My Mother asks about Thumper, maybe.

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 🙂

3 thoughts on “My Mother asks about Thumper, maybe.

  1. My dad, who is disabled, is rapidly losing his short-term memory. It’s not dementia (yet), it’s just plain old age. But it is an incredible strain on my mother. I’m not around them – seperately or together – very often, but when I am, I hear the same things, over and over, even when we’ve *just* talked about it (whatever ‘it’ is). I do not have nearly the patience (nor the adoration) you describe in this post. You’re lucky to have such a positive relationship with your parents.

    This is the second time you’ve brought up your father’s past travels in relation to your own current city-visiting. Have you ever asked him what the DC thing was all about? (You alluded in a past post that he may, at one time, have had travel-based affair. So I totally get it if it’s something you don’t wish to delve into.) It might be a way to gain some insight as to where your mom is coming from with the bunny-city question. And it may open up an avenue for you to talk to your parents about Thumper if it’s something you wish to do. I can certainly relate to the desire to do so. I won’t be telling my parents anything about my S.O. any time soon, unfortunately. I’d love for my mom to know, and to meet him, but not my dad. It’s all or none with those two though, because my mom “doesn’t keep secrets” from my dad, and my dad… Lets just say he’s an atrocious gossip. Bleah.

    Anywhoo…

    Tangent. 🙂

    This was a sweet post, Drew. It made me smile.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for sharing your story about your parents. I so, so, so get those exact feelings you get when talking about the same things over and over again. That said, thank you for sharing your story about your parents. Have I told you that I get those exact feelings about talking about things over and over again?

      You bring up a point about my Dad, and, you know, I don’t want to know if he had an affair or affairs. It’s between the two of them, and not my business. What IF my Mom didn’t actually know? They have been together for so long that the absolute last thing I want to do is suddenly have them sharing infidelities. And, more importantly, I mean that in the “it’s too late” way for it to matter for me because it’s not going to make me feel less happy about what I am doing. Does that make sense?

      As for their hints about Thumper’s city, I am going to just let that play out until I have to say something. I know that I will never tell them about Thumper as my boyfriend. They already know about him as my friend and as someone I am planning a trip with this summer, but that’s all the need to know. To clarify, it’s not shame that is keeping me from sharing, but it’s their, specifically her, translation to others that worries me because facts get lost. For instance, last week I had oral surgery, they knew everything, but about an hour ago I got a text from my sister that said “Mom said you had shoulder surgery, what happened? why didn’t you tell me? she said you are already traveling and don’t even have a bandage?”. See? Can you just imagine the text I would get after that talk – something like “Mom says you are having bisexual sex with a rabbit and that his wife is with Axel?”. It’s just not worth it.

      If they push, all I have to do is say something like “Oh, I go there to get the updates for your Apple TV and iPhones” and they’d be completely at ease, since all things Apple perplex the fuck out of them for days!!

      Have I told you I get the exact feelings you get when talking to your parents about the same things over and over again?

      Liked by 1 person

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