Tigers

Have you all seen this? Well, watch it. It’s the poster-vid for the famous day.
Thanks to my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, Adam, who alerts me to all popular trends, hits and viral loads:



When I came out, back in the 80’s, my father looked at me, in that stylish basement in Ramsey, New Jersey, with the curved floor Zenith, and said, “I don’t care if you make love to tigers. You’re my son. I love you.”

I had it easy and my father always used every chance he could to be a little funny.

My mother was a little more dramatic about it. “You’ll never be happy,” she said. But she was basing this on someone who she was very close to, perhaps even a few men that she knew, at a time when gay men weren’t, in general, the blithest bunch. She got over it all very quickly.

In fact, I told her first. She said I should tell my father later that night. It all happened so fast, in one day. I thought it was going to be all sobbing and wailing and blaming and heaving of Teutonic bosoms. It was not at all like that.

My parents were people in the world and they knew there were lots of gay people in it. My Mom also said, “I’ve known since you were about eight years old.”

Was it the puppets? Me being in charge of all things Christmas? Or my articulate sensitive nature?

Does it matter?

Gay military friends, protect and service each other.