NOTE: Incredibly vanilla post which is more about me and life. Be warned.
Over the months that this blog has developed, I would hope that you have all realized that I am a true Momma’s boy. I adore my mother (and my Dad too) and for the last 15 years or so, have made it a habit of going to have breakfast with them on Sunday mornings. Actually, they have breakfast, I watch. What old people eat is rather disgusting and the tiny portions just drive me insane.
As you also know, my mother, who was once a brilliant English professor, has slipped a bit in her cognitive abilities and and while it pains me sometimes, it also has opened up a whole new world between us as well. For the record, she is technically fine and has most likely only slipped to the level of several of the other people in my life who I daily categorize as a coworker or controller, but that’s a whole other story. She has been at a stable place for years, so we are no longer using the A word and have replaced it with the softer sounding D word because there are so many more levels of dementia that are not nearly as cruel as the A one. So, while we used to spend Sunday mornings talking about how much she hated the Bush administration and what the Sunday New York Times said, we now talk about whether American Express has been paid and whether my I think my sister and her current husband are having good sex which is followed by whether the same American Express has been paid.
For many reasons, much like the one I am going to share now, the following pattern has been in position since around 1971.
I am her son and she is my hero.
I did not come out to my mother. I was outed to her.
It was not a mean outing as it was frankly my sister who “just thought it was time”; however, my mother was outraged. I had never seen her so angry and so hurt, but at my sister, not at me. While she was bitterly hurt that I had not told her earlier in life, she understood and was just angry that my sister had violated such a personal time and decision in my life, on my behalf. That anger lasted all of about 17 hours, when at a large St. Patrick’s Day party she attended with my father and almost everyone I had ever grown up with, a vile lesbian joke was told. Yes, her anger at my sister died that exact moment because she then accidentally outed me while telling the jokester at full volume what a fucker they were “on behalf of Drew and every other homosexual in the world”.
It was 8:07pm, on Monday, March 17, 1997 and I was suddenly out to everyone I had known my entire life.
Worse, I had not even been invited to the party.
Suffice it to say, that was an interesting week, but one that made me love that woman even more because she loved me for me and didn’t let the current thinking on gay sex in the South make her even blink. Coincidentally, I met Axel six months later. It was a good year.
Now, flash forward 17 years and we sat yesterday morning in the same room where most of that happened and we talked about the week ahead. This week, she was firing on all cylinders and it was so much fun and interesting at the same time.
Like every week, I sent a two week travel plan to her iPad to go over with her just to say where I will be (they have long given up on trying to figure out what I do). We went though this week and next week, which is the week of my birthday. See, in my family, we celebrate the week you were born versus the day which is a rather stupid tradition that means nothing yet everything as you get older. So, she noticed that I had one night and one and a half days in a familiar city to the north – Thumper’s city. She paused and smiled in that way that made my stomach twist and then we just went through the rest of the time (next week is multiple cities on both sides of the country).
A few minutes later she said, “Now Axel is not going with you to ____, right?”. I confirmed that which was followed by “Your father went to Washington a lot, do you remember that?” I do remember that but didn’t think much about it, but she followed it with “by the way, our microwave is not working right”, so I thought that was over. But, was she implying my Dad also has a locked submissive boyfriend in DC? Hmmmm.
A few minutes later, after examining the microwave, she said “Does (the city name) make you happy, Drew?” I said, “oh yes, very, it’s a great city” to which she then asked, “does it make Axel happy?” I said, “yeah, Mom, it does. It really does.” She closed the conversation by saying, “Great, I am glad that (city name) will be a part of your big birthday week”.
That was that and I am so confused. Axel says I should float the idea that I have a boyfriend there, but leave out how good he looks naked, collared, plugged, and that he has a metal penis. I disagree in that I think she should know everything except the plugged part – kidding.
I have no clue if we are on the same page as the other part of me thinks that they are worried that I am interviewing for a job and am hinting around about whether I might be moving, because they worry about that a great deal – mostly because they’d miss Stella.
The other part of me wants to thinks that she knows – something and is giving me her approval in an odd, cloistered fuck up way. The Momma’s boy in me really likes that idea and I think I am going to go with it.
If this continues, I may tell her, but if any of you have dealt with dementia before, you know it may never come up again. Ever. So, I am going to hang on to that 50 percent approval from my mother of my switch side who likes to spank bunnies, and just move on.
As a plus and continuing our inside joke, Thumper, you will have a friend at the funeral 🙂