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mallorys_cameraRobin was making fag jokes in the car. It was late, and traffic was awful – some huge accident on the coastal highway had turned the road into a parking lot.
"We've told you this before," said Ben. "There's nothing wrong with being gay. Men loving men or women loving women is just the same as men and women loving each other. It's the love that's important."
"Daddy, I'm skeered!" Robin riffed. "Are you sure that's not Michael Jackson in that car over there? What if he's following us?"
Robin was understandably a little bit giddy. Daddy was taking him to the airport for a week with doting Grandma who lives with Ben's brother Lew in rural Pennsylvania. Snowboards, beebee guns and an army of Jack Russells awaited.
"Stop it, Robin!"
"What if Michael Jackson came to our house and knocked on our door. Would you let him in?"
"Robin, I said enough."
"What if he offered you a billion dollars to let him in?"
"Robin, look. You love your Uncle Lew, right?"
"Yeah."
"Uncle Lew is gay."
I had to imagine this conversation because I wasn't actually in the car but alone in the house sipping single malt Scotch, remembering my dead pal Tom Mandel (which I always do when I drink Lagovulin) and reorganizing my office space. Some time in October I stopped filing invoices and bills into color-coded folders and started throwing them in a big heap in the middle of the floor. The big heap was now about eighteen inches high. Personally, I had no problem with that. Except Max is coming home tonight and we need the space for his bed.
"Oh, Ben," I said when my husband told me. "That really wasn't your conversation to have. That's something Lew needed to tell Robin."
"He's at that age," said Ben. "Middle school. Everyone he doesn't like is 'gay.' Frankly I was afraid that he was going to say something nasty and hurtful –"
"So now he'll ask, 'Uncle Lew when you're having sex, what is it exactly that you do?'"
"Heterosexual sex is completely theoretical at this point, honey. He hasn't hit puberty yet. He doesn't want to know the details."
I suspect Ben underestimates Robin's thirst for knowledge. In fact, I've had that conversation with Robin. Like all important conversations, it took place in the car, on the way to karate. I can't remember the exact words I used, only that I picked and chose them very carefully and that Robin was simultaneously grossed out and intrigued by the prospect of pubic hair.
Really, the whole media circus around last year's Michael Jackson trial was a nightmare from a parental perspective. I bet it will end up setting the gay rights movement back about twenty-five years (although it will be a few years before the backlash is evident.) A ten year old boy still believes in monsters in the closet. With Michael Jackson, they got a face for that monster, a face that was staring at them from every 6pm news cast in America, a gay face. Think they won't carry that monster into adulthood? Think again.
"We've told you this before," said Ben. "There's nothing wrong with being gay. Men loving men or women loving women is just the same as men and women loving each other. It's the love that's important."
"Daddy, I'm skeered!" Robin riffed. "Are you sure that's not Michael Jackson in that car over there? What if he's following us?"
Robin was understandably a little bit giddy. Daddy was taking him to the airport for a week with doting Grandma who lives with Ben's brother Lew in rural Pennsylvania. Snowboards, beebee guns and an army of Jack Russells awaited.
"Stop it, Robin!"
"What if Michael Jackson came to our house and knocked on our door. Would you let him in?"
"Robin, I said enough."
"What if he offered you a billion dollars to let him in?"
"Robin, look. You love your Uncle Lew, right?"
"Yeah."
"Uncle Lew is gay."
I had to imagine this conversation because I wasn't actually in the car but alone in the house sipping single malt Scotch, remembering my dead pal Tom Mandel (which I always do when I drink Lagovulin) and reorganizing my office space. Some time in October I stopped filing invoices and bills into color-coded folders and started throwing them in a big heap in the middle of the floor. The big heap was now about eighteen inches high. Personally, I had no problem with that. Except Max is coming home tonight and we need the space for his bed.
"Oh, Ben," I said when my husband told me. "That really wasn't your conversation to have. That's something Lew needed to tell Robin."
"He's at that age," said Ben. "Middle school. Everyone he doesn't like is 'gay.' Frankly I was afraid that he was going to say something nasty and hurtful –"
"So now he'll ask, 'Uncle Lew when you're having sex, what is it exactly that you do?'"
"Heterosexual sex is completely theoretical at this point, honey. He hasn't hit puberty yet. He doesn't want to know the details."
I suspect Ben underestimates Robin's thirst for knowledge. In fact, I've had that conversation with Robin. Like all important conversations, it took place in the car, on the way to karate. I can't remember the exact words I used, only that I picked and chose them very carefully and that Robin was simultaneously grossed out and intrigued by the prospect of pubic hair.
Really, the whole media circus around last year's Michael Jackson trial was a nightmare from a parental perspective. I bet it will end up setting the gay rights movement back about twenty-five years (although it will be a few years before the backlash is evident.) A ten year old boy still believes in monsters in the closet. With Michael Jackson, they got a face for that monster, a face that was staring at them from every 6pm news cast in America, a gay face. Think they won't carry that monster into adulthood? Think again.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-27 07:20 pm (UTC)Men who are attracted to little boys are pedophiles and they are as unwelcome in gay society as they are in straight society.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-27 07:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-27 07:45 pm (UTC)