Sex, Drugs and Rock 'n Roll

I think that's how I responded to him when he asked what I was doing in the park and what I wanted.  Washington Park, to be precise.  Near the Fruit Loop but not actually in it.  The park sits just above downtown Portland and is where Portland's world-class Rose Garden sits.  Amazing views and a perfect place to spend the day wandering around -- in the Rose Gardens, not the Fruit Loop. 

We began our friendship in this very way.  I drove my rental car behind his Jeep as I followed him down the hill and into Northwest Portland to his apartment.  I begin to spend my time in Portland with him ... and with other Portland friends.  You see, I still lived in Boise, Idaho.  I was still not out yet.  And, glory be to the father son and holy ghost, I was still married...barely.   To a woman, for those in disbelief.  Michael was really my very first introduction into many things that I now take for granted.  Like taking public transportation.  Like drinking lattes.  Like recycling.  And watching PBS British Comedies.  And walking instead of driving.  And walking into a co-op instead of a grocery store.  Like alternative thoughts against the modern mainstream Christian church that I was immersed in.  And living with an indoor animal -- he had a cat, to which I was allergic -- in addition to not liking animals one little bit at that particular dark period in my life.  Can you even imagine...me not liking animals??  Wild!

We continue our little tryst for numerous months on my visits to Portland.  And I remember the night at home in Boise when I made up some excuse to sneak out of the house that I shared with my wife.  I drove down to the Payless Drug Store and found a pay telephone (you remember those, don't you??).  It was December, Christmas time.  And it was snowing as I stood outside in the cold winter air making a pay call to Michael in Portland.  To break the news to him.  To be honest and tell him I was married.  Remember, I still wasn't out yet.  I had told no one that I was gay....he was the first person that I'd ever told.  This phone call was a big deal -- I still hadn't learned how to live my life honestly yet at that point.  He was nothing but understanding and continued helping me along this particularly rough patch of life's road over the next months.  And it was when I returned from a trip at Michael's house when I found a little note in my bedroom in Boise.  From my wife saying that it was over.  And that's when the whole thing started going down -- I filed for divorce and came out.  April 1997.  Michael was there.  Right there.  A very good friend, indeed.  And it was also during these same few months when my one-year-old niece (now 15!) found out that she had been born with a heart defect -- valves malfunctioning and missing parts of the septum in her heart.  Michael went through this very scary time with me.  And we were watching PBS British Comedies at his house late one Saturday night when his parents called to tell him that his brother had died.  And there I was.  Not knowing quite what to do.  We were friends at some very difficult times in our lives.  And then, just as fast as it started, it ended.  Because of me.  Because I was going through so much in a particularly small window of time in my life.  And because Michael was telling me things about my church-going days of mainstream Christianity that I didn't want to hear.  I remember he came to Boise the very month after I came out.  He was the very first gay person that I introduced my mother to.  Man oh man, I was so nervous. 

Fast forward.  To today.  We were absent from one another's lives from May 1997 until about a year or two ago.  Via Facebook, I found him.  And sent him a message.  And he responded with nothing but a positive spirit.  I can't imagine the change that I've undergone from those times 13 years ago until today.  He didn't know me as an out, gay man with strong leaning liberal tendencies and grey hair.   He knew me as a scared, sort of out, unstable man who went to church every Sunday and didn't know what recycling was all about and didn't like badmouthing the Christian church.  So, imagine my surprise last summer when LoverBoy and me were at one of Portland's free Summer Concerts in the Parks when Michael rolled up on his bicycle.  Right up to us.  After all of these years. To say hi. 

We now see each other a bit.  All of us.  At our Tuesday Happy Hours.  He has a couple of dogs.  We have one.  He has offered to doggy sit for us if we ever need it.  It's been so nice to get reacquainted under better circumstances.  He's become a good friend.  And, believe it or not, LoverBoy and I are now die-hard fans of Saturday nights watching PBS British Comedies.  Because of Michael. 

The Way We Treat Them......

This is the way we treat educated, professional human beings who want to serve our country. We get rid of them. I'm telling you kids, I feel like we're in the Dark Ages instead of the year 2010. Something continues to be seriously amiss in this, one of the most powerful nations on earth. These are just two of the amazing folks attempting to serve our nation in the U.S. military but who are not permitted to because they are gay.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Stand Tall With PRIDE

My friend Kelly over at Rambling Along in Life has put forth his annual Pride Challenge.....this is a picture that he has taken and has posted on his site. He's asking for it to be spread as far and wide (keep it clean here, folks) as possible by others posting this photo and telling their coming out story. So, for today, I'll post this pic -- and in the coming weeks I promise to have my story up for the masses to laugh and giggle at -- I can't believe that I haven't shared it yet. I know you all thought that I have always been this way -- but there was a day, a lot of days, when this gay boy was awfully closeted and doing my best to be a straight-laced little church boy in Idaho. I met Kelly and his partner a year ago next week at Pride in San Francisco. What fantastic, grab-life-by-the-horns sort of guys they are. So, cheers to all of you during this month of celebration. Keep your heads held high, smiles on your face, and be proud of the man or woman you're on the road to becoming. I swear, the gays definitely celebrate and have fun far more than our straight bretheren and sisteren (English majors, leave me alone), don't we???

The Modeling Years

It's a clear and beautiful spring morning here in Portland. The dogwood tree outside of my window is on its way to full pink bloom....one of my most favorite of tender trees. I love the dark rich texture of it's trunk in perfect chorus with the swoopy shape of each small petal brushed, as it were, with the tiniest of paintbrushes in a creamy pinkish tint. All of that, to say this: I was going to post about this today. It sort of got my hopes up -- a little, maybe, kind of, sort of, possibly. But then, I reeled. Why ruin a perfectly-orchestrated Saturday morning ... with coffee cup in hand (sugar-free hazelnut creamer, if you please), morning eyes conveniently laden with hard, crunchy, allergy morning junk in the corners of them, and a more-than-handsome Maltese-Poodle that just now came running to my chair with his front paws up on my leg....he got his wish, a trip to my lap to pley pn tie compuicer keyboysrd. So, instead, a Back to the Future sort of moment, instead, about that dude in the picture at the top of my site this month. He was mid-20s, in Boise, and really not quite sure what to do with his life on many fronts. He was working in the Human Resources area of a large Fortune 500 company and wearing some of the funkiest clothes around. Always turning an eye, and -- I'm sure -- a question or two about a couple of things. So, after numerous "You should be a model" comments, I found a modeling and talent school where I became one of the oldest classmates. I studied runway, television, script reading, tearoom, grooming, hair, makeup and all the rest. It was run by a Mormon family who treated me horribly well. I enjoyed my time there, but it was a wild ride on the sexuality and social front. So, the agency's director seemed to push me in the direction of posing for more adult-type positions, including the one in the picture, with the Wall Street Journal sort of feel. You'll be seeing other shots in the coming months. One of the more memorable times was when our entire school did a modeling and talent runway show. There we were, all 25 of us guys, in leather coats and trousers....strutting our stuff to "It's Raining Men, Hallelujah" with the lights flashing and the fake smoke rising around us as we tootled down the runway. Oh my god, if you just could have seen it. And the crowning touch to my career there was when I marched (yes, I did march) into the director's office, closed the door, and told her that I had asked a girl to marry me. "Oh my, Tyler," she said ... "Are you sure that's what you really want to be doing with your life ... are you sure that's the right thing?" (Tyler Lewis was the name she had adorned me with during that brief stint in my life.) She just as well could have said "You're a fag and have no business marrying a woman." It would have been more accurate. I think that was the "nearing the top of the roller coaster" portion of my life. It got increasingly wild and crazy after that. I'm glad that someone pulled the power on that ride.

The Boy In the Picture

The young man in the picture at the top of my site this month was 25 years old. He was at either Lake Louise or Moraine Lake, both in Alberta. Traveling in the 1977 Datsun 200SX....for which he paid $3,995. It was a great little car. The sucker was loaded down with a cooler full of food, sleeping bags, a tent, lawn chairs, a backpack full of clothes and -- you'll never believe it -- a pistol under the front seat. It was my to-be father in law's. He wouldn't let his daughter nor I go anywhere without it. So, we hauled it back and forth across the Canadian border not even knowing about handgun laws in Canada. For god's sake...I'm a criminal...in a Datsun! We stayed in a giant campground at Lake Louise right by the Bow River and the Trans Canada Railway. We visited the Columbia Ice Fields too (the headwaters of the Columbia River which I now live only one mile from!). The water in these lakes and rivers is some of the coldest on earth. And gray colored with sediment from the mountains. I have no idea where the Indiana muscle-shirt came from or why I would be wearing it. I imagine that it did two things for me: (1) Made me think I had muscles to show off and (2) Made me think I was at least partially straight by having "Indiana" across the front of it. It did neither. And the shorts? Who the hell knows. They were made out of that lightweight parachute material with a velcro tab to keep them together and a little rope thingy-ma-jig around the waistband. Nope, nobody knew. This was three years before I actually married her. I didn't have it figured out then anymore than I did later, quite frankly. And that haircut? Who knows. But I do know it had a sassy little pony tail in the back.

Weenie Measuring 101

The footsteps grew louder. Far too loud for our comfort level. Things had begun to get pretty hot and heavy but, suddenly, we were scrambling. Faster than Larry Craig to get his weenie back into his pants, we were too. All of our little, pale, shrunken-up junior high age weenies. We had started out the Friday night by spending the night at our friend Scott's house. His father was a retired Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force. On the golf course. In the very nice section of town where I did not live. Plus, a leader in our church that we all attended -- and good friends of my parents. This wasn't going to be pretty if we were caught. Our other friend, Bill, and I were there. We were going to watch movies and have pizza inside and then all of us were going to sleep out in their camper trailer parked in the driveway in front of their house. They took it camping every summer at Redfish Lake near Stanley, Idaho (which is where I'd had my first same-sex experience with this same friend, Scott). So, we ended up in the trailer late at night, in the dark, each of us in our own sleeping bags in different locations in the trailer. And you know how the conversation went...in the dark, pretending to try and be asleep but oh so excited to be having a sleepover. And even more excited to know that there was more than just our own little privates to play with! I remember laying there awake, staring into the blackness, and wondering what the other two were doing. Now, remember, Scott and I had already fooled around. And I'd slept in the same bed as Bill once at his house -- my god, I didn't sleep a wink that entire night. So, this night, in the 21-foot trailer, the tape measure made its way out of the tool box. Along with an old plastic EverReady flashlight. And that led to us measuring our dicks. Just to see who, exactly, was the longest. Funny thing is that I don't remember the measurements at all (but I'm just positive sure that I was the largest). And that's when the footsteps came in. Louder and louder. The flashlight off, the tape measure hidden in the bottom of a sleeping bag, and each of our hearts racing violently as we bolted back to our allotted positions. A knock at the door: "Boys?" We were silent. "Is everything alright in there?" The door opened and Scott's father came in. "What's going on in here, anyway? Why don't you all come into the house for a minute," he suggested (well, it was more of an order coming from the military mouth of the lieutenant colonel). So, we padded along the sidewalk in our jammies and into the kitchen. His mom and dad were both there. And we had the "I know you're teenagers and that trying new things is what you were doing and you shouldn't be because Jesus said not to and don't ever do it again" speech. The rest of the night was quiet. We never spoke to each other of it again. Scott continued being my church-going-bed-partner-on-the-weekends-and-in-the-backseat friend up until our senior year in high school. When he returned my high school graduation gift back to me in the mail. "No thanks," was the message. And we haven't spoken since....even though I used to see him in the Fruitloop in Julia Davis Park in Boise cruising, like I was, for men. As for very handsome Bill....I'm not sure. So, to all of your tape measuring mongers out there, I caution you....be sure the door is locked and bolted. Tight.

No Place to Go

Have you ever had no place to go? No place to call "comfortable" and "like home." Ever been lost -- out of sorts -- your mind, and even your heart, pulled in multiple directions. Maybe familial, possibly religious, could even be self-imposed. Who knows. And who cares. But the feeling of having no place to go is not pretty. We saw Latter Days for the second time tonight. If you haven't checked it out, you should. Especially if you're from a religious family or upbringing. And even more especially if you're from a Mormon family. And, most of all, if you've ever been without friends or someone to turn to. The character played by Jacqueline Bisset pulls the whole thing together for me. I mean, the woman can utter the most simple of words -- "Welcome" -- and it twists my heart strings. I guess when you've experienced not being welcome in your life, you know what that means......to feel welcomed, I mean.

I am blessed with countless friends. Countless. Most of the ones I have today have come into my life over the last ten years since my coming out. The prior ones? They're gone. Disappeared into the maze of religiosity and fear. Couldn't handle me. Couldn't deal with homosexuality. Didn't want to deal with their own internal fights over right and wrong. I'd love to name my friends, by name, right here. To thank them. And wish them the same joy they've brought into my life. Accepted me when others wouldn't. Welcomed me when others couldn't.

From yesterday's fear of rejection, to the actual art of rejection, I have come this far. To today. Through yesterday. And toward tomorrow.

For this Memorial Day weekend, I salute not only the military folks in our nation....but all of you, my friends. The ones I know. The ones I don't know. The ones that I've emailed or blogged with but never met. I salute you, I honor you, I thank you. For being my friends in this life. No matter what season we find each other in, I will always be thankful for your belief in me, even when I am less than reasonable, and for -- especially -- welcoming me to your homes, your lives, and to your table. It's nice to have a place to go.

To Thine Own Self Be True

Today I celebrate my 10th Anniversary of coming out. It was April 17, 1997, that I filed my divorce papers, went home, and began making horribly painful telephone calls to my sister, brother, and then (in person) to my mother. As most of these stories go, it was crazy and terrible at the time. Today? I wouldn't trade it for the world. I am indebted to all of my family, friends, and my partner for helping me along and taking good care of me along the way. My message of wisdom? To thine own self be true.

I'm just home from a terrific long weekend in Philadelphia with some really cool new friends that we met on our Caribbean cruise a few months back. We spent my honey's birthday there under I&A's excellent care....complete with birthday dinner at a French restaurant that sits in an old general store alongside the road. Ooh, it was yummy. We did the quick Liberty Bell-Independence Hall-Christ Church-Betsy Ross House tour, spent the afternoon at Longwood Gardens (check out the pics), drank wine and margaritas, ate delicious home-cooked food, and -- for the finale -- spent Sunday under 5 inches of rain and woke Monday morning to snow. Roads under water, the whole works. But who cared....when you're with good friends, it really doesn't matter. They took such good care of us. We're looking forward to reciprocating sometime this summer.

Tonight I am back to work.......to ORLANDO! Fly all night, rest up a bit tomorrow morning, and then Sorted has graciously taken the afternoon off to spend with me again....all of that before we meet up for dinner with some combination of alt>Mike, Achtorschmactor, I Deal With It, and whoever else may be around. This will be my second visit with "The Orlando Brigade" in a month. And, that's not the end of it....I'm going back again next week too. I tell you, my hair is going to be in a mess from the wind blowing it in every direction. The body clock is all screwed up (these sorts of things happen easier and more frequently as we age, boys....don't forget).

I'm quite remiss in reading blogs, responding to emails, and posting. My apologies....but it's going to be a bit longer.

Past, Present, Future

There is a new audio greeting for the month of April on the left-hand side....please excuse the head cold/allergy voice!.

Several years ago, I found an old friend via the internet. This guy lived near us while we were growing up in Idaho....the early 1970s. (Right after running water and electricity had been introduced to Boise.)Since then, we've corresponded a number of times. He lives not so far away and I'd love to meet up with him sometime for coffee. He has an amazing and descriptive memory. He has emailed me a number of scenarios that played out from our youth....things that I've definitely forgotten (for self preservation purposes, I think). Take a look:

You have never been one to sit still -- and quite frankly, never will be. Even in ye olden days, you were taking us all over the little burg that Boise was at that time. You had the city bus routes and times down pat. In fact, even then I knew I never had to think about such things -- you already had far in advance.

And in your room, I remember all of the places you said you'd eventually fly to. All of the places you planned on visiting. At that point it was as an airline pilot. You've never lacked for dreams, or for fulfilling them.

You had an intense love of the Carpenters. You wanted a singing group/band and had already named it 'Red Horizon'. Which -- in this flow of consciousness thing going on in my mind at the moment -- reminds me of that red window in your family room at the house on sunset/39th. Hmmmm. Now I hear your mom's voice, slightly amused at something you have done/are doing. I am slightly amused by all of it. I can hear your brother's reprimanding 5th/6th grade tone with you -- "No, Lewis!"

April 17 marks the 10th Anniversary of my coming out. This friend has really tossed out some cool memories for me to think about, process them knowing what I know today, and see how things were fitting together more than 30 years ago. Weird how our lives end up playing out because of seemingly inconsequential events that happened in our youth. It's strange to see how "the handwriting was on the walls," years before we, ourselves, even knew who we really were. And then to compare that, side by side, with the people we've evolved into. And, to take it even a step further, compare that to the human beings that we'd like to become in the future. Sort of a three-part, side-by-side comparison of the past, the present, and the future.

I'm going to meet my friend soon, I hope. He's done a nice job of allowing me to laugh and giggle as I have taken a glimpse at the nut I was as a child. It appears that not much has changed. Today, I'm thankful for those molding experiences that built me into the man I am today. I'm using the month of April to celebrate my amusing past, safe and secure present, and hopeful future. I invite you to do the same.

The Boys and Me.....(Shh! Don't Tell.....)

Shh! This is just between us kids, okay? Nobody can know. I'm just going to sneak down the hallway to my sister's room....last room on the right.....but the hallway floor is wood and a little creaky....so it's going to be a little tricky. I don't want mom or dad to know. Here we go.

Step by step, quietly as possible, carefully and calculated. I had to make sure that no one was nearby or expected to come over to this end of the house. Now, where did she put the latest copy of her Teen Beat Magazine? (What an appropriate name.) Ah, there it is. Do you think she'll mind if I slip out with the older copies for a little time in my own room? I promise I'm going to return them. Maybe a little less pretty than they started out. Oh my god, Scott Baio is on the cover this month! What a great smile. Last month was Leif Garrett with those long, curly blond locks of beautiful hair. And I think there's a hot Andy Gibb centerfold in here somewhere. Hum....now I have to get back down the hallway and into my room. Open the door ever so carefully, can't have anyone finding out my little secret. (Now, what was it that my Sunday School teacher was saying this morning about "boys liking boys"????)

I especially like the huge posters she has posted on her walls....with all of the aforementioned on them. Bell bottom trousers, long hair, wide belts, big shoes, sexy and so 1970s-teenage-like. Nearly life size, especially when I was shorter. But I did this so many times that I grew taller and the boys on the poster stayed the same size.

Why Didn't Anybody Tell Me???

A few weeks ago, hubby and me were in the basement cleaning, sorting, getting rid of all of our cardboard boxes and moving everything into those nifty clear plastic storage containers. In the midst of that fun, we ran across multitude numbers of memorabilia that brought back many memories including the following excerpt from a family newspaper that I had started in February 1974. From the Editor himself, I quote:

"Lewis' Party......On February 17 lewis had a party too be remembered. He had 6 boys for pizza and then to stay over night. At 2:35 A.M. Barb got up and said a few words. Ha Ha."

As if that wasn't a dead giveaway as to my sexuality, I continue with the very next entry:

"Today at 2:00 Lewis and Anne are going to a play "fiddler on the roof." It is suppose to be just like a Brodway Hit."

And the very last entry in the paper...which pretty much cleared everything up:

"Lewis said that the gifts were great. Aunt Ruth got a blouse and Lewis got a dark pink shirt, socks, and plad pants."

Why didn't anybody tell me sooner? I could have saved us all a ton of heartache. Sigh.


Today we spent the whole day shopping, getting ready to pack, and choosing our clothes for the cruise. We leave next Friday and this was our last full day together before then. Hubby needed a few things (have you ever tried to find shorts and flip flops in January in Oregon??). But I am the one who made the haul: Beautiful Clark's dress shoes (they are SO soft and comfortable), Old Navy Jeans for $4.99, two pair of shorts and kahkis, cool striped boxer briefs from The Gap, a book from Barnes and Noble, two ties (required in the dining room on the ship), and several t-shirts. (I always get a comment or six when he is the one that we're out shopping for and I'm the one that comes home with the goods.) We also took in another tanning session and BS'ed with our buddy who owns the tanning place. As always, he made us a perfect nonfat vanilla latte after we were done. I think we're pretty much ready to go. Wish we were all going together! Anybody up for a blogger get-together here in Portland sometime?

Out and (Not Quite Ready to Be) Proud at the Cheesecake Factory

A couple of months ago, I remember it being a warm October Sunday afternoon, hubby and me decided to take a drive somewhere. Where? We didn't know. Just wanted to get out and enjoy the blue sky and the afternoon. Now here in Portland, like most metro areas, you've got your core city (where we live) and then the suburbs (where we seldom go). The city we live in voted 75% for John Kerry. We don't need to go anyplace else for any particular reason. The counties around us, however, not quite so blue. And on this day, we started driving...out away from the downtown core....over the West Hills...out to the suburbs and then a little south to Washington Square Mall in Washington County....mostly Republican, mostly white, mostly well off. Conservative, as the mall made us aware. It was filled with well-dressed folks with plenty of disposable income. Lots of trendy high schoolers with daddy-padded pockets. We hadn't been out there in years, many years. We pull in, the place is packed, and we notice a Cheesecake Factory restaurant. Hey, let's have lunch! So, you know the story, the place is wall-to-wall people, bleach-blond hair and big boobs on mommy, daddy with an "I'm a successful white businessman" look on his face and plenty of screaming children (why would you come out here??). We put our names on the list and are handed one of those buzzer vibrator deals (no, not THAT kind, silly). We're eyeballing the yummy cheesecakes lined up in the display case while tucked neatly among, what seemed like, the other half of the state of Oregon. God, I know now why I don't like to end up in these kinds of situations. Somewhere behind us, I hear a voice:

"Hey, have you guys been here before?" We turn and see a couple of good looking younger guys sitting down behind us waiting for their table too.

"Well, we haven't been to this particular one before" (and probably won't go back again either) "but we have been to a Cheesecake Factory in another city."

"Oh," the spokesman of he two says. "So, is the food good?" he questions.

"Yea, the food is pretty good."

"So, how are the sandwiches," he asks. The sandwiches? What is he talking about. He seems a little nervous and kind of looking around a little.

"Sandwiches are good," I tell him.

He nods his head, his dark hair falling across his ears and down on his forehead a little...kind of shaggy like seems to be the style now. He's sitting next to his friend, a guy about his same age, only blond. Nice looking, both of them. T-shirts and jeans, a couple of shopping bags from The Gap or Abercrombie & Fitch or something.

Still nervous and a little hesitant, he sort of pokes his thumb toward his friend and then back at himself as he says "We're together."

"Oh," I say. "How old are you guys?" I ask.

"15" is the answer. Great, I've got my grandchildren in front of me. Cuter than hell, but I know they were looking past my salt-and-pepper hair and for my AARP card. You know, seeing if they could get daddy in the grave soon and steal his cash.

"15," I exclaim......"Wow. How long have you guys been together," I ask.

"A year. Are you guys together?" he wants to know.

I nod my head as he asks me "if it's fun being together?"

"Yea, sure, it's fun most of the time....but not all of life is fun," I tell him, "but mostly it's a good deal."

I ask him if anybody at his school knows he's gay. Nope is the answer. How about your family, my partner asks him....still, the answer is no. Nobody knows. His dark, handsome eyes are about as big as quarter dollars as we have this little conversation. I doubt it's ever happened before.

"I got kicked off the football team," he says as he tugs at his gray Tualatin High School t-shirt. "They were making fun of me and calling me names and stuff, so I quit."

"I go to Tigard High School," blondie chimes in. (They can both keep talking forever as far as I'm concerned.) Now, Tigard and Tualatin are two suburbs next to each other down near the mall. Still, both are white, well off, and not that well known for their openness to alternative thoughts or lifestyles. Their buzzer goes off about this time and the waitress is ready to take them to their table. They stand up and start to head off but not before they both extend their long arms and shake our hands, both my partner's and my hands. My gosh, cute and polite.....I didn't know we had any of that left. They head out of view and we head to our table soon after. We both sat there, staring at each other, and wondering what in the hell just happened. Strangest and weirdest experience ever. I mean, two 15-year-olds who are not out, introduce themselves to us and start asking questions and then out themselves to us, in a public setting. Not an everyday occurrence for me, anyway. We just kept talking about the whole thing, going back over the conversation. I felt so sorry for them. Not being able to be out and be who they truly are inside. And, being made fun of? Don't even get me started. I'm afraid that I'd take a swing at the guys that made fun of them (I talk pretty big for a little guy). So, I ask my hubby if I should give them our phone number or email address or something in case they ever needed to talk or needed help. "No," he says, "they're under age." Well, what could be so wrong with just letting them know so that they could call if they needed something. So, against his better judgment, I borrow a pen from the wait person and scribble down my phone number and email address on the back of the Cheesecake Factory napkin. Before I head out to find their table, I do a double-check of the area...making sure that their mommy or daddy are no place nearby. Remember, they don't have driver's licenses yet so who knows how they got to the mall....could be a parent nearby (maybe daddy is handsome....hum). I put the napkin on their table and tell them if they ever need anything, feel free to call. Again, they thank me and put their hands out to shake mine. I can't believe this! They are so handsome, so polite, and so fearful.

We never heard a word. Didn't really expect to. My partner warned me that it wouldn't be pretty if their mom found my phone number laying on the floor among his dirty clothes and next to his bed. Oh well, I told him, I'd just have to deal with that if it happened. I couldn't worry about that right now, I only had the one chance to make sure they had the opportunity for help if they wanted it. I had to do what I thought was right. So, we finished our pizza, salad, and Sweet Corn Tamale Cakes (excellent and off of the appetizer menu if you go). We talked about this crazy story for weeks and, really, still are. My neighbor lady was in tears over the whole deal. She is a middle school teacher and says she sees this kind of thing all of the time. I've also recently had another friend asking me about coming out. I guess I've forgotten those dark days....and they really haven't been that long ago, even for me.

If you're still hiding out in the closet and reading this, here's a place for some information for you. The Human Rights Campaign has excellent resources available as do other organizations. Make sure you make balanced, healthy decisions that are good for the long-term of your life. Don't make them with stress, strain or any human manipulation. Make them because you're an amazing individual. Make them with as much confidence as you can find, hold your head high, and, in your own perfect timing, go tell someone......"I'm Gay," even if it's at the Cheesecake Factory. I'd be glad to listen.

The Knot

It's dark, I'm alone because he just climbed out of bed. Turned over and kind of grabbed his pillow cause it feels better like that. Seems cold, too, but he'll have the heat turned up soon. He's sweet that way. But there's this knot in my stomach, I think. Maybe I'll skip coffee this morning to see if that takes care of it. Thinking, wondering, tossing. I remember a similar knot. Sixteen long years ago today.

We had met in 1980, the two of us in college age Sunday school together at church. She in her pretty blue and white dress. God knows what I was wearing in those days but I'm sure it was accompanied by some locks of nicely feathered back hair. We became the best of friends. Vacations together, plenty of movies, shared food, friends and experiences. Me at her parent's house for holidays and she at mine. We both joined a traveling Christian musical group and criss-crossed the US, Europe, and Asia together. What's so wrong with that?

And it was on one of those musical tours in the summer of 1990 that I went to see her perform at a big evangelical church in Salt Lake City. She played in the orchestra. Bass guitar and damn good at it. I had struggled for the past couple of years with the gay thing...but we didn't call it that in Idaho. Was I? Wasn't I? Did anybody really care except for me? Do you think anybody knew? Tried the roommate thing. Yea, right, sure he's your roommate. Let's not say anything to him and maybe this phase will pass. But, my god, these emotions. Up and down. Back and forth. It sure felt comfortable to be with him. But it just wasn't right. That's what they said. The church. The Bible. And so, I join her in Salt Lake City with a handwritten letter from me to her. We sat in the car on the very hot August afternoon. "Will you marry me." I just knew that I could get past these feelings. Past the weirdness and uncomfortableness of being too close with her. Or any other female for that matter. Jesus would help me. And, plus, it can't be that hard. I mean, you just do it. Like walking down the street.

November 17, 1990, found us at a huge Assembly of God church in Lewiston, Idaho. Me scared to death. She nervous as a hen. My best man was my former roommate (yep, THAT roommate...oh god, the tangled webs that we weave). He was trying to be so understanding. But he didn't. Neither did I, but I could, in time. Another groomsman and his family were such close friends. Surely if they had thought I was making a crazy decision they would have said something. I mean, I'd spent more time with them than practically anybody....they would be able to tell. And there was my brother, the third groomsman. God bless him....he's the only one of the three still around in my life today. Thankfully. Do you think he knew? We'd never been close but I'm sure he'd say something. So the wedding begins with that ever-so-popular After All. You do remember, don't you....right at the top of the charts in 1989. Peter Cetera and Cher? I will never forget standing in the long hallway that ran alongside the sanctuary. Standing with my good friend and pastor, looking through the narrow windows into the sanctuary. All decorated with tons of flowers. Special-order flowers that they didn't have in stock in Lewiston. Ironically, Birds of Paradise flowers. A couple hundred friends and family there. All dressed up, hair coiffed, wedding gifts and cards left properly at the door on the gift table. Everybody on their best behavior. (I'm shaking inside.) I couldn't believe that the day was finally here. (Still more shaking only now with dry mouth and heavy swallowing.) And I couldn't believe I was actually going through with this. Remember, Jesus will help you.

Collapse. Failure. Pain and heartache. As in any relationship, there was no shortage of struggle and sleepless nights. Anger built and tempers flared, regularly. Marriage counseling. Personality tests. Prayer time and special sessions with the pastor. Workbooks to complete. Answers to be had. For god's sake, there had to be answers to this mess. There's absolutely nothing worse than being in the wrong situation at the wrong time with the wrong person and living the wrong life. It was totally obnoxious. And nobody knew it better than me.....and she. And us. Together in the house on Kalmia. Built from our ideas, our plans, our interior designs. (And why nobody knew about me at this point was more than I'll ever know.....I mean, the house looked good.....really good........gay good.....but in Idaho we didn't call it that.)

I remember laying on the couch at the home of the only gay people I knew at the time. They couldn't figure it out. (Well, looking back, I'm actually sure they had it figured out.) Nobody had ever been able to, not even me. I squirmed, digressed, unable to say to anybody that "I was gay." I just remember the tears. And the two of them sitting across from me in separate chairs in their beautiful home. Trying to help me. Trying to make me comfortable. Trying to pave the way for me to come out! And being very good at letting me know that they were there for me. It would be OK. And the heavy words finally fell from my mouth "I don't know how much longer I can do this." And I couldn't. And I didn't, very well.

And so, the knot. The knot on the day I asked her to marry me. The knot on the day I looked dazed through the sanctuary windows at all of those people ready to watch us get married. The knot in the ceremony when the two separate candles come together to light the one unity candle as the couple kneels at the alter for prayer. The many knots during the hateful and disgusting times when you say things and treat someone so badly that you just know it's not right. And, now, today, the tears as I write. Running down my face. Tears streaming into the lake where God says he'll collect all of our tears. I hear a siren now. Outside, blocks away, off to some emergency or somebody in trouble.

I was in trouble once. Bad trouble in a worsening situation. Going absolutely nowhere. I'm glad I'm not there any longer. Very glad. She has nothing to do with me any longer. I tried. I think she tried. She just couldn't do it. "Please don't ever contact me again" were the last words I ever heard from her. In an email. Ouch. They still ring in my ears. I know nothing of her story or the road she has traveled since the day she moved out and left a note that "I just can't do this any longer." And I know she couldn't. Me either. So, today, the knot. Remembering, reminiscing, thinking, feeling, crying. Sad that it ever happened. Glad that it's over.

And very glad that my husband turned up the heat this morning. He's sweet that way.