Sex
I loved "The Cosby Show" back in the 80s when it first came on. As I recall, it was on a particular night that Julie and I went to baby classes (i.e., teaching us about the labor and delivery process), but I had a VCR and I knew how to use it. So I could watch at my leisure. I eventually gave up that habit after a few years, but since I grew up with Cos (my parents had his albums) it was nice to see him making another splash in the entertainment world. A noble effort, too, showing some of the trivial exercises we go through, trying to rear children and fighting forces beyond our control, including hormones and/or the urge to get piercings.
But something funny happened about this time. Many millions loved the show, but a lot of people (white people) found it unusual. This was not exactly the American black experience that we'd come to know from sitcoms. Cosby played a doctor and his wife was a lawyer. This was an affluent, professional African-American couple living in New York, and to some it seemed an aberration.
And, of course, there were a lot of African-American people who got really frustrated by this, who recognized in "The Cosby Show" their own lives and were glad to see it finally portrayed and frankly a little annoyed at the amazement of the white folks.
Others were just amused.
The point is, to some of us, imagining that people who are "others," who are different from us for whatever reason, have lives similar to ours, is hard to do. Round holes, square pegs. We can be so stupid.
So let's talk about gay people.
I am not gay.
I have not, actually, ever had a homosexual experience, although from books you can read or borrow this is not an unremarkable experience for an adolescent boy, which I was once, hard as that is to believe, but I haven't. I've loved the other gender for as long as I've understood the difference, which is considerable. I had a girlfriend in kindergarten. She played the accordion. Her name was Theresa. So there.
So, now that my bona fides are established, I want to say here that I don't care.
I don't, either. I rarely even think about it.
I don't care who you love. Or whom, whatever. I have enough problems without trying to play matchmaker.
I spent a fair amount of time in my early years surrounded by gay men. This was because I was involved in theater, and theater folk, like Unitarians, are notorious for being accepting of all sorts of people. I would sometimes, actually, go out drinking beer with a lot of these guys. I thought this was a great idea. The chicks would be mine.
One of them, as it turns out, was the best man at my wedding. I dunno, I just loved him, and he helped Julie and I through a hard time. Plus, he gave a great toast, although, in retrospect, he was probably plastered. That's OK. It was a wedding.
I am inspired, today, of course, from a conversation, or maybe more than one, enough to come out of the closet and alienate some of you. I'm truly sorry about that, but I understand that you might not want to read what I have to say anymore. It happens.
There is no agenda.
There is no agenda.
There are issues, and rights, and goals and dreams, but there is no agenda to transform my country, or my world. I swear to God.
"The Cosby Show" was not promoting a new idea of rich black people, you see. It was just saying, here it is. We exist. We're not going anywhere, we have kids and toilets and IRAs. And we really like jazz.
OK, sorry. I couldn't help myself, mostly because I'm being all noble and shit and my friend, my best man, had this fabulous collection of Judy Garland albums and I couldn't find a way to mention that without delving into stereotype land.
I digress. We see gay people portrayed on TV and film because they exist. They are among us. They are our neighbors, our brothers and sisters, our pastors, our teachers, our inspiration, our frustration, our interior decorators.
Damn. I really have to stop doing that.
See, I'm being coy and offensive because I just don't get it. I just have so much to worry about with my own life, I don't care about "Will and Grace," although sometimes it makes me laugh. I don't understand ministers who preach from the pulpit about the evils of "alternative lifestyles." You want alternative? You should see my bathroom.
I can understand, I guess, those who glean from the Gospels some sort of admonition against sleeping with the same sex, but honestly I don't see it, I see stuff about rape and prostitution and Paul, who frankly wasn't all that crazy about marriage, anyway. If you think it's a sin, sure, fine, whatever. I got some sins for you, I got them right here, they're mine, you can judge all you want.
And I will say that if want to marry your love, same sex, same gender, same planet, whatever, I have no problem at all. I may find it odd, or even ridiculous, but if I care about you I will throw rice and wish you well, it's the least I can do. Mostly, though, I will try to fix my own stuff. It's going to take years.
I know I've lost a few of you already. I've already been crossed off your list, I've treaded past the line, I've become something else, I've endorsed...something. Something you don't like.
But truly, I don't care. I'd rather fix myself, and vote, and march, and learn. I'd rather become myself, rather than a moderator of moderate values. Which I am, and I have, but still there are times....
I understand. You can't go there. Sure, I get it. I may disagree, but I understand your feelings and I appreciate you stopping by. I just felt compelled to say something; go figure. Just an opinion. Worth what you paid for it.
Bye now.
12:51:14 PM 
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