MoHos @ Utah Pride 2008

Next week is the Utah Pride Festival.

Until about 5 years ago, I'd not been to our pride festival, thinking it would not be my cup of tea. To be honest, I thought the worst of it; and probably can guess what most in Utah think. But it's actually quite a nice event, and family friendly too, with only the need to avert your eyes (or gawk) a couple times, not unlike our state fair :-). We spend most our time in the kid's area getting our faces painted and watching the performers. They had a magician last year that had Brian in stitches. It's just nice to be in a place where you can relax, touch your husband on the shoulder without second guessing the mob around you, and feel a sense of community, a sense that is often taken away from gay men and women in Utah.

Anyway, the events calendar is here.

On Sunday, just between the "Destroying Your Neighbor's Marriage in 5 E-Z Steps" seminar, and the "Are You Rebelling Against the One True God(TM) to Your Full Potential?" workshop will be a parade, maybe even a "fabulous" parade. We'll be there, along with the grandparents and maybe an aunt and cousin or two.

After the parade, I was wondering if anyone from the blogs would like to get together, put face to font. If so send off an email and we'll try to set up a tiny MoHo blog convention. If you have trouble finding me, I'll be the guy in the high cut daisy dukes with a pink T-shirt tied in a knot in front. If that's too vague, just shout my name. And no worries, if you stick near us, I can use my secret gay code signals to keep the roving bands of leather men from carrying you away (unless that's your sort of thing... in which case, though, I doubt you're reading this :-)).

Another One

I'm feeling a bit down, but not near as down as some of my friends and family.

I spent yesterday at a family member's home. Her husband just decided to leave her for reasons that were not made clear, but, whatever it was, I'm sure she did not break her vows. It was sudden and apparently unexpected by everyone but her husband.

I tried to comfort her, and tried to keep some of the older member of our family from upsetting her even more; you know how old folks sometime lose that censor in their head. As I was cleaning her home I kept coming across photos of them, happy at their wedding. Our boys were the ring bearers that day. And now what?

How the hell does this happen? I'm beginning to feel a compulsive need to know what my education on the subject (read: movies, books, and television) doesn't seem to answer. Have you ever just fallen out of love? Do you know how other people fall out of love? Is it that, as I pondered long ago, that couples get too comfortable? Something else? I have to think it takes more effort than falling, but is that wrong? Does it really just happen, as though it's like some change in the seasons?

With such a huge family, and the national statistics on divorce the way they are, I really don't know near my fair share of failed marriages, and should count that as fortunate. But still, these latest couple of separations, happening so close to each other, it gets that "fix it" loop running obsessively through my mind, and yet, for the thought, I feel so ineffective in the face of it.

They Were Just Snapshots

It's easy to forget--maybe even preferable--what it was like to be that kid, coming to terms with his orientation. I was that kid, now, about two decades ago.

This was the closest picture I could find to the time; me at 15:Sure, I may look gay then; just keep in mind it was the 80's.

Some explanation: It's nearing my parents' birthdays, and the boys were coloring them each a picture. They are adorable works of art, of course: Alan fishing with grandpa, Brian in a field with grandma near a very short rainbow, and so on. When they finished, we decided to look for a frame in our cupboard of memorabilia and I came across a clear reminder of those bleak days.

A stagnant stream; I can remember this exact moment. I took this picture in the undeveloped lands just behind my childhood home. I remember walking to this stream, each step counting off a "This isn't happening; I'm not attracted to men", as if the more I reran that fiction in my head the more it would be true. I was completely alone, knew no other gay person, and I was a melodramatic mess, so much so that it's kind of funny to me to think of it today.

Once it hit me that I'd come out of puberty unlike any other kid I knew, I spent most of my free time in places I knew I'd not see another person. I'd walk for hours though the fields and mountains trying to distract myself with photography. But by the tone of the pictures, I apparently didn't escape the mood:
a foreboding dead tree...

Ruins...Is it just me projecting, or is that mood almost too on the nose :-).

Oy, and after the melancholy photography, then there was the angry industrial music.

I guess the stages of grief are supposed to be:

1. Denial.
2. Anger.
3. Bargaining.
4. Depression.
5. Acceptance.

I kind of went 1, 4, 3, 2, and then 5.

I began composing some very angry music, aping bands like NIN. I hated myself; I hated the way I was treated by my local culture; I wanted out. Hard to believe, but it really is a bit amusing in retrospect, to look back on such fury. My intractable problem was merely a period of work. My doomed soul and bleak looming future was just a phantom. My parents, who, to my great shame, I was sure would not love me if they knew me, were still my parents. In my defense, I didn't know what it was like to love as a parent back then, but still...

I wasted years being either sad or angry, years most people look back on with fondness. Young gay men of the world, don't do the same. It may seem impossible, but there is a way through. You may think you've lost something in your familial future, but it will be there when you're ready and all the more precious. You may have been cheated and lied to by leaders you thought you could trust and a culture of which you thought you were a part, but nearly no human leaves their life without hurting a person they imagined they were helping. The intent isn't there and the anger does nothing to help you find peace or help them find what's right. I know it's hard to let it go, and you really shouldn't in full; indignation can get some things done. But when it has nothing to get done, when you feel it when you are alone, late at night, it'll just eat at you.

I'm glad to have to work to remember those days.

Anyway, I took those pictures out of their frames. I scanned them into my digital life record, and there they'll sit, on my hard drive. The frames will be given to my parents on their birthdays, with the drawings my children made for them enclosed. Sure, I love it when the poetry of the universe is subtle and complicated, but I don't mind when it's blatant, cheesy, and sentimental either; not at all.

Vegas

Being agnostic, I do not, of course, believe in life after love. I did, however, survive the Cher concert, perhaps just a bit more gay now than I was yesterday.

And oh my gosh! She changed her clothes like 17 times (or so Rob tells me ;-)). She must have a crack team of ex-special ops (who were dishonorably discharged) behind the sceans forcing her through the fabric, rhinestones, and wigs (what little there was of covering fabric, though). For a nearly naked woman, she sure does get a lot of gay attention.

Ah, and Rob enjoyed it. That's what is important, more important than my Vegas-phobia and dislike for the music. I will say this: of them all, all the gay icons, I think Cher is one of the best. At least she has a noticeable sense of humor about it all. She pulls off unabashed without coming off as insufferably pretentious, and can joke about being a 62 year-old woman in a glittery thong. I can respect that.

And at least I got to see the human body exhibit (alas, Switch, no star trek but there's no way I'd get Rob into a uniform :-)). The exhibit was wonderfully interesting, and a bit creepy. I've describe, in part, my views on what's to be respected in human life, in a human body. This exhibit though felt like a bit of like walking under a ladder: there's nothing wrong with displaying the human body for education, but it still falls in a realm that's ripe with superstition. Still, glad we went.

Room Mom

Cher fanboy aside, we just found out that Rob has been given a new title, one we can both agree upon. He was just selected to be the "Room Mom" for our boy's first grade class.

I take it he's the first male to hold this position, as they apparently don't have any description of the responsibilities that doesn't call him mom :-).

He'll be helping at the school quite a bit next year, be a liaison between the teacher and parents, and be responsible to show new parents the ropes of the school. We very much appreciated our Room Mom and I'm sure he'll be great at it too [Scot says as he finishes off one of Rob's amazing sugar cookies].

Is it odd that such still surprises me? That it's something I find worthy of mention even? The degree to which our family structure isn't an issue in our personal circle of friends and acquaintances, in a state where, just outside that circle, are a good number of legislators, religious leaders, and activists saying and doings some horrible things to gay people... don't get me wrong, I'm happy for it, but it is kind of strange, no?

The teachers, administrators, parents, and area of the school are predominately LDS and the school's guiding philosophy, in general, is conservative (actually a reason we choose it, as I loved my schooling in a local Christian elementary school). But there just hasn't been a single problem, and I know I've made this same post before, but who would have predicted that ten years ago, let alone at our boy's birth? Should I keep being pleasantly surprised?

Rob will be the Room Mom without a bump, our kids are getting along great there, and all the parents have been wonderful; some have even become friends close enough that we socialize at each other's homes, outside of birthdays and play dates :-). At the last parent teacher's conference, in fact, Brian's teacher even went out of her way to tell us she wanted us to know that she thought we had given our boys a "superb home environment." This is from a woman who takes on faith (or who is supposed to anyway) that we are a sub par, non-ideal family, particularly for children (if she is even supposed to use the word family for us; is she?).

I'm just happy, glad to keep on bracing for something that might not come, and proud of our "room mom." Right now he's with the class at the zoo, but when we're all home I'll be sure to tell him that.

(I wonder if the boys will like having a parent there so much? They can't then get away with anything that won't follow them home :-))

The Perils of Marrying a Gay Man

I should have known this day would come. I have, for well over a decade, avoided a Madonna concert. I have never seen, in real life, a "Diva" of any sort, save for the time I, by pure accident, was sat next to Liza Minelly at a Broadway show, which I was coerced into attending (Aside, at the same show I used the restroom next to the guy from NYPD Blue, Denise Franz? The guy didn't seem to have the slightest grasp of the urinal selection rules most courteous men know by heart; uncomfortable...).

Point is, my personal aesthetic sense has dodged some ugly bullets over the years, despite being gay.

But then, last year, Rob found out that Cher would be putting on a show in Vegas. It was so long ago! Past-me didn't put up much of a fight and now present-me is about to pay the bejeweled, feathery, leather-thong-wearing price. We will soon be headed to Vegas, like a couple of gay salmon spawning our way down Interstate-15 to be with our kin.

Curse you, past-me!

It really is a cruel joke the universe has played on me, to make me gay and then alienate my aesthetic sense from the gay aesthetic, from my gay brothers, and worse, from my husband. Thank goodness there are blogs on which to vent. This is Rob's B-Day present, and thus I can't complain to him... much.

Oy, and Vegas. You got to watch yourself in that town. The sight of little old ladies shoving their pensions down a machine that any one who's as much as taken day-one of an undergrad statistics course knows is no more than a collection plate for a faith that can't even get inspiration right... Well, Mammon would blush at the sights in some of those casinos, and it can bring you down.

Anyway, wish me luck, and I hope one of us has your sympathies; one of us deserves them. Hey, is there still a Star Trek attraction in one of those casinos? Not that I'm that nerdy or would force Rob into it, no... but you know, in case we have some extra time...



Errr.

How I Got My Name

I kind of use this blog as a place to keep a record of things, just in case they get lost in memory or physical record, with time. I just realized, after that last post, I never explained how I got my name.

Here, I posted on how we determined our family name. Just after that, though, we had to figure out what our boys would call us. They would soon be on their way home.

Again, being a relatively new sort of family in these parts, there was little to go on. Both Rob and I call our fathers "dad" and our mothers "mom," but neither of us was really wanted that last title ;-).

It turned out a tradition had already been established for our families. Where there are two fathers, one was most often "daddy" and the other "papa". The poor lesbians often have to rely of the subtle inflections their child puts into the word "mom" but you'd be surprised how accurately those mother's ears can discern between the two words, "mom" and "mom".

To tell the truth, I didn't like "papa" at first; it felt unfamiliar, kind of old world ("father" was right out). We both wanted "dad" and some gay couples do both take the title, but we thought the name should be different.

So who gets "dad"? Rob had just taken my family name... I was in no position to debate ;-)

It was one of those things that was cleared up in a moment. I was in the car (driving on 94th south in fact :-)) listening to This American Life and a family was the subject; I can't remember why. In the program, a son was talking to his father. He never referred to him as "dad"; he called him "pop." I can't even remember the topic of the program or what they were talking about. I just remember sensing in his voice that very familiar relationship, the love that son felt for his father; I knew the same for in the man I called my "dad".

Suddenly, just like that, "papa" (or "pop" when they get older and stop calling Rob "daddy") felt right. It felt perfect. I'd not be a "dad". I am, in fact such a mixture of my parents' personalities, I was suddenly sure that I should take on "papa". Today, our boys will even correct people when they assume they have two "dads"; to them a dad and a papa are very different parents. Anyway, I called Rob and surrendered "dad" immediately :-).

And that's what I am now and I can't imagine being anything but a "papa". That name comes before my given name, before "son", before any professional title. As we both agree, it even comes before "husband". It's hard to believe the word that has become my defining title once sounded a bit unfamiliar.

Easy Math

[(Thousands of diapers) + (Months of lost sleep) + (Peeing the bed) + (Peeing our bed) + (Catching throwup in my shirt at Costco) + (Cleaning the same off multiple restauant floors) + (All the wiping, in fact) + (The two times you put a sharpie to use on the walls) + (The fact I just had to spend a couple hundred on a new printer because my last one fell to it's death as you were climbing on the desk, after I had told you many times not to...) + (And anything else that'll come our way)]/x as x-->0

<<

+

I got these out of the blue over the weekend, the first from Brian, the second from Alan.

Boy, kids know how to make parenting easy, don't they?

(That last one was made by Alan at school and it said on the cover "In Papa's arms, I feel safe." You just can't imagine how profoundly your children will grab you, before they do just that. And I also love that he gave me so much hair ;-))

Wish I Could Celebrate

As we all now know by now, California has allowed marriage rights for families headed by same-sex couples, or, more accurately, is scheduled to in 30 days.

I'm waiting for the counter attack, rather than celebrating. A couple things on the mind:

1. In November CA will vote on amending their constitution to take away the equal rights protection that caused this ruling. IIRC, the amendment would also take away domestic partner benefits, something gays in Ca already have. This could be one step forward, two steps back.

2. If only the Governator had signed the bill passed by the majority of the legislator allowing marriage... That way it would more have the people's stamp of approval, than a court ruling. You want people to do right, but you also want people to want to do right. Darn you Arnold. I'm happy you support it now, but you had an historic opportunity.

3. And the court, and it's close decision... I can hear the cackle of "activist judges," rallying the opposition to the polls. In the Ca Constitution it says you must treat people equally, and that means you can't take or keep rights and responsibilities from me, my husband, or our children, just because one of us has a particular anatomy. The judges don't just make this stuff up. It's there in law; put there by the people, even if they didn't understand the, IMHO laudable, ramifications of the ideal of equal treatment under the law.

4. Time is of the essence. In the paper an opponent says, arguing to wait until the voters vote, it does no one good "for anyone" to have legal marriage for our families for a couple months, when the whole thing could be overturned. Liar. They know. They know as soon as the first gay couple takes their family to the court house and finally gets legal equality for the people in their home, and people see the sky didn't fall over Hollywood, they know that will take away a lot of their anti-gay numbers. They don't want the people to vote after they see what they are voting on. They want them to vote on fear, knowing their issue will slowly die as it did with the Ma drive to amend their constitution after equal rights were given.

Anyway, a couple random thoughts.

Maybe I can celebrate in December. That's all I'll ask for from Santa.

How Can That End?

A friend of mine is getting divorced, my best friend. I was his best man. I stood beside him, vouched for him, and, by extension, pledged my support to their family. And I'm glad I did, don't get me wrong; he's a good man.

He wants it to work, but his wife became fed up with being married and wants to strike out on her own, having never been single. While, in this case, my loyalties and sympathies are with my buddy, I consider her a friend too, and so this is a bit of an awkward situation for a couple reasons, though certainly not strange enough to the general public.

As I've written before, I have been a divorce bigot; I've lightened up. Just the word, though, is still sounded in my mind with an uncomfortable hiss. I really still don't know how best to address the topic, but I do understand that there are situations where it really is the best option, best of all the tough options for those involved.

This family, though, they've a boy a couple years younger than ours and it's difficult to think of the time with your child being divvied up. It's one of those those things I'm sure you can live through and manage, I hope to never know how.

And that's just it. I don't get it the whole of it. I don't think I'll come to know. I literally can't imagine it.

No one will (should?) believe this and when I've stated it in mixed crowds I've been met with a good deal of skepticism, but Rob and I simply don't fight, ever ; never have. Neither of us has even once raised our voices to the other. Sure, we have a notable disagreement about something, probably once a year, but the last time it went past a couple hours or either of us went to bed upset was in our pre-San Diego days, about 9 years ago.

I'm not sure why we don't, but know most people think we're exaggerating when the topic comes up. To be clear, I certainly don't credit it to being "true to my orientation" or anything; plenty of gay couples fight. We're just both very easygoing people. Also, if their's one bit of advice I'd give a young couple it's be to be constantly at the ready to surrender. If there's one person in this world you can't lose to, it's your spouse. A disagreement should be like a deliberation between two interests of a single mind.

Furthermore, I have literally never thought about leaving him other than the thought it takes to write such a sentence as this. In fact it sounds absolutely absurd, like leaving a limb behind. We've grown so much together and are so much in the other's head that there's practically, by any definition of a mind, no me without him. Without him, I imagine my self to be some sort of stranger, one I don't much care to know, and one I'd gladly want punished if I were the guy to split us up (a reasons I want divorce law applicable to us, to hurt that possible jerk :-)).

Yet I did everything wrong, according to the notion that's causing this particular divorce. I coupled up in my teens; I married at 21. I never played the field, or "got it out of my system." I've not so much as meant to kiss another man. I've never been alone, and have always been accountable to someone (and now 3 of them! though 2 mainly care that I play with them and tuck them in at night). I can barely remember back to 17 to remember what being single is like. But it's not recalled fondly. What would someone want with that? Am I really missing that something this idea of being on your own provides?

I really think most all humans naturally need to pair up; I think that is our best, most happy and productive form. But is it just a broad and wrong generalization that the cog is the goal ;-)? And what happens to change people's minds on this? It scares me to death, that the person you love and vow to be at their side as long as you exist just ups and leaves. It's like the scene in every zombie movie, the one that creeps me out the most, where the loved-one is suddenly turned into a mindless killing machine against their girlfriend, father, or what have you (though, maybe, a bit less dramatic). The familiar and loved turned into a source of torment...

Scary stuff.

The Neighborhood

Remember the good old days around these parts, oh, about a year and a half ago?

I miss Sean, GBUYS, Cas., and more. What about Chris, L, Fox, and GayLDSActor; remember when they actually posted at least once a week, not the current once every blue moon?

Don’t get me wrong; I’m very glad to meet and read new folks. It was just a simpler time, a smaller, cozier space back then, right? And I think I get it; I’m not saying people should stick around. Most people aren’t blogging for my aims; many are there to document a process and once it’s over or once blogging gets in the way of that process, they are rightly off.

Also, I fear I had some prophetic vision in my joking, when the first significant cracks appeared, with the great MoHo-HoMo debate of aught-7. It seems more people moved in than could keep a social network intact where folks were familiar with each other, familiar enough to not vilify and to keep giving the benefit of the doubt. Camps formed, some were shunned, others got fed up. There was some yelling, outings, threats, insults made with those familiar, polite surfaces (Say what you will, but we here in Utah know how to do the passive aggressive insult with great skill, don’t we? ;-)).

And, heck, I know I can be part of the same problem. I’ve been reading but not commenting or posting much lately. I’ve been busy with isocrat.org, and that’ll just make this area feel less like a neighborhood, to me.

Also, I try to be friendly and hope I have been. I know, though, that there’s always a point of indignation in me for anyone who admits to wanting to keep my family from legal equality, or insults my marriage or home, no matter how they might couch such to sound civil, or what their good intentions are. If it were just an academic argument, I think I’m pretty good at keeping feelings out of it, but I know when it’s my family, I have to watch it too, to hate the sin and not the sinner. I mean, it's my family. I’m sure that frustration has seeped out from me at times; perhaps it just did ;-).

Eh, of course, I don’t think anything will change back; I was just feeling nostalgic. Am I the only one?

On the other hand, you know, gays are renowned for their preternatural gentrification abilities, even in some of the worst neighborhoods :-)…

Rhubarb Sorbet

If you've been reading this blog for long, you'll know I tend to feel like I have to follow difficult and ugly topics with some sort of pallet cleanser. This be one of those.

Isn't rhubarb neat:

Not as neat as it will be once it's future place in a strawberry rhubarb pie is realized, of course, but look at that structure.

Speaking of which, we have a mystery that perhaps gay Mormon men would be best qualified to solve. Here's our garden:

We've already planted and so maybe it's too late. Nevertheless, last year, everything outside of the planter boxes did great, from the strawberries to the grapes (the pumpkins, not so much, but that was due to Allan's "help" weeding the garden). Everything in the planters, though, did terribly. We got hollow radishes (hollow!), the tomatoes produced next to nothing and what was produced was bland, and the carrots were tiny. The soil (top soil, unlike the sandy stuff outside the boxes) was put in two years ago and fertilized by cattle. Is it possible that we fertilized it too much? And if so, how would we correct that next year, if the same happens?

Another problem: after last Tuesday's TV, there's begun an ugly rift in our home. I'm not sure how, but we've, for the first time, got pulled into American Idol. Mia Culpa, may Thom York forgive me. And, yes, I know it's wrong, yet I still watch. I know it's wrong because that evil show has split our family apart, with Rob and Brian firmly in the David A. camp, and Allan and I in the David C. camp. I'll not confront Rob; he makes our dinner. Instead, Allan and I are working on Brian, but he won't see past the fact that we are remotely related to David A. David C. is just so much more creative and, let's face it, cool.

Yeah, I said it. Bring it on.

Anyway, uh... Hey, my hand is getting much better:

I'm not sure how happy I'll be with it. The doctor (pre-surgery) told me that I should experience immediate relief, as "95% of his patients" have. It is better now, the numbness is gone, but it still gets annoyingly uncomfortable at long use and it was not near "immediate relief". The doctor (post-surgery) now tells me that I should expect to wait 9 months to get the full benefit. Pff, doctors...

Is There an Elephant in This Room?

...and if so, how do I kill it?

As an undergrad I took a couple women studies courses to fulfill the “well rounded” requirement of the university; you know, so that mathematicians may be tortured with art history and poets with chemistry.

One day the topic of gender stereotypes was brought up and I outed myself as a gay man in order to address what I’d experienced. At that a discussion broke out during which one girl became notably hostile to the “homosexual agenda.” The teacher eventually asked her how her perception of me had changed, and one question she asked the girl was if she’d be worried if I and her brother became friends now.

At the time I thought it was a really bizarre question for the teacher to ask. Worried? About what? The conclusion I jumped to was that her fear may be that her brother may want to switch teams in order to date me (I was quite handsome at 19 ;-)). With that error in mind, I said she need not worry a bit; I was faithful to my boyfriend (and always have been :-)).

But, as the conversation progressed it became clear this teacher personally knew this particular girl, and knew her brother wasn’t some bi-curious college student, one gay friend away from forsaking football for Musical Theater, as I’d assumed. He was just a child in his early teens. As impossible as it sounds to me now, the teacher was actually asking, in class, one student if she’d be afraid another student would violate, in such a terrible way, a child, and the answer was yes!

This was the first time I’d ever got wind of the notion that, to a substantial number of people, being gay is associated with pedophilia. Heck, this was one of the first times I even heard of the notion of pedophilia. Today it seems it’s all too often mentioned in the news, but back then I was somehow able to remain blissfully ignorant.

And my response in this situation was: “Oh don’t worry about me, I’m taken”…

Ugg, I still cringe. I was both shocked and mortified once I realized the age of her brother and how I must have just enforced that bigoted girl’s bias. I never got a chance to explain, but how would I? I’m still really hesitant to even address this topic here.

Anyway, I was happily naive about many of the horrors of this world well into my teens, and here I was being associated with one of the worst. It left a lasting impression.

I started to wonder: this girl was from the LDS culture and that clearly misinformed her views on homosexuality… most of my siblings are LDS… Do my siblings make the same association? Do they now see me as a threat to my nephews and nieces? How many people in my world think like that? It made me sick to realize this possibility, that any person might now wonder about, let alone do, such a horrible thing.

To this day I’ve no answer to those questions. It’s nothing to bring up or clear up in most any situation (and yet here I am asking). It’s just a horrible lingering question now. On anti-gay sites I see the association between homosexuality and pedophilia made often; I know it’s still out there, but how common is it? How close is it to our home? Is it in my cousins? In our neighbors? Is it going to hurt our children, when the age comes for stuff like sleepovers?

If so, how to I protect them and insulate them from it? How do I fix it?

Anti-gay folks are clever. To even breach such a disgusting topic is disturbing. The elephant they’ve placed in this room is hardly ever going to be mentioned by the person holding the prejudice; it’s just a silent fear on both sides, pushing both sides apart.

I mean, I directly know being gay has nothing to do with that desire to harm children in such an unmentionable way, but I also know most parents, just like me, would not gamble with such a thing, even when they know they're being unreasonable (e.g. the fort post…). So what if this girl, from that women’s studies course, now has a child in our boy’s school. How can I keep her bias from hurting our children, when it seems impossible to now know if its even still there, and, if it is, bringing it up could make it even worse?

I'd also like to know if I'm being paranoid from such experiences and reading so much anti-gay literature? Does this bias still exist in substantial numbers? Does the younger gay generation encounter such views in as casual of settings as a classroom? Do they now experience more subtle displays than what I experienced?

I know it's an ugly topic, but how does the unspeakable get resolved? How would you even know if it already has been?

Guess What I Did Yesterday

By my fancy look, did I:
A) Buy a new slimming black dress and matching hat for the summer cocktail circuit.
B) Founded the first Gay-Straight Alliance at Hogworts.
C) Sacrificed a chicken to Olofi.
D) Joined a cult
or
E) Finally went through my graduation ceremony.

That's right, D, joined a cult. Nothing serious, our only tenants being to promise to be able to recite from memory numbers like 35.453 and boor people to tears at discussion of our work.

You can't see it in the picture but that hood is really odd, with, like, a big cloth spike on top.

Anyway, though I got my doctorate last semester, they only do the ceremony once a year, and yesterday was my turn. I don't usually care much for ceremony, save for when it comes to family; it often just strikes me as silly. And don't get me wrong, being be-hooded and wearing robes with stripes was comical too; I felt like I should have brought one of the boys' light sabers. But I can see the reason in it; I was glad to have our boys witness the event:
and I can't say I wasn't hit by emotion when my adviser, now colleague, attached that hood to my back. He was a great adviser and is now a good friend:
That is at the celebratory dinner we had afterwards. Almost everybody there was asking me how it feels to be Dr. Lastname, and to be honest it doesn't feel any different. I'm just relieved; that and I now have a lot less respect for doctors. I mean, even I, knowing all my weaknesses and sure there are some I ignore, even I got one of those dr's :-).

The party was just with my closest family and friends, all of whom I've had since my early teens. I know I've been lucky, greatly blessed in the area of friends and family. I don't imagine most people as adults are as close with their teenage buddies, and it's wonderful to have people in your life who know you so well, people you know have your back and with whom you can't remember the last misunderstanding.

Funny though to notice last night how our parties now have an atmosphere more like a Chuck-e-Cheese than the Frat House atmosphere of our teens. We almost all have children now, and the only friend who doesn't is like an uncle (oddly though ours boys are the oldest of the kids; the gay guy of the group had children before all the others :-)). Ah, good times...