Tongue in Cheek
|
Tongue in Cheek Out There |
by Kevin Isom
Every
year it's the same dilemma: On October 11, National Coming Out Day, who
is there left for me to come out to?
I want to participate. I don't want
to feel left out. But it takes two to tango. And I'm fresh out of dance
partners. I'm out at my day job, every member of my extended family who
remotely matters to me (out to the third cousin level) has met Derek,
and I write a column in the gay press. I couldn’t get more out without
putting on pom-poms and a megaphone and cheering from the street corner.
Which might not be the sort of image that the founders of National Coming
Out Day had in mind.
So what's a totally out kinda guy
supposed to do? Go back in the closet a little, so I can come out again
on National Coming Out Day? Would I feel better if I could?
It's a little like what I call the
"happy family conundrum." By which I mean that everyone always
wants to be part of a happy family, and some of us spend much of the first
part of our lives striving in that direction. But it's not always what
it’s cracked up to be. When we were growing up, my sister and I
always longed to be part of a happy family. Then when we got older and
spent time around actual happy families, we realized, "Blech! How
boring is THAT?!"
I'll never forget the adrenaline
rush of running through our house, my sister in hot pursuit with a butcher
knife, as I screamed for my parents to stop her. Of course, I had lain
in wait in the darkest corner of the kitchen after we'd watched The Amityville
Horror, and I'd scared the bejeezus out of my sister as she was getting
a bedtime glass of milk. I was actually a little surprised she didn't
come after me with the electric knife.
Or how we knew never to go near
the bathroom when Mom was having newspaper time. It was the one half hour
of the day when she could have some peace to herself, and no one would
come in and bother her with a request. But we wondered — could she
at least flush occasionally?
Or how you never knew what my dad
would say, or the consequences it could have. Like when the neighbor's
20 year old daughter got a black cat that neatly matched her jet black
hair, and Dad called out to her across the driveway, "That's a pretty
little black pussy you've got there, Julie!" I still don't think
he ever understood why Mr. Judkins was so upset. Or maybe he did and just
enjoyed it. After all, the Judkins were rather pretentious folk to have
a name like Judkins.
So maybe the less-than-happy families
were better after all. At least they were more interesting in terms of
future stories: "Yes, dear nephew, I remember how your grandmother
used to take your mom out in the Oldsmobile to track down your grandfather
with his latest floozy. Your mom would work on her homework, as your grandmother
did her best Magnum, P.I. impression. That's why your grandparents got
divorced, you know. Your grandfather never realized he couldn't be married
and not still date." Just ask any person who grew up in a happy family
if he has any memories that make as good a story as THAT.
So maybe, similarly, being a fully-out
gay person is better than being able to come out to someone on National
Coming Out Day. Maybe I should accept that I'm in a better place, and
find another way to participate instead.
Derek and I have been thinking about
adopting an older child – you know, one just out of med school –
but perhaps instead we should just find some not-quite-fully-out twenty-something
who needs a cheering section. That way, I could feel like I'm participating
in National Coming Out Day again. And I'll bet Derek would look really
cute in pom-poms.
Kevin Isom is the author of It Only Hurts When I Polka and Tongue in Cheek and Other Places, available at bookstores and online. He may be reached at isomonline@aol.com or www.KevinIsom.com