The Divine in Drag (Blog #973)

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Today is Thanksgiving, and I’m grateful for my family. This afternoon we ate at Village Inn. We’ve done this the last few years, gone out to eat, then met back at home for dessert and coffee. It really is the perfect thing. Everyone can eat what they want–today I had turkey and dressing, and my Dad had a cheeseburger and fries–and you don’t have to do the dishes. Of course, going out to eat means that others (like our sweet waitress today) are NOT with their families. This reminds me to be ever more thankful for being able to be with mine and for those who make our gathering together possible. So this one’s for the staff at Village Inn.

Especially for whoever makes the pumpkin pie. (It was delicious.)

Fun fact: the local manager today told me they’d sold about 1,400 pies in the last three days. Coincidentally, sweat pant sales are up at Walmart.

This Thanksgiving, as is often the case, our family hosted non-relatives–friends, lovers, neighbors. You know how it goes. Not everyone has or can be with their loved ones, but everyone needs a tasty meal, a slice of pie, and good company. I’ve personally been hosted by other families for major holidays before and know how that made me feel (welcomed, accepted, and loved), and this is part of the reason I love that my family has always opened its doors and shared with others. Today at Village Inn I ran into one of my old psychology teachers and later remembered that another one of my psychology teachers told us that he once spent Thanksgiving at 7-11, the convenience store. I think he’d been through a divorce, but at the very least he was lonely. “I knew I could talk to the cashier,” he said.

My mom and I were talking about this sort of thing today, the fact that some people don’t have a place to go on major holidays (or ever) and that even if they do, they’re not always accepted for who they are by those who ideally should love them the most. We both know people who are gay and are either shunned by their families or loved conditionally (like, just don’t talk about THAT, or bring your lover over, or let the neighbors know). Recently one of my mom’s gay friends told her, “I wish I had a mom like you,” I guess because she doesn’t judge him for being different.

For being–himself.

A word that kept coming up today was “embarrassed.” One of my relatives mentioned being embarrassed about how they (sometimes) look, and someone else said they were embarrassed about their voice (because they’ve been made fun of for it). I’m assuming this is the deal with mom’s friend’s mother. She’s embarrassed by (ashamed of) her son’s sexuality. Of course, when you’re embarrassed or ashamed, the natural response is to hide, put on a show, or try to change yourself or others. (Just don’t talk about THAT). Alas, none of these strategies work for very long. We are who we are.

No one can effectively hide.

Getting back to being embarrassed, I know that I’ve often been embarrassed by my family. Especially my father because he’s always trying to get a laugh and doesn’t mind throwing his children under the bus in order to get one. For example, he used to tell hot waiters, “I’ll give you a hundred dollars to take my daughter on a date. She can’t get one on her own.” (Is it any wonder I didn’t come out sooner?) Tonight at my aunt’s house while we were eating pie, my family covered a whole range of–well, very personal–topics. And whereas I’ve been prohibited from blogging about the specifics, suffice it to say that if you’d been a fly on the wall, your face probably would have turned red.

As I was growing up, this sort of chatter (which happened both at home AND in public) was enough to make me want to run away. But as I’ve gotten older, it’s one of the things I appreciate MOST about my family. First of all, talking about you-know-what, at least the way my family does it, is hilarious. We laughed our butts off tonight. Second of all, the fact that no topic is off limits is precisely why no person is off limits. In my family anyone is welcome. We don’t care if you’re gay, straight, poor, rich, religious, not religious, sick, healthy, smart, or dumb. It’s come as you are. Pull up a chair. Have a piece of pie.

Just don’t stay in the bathroom too long. We only have the one.

I remember as a kid being totally ashamed by my family’s open door policy. My dad would invite into our home kids from the projects near his drugstore, and I didn’t handle it well. They were poor, dirty, and uneducated, and I guess I felt better than them. More than that, I was scared. Deep down I think we all know–That could easily be me. The truth is I’m fortunate to have what I have. That’s what I think whenever I hear stories about homosexuals who aren’t welcome–and celebrated–by their families. I really lucked out. ANYONE who’s allowed and encouraged to be wholly themselves–that is, loved unconditionally–by at least one person has totally lucked out.

Likewise, anyone who loves another unconditionally gives an unspeakable gift.

My psychology teacher today said, “Remember Pavlov?” Of course, I did. Pavlov rang a bell whenever he fed his dogs, and eventually they salivated at the sound of the bell even when there wasn’t any food. I’ve been thinking about how this Pavlovian Conditioning applies to the way one person treats another. Like, as a child out of fear or embarrassment you shut down your heart to another human being (just like you), and years later that’s what you keep doing–shutting down your heart anytime you see someone different. You don’t even stop to consider whether or not you COULD love them. Because that’s the deal. It’s not that we’re incapable of unconditionally loving our children, our neighbors, and fellow human beings. Indeed, our hearts have been designed for precisely this. It’s simply a matter of–when you see someone who’s different from you–not shutting down your heart, but connecting to it.

Mother Teresa once said, “Every day I see Jesus in his most distressing disguises.” I love this. Also, I’m deeply disturbed by this because it challenges me to love more than I’m used to loving, to not just care about those who are familiar and like me, but also care about those who are drastically different (in thought, looks, status, and behavior) from me. More and more I see “the different ones” as the divine in drag, asking, “Can you love me like this? Can you love me like that? Can you–will you–open your heart and home MORE?”

[On a personal note, today is also my mom’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Mom! Thank you for the unconditional love you give me and so many others. It makes all the difference.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The deepest waters are the only ones capable of carrying you home.

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A Delightful Day (Blog #609)

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Things that happened today–

1. I felt better

After dragging ass for over a week and SERIOUSLY dragging ass yesterday, this morning I woke up feeling like a regular human being. And whereas I can’t say for certain what caused it, I’m attributing my increase in energy to the probiotic I occasionally swab inside my sinuses, which I did last night. Who knows? Life is a mystery. Regardless, I’m learning to be grateful for any and every “normal” day.

2. I got into the holiday spirit

This afternoon and evening I helped a friend decorate the outside of their house for Christmas. As this was their first time doing this, we started with a trip to Walmart for lights, cords, and fasteners. Then we put lights in the hedges and draped one of their trees. But before we could wrap the posts on their porch, I had to go back to Walmart to get lights with WHITE cords and NOT GREEN cords because–we realized–their posts are white, and they “couldn’t bare” for things not to match. Anyway, it was a small project, but it turned into an all day affair, since we both had to leave to attend previous engagements but decided to meet again later in the evening (after ten) to finish up.

Here’s a picture of the final product.

3. I saw a musical

During my break from decorating, I attended Alma High School’s production of The Addams Family, a musical. (A few of my friends that I worked with backstage when The Wizard of Oz was in town invited me, and last week I actually helped paint one of the set pieces.) Anyway, the show was fabulous. The school really does do such a phenomenal job with the sets, costume, and lighting. And the kids! You wouldn’t know that they were in high school.

Here’s a picture of the graveyard set. Talk about seriously creepy and cool.

Here’s a picture of the living room set, which includes the piece I worked on. (I painted the stairs and handrail.) It’s not much in the grand scheme of thing, but every little bit helps!

4. I thought about my ancestors

Otherwise, I worked on my photo organizing project earlier today. I’m so close to done I can almost taste it. Then I talked to my parents about some of our family history, which was in part prompted by my project, and in part prompted by a book I’m reading about families, trauma, and healing. I’ll say more about it later, but the book points out that–for better or for worse–your entire family structure is part of your story and plays a big part in your overall mental and physical health. Coincidentally, tonight’s musical featured The Addams’s dead ancestors, whom they said couldn’t rest until there was peace with the living. Anyway, I think it’s interesting, the way the universe can deliver up the same message in multiple ways. Get your past sorted out.

5. I gave myself a break

Now it’s almost two in the morning, and I’m doing laundry because I’m getting up early tomorrow and going out-of-town to rehearse and perform a swing dance routine with my friend Matt. And whereas I wish I could post this and pass out, I still have my nightly routine to go through. So in an effort to be kind to myself, I’m ending things abruptly.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's enough to sit in, and sometimes drag ass through, the mystery.

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This Is the Good Life (Blog #520)

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Today I have given my insulin a run for its money, mostly in an effort to fulfill a promise to my father. (Mostly.) A couple months ago for Father’s Day I promised I’d take my dad for donuts and coffee, and then–when I never did–re-promised the same thing on his birthday, which was last week. Anyway, today was the day I finally made good on my promises. This morning I got up at the god-forsaken hour of eight o’clock, stumbled to my closet to put some clothes on, then drove my dad to Irish Maid Donuts, a Fort Smith classic.

Y’all, it was fabulous. Dad and I both got chocolate-filled donuts, and they were glorious. So tasty. Like crack. (That’s a joke, Mom. I don’t know what crack tastes like.) But really–those donuts were better than any relationship I’ve ever been in–and definitely cheaper. What’s more, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my dad so happy. He was grinning from ear to ear.

I’ve spent the rest of the day in an absolute daze, which I’m sure is a result of depriving myself of sleep (I went to bed at two last night) and flooding my body with insulin (I had three donuts this morning). This afternoon my dad and I drove my aunt to Oklahoma City to visit her son (my cousin) and grandchildren, and although I tried to read along the way, I ended up sleeping instead. My brain just wasn’t up to processing. (Enough learning, Marcus!) Even now I’m having a tough time–uh–uh–thinking. Of course, I’m sure it doesn’t help that I just ate a huge cheeseburger, a hot dog, a piece of chocolate cake, and two scoops of ice cream.

Mayday–mayday! Sugar–rush–can–not–function.

Still, even though I woke up before noon and can’t bet my brain to turn on, today has been a great day. Our family isn’t all that big, and especially since we’re a bit spread out, it’s really lovely to get together, chill out, and stuff our faces. The kids are playing a video dance game with my aunt, I’m sprawled out in a huge chair, and my cousin just brought me a cup off coffee. This is the good life. There’s no pressure here. That being said, Dad and I are about to hit the road and head for home. Even still, we’ve ingested enough sugar to carry us home. It’s Labor Day weekend, and although I have no plans,

I’m sure–
An adventure awaits.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s no such thing as a small action. There’s no such thing as small progress.

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When God Speaks the Loudest (Blog #108)

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Last night–er–yesterday morning (whatever)–I went to bed at seven-thirty. The sun had been up for over an hour. I woke up at three in the afternoon, the latest I’ve slept in a week. It felt glorious. Having absolutely nothing on my agenda, I spent today reading. I even took a nap. Currently it’s two in the morning, and I’m still tired. But I’m committed to writing, so I’ll be awake for a while. I know that a lot of people wear exhaustion like a badge of honor, so I’d like to be clear–I’m not trying to put myself on a cross or anything. I’m just stating facts.

This evening my sister came to visit with her two sons (my nephews). The older one, Christopher, is seven and almost always bouncing off the walls. Tonight was no exception. As soon as he popped out of my sister’s car, he ran and gave my mom a huge hug, then sprinted to my dad and hung from his neck like a piece of jewelry. And then he (FINALLY) saw me, and as I scooped him up in the air he said, “I’m as tall as the house!” While all this went on, the younger boy, Ander, hung back and quietly observed. He’s three now, and he’s only recently gotten to the point where strangers–and by strangers I mean me–don’t make him cry. (What can I say? It’s a gift.)

Here’s a picture of Christopher with the Star Wars Lego set my mom gave him tonight. He said it was “the best gift EVER,” and immediately started to put it together. You’ll notice he’s wearing a t-shirt that says “limitless,” which I assume refers to his energy levels. He reminds me of that pink bunny with the drum, the one that keeps going and going. You should see what happens when my dad gives him candy.

I guess your perspective changes with age. Since Ander was born, I’ve been someone he’s been “not so sure” about. But tonight, he must have seen me differently, since we played ball together for the longest time, and he was giggling and laughing. He even let me pick him up. Mom had given him a little book that played Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, and Dad suggested I take Ander outside to look at the sky. So that’s what I did, and even though it was still light out, there were a couple bright spots up there. I’m guessing at least one of them was a planet, but like a toddler (or I) can tell the difference. Either way, I pointed at the stars/planets, and Ander tilted his head up in wonder.

Christopher’s perspective, in his words, is currently, “Everyone in this house is OLD.” And whereas I remember thinking about my parents and grandparents like that at his age, the older I get, the older “old” gets. I mean, it’s DEFINITELY not thirty-six, even though it is probably time to stop saying “totes,” “on the serious,” and “fo sheezy.”

Believe it or not, the boys eventually wound down and went to bed. (There may have been Benadryl involved.) So for a while it was just us adults, and my sister and I had a conversation about my sleep schedule. She said (in my own words), “I get that some people are night owls, but you’ve taken that concept to a whole new level. Couldn’t you write earlier, go to bed earlier?”

Well, this is a conversation I’ve had more than once in the last few months, about how my days and nights have been flipped around, how there are some days when I only see the sun shining for a few hours. Honestly, it’s not the easiest way to live, especially on days when morning doctor appointments are made. I mean, let’s face it–the world runs mostly on daylight. That being said, I can’t tell you how much I’ve come to love staying up late. This afternoon while I was reading, there was so much noise–the television was on, the dog was barking, and my parents were up using the ice machine, running the microwave, and sneezing (I mean, it is their house). Plus, the phone was ringing, and cars were going up and down the street.

So much noise. So many distractions.

But now, at three in the morning, it’s blissfully quiet. The air conditioner is running, a fan blows from a room down the hall, and every so often a mouse patters across the living room carpet. (I try not to think about the mouse.) But otherwise, it’s just me, the sound of my breath, the gentle clacking of the keyboard. I can actually hear myself think. Plus, almost every night something shows up on the page out of nowhere–it’s like I’m taking instant dictation from the divine–and I’m starting to think having solitude and quiet makes it easier for that happen. It’s like God comes out at night because he doesn’t like distractions anymore than I do.

I’ve heard that it’s a universal experience for people to wake up at three or four in the morning, which is why some people call it the witching hour. But I’ve also heard that that is the time when the world is most quiet, that between three and four in the morning is the best time to meditate because that’s when God speaks the loudest. Of course, when most of us wake up in the middle of the night, we just go back to sleep. That’s what I’ve always done. But now that I’m a night owl, I’ve gotten in the habit or going for a jog around one, two, even three in the morning. It’s cooler then, and I don’t have to worry about developing skin cancer or getting hit by a car. Almost always when I start out, I don’t know what I’ll be writing about later, but without fail, before I get to the tennis courts half a mile from the house, an idea has presented itself–out of nowhere. Just like that, God has spoken.

Hearing from God, I think, is worth not sleeping for.

Earlier this week I made an off-handed joke about staying up so late to my therapist during the first part of our session. Later she said, “Don’t judge yourself for that, by the way.” So tonight I’ve been thinking about the internal pressure I put on myself to “be like everyone else,” to get up with the sun rather than the moon. But under the moon, at night, I’ve grown so much more than I ever have during the day. The night, after all, is responsible for this blog. It’s the time when I’ve fallen in love with writing again, and–more importantly–fallen in love with myself again. It’s when my perspective has changed for the better. And whereas the day has only one star shining in the sky, the night has thousands, each one older than even anyone in this house, each one a limitless mystery that has something to teach us–if only we could get quiet enough, see the night through the eyes of a child, and listen with wonder to all God has to say.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even if you can't be anything you want to be, you can absolutely be who you were meant to be. Don't let anyone else tell you differently.

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On What Really Matters (Blog #56)

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This afternoon I drove my aunt to Oklahoma so she could spend the holiday weekend with her son and his family. I needed to come up for a quick business errand anyway, and apparently my aunt and I have similar bladder schedules, so the whole thing worked out perfectly. During the drive, my aunt talked the entire way, which she said was to help keep me awake, and then later apologized for. But honestly, I loved it. We’re always saying we’re going to go out for Mexican food and catch up, but–you know–life happens. So it was actually really good to be locked in the car together so that we could reconnect and, of course, gossip about the rest of the family.

When we got to my cousin’s house, life was in full swing. His three kids had their last day of school today, and everyone was celebrating in their new above-ground pool. I guess we arrived just in time because dinner was ready, and at least two of the three kids were running around the kitchen, asking for more of this and more of that. Seriously, I’ve never seen a loaf of white bread disappear so fast. It was like a magic trick.

After dinner, I ran my errand (taking a look at a potential remodel project for a friend) and came back. Well, when I returned, everyone, including my retired aunt whose had two knee surgeries, was in the backyard having a water gun fight.

So I thought, what the hell, put my phone away, and joined in.

Well, the great thing about little kids is that they run away from people who are bigger than they are. Even better, sometimes they drop their weapons, which means that in short order, the adults had all the big guns. (Insert evil, sinister laugh here.)

I guess their oldest son is pretty sharp because he went around the house for the water hose, but–thank God–he didn’t really know how to use it, so I managed to stay pretty dry.

When the water gun fight was over, I went inside to use the bathroom and noticed that my underwear was on inside out. (I went to college. How does this happen?) So I started to take off my shorts to get things turned around, and then I remembered I had shoes on and thought, Fuck it, this is too much work.

Before long, all the kids were camped out on the floor watching the cartoon movie Sing. So even though I had planned to get back on the road to Arkansas, when my cousin gave me popcorn with white cheddar sprinkles on top, I sat down on the couch instead. And when their dog hopped up on my lap and started going for my popcorn, she was so cute about it that I almost didn’t care.

Almost.

My cousin kept inviting me to stay the night, but I kept saying no, but thank you. I mean, I didn’t bring a change of clothes or a toothbrush or any anti-fungal spray for my armpits. (It’s gross, I know, but as the lady at the natural health food store said, “Isn’t the body fascinating?”) But as I watched the movie, I thought, I really don’t want to drive back AND THEN blog. And when I saw this, I decided to stay:

Yesterday my mom and I ran some errands–Walmart, Best Buy, home decor store–normal, boring stuff like that. But my mom said my dad doesn’t like doing that sort of thing, and she wanted my input on the home decor part. (Parents–if you have a gay son who can decorate, let him.) Anyway, before we left the house, Mom told me that she really enjoyed having me at home again. And even though nothing spectacular happened yesterday, I kept thinking how glad I was that I could be there for it. Obviously, one day my mom and I won’t be able to go to Hobby Lobby together.

When I picked my aunt up today, I went inside and spent some time looking at all the pictures on her wall. It’s the home my grandparents used to live in, so as I looked at the photos of them, the memories were that much stronger. You know, there’s always that part of you that wishes you’d had more time with your loved ones.

I guess that’s part of the reason I decided to stay at my cousin’s tonight–that, and the fact that he said he’d make waffles in the morning. Really, I know it’s the simplest of things–a family starting summer break by eating popcorn and watching a cartoon movie they’ve seen A HUNDRED TIMES THIS WEEK. But with my cousin in Oklahoma and my sister and her kids in New Mexico, I know I’ve missed a lot of water fights already, so I think sometimes the simplest memories are the best ones. In the end, it’s not the things you do, it’s who (or whom, rather) you do them with.

So now the house is quiet, and I’m in the oldest kid’s room. Next to the bed is a lamp that looks like a pirate ship, and the bedspread looks like the ocean, and it has an octopus on it. For some reason, I keep seeing octopi everywhere I go. I even had a dream about one. I haven’t figured out what it means exactly, but I do know those creatures represent creativity, mystery, and regeneration, so that seems to fit my life right now. Also, they represent flexibility, a quality I don’t always possess. I mean, normally I’d insist on driving home in the middle of the night just so I could have clean underwear in the morning. But in this moment I’m here with people I love–my family–and I’m thinking, Hell, tomorrow I can just turn my underwear right side out, and it will be almost the same thing. I mean, what’s really important here?

Well, I think the answer is obvious.

[Thanks to my cousin Don and his wife, Rachel, for hosting me in your lovely home. I’m so glad I stayed. Thanks, Rachel, for the photos of the water gun fight. Also, bring on those waffles.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Damn if good news doesn't travel the slowest.

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