Chapter 5
Jonathan had dinner at home with me that night, but he didn’t make any effort to help me make it like he usually did. He wasn’t shaken up any longer about his experience with Lily; in fact he said now it seemed like it was all a very bad dream. I truly wanted to talk honestly and openly with him, but nothing I said seemed to be the right thing. I began by telling him that Patrick had called last night.
“Really, what’s new with Patrick?” he asked, but he didn’t seem very interested.
“Well, I guess I really don’t know what’s new with him. I spent a long time telling him about your ordeal with Lily.”
“You mean you didn’t even ask him how the play is doing?”
“The play? What play?” Then I remembered that Patrick had a huge part in a play that had opened just two weeks ago. “No, Jonathan, I didn’t ask him! I didn’t even remember about the play until you just brought it up now! I was so worried about you….”
I could feel the air between us cool – his words were not conversational any more, but almost angry as he said, “Nice job, Mom. Don’t worry about me; what happened, happened, and I’m doing fine. Maybe I’ll give him a call and ask him myself.”
“I think it would be great if you called him. You and Patrick have always been close and now…” I’m not sure what I was going to say, but I stopped when I saw the look in Jonathan’s eyes. He was really getting annoyed with me, and he snapped, “And now what, Mom?”
“I don’t know, I just thought” – he stopped me mid-sentence.
“Stop, okay?” There was a long uncomfortable silence, until he tried to change the subject. “So, did you sell any houses today?”
“No sales today, but I do have some very interesting new clients,” I answered. “In fact I have to call them in a little while.”
“What’s so interesting about them?” he asked, but he was still on edge.
I sat there, trying to figure out what to say. It was obvious that I shouldn’t tell him Marshall and Bob were gay, and I couldn’t think of what to say. He went back to eating his dinner, probably accustomed to my quiet ways when I can’t think of what to say. We ate in silence for a while until I brought up colleges.
“Jonathan, have you thought about applying to any other colleges?” I asked.
“Any other colleges? No, I haven’t. It’s April, Mom. It’s really too late for that. We talked this over in the fall, and I’m going to State. I’m really very excited. Why are you asking me this?”
“It’s just that some schools…” I began to stumble for the right words, but I pushed on, “some schools have policies that are….” I knew I was not going to say the right thing at this point. I wondered how I could stop the conversation, but no idea came to me.
“That are what?”
“Oh, how should I say this? More. …tolerant.”
“More tolerant.” He repeated my words in a flat tone. He looked across the table at me. “STOP worrying, all right? Maybe this is why I put off telling you for so long. I really don’t want you worrying about it at all. I’m finished with my dinner. Do you want help cleaning up?”
I shook my head, because I knew I had crossed a line. My entire conversation throughout dinner had irked him, and it was definitely not what I was trying to do.
“Then I’m going out. Janey, Megan, and I are going to see a movie – maybe a few of the others, too.”
“Okay,” I answered, and he left very shortly after that. I began cleaning up the dinner dishes, as I tried to figure out what I was doing wrong. I felt like a bull in a china shop, so to speak. Everywhere I had turned, I had bumped into something with Jonathan. I had been so anxious to talk to him and give him my unconditional support, but nothing I said was right and I had done nothing to show my true feelings. I realized I had a lot to learn, and as with all parenting problems, there are no easy answers, no manuals to consult. I said a prayer that God would help me; I firmly believed He was with me always. I briefly thought about support groups for parents. It didn’t take me long to dismiss that idea. Groups are hard for me, and I had attended a few widow/widower support group meetings many years ago, but felt so uncomfortable that I stopped going.
Later, I called Marshall and Bob with some other houses they might consider. They put me on their speakerphone, and after we discussed a number of possibilities, they rejected a two of them and asked to me to set up viewings for the rest. Of course, they wanted morning times, before work if at all possible, and they didn’t want to see more than two in one day. While I understood they were not in a hurry, I knew they were very serious about buying a home. I set up viewings for early the next week, and hung up the phone.
I went into the family room and turned on the TV. I sat down and started to pick up my cross stitch, but ended up tuning into the program on the television. There was a brief news story about Matthew Shephard’s mother’s efforts. During the program, his mother had been interviewed, and my heart twisted as I thought of the pain she must be feeling. I wondered if I was feeling a special connection to her because now I knew I had a gay son, too, or if what I was feeling was simply human compassion. In just twenty-four hours, after hearing my son say a few simple words, it seemed that so many things were taking on new meanings. I had such a strong desire to talk to Jonathan about all of this, but after our unsuccessful dinner conversation, I knew I needed to find better ways of broaching these subjects with him. I turned off the television shortly after that show, feeling rather restless and looking for answers.
I had my own computer set up in the small office space that was part of the kitchen, and I checked my email. There was an inquiry for one of my real estate listings, which I answered, and a joke from my sister. As I was reading, I was only half-focusing on what was in front of me, while I tried to figure out how I could avoid awkward moments with Jonathan in the future. Not feeling too comfortable about group support, I wondered if I could find a book to help me understand all the things I need to about having a gay child? Maybe something entitled, Average People have Gay Children? However, after searching for a while, I came up empty handed. I found plenty of books on the subject, but nothing really that addressed of parenting. Next I relented and looked for support groups for parents of gays, which I quickly learned were for parents of gays, lesbians, bisexuals and trans-gendered individuals. There were online support groups and chats, meetings to attend in all fifty states, that sort of thing. I sat staring at the websites, contemplating this for some time. I concluded that I’m more of a reader than a group joiner. The idea of seeking comfort from strangers seemed odd for me, and I didn’t feel inclined to seek out strangers for this, any more than I had when Dick died. After thinking it over for a while, I decided I might need to develop my own informal support group, since I didn’t think the larger, more formal organization were for me. I asked myself if the fact that the groups included words bisexuals and trans-gendered put me off; perhaps that was too broad for me, a novice parent. I really can’t remember exactly how I came up with the idea of inviting Bob and Marshall for dinner, but as I sat there trying to figure out what to do, when the idea crossed my mind, it seemed like a brilliant brainstorm. In reality, the evening they came to dinner nearly ended up being a total disaster, although as things turned out, I did manage to sell a house that night without even trying.
I truly don’t know how Jonathan and I managed to get through the next few days; I know he was out of the house a lot that weekend, and when he was at home, he shut his door or had Janey or Megan with him. We didn’t really have any conversations that I remember and I didn’t push.
On Monday morning, I picked up Marshall and Bob to view the houses we had discussed the previous week. They were waiting for me as I drove up to their condominium, and we set off for to see two homes. Although they were very enthusiastic about the neighborhood, the first house just wasn’t what they were looking for. And it was just the opposite with the second
one, the house was great, but as they considered it, they felt the neighborhood wasn’t a place they would feel comfortable.
Marshall looked at me and gently said, “Mara, we’re not your average couple, you know. I feel I can speak frankly with you. We’re same sex, and inter-racial. The neighborhood we live in needs to be...tolerant.” And before I realized the words were coming out of my mouth, I responded by asking, “Would you two like to come to dinner?”
They looked at each other and I saw Bob’s right eyebrow go up just a little. Marshall, who had not been as talkative as our first meeting, flashed his wonderful smile at me and said, “Mara, what are you asking us? Come to dinner…where? When?” And he probably wondered why, too, but he was kind enough not to ask. Certainly I had not given a rational response to their need for a tolerant neighborhood.
I realized that I hadn’t really said anything that led up to the invitation, although mentally, I’d given it a great deal of thought. I had several reasons for asking them. One important reason was Jonathan would see how great they were as a couple, something he had never seen with Patrick, who never stayed in a relationship for more than two years. I thought that would be great. I also wanted to show my own tolerance and acceptance.
“I meant at my house. I have enjoyed showing you the houses so much that you feel like more than my usual customers. I was thinking about Saturday….”
“I’m guessing we’re not like your ‘usual’ customers!” Marshall smiled at me again. He looked at Bob and said, “Yes, I think we would like to come to dinner. What should we bring? A bottle of wine? Dessert?”
“Oh, just bring yourselves,” I replied rather grandly. Inwardly, I thought, how could I ask them to bring anything when I had no idea what I’m going to serve? But I had five days to figure it out.