As a writer, I simply cannot just “change my profile” or hit
the “like button” on a red box to tell of my journey of acceptance of gays. I needed to write it down, so I finally knew
what I thought.
As a young girl, growing up in a small town, whose
population was predominantly white and Catholic, I had little exposure to
anyone considered a minority. There was
Jon, an African-American, who worked at my dad’s shoe store. Inherently funny,
and creative, I never saw him as black, only a person in my father’s employ.
There were the Puerto Ricans, yes, they were from Puerto
Rico, which Lorain County at the time had the highest population of Puerto
Ricans per capita, other than New York City.
They were customers at one if my father’s store, which had been located
in South Lorain, known for its crime, yet my father and uncle still chose to
situate a store there to serve that population.
When working in that store, I learned a new language, and watched many customers
pay using food stamps. I often wondered
about my father’s choice in location, but he never shied away from assigning us
duties there. I can’t say I accepted or
denied the existence of Puerto Ricans as minorities. After all, they were bascially
the entire customer base. But I did
treat them like anyone else shoe shopping, and, they had the BEST taste in
shoes.
In high school, I recall one young woman who we always
suspected of being a lesbian, and as young people, we all threw around the terms
of gay, lesbian and homosexual, as if we knew what we were talking about. We
were so naïve.
As I went off to college, my field hardly allowed for
exposure to gays. The math and sciences
were dominated by young white, Asian, Indian or other foreign-born males. The
gays were majoring in other fields, more artistic endeavors, at least that was
the perception in the 80’s. However, I did
feel myself the minority within these male circles, and fought to overcome my
insecurities every day. I could never
discern if Lebanon-born Maher was approaching me for a date, or to converse in
COBOL but we persevered regardless, and I was blessed to attend his citizenship
ceremony two years later.
Later began a series of jobs, undertakings which took me
inside the corporate world, but never inside the world of where the gays lived.
It was only known to me that in Cincinnati, Northside supported a strong
population of gays.
Then, I met Phebe.
I had been active in a writing center, Women Writing for a
Change, for several years, having had outstanding support during the publishing
of my book and other endeavors. I was
leading a group of women who were creating a new podcast show for WWFC, and
someone mentioned asking Phebe.
I had heard Phebe’s name in other circles at WWFC, but we
had never met. All I knew of Phebe was
that she had gone through the WWFC leadership training and she was a
lesbian. One day, my husband and I were
in, of all places, Northside, and bumped into Phebe at a lunch spot. We had just been in contact with her to join
our group, so she and I both considered the run-in fortuitous.
I could not know in that instant that Phebe was a rock star
in the Gay-Lesbian world in Cincinnati, having been the archivist of the GL
archives, that she had promoted diversity before I had been born, that she was
a poetess extraordinaire, who, as I discovered when I read her poetry, saw the
world in the same way I did, or better yet, captured it in word in the same
manner as myself.
As I began to know Phebe better, I watched her, as she
struggled to find a meaningful relationship. She was approaching or maybe had
hit sixty, and this seemed to elude her in life. Perhaps it was because, for
Phebe, the act of loving a person wholly and committing to them for one’s
entire life had been considered a sin, an act of treason against the sanctity
of marriage. I always wonder if that had
held some back.
One afternoon, she arrived for a meeting, literally floating
on air. She had met Judy. I swear Phebe stayed afloat the entire length
of the meeting, and probably drifted back home, unable to recall the events of
the meeting, or the commitments she had made.
We, my circle members and myself, watched in awe as this
sixty something became a teen, anxious for phone calls from Judy, coffee with
Judy. The relationship progressed and the excitement heightened as Judy moved
in.
I have been fortunate to meet Judy, hosting her in a writing
circle, and embracing her during events at WWFC. I feel like I know her, in the
same way Phebe would embrace my husband Mark and my kids.
In my darkest times, Phebe not only brought me joy, and
modeled happiness and reckless abandon and love, but she taught me a lot about
self-care, as she instituted it for herself. Her emails to me, when I had to
back out of commitments due to parent duties or shoulder rehab were full of
reminders to care for the self first. “Go slowly and let everyone else wait,”
were words that echoed inside my head each day.
Phebe is at once friend, writing sister, and mother. To many
writers, she is a mid-wife of their words.
When it was time for me to return to a writing circle, I chose one Phebe was leading. I was in need of a mid-wife and
mother.
I often thought it was a shame she didn’t have children, even
though she owned a few dogs. If she had had
children, or for any child with gay parents, I would hope they would not similarly
be knocked over by the pendulum that has been swinging back and forth on the
issue of gay marriage.
Perhaps I am a bit like Rob Portman, impacted only when coming face to face with these issues. I
always said though, if people knew Phebe, they would never take a stand against
gays or lesbians again. I also believe gays and lesbians are some of the truest people I know. They have done the
soul work. Their commitments run deeper because they have had to dig deeper to
make them.
So, I will stand tall in defense of Phebe and her choice to
love and marry, despite the great struggles it brings, despite what the courts
decide. The pendulum has swung. I hope we don’t knock everyone over once
more.
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