Are You Guys Brothers?

A piece in a recent edition of The Economist states that Americans are nearly twice as likely today to live in a community dominated by their own political beliefs than they were thirty years ago. Forty-eight percent of Republicans choose to live among other Republicans, and 48% of Democrats choose to live among other Democrats. That's true for Ray and me. Four years ago, we moved from Naples, Florida, which is in one of the most conservative Republican counties in the state, to Ft. Lauderdale, which is in one of the most progressive Democrat-dominated Florida counties. But it wasn't just to get away from the people who in the middle of the night put Bush bumper stickers on our Gore street sign, one of only a few in the entire town. We moved to be nearer to other emotionally healthy gay people, to "family." And, what's wrong with that?

           Our straight friends and fellow Unitarian congregants in Naples, whom we loved, verbally lamented our move. "Stay here," they pleaded. "We need you. You can make a difference in Naples. In Ft. Lauderdale, you'll be just another liberal gay Democrat among a bunch of other liberal gay Democrats who don't need any further education. Fight the fight where it's happening." Our out gay friends there, limited in number as they are, understood completely. "Save us a spot," many of them, even those who vote Republican, said. "We'll be there soon."

          It's hard for a plant to live, much less to grow, in soil that is toxic. There are plants than can survive without sun and in the most challenging and unforgiving growing conditions. Throughout the United States and the world there are heroic out gay men and women who refuse to leave their countries or home towns just because it doesn't feel safe or welcoming. Their work, their families, their historic roots, their partner, and even their stubborness keeps them where they are. If they are out and emotionally healthy, they put a critically important face on the issue for all of us, and they impact the thinking of their neighbors and colleagues in a way that none of us can do from the comfort of our gay ghettoes. I did such work in Detroit for several years, but I got burned out there and for the sake of my survival, I needed to move.

          Today, Ray and I live in two of the most beautiful, the most gay-populated, and the most progressive communities in the world, Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, and Provincetown, Massachusetts. We walk hand in hand, kiss our same-sex friends "hello" and "goodbye" on the street, go to gay-themed films that don't show in Naples, write letters to the editor without worrying about being harassed, and put up our "Hillary" sign without fear that it will be defaced. It feels wonderful to breathe so freely, to be represented by politicians (the outgoing mayor of Ft. Lauderdale being the exception) who support you, and to read editorials that champion your cause. It's rich loam in which we grow today, but it wasn't always so.

          Ray grew up in Wichita, Kansas. I grew up in Flint and Birmingham, Michigan. In our thirty-two years together, we've lived in Brookline and Gloucester, Massachusetts, Hillsborough, New Hampshire, Atlanta, Georgia, New York City, San Francisco, and Naples, Florida. In New Hampshire, we were the only gay people on the block, and when we were packing up to move away, a neighbor, with the help of scotch, slurred that we were great guys but that no one wanted us to move in when we did. An elegant Southern neighbor, a courtly gentleman, smiled and waved at us on the street but whispered with disgust to other neighbors that we were "professional homosexuals." In Brookline, someone left a sign above all of the mailboxes in our apartment bulding foyer that read "Get out of town McNaught. I hope you die of AIDS." In Naples, when the local newspaper carried a report on our marriage in Canada, one phone caller referred to us a "pipe smokers," a term I had not heard before.

          Intolerance can be found everywhere, even in Provincetown and in Ft. Lauderdale, but it is less likely to be experienced there than it is in Wichita or Flint. There are good heterosexual Republicans living in Naples, but I got worn down by having every social situation end up being a "teachable moment." I love educating others about gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender issues. I've done so gratefully and enthusiastically for my entire adult life, and I have often faced hostile or unwelcoming audiences throughout the United States and in the rest of the world, but that's what I'm paid to do. When I wear a "Provincetown" T-shirt to the grocery store, though, I don't want to be confronted with "I hate that place," as I was in Naples. "Why?" I asked the middle-aged woman in the produce section. "I'd rather not say," she replied after eyeing me up and down. I want to go to the grocery store, to church, and to dinner in a restaurant and feel safe, welcome, understood, and valued.

          I admire people who make the conscious choice to stay where they are to educate others, as opposed to those who stay out of fear of the unknown, but during this period of my life, I don't want to have to work so hard during my play time. And I know that there is a big difference between out gay people and emotionally healthy gay people. You can be out and not emotionally healthy, but not emotionally healthy and not out. To heal our psychic wounds, and to create a life that allows us to grow to our full potential, requires that we surround ourselves with emotionally healthy gay and unconditionally affirming straight people. In my life, they both tend to be Democrats, and sometimes I have to pull up roots to find them.

On our daily walk this morning, Ray and I were stopped by a passer-by who asked "Are you guys brothers?" Like most gay men I know, we get the question all of the time regardless of where in the world we are. We look nothing alike, but people pick up an intimacy that they want to label. The first thing that comfortably comes to their mind is "family."

Ray and I have been together for 31 years, and we are a family, but we're not related by birth. My experience, though, is that the family that we choose for ourselves is generally far more a source of love and support for us than the family into which we were born. For many gay men and lesbian women, Thanksgiving underscores this truth dramatically.

Sadly, I know of gay and lesbian couples who split up during the holidays to spend the day with their biological families rather than their logical families. Ray and I have not been apart for any holiday since we met. We have traveled together to spend Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, or New Year's Eve with parents and grandparents, but we have never allowed ourselves to be separated to accommodate someone else's expectations or traditions.

Our Thanksgiving table this year will be an intergenerational family affair. Our four best friends will be there. Tom and David, and Ann and Harriet, are essential components of our sense of belonging. Ann and Harriet are in their early-sixties. Ann is an old gay political hack like myself. Harriet, who reminds me of Mrs. Santa Claus, was previously married. Together, they have two daughters, two son-in-laws, and four grandchildren who are the center of their lives.

Tom, who reminds me of Tigger in Winnie the Pooh, is in his mid-forties, and David, more like a lovable Eyore, is a year younger than me, at 58. We travel with them, share a home lot with them, and see abundant movies with them.

We all have homes in Ft. Lauderdale and in Provincetown. We get together in each other's kitchens for dinner and a game of Hearts at least twice a week throughout the year. We love them dearly and we all count on each other for emotional support, such as two weeks ago when Ann was diagnosed with breast cancer for the second time in a dozen years. At dinner last night, Harriet asked to say the grace before our meal. She thanked us all for being there emotionally for the two of them. "I have always known that I could count on you," she said, "but this time you blew me away."

Tom's parents, Kate and George, will also be at our Thanksgiving table. George is a walking miracle, having survived a stroke, a heart attack, cancer, and emphyzema. He's in his mid-70s, as is Kate, a retired grammar school teacher, who hums music all day. They have become good friends and big fans of my books on gay issues.

Harriet and Ann's daughter Jennifer, a young but highly-respected attorney in Boston, her husband Steve, who has a gay brother, and their two remarkably bright and enjoyable children, Ben and Elizabeth, will bring our numbers to an even dozen.

The dining room table was set on Monday, which was a great source of relief and joy, as I've been laying in bed at night for weeks thinking about its design. This year's theme is "Carnival," and the table is filled with antique roller coasters, Ferris wheels, and merry-go-rounds. It also has concessions, like clay duck shooting and bump 'm cars that move and make noise. There are ten fall trees with orange leaves, assorted clowns, popcorn stands, and other sources of magic. Each place has a small feathered turkey which are gifts to take home. Everyone is excited about seeing the display. The neighbors have been coming in two by two to ooh and ahh.

I'm cooking two 13 pound turkeys that will be brined in vegetable broth tonight. I've also started my gravy and dressing , and have cooked the butternut squash and rutabega. Ray, the handsome and charming love of my life, is making two pumpkin/pecan pies. Tom and David are bringing mashed potatoes and brussel sprouts. Kate has made her cranberry sauce, and Harriet and Ann are bringing simis, a wonderful Jewish sweet potato and prune casserole.

My biological family will each be in their own homes. My brother Tom will be with his spouse Matthew. My sister Kathy will have her three grown children and their partners, and Maureen will be with her two teenage boys. We used to call each other every Thanksgiving but most of us have drifted apart, something that I never would have thought possible. The same is true for Ray and his family. There won't be any calls to his five surviving brothers, one of whom is in Bangladesh. Our parents have all died, which is perhaps why we no longer stay in touch with all of our siblings (though Kathy has e-mailed me twice in the past twelve hours asking for my gravy recipe and instructions on cooking rutabega.)

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because it revolves around family, good food, and an awareness that we all have something for which we can be thankful. From our multigenerational table of gay people and straight people, men and women, Democrats and liberal Republicans, we wish you and yours a wonderful day.