Thanksgiving
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.
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.
