FRIENDSHIP

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I am the Mother of a Gay Son

rainbow flagI heard my 7 year old child quietly crying. Roberto was wiping the tears from watery eyes. I wondered if I should say something. “Give him a minute,” I told myself. “Let him have a moment. Everyone needs a moment to work through their grief.”

As his breathing slowed and tears were blotted dry, I asked Roberto, a sweet innocent person, “Are you okay? You seem very sad.” Deep breaths, interrupted with quick short sniffles. “Heave-ho,” his chest physically vibrated.
“Some kids said I was gay.”
“Gay? Doesn’t gay mean happy?” I asked, allowing him to control the conversation.
“Yes, I think so, but… they meant boys-like-boys, girls-like-girls gay.”
“Why did they say that to you, why do you think?” I wondered.
“I don’t know. One of them said that the color of my eyes were not like theirs so I must be gay.”
The adult in me simply said, “They are just uneducated, uninformed”. The feeling miffed person said, “Ignore them.”

Gaily, life went on. Mostly, Roberto enjoyed happy days, with many days trying to figure out what life means – only in a way a young child is capable of.

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I heard my 12 year old quietly crying. Roberto, almost a teen, was wiping the tears from watery eyes. I wondered if I should say something. “Give him a minute,” I told myself. “Let him have a moment. Everyone needs a moment to work through their grief.”

As his breathing slowed and tears were blotted dry, I asked Roberto, not so small, not quite a grown person, “Are you okay? You seem very sad.” Deep breaths, interrupted with quick short sniffles. “Heave-ho,” his chest physically vibrated.
“Some kids said I was gay.”
Why did they say that to you, why do you think?” I wondered.
“I don’t know. Some of the kids think I am different. One day someone is my friend, the next day they don’t talk to me”.
“How does that make you feel?,” I questioned.
“I feel bad. I just want a friend I can trust, be myself with.”
The adult in me simply said, “Just be patient. Somewhere, a friend is waiting in the wings“. The feeling miffed person said, “Ignore them.”

Gaily, life went on. Mostly, Roberto enjoyed happy days, with many days trying to figure out what life means – only in a way a preteen is capable of.

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I heard my 17 year old quietly crying. Roberto was wiping the tears from watery eyes. I wondered if I should say something. “Give him a minute,” I told myself. “Let him have a moment. Everyone needs a moment to work through their grief.”

As his breathing slowed and tears were blotted dry, I asked Roberto, close to being an adult, “Are you okay? You seem very sad.” Deep breaths, interrupted with quick short sniffles. “Heave-ho,” his chest physically vibrated.

“I don’t want to ruin the dynamics of a nuclear family. I don’t want to disappoint anyone,” Roberto emotionally forced the words out of rather strong vocal cords.
“Why do you say that?” I soothingly asked, already knowing the answer.
“I am gay,” he stated, voice quivering. He fell to the floor, emotionally overwhelmed.
I knelt next to Roberto, told him to always be true, true to who he is.

Gaily, life went on. Mostly, Roberto enjoyed happy days, with many days trying to figure out what life means – only in a way a close to being an adult teen is capable of.

____

I heard my adult son, laughing happily, content with who he is. Knowing his family supports him no matter what, a family who doesn’t judge him based on who he chooses as a partner, but rather a family who embraces his warmth, his kindness, his love, and his life, without conditions.

by

ostracize

True story. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

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Abby was a nice girl gone sort of mean. And uncaring. Not intentionally but because her best friend lied to her. Abby had money. Money she had been saving to use toward an investment in a new purse. But. Her best friend took it. Anna took the money. And ran. When Abby asked her friend about it. Did she know what happened to it? Anna just said no.

But, then along came another friend. Not the best one, but the Second Runner Up, and she said that Anna did indeed take the money. Second Runner Up friend saw her reach in and take it. Take it and shove it into her front pocket.

Anna cried. Said no I didn’t. But Abby didn’t believe her. She believed her best friend just lied. To her face. And that made her angry.

So she started to hang out with Second Runner Up. Spent time talking with her. Telling her how much she didn’t like Anna anymore. That she didn’t trust her.

Abby and Second Runner Up told everyone. And everyone told everyone. So now, everyone didn’t want to talk to Anna. Anymore. They didn’t trust her.

So, Anna sat alone. And as she pulled the stolen money from her pocket she wondered if she’d be someone’s best friend. Again. Some day. Soon.

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He Likes Me and I Like Him

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Our wedding day was a simple one. We were wed in a two-story Victorian house. As my maid-of-honor, wearing a forest green knee-length dress, walked down the stairs, she was greeted by seventy-five guests. When the piano player played the “Wedding March”, or more often known by its lyrics ‘Here Comes the Bride…” I, too, walked down the stairs in a traditional white gown wearing a veil, a string of pearls, and holding a small bouquet of flowers. I was greeted by my dad. He walked me to the front of the room, giving me away to Rudy, who, I must say, was looking quite dapper in his black suit and red tie. Rudy’s best-man stood to his right, also wearing a black suit, and my maid-of-honor stood to my left. Our bilingual priest stood in the front, facing us, centered. When the ceremony ended, the small crowd was encouraged to eat the buffet-style food and to simply enjoy themselves. In the most relaxing way.

When Rudy proposed to me, it really was just a question intertwined among the many things we were discussing. Kind of like, “How was your day?” “Fine.” “You want to get married?” “Yeah.” As simple as that. Within three months of that should-be-heavy–question, we were married. We’ve never looked back. Our decision was our own. So easy. So simple. So us.

When our wedding day ended, when we woke up as a married couple the next morning, we knew that our relationship, our lifetime together, was truly beginning right then and there. For us, it wasn’t about the ceremony but rather about what lay ahead. Good times, and difficult ones, too. Of course, we could only imagine what great times we would have, but there was no way we even discussed any not-so-great times. Why bother when we didn’t know what was in store for us? All we knew for sure was that we both loved each other, and just as important Rudy really liked me (and still does) and that I really liked him (and still do). Loving each other seems obvious but, what we know now is that liking each other is what has cemented our relationship.

Years and years after our wedding day, Rudy and I were walking along, hand-in-hand, when he said to me, “I love you. You are so good for me. You make my life so much better. Without you… I don’t want to think about it.” I responded simply with, “I love you, too, Rud.” Then he continued. “What is really cool, though, is not only do I love you, but I really like you, a lot! I think you are an awesome person. I like the kind of wife you are. The kind of mother you are. I just like you!” I hugged him, hugged him tight. “I really like  you too, Rud.”

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Confidence

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It’s interesting being a teacher of young kids. I tend to reflect on my own youth quite a bit, watching these 10 year old students interact. I don’t remember being so sure of myself. So confident. Waves of emotions roll through the classroom, sure, but I must say, overall, most kids are just that, kids. They cheer for each other, enjoy simple pleasures, and bounce back from problems just as quickly as they arise.

I love it. The innocence.

Today, a student stood in front of the classroom, presenting her How-To project. She was making a smoothie. She was so calm, so matter-of-fact, so ready. She measured out the milk, then added some more. She plopped in some yogurt, sliced bananas, and ice. She laughed, claiming she put in too much milk. “Oh well,” she stated, as she continued. She made a mess, spilled ingredients. She vigorously shook a canister full of her cold drink. When asked why she didn’t bring a blender, she answered, without much thought, in a casual, whatever tone, “Because.” is all she said. And just as cool everyone nodded in response.

When everything was mixed up, she took a big swig of her drink. No hesitation. No worries. No concern what others might have thought. “Pretty good,” she smiled.

Students clapped. She bowed. Gathered up her items, and headed out the door to wash up her dishes.

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BOYS

IMG_1015So, there’s this kid, a nice kid, a boy, a boy’s boy, who isn’t afraid to show his feeling, you know, he’s wears his heart on his sleeve. And then there’s this other boy, an okay kid, in an okay kind of way, as long as he’s in control.

Heart boy is learning, growing, figuring out the road to follow, hoping upon hope it will lead him to a carefree, productive life. This boy full of heart, he has a mind of his own, creates his own destiny, and sees things in his own personal way. He’s him, just trying to find his own space, his own style.

Control boy, as okay as he is, worries what others think, lets the unknowns control his thoughts, behaves according to what’s cool, not to what’s not. His young heart snubs, ignores, and turns against heart boy whenever heart boy stands up for himself, doesn’t play follow-the-leader.

Heart boy is seeking friendship, true, loyal friendship, while control boy, who also seeks friends, looks for those who will follow, not someone who thinks for himself.

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best friends

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The classroom was in full swing. The party was on, and the students were enjoying themselves. They were laughing, talking, playing board games, reading, and eating brought-in high calorie snacks.

Pajama day is the coolest! someone hollered.

Under the table, behind the blankets, within the class-made tent, a secret was forming. An innocent secret, but an activity the teacher would never approve of. A girl kissed a boy. And the boy kissed back.

I have a secret to tell you, the young girl told her best friend. And don’t tell anyone!

Tell me! Tell me! the bestie excitedly responded.

Seriously, the young girl firmly told her most cherished friend. You cannot tell anyone what I am going to tell you! The two girls were standing under the shade of a tree, outside, near the playground. The classroom party had transitioned, under the day’s sunshine, thirty minutes before the end-of-the-day bell was going to ring. Cross my heart, her best friend responded, making an X over her rapidly beating organ.

I kissed him, she smiled. And he kissed me back.

Her friend responded in an expected way: surprised, curious, and maybe jealous. What the young girl didn’t know was that her best friend was already making plans about who it was she was going to tell this news to. That there was no way she could keep this to herself. So, when the school bell rang to signal the end of the day, she ran off to spread the news. Each of those people she told, told another person, and on and on. By the next day everyone knew the secret.

The young girl looked down, after giving her supposedly best friend a mean look, as she walked towards her teacher, who was calling to her, saying they needed to talk.