Mother's Day

I’ve heard it said that a gay son is the best thing a mother can ever have. You get all the benefits of a male child to do the physical heavy lifting like moving boxes, planting trees, cleaning out the shed, putting out and putting up the outdoor furniture and so on. You also get the emotional heavy lifting of a child who probably won’t have a family with kids to attend to and can focus his attention on you. He’ll send the most fabulous bouquets for Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day and always on your birthday.

I’ve written a bit about my mom and our relationship and I guess it’s the events of last night and the fact that we are approaching her day that leads me to sit down and write today.

My mom and I are very close. I’ve been with her through some pretty rough times. I’ve sat in hospital and doctor waiting rooms while she’s literally been brought back from death, beside her in court when dealing with my father and the various restraining order violations and she’s been a consistent cheerleader for me in my various endeavors, even when she wasn’t thrilled about them.

However, I came out in 2001 and something changed. Instantly. All of the things we’d been through no longer mattered. I was no longer her son. I was her gay son. That made all the difference in the world. I was by her hospital bed before she was about to be taken back for surgery a few years ago. She was terrified and worried she might not make it out the other side. Her one request to me was “Be good, so you’ll make it to heaven”. Translation: “don’t be gay, because you’re damned”. It sounds overly dramatic when I write it, but my mom’s death bed wish would be for me not to be who I am. It still stings.

Fast forward to the past couple of weeks. My mom has been on the depressed side lately. She has good reasons and I’ll spare the details. My life has been pretty hectic. It seems every night there is somewhere to go, something to do or something that requires my immediate attention the second I leave work. When I’m not doing that, I’m trying to make time for the boyfriend. I guess in doing that, I’m making her feel neglected. Granted, she’s pretty high maintenance and would take an hour phone conversation every night if I’d do it.

She’d been pitching a bit of a fit about it and it came to a head last night. I let her know by text that my phone would be off because I was seeing a play. I was trying to avoid her calling and not getting an answer (the ultimate insult for her). I didn’t want to tell her who I was with or where I was going. It’s part of our pact. I don’t mention things that make it obvious I have a boyfriend and do things with him. She pushed the issue and worked herself up into a pretty good rage when I was evasive. It ended with her telling me “things you don’t want me to know, don’t tell me.” My response was “I’ve tried not telling you things that you don’t want to know, but you won’t have it.” We left it at that.

I was in Louisville seeing a play with the boyfriend and his mother. The contrast was striking. The boyfriend’s mom likes me. She is perfectly aware of our relationship and supports it. The woman sends us emails about drag queen performances and asks us to go! She’s perfectly fabulous. When she got in the car to head over to the theatre, I looked down at my phone and turned it on silent. I’m sincerely afraid that one day it’s going to have to stay that way.