The Wedding: A Family's Coming Out Story (18 page)

           
Daddy:

                It’s
not news to you that our family has had more than its share of stresses and
strains. Those very stresses have created an atmosphere where communication
between all of us has ranged from inadequate to, during some periods,
nonexistent.

                Looking
back over the only period of our family history that I know personally, I
remember a lot of difficult times. But you should know that, in retrospect, I
know that you and Mommy each did the best you could under tremendously hard
circumstances. That’s not to say that I think you made the right decisions in
all cases regarding my upbringing, but who could say they’d ever made all the
right decisions? Not me certainly. And you both obviously did a whole lot
right, because from all apparent evidence, Lynn, Jerry, & I offer a pretty
positive testament to your parenting skills.

                We’re
a long way from our toughest times together, but the hardest years left all of
us more distant than I’m sure we would have liked. I spent several years with
minimal contact with all of you, with the exception of Lynn. I think we’ve all
grown closer, ironically, since I’ve moved to the East Coast. But no matter how
much, or how little, any of us are in contact, there’s also a bit of distance
that I think all of us maintain from each other when it comes to our personal
lives.

                This
lack of interaction in personal areas is, I think, the key to our family’s
dynamic. I’m not saying it’s a great thing, but given that atmosphere, I’ve
felt it would be odd for me to bring up somewhat private aspects of my life.
But there are some things that need to be dealt with openly here, and I’m sure
you’ll understand why when you read further.

                I
can’t imagine that I’m telling you anything new at this point, since you’ve met
Andrew at four different Thanksgiving dinners. As you know, we’ve lived
together for almost three years, and bought our co-op together last July. If it
hasn’t been crystal-clear now, let me say that we have been in a committed,
loving relationship for almost five years.

                When
some people discuss their homosexuality with their parents, they fear
rejection, ridicule, or worse. To the credit of both of you, I certainly don’t
have that concern. However, as I wrote earlier, given the low level of personal
communication in our family, there’s not really been an opportunity for
discussing this in any appropriate context.

                You’ve
always been well informed, progressive thinkers, who don’t allow dogma to
dictate your personal views. And I’m sure your reading habits haven’t changed
so much that you could have missed the tremendous social changes that have been
taking place over the last five or ten years – putting gay and lesbian rights
in the forefront of civil rights debate, where blacks found themselves thirty to
forty years ago.

                So,
if my theory of our family dynamics is true, why am I broaching this personal
topic right now? Don’t worry, it’s great news (at least to us!). I don’t
imagine that I’ve said anything so surprising this far, but you might find the
next information astonishing.

                Andrew
and I are getting married. And the irony isn’t lost on me that I should be the
only one of your children to have a big wedding. But that’s the fact. The date
is set for next September 1
^st
, in Montreal, where, as you know,
Andrew hails from. We are expecting to have somewhere in the vicinity of
100-125 people, perhaps a bit fewer if the prospect of Montreal is too daunting
for some of our New York and L.A. friends.

                Andrew’s
parents, Roslyn and Sheldon, are very much involved in the planning of the
event. It would be safe to say that his mother is much more at ease with the
entire concept, which admittedly is nothing if not out of the ordinary. They
have always been very supportive of our relationship, and this event has not
changed that. However, it is certainly serving as a catalyst for discussion of
comfort levels. Nowadays, every wedding presents its individual challenges
(i.e., second-marriages, interracial marriages, inter-faith marriages… hey,
look on the up-side – we’re both Jewish!) and many couples find they’re
creating ceremonies tailored to their circumstances. Andrew’s parents are
working with us on that process.

                I’ve
already told Lynn the good news, and she will be flying out with Michelle.
Since we’re having it Labor Day weekend, it’s ideal to build a vacation around
attending, and that’s what Lynn and Michelle will do. I’ll be dropping Jerry
and Roslyn a note very shortly to let them know about it as well.

                I
know how rarely the two of you get out of the house nowadays, let alone on an
airplane, so I don’t expect that you can necessarily attend, but I wonder if
you think you could consider it? Maybe you could let me know after you’ve had
some time to think about it. We’re having a female rabbi, and incorporating a
good deal of Jewish tradition into the ceremony. (Andrew’s father feels
particularly strongly about that, and I concur.)

                In
case you’re wondering why we’re doing this (a question not uncommon for those
in older generations to ask) it’s for the same reason anyone gets married – to
celebrate their love and commitment before family, friends, community and God.
And I would also add, because you raised me to believe I was as deserving as
anybody else.

                Of
course I understand that it’s got to be, at very least, surprising to learn all
of this – but I hope you can eventually join in our excitement. Dad, I address
this to you because I thought you might want to decide how to ease Mommy into
this, if you even feel that any extra care is necessary.

            I
knew this letter would open up a new level of communication between me and my
parents. And I imagined that it might set a new tone of openness in the family
in general. But I could never guess its direct effect.

            My
father called the week after the letter was mailed. It was early December.

            “You
must have worked a long time on that letter.”

           
Twenty
years,
I might have said. “It wasn’t much trouble, I knew what I wanted to
say,” was the half-truth I offered instead.

            My
father sounded more upbeat and cheerful than I’d heard him in a long time.
Basically he said that although they hadn’t been on a plane in several years,
if their health held up, they planned on being in Montreal for “the
celebration.” When my mother took the phone, she effused happiness about the
new tidings, and though I expected her to be encouraging, I was still moved by
the intensity of her joy.

            The
stunner came a couple of days later when my sister called.

            “Your
letter had quite an effect on Mom and Dad,” Lynn told me, with typical
reticence.

            “Really?”

            “Well…”

            “Tell
me!”

            “It’s
actually pretty incredible.”

            I
sat down.

            “When
Dad told me about the letter, he said he wasn’t sure about how to handle it
with Mom. He’d clipped a ‘Dear Abby’ article written by a gay man who’d come
out to his wife, and asked if I would show it to Mom, to get her reaction. He
was afraid she might fall apart if he told her, since she ‘had no idea you were
gay.’ Then he confides in me that he’s known ever since you were thirteen,
fourteen years old, but that he’s always kept this to himself, for fear Mom
would go to pieces. So I showed Mom the ‘Dear Abby’ column. She said it was
very sensitive, but looked curious about my reason for our talk. So I said it.
‘Doug’s gay.’ Then I showed her your letter, which Dad supplied me. When she
finished reading, she said, ‘I’m so glad he told Dad. I’ve known since he was a
teenager, but I didn’t dare tell Dad, for fear he’d disown Doug.’ “

            I
couldn’t speak. What could I possibly say?

            Evidently
I knew each of my parents in a way they’d never known each other. I was certain
that they’d both understood for years, and were at peace with the fact that I
was gay. At the same time, I’d built a wall between them for twenty years,
without ever realizing it. Now, with one letter, the wall came crashing down.
At last they could speak honestly and openly about me after twenty years of silence.

ANDREW   
The friends Doug and I
had made in New York had been totally supportive ever since our engagement.
Nancy and Bennett, Orna and Nigel, Rachel, Regina, Jacqui, Lori, and the rest
always behaved as if ours were any other marriage. Of course, as road blocks
went up in Montreal later on, all of them recognized that it was our
homosexuality, and the reaction of others to it, that made things rough. But
each of their responses seemed to come from the same common ground: the
assumption that our intention to get married was not inherently inappropriate,
and that our challenges lay in coping with those who didn’t understand that we
were just trying to live a life like anybody else.

            That’s
how the New Yorkers reacted. My close friends from Montreal were another story.

            Diane’s
reaction wasn’t as extreme as when I told her I was gay. At least this time she
didn’t ask, “Are you sure it isn’t a phase?” Diane’s both cultured and
well-traveled. And she trained in theater and dance, so homosexuality wasn’t a
taboo subject for her, I’m sure. Still, I knew she was uncomfortable when all
she could offer by way of congratulations was, “This is so
different,
it’s so
unusual
.” Maxine responded pretty much the same way. Even Lorne
wasn’t exactly whipping a hat off his head and tossing it in the air.

            I
was disturbed by their lack of empathy, and I asked myself, again and again,
Can’t
they imagine how it feels for me, announcing my marriage to them, and they
can’t even try to
sound
happy for me?

            And
further, I wondered,
If I were marrying a woman, they’d be acting so
differently. And these are my best friends. It’s not like we’re family and
they’re stuck with me because of blood. Can the like me, and not like that I’m
gay? That’s who I am. If they care for me, that’s part of what they care for.
So why should their expressions be so muted, when most of our other friends had
been thrilled and delighted?

            As
I sifted through the possible factors, I culled one that I hadn’t considered
before: they’re all Montreal Jews. Yes, they’re from a younger generation, but
perhaps having been bred in this conservative, sheltered enclave has limited
the scope of what they imagine possible for me, and in Lorne’s case, even for
himself. Or maybe they were worried about the community reaction among their
parents and peers, fearing the negative reaction that did, in fact, occur.

            One
additional factor came to mind. I myself had been driven to another country by
the political upheaval in Montreal. The very concept of change had come to mean
something other than progress; instead, it represented helplessness, an
onslaught on the community by adversarial forces.

            Perhaps,
when my parents’ circle learned of our plans, it may have been seen as another
unwelcome change being forced upon Jewish Montreal, only this time the societal
shift came from the inside. Doug and I had instigated this. And my parents had
become agents of this change, however unwillingly. So the atmosphere in
English-speaking, and particularly Jewish, Montreal, of a people holding
together fast against the incursion of an unfriendly future, may have made it
harder to proceed with the plans that we were pushing forward. And my old
friends from Montreal, while they were of a younger generation, were also
reared in a community suffused with this feeling of helplessness. And while I
don’t know if any of their parents were among those my mother told me of (she
usually kept her stories anonymous, to keep me from holding a grudge), it’s
probable that my friends’ parents were far less than enthusiastic in their
reception of our engagement.

            Regardless
of any external pressures my friends may have felt, their reactions, or lack
thereof, hurt.

DOUG   
When they learned of our
engagement, my oldest friends, Geri, George, Debbie, and Anita, answered with
cheers and toasts. And as Andrew mentioned, almost all of the friends he and I
had made in New York were delighted. One of the New York family had been less
than hearty in his congratulations, however. Louie has been like a brother for
over fifteen years. (He’ll “banish me from the kingdom” for making him sound
older than twenty-five – so let’s say we met in kindergarten.) With a warm
heart and a scalding sense of humor, he can always make you feel the heat of
either his approval or reproach. You know you’re in trouble with Louie when
ambivalence is the best he can muster. And so it was with the wedding.

            I
put it off to jealousy, though I knew that was too pat an answer. And because I
didn’t go out on a limb and ask him outright, I could never confide in him when
the wedding plans were thrown into doubt. I felt more than a little lost
without his antic, painfully funny intrusions letting me know he was out there
for me. Still, I knew he was happy for us. And we reserved him a special place
of honor in the ceremony. The Yiddish term
Badchan
translates loosely as
“clown.” Louie wouldn’t have loved that title, so we told him the other, more
modern translation, “emcee.”