Merry Christmas Husband

Missy wants us to know that she is going to say Merry Christmas. Damn the torpedoes.  She offers this up like an extra dollop of whip cream snuck from the kitchen for our tutti-frutti breakfast meal. When I pick up the check it is sticky from maple syrup and scribbled across the top is Happy Holidays ya’ll!  a smiley face dots the “i”.

“Corporate’ll see that,” She says by way of explanation and grants us an upside down smile. She wipes the sweat off of her brow with the back of her hand to reveal a plump forearm riddled with blue shaded tattoos of roses, snakes and skulls.   I wonder if corporate has seen that.

I look across the table at Paul and he can see by the slight shift in my expression that I am about to challenge her, so he cuts me off.

“Good for you, Merry Christmas!” He says enthusiastically and hands her his credit card.

We leave the restaurant and begin the continuation of our drive through rural Virginia to my mother’s house in North Carolina.  There are billboards screaming “Choose life!” church signs stating that “Jesus is the reason for the season” and crudely constructed crosses perched atop red clay hills. Mixed among the messages is a sign for a gentleman’s club featuring topless ladies and a bright red hand advertising Miss Gina the palm reader.

“I hope Miss Gina’s first name is Va,” I say to Paul.

There is a long pause before he gets it.

“I don’t mind if someone says Merry Christmas, but why do they have to say it like “fuck you, I’m going to say Merry Christmas? What if we were Jewish?” I ask Paul.

“But we’re not,” he says staring straight ahead.

“She didn’t know that. She didn’t know that we were gay either,” I say and hope that Paul does not try to challenge my fuzzy logic.

“Would you like to go back and tell her this?” Paul asks and then continues “I could lay a big sloppy wet kiss on you in front of her.”

I put a check mark in the naughty list column in front of Paul’s name.

We cross the border from Virginia to North Carolina and my lungs constrict.  A list of all of the sanitized terms that will be used to describe the man sitting next to me flicker through my mind like giant black lettered billboards:  Partner, boyfriend or simply Paul, like some man who has showed up for a day in my life.  

Let Missy pour out her sticky sweet Merry Christmas greetings.  The power is not in the reception of the message but in the ability to define and convey your love through a phrase or a word.  Turning to the man sitting next to me I place a hand on his knee and say “Merry Christmas Husband.”

 

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8 Gay Tips That Will Save Yo' Straight-Ass Marriage

I've been watching you struggle.  You come into the office with a bewildered look on your face.  It’s day three and you’re still not speaking to each other  That’s not entirely true, you’re talking but through the children, using them like little ventriloquist puppets:  “Tell your mother to pass the salt,” or “Would you please remind your father, as I have told him TEN THOUSAND TIMES, that tomorrow is the parent teacher conference?” The kids are confused and I’m tired of that mopey look on your face. 

You want to know why Paul and I seem so happy and why we never appear to fight.  I’m going to share some secrets of my marriage with you so that we can stop talking about how miserable you are and also? Because I love you.

But here’s the deal, we’re going to have fun by using song lyrics because ain’t nobody got time for boring advice.

“If I were a boy, even just for a day”

Drop the gender based roles: Paul and I are both men and therefore we don’t conform to gender roles.  We both take out the trash, we both clean and we both cook.  Problem solved.  False! Paul cooks and cleans almost all of the time, because that is what he is good at and because he works from home. I do things I’m good at, though I’m struggling to tell you what they are.  The point is, don’t ever let your gender define what your responsibilities are.  Are you both human?  Well then….

“You gotta’ have friends”

Keep the friends:   I’ve seen couples jettison their single friends when they get married.  Guess what, many of my friends could never get married.  Did that make them any less valuable?  Of course not.  My friends are every sexual orientation, men, and women, married and single.  We share our friends with each other and sometimes I need a night out with friends when Paul is not around.  Some of my best friends are gay men.  I do not, nor would I ever have sex with them.  Straight men can just be friends with straight women.  It really is that simple.

“'Cause after all, he's just a man”

Don’t blame everything on differences between the sexes: On the rare occasions when Paul and I fight, I need to talk it out and he wants to let bygones be bygones.  Does this sound familiar?  Am I a woman?  Not every difference between you is because you’re a man and she’s a woman.  The saying “Men are from Mars and women are from Venus” is crap.  You’re both Earthlings.

“Let’s talk about sex, bay-bee!”

Talk about sex!: I have access to the same equipment 24/7 therefore I must really know what turns Paul on.  Well, I do, but it’s not because it’s innate, it’s because we talk about it.  “I like the way you do that right thurr (right thurr).”  Bonus!  Two sets of lyrics.  Tell your partner what you want and sometimes, it’s OK if what you really want is quick sex because you’re bored.

“We are fam-i-ly”

One for all and all for one: Paul and I have a blended family with five children and damn if he doesn’t pick on me for not stepping up to the plate and having three like him so we could be the Gaydy bunch.  They are not his. They are not mine. They are ours.  No one’s mother or father was replaced in the process: remember that.

“You don’t send me flowers, anymore”

Don’t become a Hallmark-aholic:  Do you really need to send a bouquet of flowers and a frilly card to say I love you on every Hallmark holiday?  Paul and I are not bound by this tradition, thank goodness, because have you noticed the dearth of husband for husband cards?  Sometimes he’ll buy me flowers and sometimes I’ll do the same for him, just because.  Men like spontaneous tokens of affection just as much as women.  Not into flowers?  How about a pair of underwear?

“I wanna put on my, my, my, my, my boogie shoes”

I hope you dance-(sorry it’s a song lyric too):  We’re both gay men so you know we both like to shake our groove thing.  Wrong again!  I could dance all night while Paul would rather stick needles into his eyes.  But does he love to watch me dance and be happy? Sometimes it’s a precursor to the Best.Sex.Evah! Let her or him dance with others and once in a while get up there and make a fool of yourself.  Worried that people will think you look gay?  Accept it as a compliment, bud…

“The boy is mine”

Don’t compare yourself to previous partners: If you are straight, you probably never dated the same person as your partner. Paul and I dated two of the same men before we became a couple. I don’t compare myself to previous boyfriends, because I know; I truly know what they lacked. He or she chose you. Exorcise the ghosts of partners past.   

And here is a bonus tip, though you might have picked it up while you were reading this (God, I hope you did anyway) “Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em laugh.” We laugh at each other.  We laugh at ourselves.  Many times our children laugh at us and often we laugh at our children while pointing our fingers at them. You might have noticed that many gay men and women have a sharp sense of humor.  That’s because we developed it as a defense mechanism.  It works. It wards off anger and sadness and can bring you closer together. 

I want your marriage to succeed because there is something that I have learned.  When the marriages surrounding us are stronger and happier, then mine becomes more valuable and that makes me happy. And when I’m happy?  Paul’s up all night to get lucky.

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The Sanctity of Marriage

Courtenay and Matthew make an ideal couple. They are the type of couple that used to make me jealous, because their happiness with each other was what I found missing in my life. They will say that they have had their share of heart ache and that it was pure chance that they found each other. But I think they were always meant to be together.

In many ways, they are the all American couple. Matthew was the high school prom king, the class officer and a football player. He is tall with thick salt and pepper hair, classically handsome features and a ready smile that puts strangers at ease. Courtenay was in the high school choir, trained in classical piano and has an easy laugh and trim figure from years of competitive swimming, a fact that Courtenay is too humble to talk about.

When they are together they play off of each other’s good will and sense of humor. Matthew will tease Courtenay in a way that makes friends laugh, but in his face you can see a love so big that it fills the room. When Courtenay offers Matthew friendly advice he will ask, “What’s your job?” to which Courtenay always replies with a roll of the eyes. “To sit here and look pretty.” Matthew responds “That’s right and what a good job you are doing.” And he completely believes it. You can see it in his eyes. I love watching them banter back and forth.

Many of their friends, myself included, find it hard to believe that they have not always been together, but this is the second marriage for both of them. They both have children and a finer example of parenting can’t be found in my book. They are working hard to send their children through college. They talk about their children constantly and when they mention them, it is never yours or mine, but always ours. Courtenay’s job provides insurance to all of the children, which is important because their youngest child is diabetic.

I was with them on their wedding day and the months leading up to their wedding. Courtenay fretted about every detail and Matthew silently made all of the plans come together. At one point Courtenay confided to Matthew that he might share a little more in the wording of their vows. His response was typical Matthew “Actions speak louder than words.” And Courtenay cried because Matthew’s actions would always be louder and fuller of love than any words.

On their wedding day friends and family gathered from all corners of the country on a beautifully surreal New England summer evening. The sky seemed bluer, the air seemed clearer as if God had created this day just for them. I can still remember their vows:

“I pledge you my love and respect - my laughter and my tears. From this day forward, you shall not walk alone, my heart will be your shelter, and my arms will be your home.”

I don’t think there was a dry eye in the crowd when these words were spoken, because everyone understood what seemingly insurmountable odds they overcame to become married.

Because of Matthew and Courtenay, I understand the sanctity of marriage. I understand that this is the example of marriage that should be held up as the ideal. I understand this because my middle name is Courtenay and Paul’s middle name is Matthew.

On May 8th the citizens of North Carolina will vote to amend the constitution with words that will not only forbid marriage equality, but would not allow ANY type of recognition between same sex couples. No one should have to beg for recognition of their love. But I am begging my friends and family in North Carolina to show on May 8th that their actions, by voting against Amendment one, can speak louder than words.

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It's time

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Trajectories

“Bill, wake up, we’re going to watch a man walk on the moon!” There was excitement in my parent’s voice, which they expected me to share. But this was not how we did things in this house. Even at the tender age of six, I understood this and respected the rules that my parents were cavalierly disregarding. Their disregard of rules made me fearful that overnight they had become hippies. By dragging their six year old out of bed in the middle of the night to watch TV they may as well have been saying “Watch TV little man, no rules only love!”


I sat in front of a grainy black and white image so blurry that it might as well have been static. If there was any significance to the moment, it was lost on me. All I knew was this was not “Wacky Races.” No Penelope Pitstop or Dastardly Doolittle. I sat crossed legged on the floor in front of the TV. Eyes narrowed, afraid that my mother would suddenly pull a tambourine out of her purse and start dancing, while my father played “Lucy in the sky with Diamonds” on a guitar.

It was July of 1969. This is when my memories started to form. Subsequent newscasts would cement the importance of this moment into my impressionable mind. “That’s one small step for man; One giant leap for mankind.”

One month earlier in a city as distant as the moon another object was propelled across the night time sky. While it's trajectory was barely fifteen feet, its impact would not hit my life for another thirty seven years. There were no widely broadcasted news reports or school lessons to plant that moment into my young mind.

The night was still and heavy. The city held the air so close that the heat from the pavement could not escape. In this bar, The Stonewall Inn, a group of people sought out one of the only places that they could feel safe. Outside of the bar, they were criminals and deviants: arrested and beaten.

Suddenly: bright lights, Confusion. Shit, it’s a raid again. Nowhere to run. Seven policemen entered the bar and took the “till”. They locked the first group in a paddy wagon. Their crime: touching another man, or not wearing three articles of clothing pertaining to their gender. But then unbelievably, someone threw pennies and then a bottle at the policemen. One individual became a group and the group fought back. The policmen returned the next night and the next. But the opposing group became hundreds, then thousands.

My parents never became hippies: although there is a picture of them at a mountaintop wedding where their dress is questionable. The rules of the house were left intact. While the Stonewall riots had set into motion a period of change, the ripples were slow to intersect with my life.

On a recent trip to New York, Paul and I walked to Christopher Street and stopped in front of the bar. Its appearance was unremarkable: A hole in the wall. We entered the darkened bar and ordered a five dollar special martini. There was no special code word to enter and no threat of a police raid. At the other end of the bar sat a man in his late fifties, old enough to have been there that night. Could he have been the one man that threw the first bottle and changed the lives of millions?

June 24th, 2011, almost 42 years after the riot:  a Republican controlled senate voted to make marriage equality in New York a reality. Paul, I and the kids huddled around the tiny laptop screen and watched the vote take place. The hurled bottle landed in my life. “That’s one small step for man; One giant leap for mankind.”

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