BLOCK PARTY

The middle class suburban neighborhood in Northern Florida where my Mother lives has had several new homeowners lately. One of the couples is apparently Adam and Steve not Adam and Eve and according to my Mom, they are the toast of the neighborhood. It seems the High School Foodchain lives on and if you want a good time, you can always count on the Art and Drama Students. Their bar-b-ques are a veritable Who’s Who of the cul-de-sac and my info comes straight from the horse’s mouth as my Mom has become a part of their clique.

She was initially invited as a guest of her neighbor, like a Sorority Rush. Apparently she passed and was able to act cheerful and bring food, an achievement she pretends amazes her. Methinks the lady doth protest too much. After all, this is the area’s one and only gay couple (my age as well) and I told my sister they probably had her Number from the get-go.

“They could smell she had a gay son. Forty-two years old, never been married...”

“...lives in West Hollywood...” my sister added.

“...went to the Cher concert.” I admitted.

“You know, I’ve asked her several times if I could come with her and she blows me off.” she continues. “It’s like she doesn’t want her own daughter to be part of her little crowd.”

“You are Living In Sin.”

“Please.”

“Jezebel. Ho. Drunkard. Jerry Springer Show.”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Last night it seems My Mother’s Gang went to a birthday party at one of the quasi-gay restaurants in Jacksonville : Metro. Just Like Paris. The restaurant was actually started years ago by my best friend from High School who went to Harvard and dedicated her thesis on Gay Rights to me. She was the first friend I came out to, the first friend I told I had AIDS and was supportive and comfortable with both. Naturally under her care, Metro would have been very gay friendly. My friend eventually sold the restaurant and she and her husband moved on to other things but Metro retained their ease. Years later, because of me in some way, her Gay Neighbors chose this particular place for a party, a place where they would feel comfortable and welcome. What could be a more appropriate and safe environment for my mother?

“You know,” my sister added,” I asked her if she’d told them she has a gay son and she said she hadn’t.”

Then it hit me. My mother wasn’t being snobby about my sister coming at all, she just didn’t want my sister spilling the beans about my sexuality. They might even figure out I have - gasp! - AIDS. Probably not but I know the second I meet them, they will know I’m Family.

I tell my sister. “They’ll know when they see me. Trust me. Gaydar. That and the little tanktop and nylon shorts I’m going to wear in the front yard. Waving a rainbow flag...”

“I have a baton” she offers.

“...Cher blasting from the house...”

“Cher T-shirts for everyone!” she screams in glee.

What, I wonder, will they talk about at the bar-b-ques then?

2:14:52 PM    sro home /