recount them here; they were idiotic. I hoped the second recitation would enlighten him on just how ridiculous he sounded.

But I wasn't going to do any bullying. I didn't want to argue. We're not belligerent people. I just let him deliver his little lecture. When he was done I said calmly, "I guess you won't be coming to the ceremony". His response: "I didn't say that".

DONT ASK DON'T TELL: HOME EDITION

Announcing to my folks the news of our upcoming marriage didn't go well. They were all tongue-tied, barely coherent but dripping with disapproval. I was entirely deflated.

This, after Bill and I lived together as a couple for 25 years. This, after they've always been very generous towards him at Christmas and his birthday. This, after they've welcomed him into their home and the homes of their friends and relatives literally hundreds of times. To be sure, their objection knocked the wind right outta me.

Background: I came out to them almost 30 years ago. At the time they told me they were disappointed but they'd always love me and I'd always be gladly received in their home. And that was the end of the discussion. Forever, apparently:

Since my initial opening up in the early '80s, they've never wanted to know anything about my 'gay lifestyle' (you'll forgive my use of that horrible term) - which, frankly, suited me just fine. Neither have I felt any compulsion to wave the rainbow flag in their faces or expose them to my private affairs. I'm healthy, gainfully employed, have a roof over my head and they are safely ensconced in the suburbs. In my family, nothing else matters.

Still, I'm surprised and hurt by their response to the news of my nuptials. So I'm questioning my years of effectual silence on gay issues and my life in general. But they didn't ask and I didn't tell. Have I done something wrong?

Hell no, Bill and I've lived together since 1984. How much more preparation did they need? I'm blameless.

My parents know what little they want to know about my sexuality and what it encompasses. The particulars are superfluous to them. It's not that they don't care; they simply don't want to deal with details. And they just can't wrap their brains around the idea of their son marrying another man.

I'd like to think they are more enlightened but this marriage issue suggests otherwise. I guess some people have to live with their heads buried in the sand or they'd go nuts.

THIS FILLS ME & SCRATCHES ME

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An unexpected delight. I'm mesmerized.

WE DON'T SET OUT TO DO CORNY STUFF

Sometimes it just turns out that way. Like the hokey Ring Story of 2007 (even we throw up a little).

Case in point: Last month we were enjoying our annual Provincetown getaway, celebrating Bill's 50th over dinner and drinks, when the subject of marriage came up again.

Same-sex unions have been legal here in Québec for years and we haven't taken advantage. We haven't decided not to either. It's been discussed and we've agreed it might be a good idea someday. But we're lazy and not particularly politically inclined. Someday meant probably never.

After sharing a home for 25 years and having been inseparable for 10 years before that, legal recognition seemed unnecessary; a lot of bother for inconsequential result. We don't like bother and we sure don't need to prove anything to anybody.

Still, this summer in Ptown we tossed around the idea once again. And I dunno if it was the Turning 50 or the cosmos or the angel-hair pasta but all of a sudden Bill batted his big ol' baby-blues at me and said "Let's get married on your birthday."


And thus it is to be. Engaged on his birthday, married on mine. And you know what? We were wrong. Impending nuptials change everything. Maybe we're not quite giddy like schoolgirls but there's a spring in our step and a twinkle in our eyes I don't think we've ever known before.