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.]