Helping Hands

I’ve been a single parent for the past couple days. Rob has gone back down to Moab to take care of his aunt. She has just had some pretty serious surgery, serious physically and emotionally, and we’re very glad to lend a hand.

Man, each time I do double duty I’m left with a great respect for those who do it everyday, such as this amazing guy. I’m left with that respect, and an equally great desire for my man back and a nap. Between school, soccer practice, dinner, laundry, a traumatic scare that the dog may have eaten the parakeet (who was just hiding in a house plant), and someone getting a nightmare and deciding to sleep in my bed, in which he promptly peed, well, I’m pining for Rob’s return.

Is it just me or are gays the go-to general caretakers of their families? We nursed Rob’s parents back to health over months after a vehicle accident; it just seemed like a forgone conclusion that we were to take on that job. Before children, we’ve taken in wayward teens from our families in hopes of setting them straight, so to speak. Heck, our two best gay friends both have moved their parents in with their families to care for them in their old age. None of our other friends have done so. Though there are many other siblings, aunts and so on who could and do help, it kind of is a traditional role for gays, who historically didn’t have children of their own to care for, isn’t it? It does make evolutionary sense, in a way, particularly when you consider the Fraternal Birth Order Effect.

Even though we are parents, stepping in such situations still somehow just feels like our place. And don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we can… I just miss my man.

It was a cute surprise. He left notes on all our pillows, to find the night after he left. Most of my letter’s contents are personal :-), but he did write something that got me thinking on this. With his back and my hand we’ve taken turns being very reliant on each other lately, and it isn’t the first or last time. This aunt he’s caring for is divorced and has no children. She’s a great woman, I love her a lot and our boys simply adore her, but how difficult and unnerving must it be to be in that position? Your family members all have their own spouses and children to care for and, in turn, to care for them, and not everyone has a gay nephew as wonderful as my Rob (he said he’s not going to read my blog anymore so that I’d feel free to write nice stuff about him in public :-)).


I guess I worry about a lot of things regarding my family. What law will they try to pass against us next legislative session? What bullies will our boys encounter? What happens to our estate if I die too soon, in, say, an accident? But what I don’t worry a bit about is who will care for me once time has its way and my body begins to deteriorate. I’m indescribably grateful to know, right now, there would be at least three pairs of hands to hold by my bedside.

I just want one of those pairs of hands to get home soon!

He’s Out There, Somewhere. Lurking. Waiting. Watching.

My man, aka Rob, has begun reading my blog. Okay, maybe that’s not as much of an announcement as it is for a MoHo in a MOM, IYKWIM, but it’s something of a change.

For about a year and a half he has kind of regarded this space and my blogging time as my little private corner, the tool shed in the back of the yard, but after assuring him (many times!) that I don’t need or want such a place when it comes to him he’s began checking in.

While I’ll have to stop all the detailed and relentless complaining I usually do about him, there should be no other detectible changes. Gosh, I hope he never finds some of the horrible things I’ve written in past posts...

Ah, he knows I kid. He’s a wonderful man, husband, friend, and father; I couldn’t ask for anything more in a spouse. All week he’s been taking great care of me and the kids while I heal, everything from taking my job of getting the boys ready for school, to getting my buttons buttoned and shoes tied.

He’s been reading, through, in my office when I’m home, and I find I can’t stop paying attention to it, to him reading. I have to check what exactly he’s looking at each time he laughs, to make sure it was at an intentional attempted joke. Maybe when he’s reading I should take the kids for a walk :-).

I’m not sure if he’ll be logging on and commenting, but on the long-up-coming site, he wants to chip in. So you should see more of him, but I’d not expect us to be much alike; we compliment each other more than duplicate. He’s more about sharing recipes than about arguing over heated topics, and not near half as much a science nerd as his husband; maybe that's why I love him :-).

Reunion

I just got back from another trip, and want to take a break from my cruise posts for this one.

Rob came from a very conservative, very LDS, small town in the rurals of Utah. The boat we were on last week carries a larger population. So when he said he wanted to go to his class reunion this year, I half thought he was joking.

Ten years ago we didn’t attend because he wasn’t invited. The organizer called Rob to get the contact information of some of his classmates, but he never sent him an invitation. Once Rob asked for the information they had had the reunion over, and the organizer actually told him that he didn’t know how to reach us… Yes, after contacting Rob months before for the numbers of others.

Now, Rob was a popular kid. Heck, he was prom king, a fact I never tire of advertising. But none of his LDS friends (the great majority of his friends) took his being gay well, though a couple have come around today. In fact, my friends became Rob’s after we got together and we only saw his periodically; many just ended their relationship at the news.

Anyway, Rob wasn’t joking; he wanted to go to his reunion this year. He had begun reconnecting with some of them, via email, and he wanted to see them. And we were invited this time; the new committee was headed by a friend and not the same bigot who couldn’t even own up to his own “values” ten years ago.

I was nervous, but I wanted to go with him too. I wanted to have the experience, to hear about the Rob I never knew, to just stand there next to him for it. So, as I’d been joking for months before, we checked our life insurance policy for coverage of lynching and headed off for his reunion a couple days ago.

When we left, I had a bad cold. 1 week on a ship + 700 children = 1 bad cold for me, and every year. I wasn’t sick enough to be in bed though. Then, the day we got there we went 4-wheeling with Rob’s parents and had a great time, but I ended up with a couple red splotches on me from mosquitoes and horse flies. So I was basically going to walk into his reunion noticeably sick, and with red spots… I kept thinking they’d be sure I was suffering the consequences of our lewd and lawless lifestyle ;-). Add to that that I still had my sea legs from the ship, meaning I was losing my balance at random, and they’d probably think I came drunk as well.

It wasn’t looking good for me and then it got worse. Alan suddenly developed the fever Brian caught on the ship, of course. Long-story-short, I spent the day of Rob’s reunion in a hotel room, watching Animal Planet with Alan, trying to break his fever, while Rob and Brian went to the events. At least Rob’s classmates didn’t have to see Rob’s diseased and stone drunk “friend” :-).

I was kind of let down, but, as things stood, I was much more worried about the Tylenol/Motrin schedule. You hate it when your kid is sick, particularly when you’re handicapped too, but Alan and I had an okay lazy day together.

For Rob, it seems it was a mixed bag. There was a whole day of events tied in with Pioneer Day celebrations. Rob and Brian had a fun time riding in the parade, but he noticed some nudging, pointing, dirty looks. Some folks came up, talked to him, and asked about Alan and me. Some of them were people he never thought would do so. Sill, others gave a very pointedly cold shoulder. One woman involved in PFLAG there came up and told Rob that we are talked about often and fondly by many in that town and the surrounding towns. She was saying our family is discussed often by gay kids and their parents in the area, and she made Rob feel quite appreciated for coming. On the other hand, Rob found that someone had removed his picture from the high school plaque commemorating his class. Mixed bag.

All in all though, I'd say a mixed bag, with nothing worse than anonymous vandalism and cold shoulders, is quite a remarkable indication of positive change.

At the actual reunion dinner, it was pretty much the same thing. Rob was mainly in the company of his female friends, who could hang around him without catching the gay ;-). Though, he was pretty sure more of his male friends would have wanted to catch up, if not for the appearances, which are very and practically important in such a town, I gather. Some talked to him; some didn’t.

In all, he had a good time and will go to the next one (and I hope Alan and I will too). He didn’t care much about the negative. That’s one reason I love him, but let me give an example of why I married him. The first thing he told me about when he got back was not all the concerns I had, not about who was nice to him and who wouldn’t look at him. It was not all the reunion crap about who does what and who looks like what. The first thing he told me about his reunion was how happy he was to finally tell a girl, who he and his group of fiends had treated badly in high school, that he was very sorry, face to face. That was the highlight of his reunion.

I’m a lucky man.

Set Back

I’ve not had near my fair share of misery in life, being gay and in Utah and all :-). But, on the topic of becoming a parent, I’m already well into self-indulgent territory, and I did mention a “setback.” This period of “expecting” contains some of our greatest joys, the indescribable sort that could make any challenge worth every bit, and by astronomical units. And Hey, I see a fellow blogger is going through one such time right now!

But there were those trials, for the eventual ends to soothe. I can’t really say the whole process was much more difficult in the area of building a family than it is for a great many couples, but it was the last time I actually sobbed (not cried though, those who know me will tell you I cry over my family, or sappy media too often :-)).

Something happened during this period that I can’t talk about in full in such a venue. Sadly, though, the incident’s only record is found roundabout in cold forms that certainly can’t give it near the proper weight from our perspective. I want to write it out, a bit, while I’m on the topic. It needs something more, and the kids, if they eventually read this, will understand in full.

We had what we now euphemistically refer to as a setback. We knew this could happen when we began our efforts to become parents. It wasn’t extraordinary. The occurrences around it were, in full, something greatly the odds in our particular case, but the single result that really hurt was not near enough uncommon for any couple hoping to become parents by any means. To only go through it once I should count ourselves as blessed.

I think I said before, in this period of our lives, it was as though everything hung in suspended animation, anticipation for parenthood. It did; everything was about her, him, or them, having no idea for whom we’d become parents. That was near all we thought about, all we talked about, all we read about and prepared for.

It seemed all was going well too, but then we got this call, and we were asked to come in and sit down. We were told where our world was focused there was next to no reason for hope. We were back to square one, just like that. Rob went to tears at the news, as was reasonable, but I didn’t. I knew, right then so clearly, I had the other job in this union; over the years I had taken on the role of the other sort of personality.

Thinking on it, it really is how I now react to any threat to my home, be it direct, person to person (or coyote to person :-)), or merely from an odd sound in the house at night. Without trying, I switch off emotionally and go on automatic, be it in either brainstorming solutions or meticulously hunting through the house. Sometimes though, that’s completely the wrong way of handling a problem, and, for those instances, I rely on Rob. It’s funny how, in a couple, certain jobs are there for the taking, no matter the couple’s makeup. Division of labor works well and, gay or no, people gravitate into the roles that best compliment the union. I have mine; Rob has his.

So that news hit me like a kick to the chest, but I put the feeling away, put my arm around Rob, and went into that now familiar mode. I looked up at the bearer of bad news, somberly shot off my questions, and took our notes. What exactly happened? What to do now? What’s best? How to avoid this? What next?…

After that we went for a long and needed walk across the Golden Gate Bridge. I’ll never forget that feeling: just the two of us, together and both far more down than we’d ever known the other to be. We were wounded and moving amongst those tourists. We were walking, and moving on from that loss, planning, regrouping, pushing and pulling each other back up. It was clear we were alone in that city at other’s reaction to the news, and that actually felt like a bit of perfection in the problem. We should be alone, in such an instance; the tourists and the joggers and even our friends shouldn’t touch it. We didn’t even call family until the next day. It was he and me, always R and me. There are potent times in a union when it’s as though you can’t feel yourself anymore; you feel as a couple, and this was one of those times. We didn’t even need to say it. I knew where he was and he knew me and we knew we’d repair and push on; I could feel it even then as substantively as I could sense him next to me in that cold fog on the Goled Gate Bridge.

But we got this piece of terrible information, telling us there was no hope left where near all our hopes were set, and I didn’t stop to feel the whole of it. My mind was, again, to fix it, to make sure all the details were handled. For our situation, I even needed to put on a smile and upbeat demeanor the very next day (if you’re reading this, boys, ask me about the flags; I'm sure time, by now, has made it a funny story). Anyway, we did fix it, to the extent it was possible. We picked up the salvageable pieces and put it all back together and started again the very next day. And it all worked out, and wonderfully, beautifully, miraculously, magnificently.

Still, this happened. It’s a part of us, a part I hardly ever talk about but it’s something I carry around with all the other extremes of our lives. It’s a low point I guess I want to carry around.

About two weeks after this all happened and parenthood was inevitable again and back on track, I was on the phone with a friend. I explained to her the events and she pushed the issue, poking into my feelings on the matter. I was philosophical about it; I diminished the event into "whatever will be will be", but she could tell I was blocking. She pushed until I broke into tears myself, finally. I had to swallow the emotion too soon and I finally let myself feel the event and it hurt and it was absolutely cathartic at once. Once Rob got home I found him and let it all go. We were okay, he was okay, the problem was as remedied as possible, and I finally realized I could give up. It’s good to keep some really pushy friends about :-).

Looking back on that day now, it really is strange how you can, after so many years, still miss something that was never there, never possible. It’s stranger still that I can be simultaneously and eternally grateful that we have had that “setback”. If not for that, we’d have suffered the even greater loss of where we are today. And, in a way, it feels worse that we’d never have known or felt it.

Humans are odd things…

Admiration

As I write this I can hear the sounds of Eine Klein Nachtmusik bouncing through the house. Not performed well, sure, but it’s bringing me a good deal of happiness nonetheless.

About five years ago, Rob’s grandmother passed away. We were, of course, very sad. She was a wonderful lady and never looked at Rob any differently when he came out and she never treated me with anything but love. Like Rob’s parents, she somehow easily reconciled her faith with our union. Anyway, she was a marvelous piano and organ player, as well as person--even played for her church--and Rob has very fond memories of her on her piano when he was a child. When she died, though, she left no specific instruction as to what was to be done with her belongings. That piano ended up as property of all of her children jointly, but none of them wanted it. They began looking to sell it to just anyone, and that, of course, upset Rob. In short, I ended up buying the piano as a gift for him.

Now, this may sound nice but partly foolish, as neither of us could play piano. This instrument has followed us into three homes, and sat unused in our living rooms, a beautiful baby grand statue that our boys only knew as the thing around which they were not to play. And it’s remained unused, until now. Rob has been taking piano lessons.

I imagine a sign of a healthy marriage must be the ability to be continually impressed by and in admiration of your other half, and I am impressed by this. He practices diligently, and is gaining skill noticeably. The timing is a bit off, for now, but Mozart sounds particularly good coming from Rob, playing on his grandmother’s piano, doing so to better himself and to fulfill one of the hopes she had for him as a child.

I sometimes wish he’d participate in these blogs and don’t 100% know why he doesn’t (he’s met some of you and read’s Rosie O’Donnell’s blog, after all :-)). I’m pretty sure though he wants to give me my space, and he knows this sort of online activity has been my way of release and dealing with gay issue for as long as we’ve known each other. He’s simply not as much into such. But I’m kind of glad that I can write this without him reading it. It will not get me on his good side; I’m there. It will not be a compliment he’ll need to return; we know.

Simply, in addition to everything else, I’m impressed by him.

And it’s certainly not just taking on piano at this point in our lives. He keeps the house in great working order, balancing the kids, laundry, and well over half the cooking. Yesterday, for one example, the kids had a play date with a mom and friend from their preschool. This was even after he went as a chaperone on the school’s field trip. He made the most beautiful cob salad I’d seen, and his renowned clam dip, and some sort of lemon cake for dessert (I know it was good because, at the hint of the meal in the morning, I decided to work from home, of course; I’m no dummy). He's great. We’ve neighbors calling weekly to thank him for some treat he’s brought over or to try to get a recipe out of him , if they can (he’s overly secretive with his ingredients). He simply impresses, and in areas where I’m completely helpless.

Anyway, admiration = good for relationship, if that wasn’t already clear... Now, I just can’t wait to torture the twins with piano lessons in a year or so ;-). I hope, when they realize the importance of the instrument, they’ll find the tones coming from it as meaningful as I am feeling it now.