Are You Guys Brothers?

      Besides having bacon and eggs, one of the things Ray and I look most forward to on Sunday mornings is the “Style” section of The New York Times in which we hope to see the announcements of the marriages of gay men and of lesbians mixed in among those for heterosexual couples. Sometimes, we’re disappointed that we can’t find family (other than the “straight” grooms we think are faking it), but, more often than not, we’re delighted to read about how increasingly young gay people have found love and want the exciting news to be shared with the entire world.

     “I found two,” Ray will announce, as he gets up earlier than me and reads the paper first.

     “There are three,” I will reply after finishing the section. “I think you missed the lesbian couple without a photo.”

     Whether it’s two or three, it’s exceedingly rewarding to us to finally see ourselves as part of mainstream America, especially when the faces of the gay couples are so young, fresh, and free of the telltale signs of oppression.

     “Aren’t they cute?” Ray will say.

     “They could be our children,” I reply with pride. And indeed they are. These fresh-faced young men and women are the reason we have worked so hard and for so long to create a world that would be healthier for them than it was for us.

     You can see that fresh face on young Matthew Mitchum, the mesmerizing, proud 20-something Australian gay diver who, like his gay American champion predecessor Greg Louganis, astonished the world when he took home the gold from the Olympics in China.

     You can also see that young, fresh, happy face on Portia de Rossi, the extraordinarily beautiful and very talented 35-year-old star of the new ABC comedy Better Off Ted, and the spouse of TV talk show host Ellen DeGeneres. (de Rossi is, by coincidence (?) also Australian.)

     For young straight men and women today, others being gay or lesbian is no big deal. The overwhelming majority of these straight 18 to 30-year-olds, according to all recent polls, support gay people having all civil rights including the right to marry. And, the people who cater to the wants and needs of the younger generation are well aware of this acceptance. The other night, for instance, Ray and I watched the popular teen film Nick and Nora’s Endless Playlist. In it, we were delighted to see that three of the main characters were young gay men who loved being who and what they are. Yesterday, we watched I Love You, Man, the current popular film about “bromance” in which straight men seek intimacy with male friends. The main character’s brother in this comedy is a young out and proud gay who has the full support of his father and mother.

     The star of the film, Paul Rudd, is completely comfortable with people thinking there might be something gay about him, though his orientation is heterosexual. The very handsome and hunky film star Chris Evans, whose brother is gay, feels the same way. He’s completely unthreatened by people thinking he might be gay. Young straight men like Evans today, I believe, are far more secure in their sexuality than the men in older generations. Ninety-two-year-old Ernest Borgnine, for instance, the star of the 1960s TV hit McHale’s Navy, commented last year that the film Brokeback Mountain would make John Wayne “roll in his grave.” Lt. Col. Oliver North said that if gay men are allowed into the military, “no real man will ever enlist again. Borgnine, Wayne, and North, I suspect, would all be very threatened if someone thought they were gay.

     The cultural war in the United States over gay civil rights and over what makes a man a man is not over but our side has made significant advances in the past 40 years. There will never be a formal surrender on the part of social conservatives but I take it as a very positive sign that young Evangelical Christians, according to polls, feel that their elders spend far too much time, money, and energy campaigning against gay marriage. They’re ready to move on. And a few weeks ago, when the homophobic Southern Baptist pastor Fred Phelps, who carries signs that read “God Hates Fags” and “Thank God for AIDS,” showed up to protest at Shawnee Mission East High School, students flooded out the doors to stage a counter-protest with signs that read “God does not hate” and “God is Love.”

     Though I feel and often act young, I am 61 and Ray is 57. We really are old enough to be Matthew Mitchum and Portia de Rossi’s parents, and the grandparents of the young students at Shawnee Mission East High School in Kansas City. Though we have spent most of our lives working for it, Ray and I never imagined the day would come when we would see gay people announce their marriage in The New York Times, openly gay divers be cheered at the Olympics, a beautiful starlet affirm her homosexuality, and straight students march on our behalf, not once, but over and over again.

     We feel very lucky to have lived to see all of this. We won’t let down our guard just yet, nor drop the baton, but we are greatly heartened to know that our leg of the race is nearly over.  One day, perhaps in our lifetime, the cultural war will end. Like bacon and eggs on Sunday morning, that’s something to which we look forward.

   ***

www.brian-mcnaught.com 

     At the end of every party we attend, Ray gives me the high sign that it’s time to say “good-bye” about a half-hour before he expects to be able to leave. He knows that I’ll make a point of acknowledging and thanking with a hug, and usually a kiss, every person with whom I’ve had a conversation and some to whom I’m introducing myself at the last minute. For me, it’s closure. It allows me to move on to the next experience by acknowledging every element that made up the last.

      I do the same when we head north for the season to Provincetown and south for the season to Ft. Lauderdale. I slowly and deliberately walk through the house and the garden to acknowledge and thank each room, fabric, plant, statue, appliance, car, and knickknack for being in my life in such a nurturing way.

     From this, one would think that I love “good-byes.” I don’t. I hate them. They’re draining and time-consuming and often awkward. I wish I could just slip out with one heartfelt wave and one “thank you,” but I can’t. It’s not because of an obsessive-compulsive disorder but rather a feeling of the impermanence of life and the need I feel to honor the components of my happiness. I even thank hotel and motel rooms when I depart after spending the night for a speaking engagement or vacation.

     None of us need to hear each other’s long lists of “thank you.” The Academy Awards would end in two rather than four hours if we didn’t need to sit through all of the expressions of gratitude to God, one’s drama teacher, producer, director, follow actors, hairdresser, dog walker, and all of their children. But it seems to me that it behooves all of us to be aware of the people, places, and things that have impacted our lives - teachers, authors, films, neighbors, friends, critics, antagonists, flowers, animals, foods, smells, sunsets, oceans, doctors, etc. - and to whisper a “thank you” and a “good-bye” before we’re taken in the night by a heart attack. (If that is the way I go, I’d like to thank the heart attack now for providing me such a quick and easy exit.)

     Before my closest friends write to inquire if I’m okay, please be assured that I’m healthy as a horse with a minor plumbing inconvenience. But I have just finished reading Philip Pullman’s wonderful “children’s book” trilogy (The Golden Compass) on the influence of organized religion on our lives, and on what might await us when we die. I highly recommend the series. I also had the recent experience of lying in bed in the middle of the night with a rapid heartbeat and imaging my death.

     Having entered the final third of my life and having become more aware of my aging body and my sometimes diminished ability to recall information, not to mention the shift in attitudes I’ve experienced about everything from the absurdity of religion’s influence on the world’s inhabitants to the mendacity of a life lived in front of a television, I’m more keenly sensitive to my need to take stock of my life and to be more aware of everything in each moment.

      My suggestion is that we all say “thank you” at every opportunity to everything for which we feel grateful knowing that we won’t always have a half-hour high sign that we’ll be leaving soon.

www.brian-mcnaught.com

     Let us raise our glasses together and toast with love and deep gratitude all of the people in our lives with whom we were once best of friends but who we no longer seek to see. We may Google their names for updates on their lives but we don’t really want to re-establish contact and put the work into maintaining intimacy.

    Letting go of relationships that at one time felt like the most important and meaningful connections of my life usually troubles me terribly for a long time but it seems to happen over and over again — not only for me but for most people I know. How and why does that happen? There must be a reason.

     There are some intimate friendships that seem to last forever but for them to do so, I believe, they must be flexible enough to change constantly to accommodate the growth and interests of the individuals. Other intimate relationships last because of the consistency of geographic proximity. But most really close relationships I have had that have ended did so not as much because of change of zip codes but rather because the other person and I grew in different personal or spiritual directions and we didn’t have the interest or the energy to do the work that was necessary to stay in each others lives. We simply ran out of steam, patience, the ability to forgive, need, attraction, common ground, motivation or understanding.

     Though baffled at one level as to how these very special people who at one time inspired deeply-felt holiday messages could one day get dropped from my Christmas card list, I also know better than to label such friendships as “failures” simply because they ended. What we shared was real and important to us both at the time, and we are both better people because our paths intersected, but we don’t need each other anymore or do we feel taken care of in the same rewarding way. And that’s both okay and natural, I think.

    Years and years ago, a kooky therapist, with whom I had only met twice, told me of his dream about me in which I was climbing Mount Fuji and as I climbed I would travel and camp with others and then break camp and head up on my own until I encountered another group of travelers with whom I would walk and camp and then break camp again and head higher on my own. My need to feel special at that time prompted me to interpret his dream as a prophecy of my spiritual path. Instead, I now think he was aptly describing the life journey that we’re all called to make — to keep leaving the security of the familiar to explore the vistas of our visions. We don’t “use” others in the process. We enter symbiotic relationships that feed us until we are pulled apart without completely understanding why. It is the way of the world, I think. At least it is for those of us who climb.

     So, thank you from the bottom of my heart to the dear friends of my past. Some of you have joyfully re-entered my life but all of you are and always will be essential parts of my being. I toast the love we shared.

      Last night, seven of us gathered for pasta, banana splits, and to watch Bill Maher’s documentary Religulous, “an uproarious nonfiction film about the greatest fiction ever told.”

     During the discussion we had afterward in our living room, Ray asked “How many of you believe in an afterlife?” Only one person, the youngest, raised his hand. I suggested that I couldn’t imagine anything in an afterlife that would feel more like heaven than sitting with good friends eating banana splits together, watching a fun movie, and feeling safe and loved. “If this isn’t heaven, what is?”

     Our conversation turned to our awareness that there was more to life than met the eye, including the paranormal experiences we all had enjoyed but couldn’t explain, such as intuition, heightened senses, the feeling of an unseen presence. I suggested that one day, humans will, if enabled to use the remaining 90% of our brains, be far more conscious of our abilities to experience and communicate with the life that exists in all animate things, such as carrots. (We weren’t smoking pot, I promise.)

     Jean suggested that we have these abilities now. We just need to practice our extra-sensory perception. This led us to talk about the difficulty we all face to get in touch with anything other than the very demanding days we each are expected to manage. How do you explore the paranormal when you barely have time for the normal?

     That led me to chronicle, as an example, the e-mails I had opened just since that morning, all of which I was glad to receive, but each of which required that I be focused and responsive. I had heard from…

     The “blessed” mother of 17-year-old lesbian who wrote to say she had just learned that her daughter attempted suicide at age 13 because of the bullying she received from her classmates because of her sexuality.

     A gay officer in the Salvation Army who wrote to say that he’s angry at himself for asking me in the past to identify him as an Evangelical Christian because he worried what people might think of him. He cited the Tao, Buddhist teaching, and Jesus in making the point that if you worry what people think about you, you’ll be their prisoner for life.

     A Catholic woman who wrote to say that she hopes not to be dismissed by gay people because she can’t yet get her arms around the term “gay marriage.”

     The Human Rights Campaign which wrote to say that they have new standards for giving corporations 100% ratings. Regrettably comprehensive diversity training is still an afterthought for them.    

     A friend who wrote that he wanted me to listen to a YouTube clip of a “Conversation With God.”

     A friend who wrote that she wanted me to listen to a YouTube clip of a Spanish bank advertisement that presented transsexuality quite beautifully.  

     My younger sister who wrote that when she got her license, she hoped she would be as professional as a truck driver is supposed to be. “They are to be helpful on and off the road.”

     The head of a corporation’s gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender Employee Resource Group who was very excited about the “train the trainer” program we’ll be doing next week, and who suggested a time for our conference call.

     My friend Ray Repp who wrote to say that he and his spouse Richard Alther had a wonderful time with us over the weekend and “thank you for making us feel like family.”

     The campaign manager of the candidate we’re supporting for Fort Lauderdale City Commission who wrote to ask about the 260 letters Ray, Milton and I were writing, stuffing, and mailing that day on behalf of the candidate.

     Our dear neighbor Susan Lawson who wrote from her home in the Bahamas to say that she wished she hadn’t needed to leave Ft. Lauderdale the day before, that she had taken care of the disgruntled fabric salesperson, and that Annie, the golden retriever, was two years old.

     Our Brazilian friend Milton who eats lunch and dinner with us daily to see if he was invited for dinner.

     Jane from Author House who wrote to see if I wanted to save the cost of postage by ordering 200 copies of my book Are You Guys Brothers?

     Out and Equal which wrote to announce that their annual conference in 2009 would be held October 6-9 in Disney World in Florida.

     Our friend “Reverend Steve” who wrote and quoted Gertrude Stein in saying “Let me listen to me and not to them.”

     Walter Barton who wrote to say that he’d like to be friends on My Space.

     Nigel Collette who wrote to see if I knew anyone in Scotland who could put up the performer of My Queer Valentine.

     The corporate attorney who wrote that she’d be glad to talk person to person so that we could come to consensus on the wording of their version of my Web resource guide for managers on gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender issues.

     And there were lots of others too. Representatives of Linen Source, Lambda Legal, Equality Florida, GLAAD, NGLTF, Debra Sweet, GLAD, Gay and Lesbian Victory Fund, Equality Florida, Diversity Inc., Fenway Community Health, Williams-Sonoma, Holland America Line, Polo, Dignity, FTD, MCC, Herrington Catalogue, Gay and Lesbian Leadership Briefs, Wisteria, Move On. Org., Scargo Café, Hammacher Schlemmer, 48 Hour Printing, and Ballard Designs, among others, who wrote to see if I might be interested in their program or product.

     So, I obviously had no time to practice my extra sensory perception. But, when it comes right down to it, I don’t need paranormal abilities to understand that all of the people I heard from during the day are what my life is about in the here and now. I can either experience them as my heaven or as my hell, depending upon how I greet them. I prefer to think of them as my heaven, and I choose to respond (or not) to them with a grateful heart for picking me to share their news, views, and needs. And even if I had access to 100% of my brain so that I had the ability to commune with a plant or a carrot, I’d rather utilize the 10% that I currently have to be in touch with what life presents to me each day, especially if it includes a banana split shared with dear friends.