New post to come

I have been thinking so much about my little blog and that I really need to get the next part of the story out. Time will soon be on my side and I will be able to commit to getting back to writing. I am 4 short weeks from my goal I set out to complete 3 years ago and excited puts it mildly. If anyone is still out there, give me a few weeks and the story shall go on.

Happy Spring!

Just checking in ………

Man, I am so close to finishing up a goal I started September 2009 and I started thinking about this blog again. So, I found myself reading my old posts. It is interesting the memories we hold and the memories we find to be just almost out of reach. I am reminded that sometimes life reminds us to live.

Thank you so much for the comments on my stories (and rants). And, it seems people are still finding this blog and reading it. I hope to pick this back up in June of next year when I have crossed the finish line to my goal. Stay classy ………

On Pause

I am on pause if you may have noticed. I have some goals I am working on currently and so I have been neglecting this blog. I was originally going to delete it but I was asked not to …… and I guess I am one for flattery at times.

Please continue to send me emails, posts, etc. I will update as I can. Eventually I will look to get this story into a book

Part 6, Chapter 1

Life was pretty normal for a few years. I was a happy child who was blossoming in school, I was making friends and my parents were madly in love with each other. We took family vacations. I had birthday parties with friends (I will get to one a bit later in this post) and home life was calm. I felt safe. I felt loved. I felt comfortable.

I was just 6 years old so boys were not yet gross but they were nothing I really thought of. They were just boys. First grade felt like my coming out party. My teacher recognized I was a quick learner and she nurtured this. I was reading and completing more book reports than anyone in the class. In retrospect, I realize now my first grade teacher was likely “family” and so I now understand her extra attention to me in class. She would ask me to read out loud, she would praise how smart she thought I was and above all she did not treat me as if I was an outsider. School was something I looked forward to.

I felt comfortable in the first grade, but it was also the start of me learning that I might be a bit different than the other children. This was the year where all of the girls were pressured into joining Brownies. An after school activity that really only meant one thing: we got to sell those damn cookies but saw none of the profits. Brownies was, of course, led by the mothers. Most of the mothers were full time mom’s so these ladies turned Brownies into who’s little girl was the best with the most badges. Some of us were left out of this mess (and by some of us I mean me and the other girls whose mothers worked full time)  and I am thankful for that, but I was the one singled out to be asked “where is your mommy?” by none other than the mommies. It still kinda of angers me the way they would ask me this in front of my peers in the middle of one their mindless activities and I would like to say I can forgive their ignorance, but lets face it they were doing it to make sure their daughters understood I was different; I came from somewhere different and my family was different. It succeeded.

These same nosey mommies would start what would become a vicious cycle of picking me last for every activity when it came to teaming up. And, it was these same mommies who opted their daughters out of my birthday parties. You want to talk about your heart being sunk at a time when Battleship was one of the number one board games. Mine was a prime target for these women. Somehow, I never was invited to these girls birthday parties and they consistently declined by invitations. May I remind you that we were a class of maybe 18 students? You felt the sting even at that age even if you could not name it.

But, alas I did have a great 6th birthday at the child’s dream cave of terrible pizza and frightening mechanical animals, Chuck-E-Cheese. It was awesome. We ate too much, we ran in circles playing those games that spit out tickets for who knows what you can redeem them with and we had a blast. I do not remember any of the events of that day, which is unusual for me, but what I do remember is I felt really happy. Running off a sugar high is really all a child looks forward to on their birthday. I look at the photos from that day and you cannot tell that I have 2 gay parents. You cannot determine that my mother is not here for my birthday (and she did not call either …. a pattern for her). All that you can see is a happy healthy child with other happy healthy children she was happy to call her friends.

I often wonder whether any of the other girls felt left out by these Brownie/Girl Scout mothers. I wonder if they felt they were ostracized for not having the same family these women felt they had. These women would set the tone for a fear I developed when I am around groups of women.  I wonder if these mommies knew the damage they were inflicting on a little girl who was without hers.

Part 5 Chapter 3

Kindergarten came and went as I was starting to feel safe in my new school surroundings and safe with the familiar faces on the play ground. I had just turned 6 years old and it was time for summer vacation and our first real family road trip.

Oliver’s aunt lived in Southern California on the coast in Morro Bay. It was his favorite aunt. Oliver did not have to pretend about anything with Aunt Nena and she loved anyone who loved her favorite nephew. Aunt Nena was excited to meet Oliver’s love and his daughter. The plan was to go to Yosemite, drive down to Morro Bay, take a day trip to Hearst Castle and then the prize …. Disneyland! Disneyland is a 6 year old dream of all dreams! To see Mickey and Minnie en vivo was more than my little temperament could handle. It would prove to be the bargaining chip that would be keep me behaved for most of the trip.

What Oliver and my dad did not have much experience with was the stamina or lack thereof as it relates to a child. Little legs, needing food, nap time, and constant snacks were something you would think after having been around a child for the last 2 years they would have picked up, but they did not and my stubbornness was not something you could calm down once it perked up. It started in Yosemite.

Recall this is 1981 and two men traveling with a 6 year old was not acceptable if they were to present themselves as a couple. At second issue was a fairly new couple still madly in love and wanting to express themselves physically, but had agreed not to express such emotions in front of me. After a very long drive where I insisted on listening to John Denver’s “Rocky Moutain High -iiiiii Colorado” over and over and over again and my dad wanting to listen to the latest George Harrison tune we arrived in Yosemite to our rented cabin. The tree’s were breath taking, the sounds completely new and the smell of pure clean was not something I will ever forget. I was already a small child, but now I felt as if I could get lost amongst all of the plant life.

They unloaded the car, fed me and we went for a short walk. I started running on the trail. I was a newly uncaged animal that had been freed. My dad being the former basketball track star knew he could catch up with me at anytime and Oliver was content with soaking in the scenery. When they caught up to me I was captivated by a squirrel in the tree but more so I was pooped. The next thing I remember was being awoken by a loud roar coming from outside our cabin. My dad peeked out of the window and screamed “Shit! It’s a bear!! What do we do?” Oliver put me in bed between them and said “nothing go back to sleep.”

Morro Bay was our next stop and a favorite stop. They make salt water taffy in Morro Bay and Aunt Nena was prepared to greet me with it. Aunt Nena was wonderful. She was my nap buddy, my eating buddy and she moved at my pace in her walker which I thought was a mini playground just for me. She cooed to me and told me stories about princesses. She told me these were the same stories she used to tell Oliver; princess stories were also his favorite. It was difficult to imagine how we could leave her, but after two days and a very tearful departure on my part we did leave.

Hearst Castle has got to be the most frustrating place for a child. Do you know they have crystal clear pools that you cannot swim in? WTF? It’s a big tease and a terrible thing to do. We had a pool at our house that I could swim in whenever my heart desired, so how are you going to tell me that this one is off limits? I got into a lot of trouble for putting my hand in the water to test out whether it was the right temperature to dive into. Security came rushing over and apparently was going to kick us out. Well, this child was in need of a nap and a snack so as soon as I was scolded the photos ops were out of the question. I insisted on being carried through the rest of the tour AND would NOT turn around for any photos. The conversation went something like this: Honey, turn around for the picture. NO! Honey, please turn around for the picture and smile. I WILL NOT!!  Mickey and Minnie may not want to see you if they hear you have been a bad girl. NO! We have many photos of my burying my face in Oliver or my dad while they have a frustrated smile on their face. Folks, you must carve out nap time when taking a child on a trip. It’s just a must.

Disneyland was the last stop and the best stop. Sugar kept me going at full speed ahead and Mickey and Minnie kept me on my best behavior. Pirates of the Caribbean, The Tea Cups, Dumbo, The Jungle Book characters, it was a child’s complete dream. I wanted to stay forever, but we were kept to just one day. What I sort of noticed at Disneyland was people staring at us. I thought it was unusual that people thought Oliver was my grandfather and that my dad did not correct them. I also recall hearing people ask where my mother was. A small splinter in my heart would open up, but my two dad’s would assure me that Minnie was just around the corner and a sugary treat was sure to follow. Their small way of distracting me and healing the wound as best they could.

Quick Hello

Holy Smokes! I have been laid out with some health stuff for the last month so I apologize for the silence here, but ya gotta take care of yourself.

I am working on a new post to the Gay Life Story so stay tuned. In the mean time allow me to just exert a little energy to rant:

The Catholic Church went from being disgustingly silent on the child rape scandal to now hiding behind the ridiculous notion that gay people are to blame for child rape? Their number 2 guy behind the Pope decided it was gay people who are raping children and they have infiltrated their church. Are you kidding me? Wake up! We have known since 1981 that being gay is not a choice and we can see it in the brain (there is actually a difference in the brain that controls sexual preference) and we have also known since the 1950′s that it is white straight males who make the majority of child rapists and NOT gay men.

This is my reaction to number 2:

why Maxwell, why?

I love Maxwell. I have been a supporting and adoring fan since his first album. I have seen every single one of his concerts and spent my hard earned money to get the best seats possible. I buy magazines he gives interviews for, TiVo his television appearances … get the message? I love his music! But, I find myself incredibly disappointed with him. He has teamed up with Jill Scott who if you didn’t know is a bigot. That’s right I said it, a bigot. Yes, she is incredibly talented but quite frankly she sucks. I saw her when she first hit the scene with her first album. So, me and 4 other girls went to see her. Life was fantastic at this concert until she decided to call out an interracial couple in the middle of a song. She wanted all of the black women to sing to his man, a black man, who was there with his white wife. The song: Do You Remember Me? Which as Ms. Scott explained to the audience was about black men who date women who don’t look like their “mama’s.” She sang to this man and his wife. He was visibly shaken and his wife was reduced to tears. They left. It was hateful. It divided the audience racially and apparently Ms. Scott still feels this way. Check out her interview today on CNN:
Jill Scott talks about interracial couples

I am trying to get the video to show up in the post … bare with me