Your Wife's on the Phone

************This was originally written in February 2009************

When I came out nearly twenty years ago, it didn't go over well with my mother. Now, I've never heard of any parent who wants her child to be anything less than happy, and her fears about what my being a lesbian meant for my life drove her reaction. That being said, it didn't make it any easier to experience her initial reaction, but it sure does give me a great measuring stick to see how far she's come.

I grew up in a very small town, Orrington, Maine (when I graduated high school, the population was a bit more than 2000 people). I loved many things about my childhood, but the social climate was not one of them. When I was in junior high school, a young man by the name of Charles Howard was killed in downtown Bangor because he was gay. At the time, hate crime legislation had not been passed and even if it had, it wouldn't have stopped the horrible jokes that were told. The one that sticks in my memory most was, "What do the Indians call the bridge in Downtown Bangor now?" The punchline: "Chuck-a-Homo." That illustration of the social ignorance I was drowning in explained my decision not to come out, not to even breathe a word to ANYONE about my self-awareness that I was lesbian, and to go so deeply into my closet, that no one would suspect a thing.

And it worked for years. I participated in enough dances and feigned enough interest in the opposite sex that I was able to pass for straight without any issues. Apart from that, my own hard wiring, separate from my sexual orientation, resulted in me making sure I got good grades, participated in my church as a deacon (and a lay pastor on Children's Sunday) and generally kept my "good girl" status.

So imagine my mother's shock when I called from my college counselor's office one day in my freshman year to finally tell her the truth about myself. The way I built it up, I'm sure she thought I was going to tell her I was pregnant. Instead, my confession sealed the deal that pregnancy wouldn't be a worry of mine. (Ironically, it would be about ten years from that point in time, but that's another story.) I have to say, initially, my mother did well. She was quiet. She said she loved me, and I was relieved. Until the other shoe dropped.

A few days later, I got an eight page letter in the mail explaining that I was mentally ill and if I decided to choose that lifestyle, I would never have hers or my father's emotional support. She went on to explain that I must be confused and that because of my compassion for persecuted groups, I thought I was gay. I can't begin to tell you how devastating that was for me. My mother was and is my best friend and I needed her emotionally more then than I ever had before. So, I put up a brave front and kept my relationships secret from her, but in so doing, made some pretty stupid choices that looking back, perhaps I wouldn't have; however, hindsight is 20/20.

By the grace of God, over time, my mother began to understand that I had no more control over my lesbianism as I did the color of my eyes or the fact that I was left-handed. It was not a choice for me. The only choice I felt I had was to either live authentically, or not. And I chose to live authentically. It hasn't been easy at times, but because of the gift of humor and integrity, I've got a lot of great comical stories and a much healthier outlook on life.

I've collected a lot of memories over the years that have stood out for me as testaments and gifts of what living authentically means. One of my most recent memories and definitely the most precious to date, was actually quite simple.

My mother agreed to be my witness at Donna's and my Civil Union in December 2008. We renewed our vows made nearly nine years ago since New Jersey decided to provide same sex couples with the same legal benefits of marriage as those of our straight peers (in everything but name). The day after our ceremony, Donna called me from work. I work from home, so my mother answered the phone. After a bit of conversation with Donna, she came into my office and said, "Your wife's on the phone."

Remember that measuring stick I talked about earlier? Well, I think that says it all.