John Corvino

Tag: everyday life

  • Luxury vs. Charity

    First published at Between the Lines News on July 9, 2009

    Some years ago I attended a seminar on charitable giving in the GLBT community. The event was aimed toward affluent donors, and judging by the cars in the parking lot, it hit its target. (I drove an old Nissan at the time, and was invited strictly because of my connection with one of the charities.)

    One of the speakers exhorted the crowd to forgo certain luxuries in order to make a greater charitable impact. “An inexpensive car will get you from point A to point B just as well as a BMW will,” she said, “and with the savings you can make a real difference in another person’s life.” Most attendees were nodding politely, when a mouthy acquaintance of mine stood up.

    “Look,” he began, “most of us had a really hard time growing up gay. We were taunted by our peers, and many of us felt alone and miserable. So now we’re enjoying some creature comforts. I worked hard to get where I am, and I’m not about to start driving a Chevy.”

    I was sitting next to said mouthy acquaintance, and I sank in my chair. True, few people expected the attendees to follow the speaker’s suggestion. But it seemed obnoxious to point that out at the time.

    But why? Is it selfish to want luxuries while others are in need, or merely unseemly to say so?

    Luxury is a relative term, of course. If you have a car with crank windows, then power windows—which are standard equipment on most cars sold in the U.S.—may seem like a luxury. If you have to take the bus to work, having a car at all may seem like a luxury. If you live in a developing nation, buses may seem like a luxury. And so on.

    Conversely, as we grow more accustomed to certain “luxuries,” they start to feel like necessities. My first car had vinyl seats—but hey, I had a car! The next one had plush fabric seats, which I thought were cool. Then I graduated to leather seats, which I thought were even cooler. Today I have HEATED leather seats, and I doubt I’m ever going back.

    “But you NEED heated seats in Detroit,” my mother told me when I fretted over whether they were an extravagance. Funny, but I spent nine years here without them and managed to get around all the same.

    I don’t think gays are any more prone to these tendencies than anyone else. To the extent that we fit this stereotype, it is largely because most of us don’t have children, which means that, on average, (a) we have more “disposable” income than those who do and (b) we can worry more about whether the sofa looks good, for example, than whether it will resist jam stains.

    Of course, the fact that we can spend our money on things like fancy cars and fabulous sofas doesn’t mean that we should. Given the current desperate situation of many charitable organizations, the moral implications of luxury are worth pondering.

    I’ll use myself as an example, just to show that I’m not trying to wag my finger at anyone else.

    My partner and I recently put a new kitchen in our house. We do a lot of entertaining—including fundraising events—and most of our friends thought it was an excellent investment. I do too. I love it every day.

    But meals from the old kitchen were just as nutritious and tasty.

    And the old kitchen was, despite being ugly, cheap, and poorly installed, only eight years old. (It was put in by the prior owner, who “flipped” the house. It is now installed in the basement, where we use it as a backup kitchen for parties.)

    And the thousands of dollars we spent on the new one could have helped people who lack not merely kitchens, but food itself.

    So if I’m going to bristle at my mouthy acquaintance’s “I’m not going to drive a Chevy” comment, I had better be able to explain why I’m no longer cooking in a cheap—but perfectly serviceable—kitchen.

    Ultimately, it’s because I don’t believe that moral values always trump aesthetic ones. A moral calculus would be undesirable and unsustainable if it condemned any action that could be replaced by one more virtuous.

    Consider the alternative: any money you spend on an ice cream cone could go to Oxfam—so no more ice cream cones. Ditto for art, music, and dance, the absence of which is tragic but not life-threatening. That money you plan to spend on movie tickets could save a life someday.

    It’s not just money at stake, but time. Every minute you spend watching TV, playing games, reading novels—or for that matter, reading this column—could be spent volunteering at the local soup kitchen.

    And what about sex? Gays are hardly the only ones to engage in non-procreative sex, an activity for which we—though generally not others—get labeled as “indulgent.” But sexual intimacy, like many of these other things, is surely an ingredient of a well-lived life.

    I don’t pretend to know how to strike the perfect balance—if there is one. (If you want someone that has all the answers, don’t read my column. Try Dr. Laura.)

    I do know that most of us—me included—could and should give more to charity, and the arts, and other important causes. I admire those who live simply for the sake of helping others. But—I freely admit—I also admire nice cars, clothes, and kitchens.

  • Dangerous Campsite?

    First published at 365gay.com on July 3, 2009

    “What do you think about my having sex with an 18-year-old?” a thirtysomething friend asked.

    What do I think? Tread carefully.

    Notice I said “Tread carefully,” not “Run in the other direction,” which was my initial gut reaction. So let me fill in some background.

    The legal age of consent where these two live (Michigan) is 16. The 18-year-old is a recent high-school graduate. The thirtysomething guy has no interest in running for mayor of Portland.

    The 18-year-old quite clearly initiated the flirtation between the two, and wants it to go further. This I observed personally, as I was present when they met.

    Like most 18-year-old guys, he’s horny. He has not been impressed, thus far, with other guys he has met (usually on the internet).

    The thirtysomething guy is good-looking, thoughtful, kind, and healthy. I’d rather see the 18-year-old hook up with him than with many of the guys he’s likely to encounter.

    Aside from the age difference, and the accompanying educational and economic differences, there are no other obvious power imbalances (which is not to diminish the significance of those just mentioned). The 18-year old is not the thirtysomething’s student, or intern, or employee, for example.

    Neither of them plans for this to be an ongoing thing—or so they now say. Recalling my own youthful tendency to fall hard for anyone who showed me romantic attention, one concern I had (and voiced) is that the 18-year-old might quickly want more than this relationship is likely to offer.

    On the other hand, that risk—along with many of the others that come to mind—could arise in a peer relationship as well, the difference being that I trust my thirtysomething friend’s ability to handle the situation better than I trust most youths’.

    All relationships carry risks, as the thirtysomething guy knows and the 18-year-old will learn in his own time. That includes risks for the older partner. The dynamics of power can shift when one falls in love or lust.

    Regarding relationships with younger partners, the ever-insightful Dan Savage proposes his “campsite rule”: “leave ’em in better shape than you found ’em.”

    Specifically, he says, “Don’t get ‘em pregnant, don’t give ‘em diseases, and don’t lead ‘em to believe that a long-term relationship is even a remote possibility.” Also, work to ensure that they emerge from the relationship with “improved sexual skills.”

    Needless to say, the general campsite rule is a good rule for all sexual relationships. Non-sexual ones, too. But it becomes especially important with the young, who are vulnerable sexually.

    The flip side of that vulnerability is receptiveness to positive input. Just as a bad sexual relationship during your formative years can permanently scar you, a good one can be a great blessing, instilling salutary habits. (Such as: Use a condom every time. Tell your partner what feels good—and what doesn’t. Watch your teeth. And so on.)

    All else being equal, an experienced partner can teach such things better than a novice.

    Some will balk at this endorsement of “casual” sex. Yes, sex can be a deep, meaningful thing in the context of a committed relationship. But it can also be a safe and highly pleasurable experience between relative strangers, and I don’t think the casual kind now undermines the committed kind later. On the contrary, it can help train one—physically and emotionally—for the committed kind.

    Many people harbor the peculiar idea that sex requires no training. We’re supposed to be able to do it instinctively, the way birds pushed from the nest fly. No wonder the world has so many lousy lovers.

    I’m not suggesting that the solution is for older folks to start cruising high school parking lots. Let’s face it: there are plenty of unscrupulous characters who are all too eager to manipulate the young.

    My friend is not in that category.

    However, one might argue that the fact that so many ARE in that category is a good reason for endorsing a bright-line rule against sex with younger partners.

    I agree that bright-line rules are sometimes necessary. For example, while some 13-year-olds would make better drivers than many adults, we don’t issue them licenses.

    Legally, Michigan law sets that bright line at 16 for sex. (Other states vary.) I’m not convinced that the moral bright line in this case should be different, and I certainly don’t think that it should be over 18.

    As one friend put it, crudely but accurately, “There are worse things you can do to an eager 18-year-old than give him a good blow job.”

    I would add that, if you keep the campsite rule in mind, are honest and kind, and strive to be a good mentor, you might in fact do him a considerable service.

  • Why it Matters that Adam Lambert Came Out

    First published at 365gay.com on June 12, 2009

    So, Adam Lambert comes out in the latest issue of Rolling Stone, and you’re thinking, “What’s next? Rolling Stone announces ‘Water is wet’”?

    I get where you’re coming from. But there are deeper lessons to be gleaned.

    First, notice how Lambert comes out—in a music magazine, with his sexuality occupying a relatively minor portion of the article. And he does so with the candid yet indirect phrasing “I don’t think it should be a surprise for anyone to hear that I’m gay.” The gayness is almost taken for granted—embedded in a sentence about public reaction, rather than placed front and center.

    That approach reflects a larger trend in how society—and in particular, younger generations—view gayness: as a simple matter-of-fact, not something to be belabored. The contrast with Clay Aiken’s “Yes, I’m Gay” People Magazine cover is subtle but important.

    And yet, second, there’s an ambivalence in the article that captures the national tone on the issue. Lambert says, “It shouldn’t matter. Except it does. It’s really confusing.”

    He’s right on all three counts.

    “It shouldn’t matter.” American Idol is a singing competition, and Lambert wanted to—and should—be judged on his vocal performance. His decision to wait until after Idol to answer the gay question, he claims, stemmed from his desire that his sexuality not overshadow his singing. (It may also have stemmed from a desire for votes, and I couldn’t blame him for that. It’s not as if he lied about being gay or took great pains to hide it.)

    “Except it does [matter].” As Lambert himself put it in the interview, “There’s the old industry idea that you should just make sexuality a non-issue, just say your private life’s your private life, and not talk about it. But that’s bullshit, because private lives don’t exist anymore for celebrities: they just don’t.”

    The music industry doesn’t just sell songs; it sells images. For better or worse, personal backstory is part of that (especially on Idol).

    What’s more, gay celebrities give hope to closeted gay kids, who need to know that they’re not alone and who sometimes don’t have gay role models in their everyday lives. That’s not to say that Adam Lambert is any more representative of gay life than any other gay person. It’s just to say that his representation, such as it is, will reach more people.

    “It’s really confusing.” Yes indeed. We live in a nation where, for some people, much of the time, gayness is a non-issue, and for others, virtually constantly, it’s huge. American Idol is one of those “common denominator” phenomena (say that three times fast!) where these different groups interact with each other. Often they can do so while avoiding the issue of sexuality. But not always.

    And the tension here is not just between groups; it’s also internal. When Lambert says, “I’m proud of my sexuality. I embrace it. It’s just another part of me,” he unwittingly raises a question—one that opponents often hurl at us: “Why be ‘proud’ of something that’s ‘just another part’ of you?” Why take pride in a trait that you didn’t choose and is supposed to be no big deal?

    Answer: because it is a big deal. It does matter. Maybe in an ideal world it wouldn’t, but we are still far from that world.

    Ironically, it’s a big deal precisely because our opponents insist on making it a big deal. Thanks to them, Adam Lambert (like every gay person) has to negotiate the issue of revealing his sexuality in a way that straight people never do. I think he’s handled it admirably.

    Lambert told Rolling Stone that “I’m trying to be a singer, not a civil rights leader.” Fair enough. But it’s also fair to note that civil-rights change doesn’t only come from civil-rights leaders. It also comes from countless small acts of revelation by ordinary and not-so-ordinary people, including Adam Lambert.

  • That’s How I Was Raised

    First published at Between the Lines News on June 11, 2009

    A recent New York Times Magazine article spotlighted a shocking vestige of our nation’s racism: segregated proms. It focused on one school in Georgia’s Montgomery County, though the practice is common across the rural South.

    I say “shocking” even though I personally wasn’t surprised. One of my best friends is from rural Tennessee. His alma mater still segregates superlatives: White Most Likely to Succeed, Black Most Likely to Succeed; Funniest White, Funniest Black, and so on.

    The white students quoted in the Times article expressed some reservations about the practice, but generally concluded with “It’s how it’s always been…It’s just a tradition.” In the words of Harley Boone, a platinum blond girl with beauty-queen looks who co-chaired last year’s white prom, “It doesn’t seem like a big deal around here. It’s just what we know and what our parents have done for so many years.”

    “It’s just what we know.” Miss Boone reminded me of another beauty queen, in both her appearance and her comment: Miss California USA Carrie Prejean.

    Miss Prejean, you’ll recall, when asked her beliefs about marriage equality, responded (in part), “I believe that a marriage should be between a man and a woman. No offense to anybody out there, but that’s how I was raised.”

    How I was raised. Tradition. What our parents have done. This is not, in itself, a bad reason for doing something. It explains why I set the table the way I do, for instance, or why I always put an extra unlit candle on a birthday cake (“good luck for the next year,” my mom always told me). It explains, too, more substantial practices—how we gather, celebrate milestones, express joy, or mourn loss. No generation does, or should, invent everything from scratch.

    And yet, sometimes “what we know”—or thought we knew—stops working, or never worked very well in the first place.

    I used to load the dishwasher with the forks tines down—because that’s how my parents did and still do it—until I realized they get cleaner tines up (in my dishwasher, anyway, and please don’t send me irate e-mails if yours is different).

    Spotty forks are one thing. Racial and sexual inequalities are quite another. When traditions cause palpable harm to people, it’s time to change. At that point, rethinking tradition is not merely optional, as in the dishwasher case—it’s morally mandatory.

    And that’s why Prejean’s “how I was raised” comment struck so many of us as a dumb answer. No educated person can justifiably claim ignorance of the challenges gay individuals and couples face. We gays are deprived of a fundamental social institution, treated unequally in the eyes of the law, and told that our deep, committed, loving relationships are inferior, counterfeit, or depraved. In the face of such injustice, “that’s how I was raised” sounds hollow and cowardly.

    There are those who bristle at any analogy between homophobia and racial injustice. Indeed, a favorite new right-wing strategy is to claim that liberals unfairly label as “bigots” anyone who opposes same-sex marriage, even on the basis of sincere moral and religious convictions.

    But that’s one reason why the analogy is so powerful, and so revealing. It shows that citing “sincere moral and religious convictions” doesn’t get one a free pass for maintaining unjust institutions.

    No analogy compares two things that are exactly the same. (That would not be an analogy, but an identity.) Analogies compare two or more things that are similar in some relevant respect(s). The similarities can be instructive.

    The white citizens of Montgomery County, Georgia, seem like a nice enough bunch. They don’t carry pitchforks or wear hooded robes. I doubt that Miss Boone ever uses the n-word, although her grandparents probably do. (Mine did, too, until we grandchildren protested loudly enough.) They are otherwise decent folk misled by powerful tradition.

    I’m sure that, pressed for further explanation, many of these folks could make the right noises about doing what’s best for their children and eventual grandchildren. And much like “that’s just what we know,” that response would sound familiar. Opponents of marriage equality use it constantly.

    But don’t marriage-equality opponents have social-science data backing them up? They don’t. Yes, they have data about how children fare in fatherless households, for example, and then they extrapolate from that data to draw conclusions about lesbian households. The problem is that there are too many confounding variables. So then they fall back on their “vast untested social experiment” argument: we just don’t know how this is going to turn out. Which, again, is precisely the sort of thing we might expect the Montgomery parents to say to justify their “tradition.”

    From the fact that two groups of people use the same forms of argument, it doesn’t follow that their conclusions are equally good or bad. It depends on the truth of their premises.

    Still, the tendency of both segregationists and marriage-equality opponents to hide behind “that’s how I was raised” provides a powerful analogy—in moral laziness.

  • Adam Lambert’s “Loss”

    First published at 365gay.com on May 22, 2009

    At the risk of stating the obvious, let me say that Adam Lambert is going to be just fine.

    I’ll say it anyway because, barely minutes after Kris Allen was announced as the “upset” winner of American Idol, my Facebook feed was loaded with status updates declaring Adam’s loss a “hate crime,” with people vowing to take the streets to protest (on the eve of the anniversary of the White Night riots, no less).

    I trust that their histrionics were limited to message boards, and that the streets are safe from drama. There will soon enough be events worth marching about.

    None of which is to diminish the importance of Lambert’s nearly winning America’s blockbuster musical talent competition as a more-or-less openly gay performer. Sure, it’s not DOMA, or DADT, or ENDA. But if greater issues always displaced lesser ones, there would be no justification for watching American Idol in the first place—or for art of any sort.

    As for those who think that a contestant’s sexuality is nobody’s business, I’ll buy that the moment we apply the same standard to straight performers. Kris Allen’s wife, explicitly identified, was a regular presence. Third-placer Danny Gokey, as we heard repeatedly, is a widower. Family backstory is standard Idol fare. But Lambert, as Entertainment Weekly’s Mark Harris aptly put it, “was apparently made by the hand of God and left in a basket backstage at Wicked.”

    Should Lambert have beat Allen? Lambert is the clearly more talented singer and performer, though Allen is not without his charms.

    Lambert is also queer—in the broad sense of that term. Put aside the internet pictures of him in drag making out with other guys. Many Idol voters were unaware of such pictures, despite their being aired, for example, by Bill O’Reilly on Fox News. (O’Reilly did so under the guise of “Will America have a problem with this?” but it’s hard to believe he wasn’t trying precisely to provoke such a problem.)

    Many Idol voters surely also missed Lambert’s skillful non-answers to media questions about his sexuality. ”I know who I am,” he told Entertainment Weekly when asked the gay question. “I’m an honest guy, and I’m just going to keep singing.”

    But no viewer could miss Lambert’s flamboyant costumes, his outrageous high notes, or his eyeliner. Whatever his romantic interests, Adam Lambert reads queer. And that’s new territory for Idol. While Clay Aiken, the last gay near-winner, projected “wholesome,” Lambert screams “edgy.” (It’s a pitch-perfect scream, held impossibly long, which pierces the audience.)

    And that’s why, despite Lambert’s superior vocal skills, Allen’s victory was unsurprising. American Idol contestants win by getting the most votes, and the average American doesn’t typically vote for queer. That’s part of what makes it queer, after all.

    Nonetheless, Lambert seems no less a victor, and I hope he’s basking in his glory right now, eyeliner and all.

    He made it to the final round while unabashedly being himself (in his appearance and performance, if not in direct response to interview questions). He has solidified his reputation as a consummate entertainer. He will no doubt go on to have a great career, far more successful than Allen’s, and probably even more successful than the career he would have had were he constrained by the packaging that comes with the “Idol” title.

    Meanwhile, he has taught America something, if not about gays, then at least about “queers.” He has “mad skills”, yes—but he was also unfailingly polite, consistently expressing gratitude for the behind-the-scenes folks who developed his arrangements. He graciously expressed admiration for his competitors, including Allen. He was edgy, but not off-putting—all of which made it easier for people to see the main thing: his tremendous talent.

    Besides injecting new life into Idol, Lambert also appears to have changed its culture. Idol has always struck me as a homophobic show, not just because of the noticeable absence of openly gay performers, but also because of the juvenile gay innuendo that regularly takes place between judge Simon Cowell and host Ryan Seacrest. That innuendo seems to have dramatically decreased this season—no doubt partly due to Lambert.

    It will be interesting to see, now that Lambert must shift his attention from votes to sales, whether he chooses to talk more explicitly about his sexuality. I look forward to what he has to say. But I look forward even more to what he’s going to sing.

  • Growing Older, Gratefully

    First published at Between the Lines News on May 21, 2009

    This column hits the internet on the eve of my fortieth birthday. Forgive a middle-aged columnist for indulging in some reminiscing.

    Little reminders of my age keep creeping up, like the fact that I had to re-word the last sentence after initially writing “This column hits the newsstands…” My column used to appear in print (and still does, in some markets). At least I’ve learned to say “music store” instead of “record store,” though I don’t think I’ve purchased a record since 6th grade. (It was Billy Joel’s Glass Houses.) And even saying “music store” probably dates me.

    When I came out at 19, there was no internet. Usually, we met other gays by going to gay bars—when we could find them. When traveling, I’d grab the local phone book (remember those?) and hope to locate something under “Gay,” “Lambda” or “Rainbow.” Then I’d look for a pay phone.

    If the telephone search didn’t work, I had an alternate method. I’d go to the nearest mall and find a Gap, where nine times out of ten I could spot a gay salesclerk. (Yes it’s a stereotype, but it was a useful one at the time.) I would chat him up so he would fill me in on the local scene—no joking. Who needs gaydar.com when you have plain old-fashioned gaydar?

    Reflecting on ways the world has changed during my life, I feel a bit like my grandfather when he talks about when gas was twenty cents a gallon. (Did I mention that, after locating the gay bar, I would walk ten miles to get there, uphill, both ways?)

    Like my grandfather, I do find myself occasionally referring to “these kids today.”

    As a college professor, I know many of these “kids” as students. When I started teaching, I wasn’t much older than they. Blessed with a youthful countenance, I could easily be mistaken for their peer. (And yes, the photo accompanying this column is recent.) Now I’m old enough to be their dad—something I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around.

    I am both awed and pleased by some of the ways in which their lives will differ from mine. Mainly, I’m filled with gratitude.

    Most of these kids don’t know what it’s like to start a gay and lesbian group at schools that don’t have one, and then watch as all of their flyers get either torn down or scribbled with words like “faggot.” I’m grateful that such frequent ugliness has become the exception rather than the rule in America.

    Most of these kids don’t know what it’s like to live in a world where, in most people’s minds, gay=AIDS=death. I came out in 1988. AZT was just becoming available, and protease inhibitors were some time off. I watched friends and acquaintances die with alarming speed. I’m grateful that most of today’s youth don’t know that horror—although I wish they would take more care with their sexual choices.

    These kids live in a world where, in a handful of places, they can marry whom they love. Seeing this as possible, those in the other places can hope for, and work for, change. I’m grateful for that progress.

    I’m grateful that gay sex is no longer criminal in any U.S. state—though grieved that it still warrants the death penalty in parts of the world. For seven years of my adult life I lived in a state where homosexual sodomy was criminal. I cried tears of gratitude when that changed, thanks to the Supreme Court’s Lawrence v. Texas decision in 2003.

    I know that there’s much work left to be done, and I’m grateful to be a part of that work.

    I’m grateful for readers from around the world who send me words of encouragement. I’m grateful for family and friends who have supported me. And I’m grateful for my partner Mark, who has been the love of my life for the last seven-and-a-half years. He, more than anyone else, makes me look forward to the next forty.

    All in all, it’s a good world out there, which makes growing older something to embrace.

  • Hoping for a Warmer Mother’s Day

    First published at 365gay.com on May 9, 2009

    Sunday will be Mother’s Day, and I’ll be thinking about various mothers in my life.

    My own mother, with whom I have a great relationship. She and my father live in another state and will be coming to visit me several days later.

    My two grandmothers, who both died a few years ago but were a big part of my life. They enter my memory frequently.

    And my mother-in-law, with whom I have a more, um, challenging relationship.

    We got off to a rocky start. Mark and I dated for several years before he came out to his parents. They did not take his gayness, or my presence in his life, well. To them, I was “that man”—they never would use my name—who corrupted their son.

    For a long time, they refused to meet me. Eventually we ambushed them. One day, Mark’s sister invited everyone out to lunch. “We won’t tell them you’re coming,” she explained sympathetically. “In a public place, they’ll have to be nice to you.”

    When they arrived at the restaurant, Mark took a deep breath and blurted out, “Mom, Dad, this is John.”

    “Nice to meet you,” I offered. His mother responded with a look that could wilt flowers.

    So a policy of mutual avoidance continued until his sister’s wedding, an event that neither of us was willing to miss. What’s more, my own parents would be in attendance. My Sicilian mother meets my Filipino mother-in-law. An irresistible force meets an immovable object. No one knew what to expect.

    Mark’s parents and my parents interacted cordially. Then, surprisingly and without explanation, things changed.

    Perhaps seeing us interact with my parents made my in-laws realize that they were missing out on their son’s life. Perhaps they were simply impressed that I had parents, rather than having emerged directly from hell.

    Whatever it was, they softened—dramatically. They began to accept our invitations to get together. They visited our home, and we visited theirs. In short, the ice thawed.

    I’ve lived long enough to know that such transitions, like springtime in Michigan, can’t always be trusted. One hopes for the best, but it’s wise not to plant the summer garden or put the winter blankets away too early. I was reminded of this a week or so ago, when I attended Mark’s cousin’s wedding.

    After the groom danced with his mother, all mothers and sons were invited to join in for the “Mother/Son dance.” So Mark led his mother to the dance floor while I picked at my salad and pondered the overbearing heterosexuality of wedding customs. Bride dances with groom. Bride dances with father. Groom dances with mother. Closeted gay uncle dances with grandma. And so on.

    Mark returned from the dance floor quickly. Too quickly.

    “You are not going to believe what she just said to me,” he blurted out. “She said that she wishes this were my wedding, and that she’s praying that I’ll find a nice girl.”

    Later on we would discover that she had approached several cousins to enlist them in the “nice girl” search. (Thankfully, they all told her that he had already found someone nice and that she was being ridiculous.)

    How does one interact with a mother-in-law who is praying for one’s replacement? Very carefully, of course.

    I don’t take her sentiments personally, though they do make me alternately angry and sad.

    Mainly, I find it exasperating that a mother who so clearly loves her son could be so blind to what actually makes him happy, or to the presence in his life of someone else who loves him.

    And yes, I do think she’s acting out of love, despite those who would (indeed did) accuse her of being horribly selfish. Human motives are almost always mixed. But I get where she’s coming from.

    Like most parents, she wants her son to be happy. She has a certain picture, drawn from her own life, about what adult happiness consists in: husband, wife, and children. And she spent three decades hoping for, praying for, and generally expecting Mark to have that picture of happiness. Change is hard.

    So my strategy with her is to keep doing what I’ve been doing: treating her like a family member, despite her ongoing resistance to being one for me. We continue to interact cordially. For me to confront her about what she said would be counterproductive. (Mark’s doing so is another matter.)

    I’m grateful for the fact that we have made progress. It is now possible for us all to get together without my ambushing them, or without flower-wilting glares. But the détente is far from perfect.

    So Sunday is Mother’s Day, and we’ve invited her and his father out to eat. I don’t know if they’ll show up. But I continue to hope and believe that, despite the unexpected frost, springtime will come.

  • Transgender Day of Visibility

    First published at Between the Lines News on April 2, 2009

    March 31 is Transgender Day of Visibility. I’m supposed to participate in a panel that day. I’m a bit apprehensive.

    Like many gay people, I tend to tiptoe around transgender issues. This surprises some straight people I know. They say, “But as a GLBT person yourself…”

    But I’m not a GLBT person. I’m a G person. (Nobody is a GLBT person. You get two letters at most, and that’s only if one of them is T.)

    One of my earliest experiences with the transgender community involved an angry trans woman standing up after one of my lectures in the mid-90’s.

    “You’ve talked for an hour about gay and lesbian issues,” she griped, “but you’ve said nothing about ME. An hour-long lecture and not a word about me.”

    I remember at the time not knowing quite how to respond. I figured she was referring to transgender issues, because I was pretty sure she was trans. She was about 6’2”, and to put it bluntly, she had man-hands.

    But I didn’t want to say, “Oh, you’re transgender.” Because if I said, “Oh, you’re transgender,” I might come across as saying, “Oh, you’re transgender…

    “…and not very convincing at it.”

    Isn’t it rude to guess? To me, it’s like trying to figure out if someone you know is pregnant, or just getting fat. Better to wait until she brings it up.

    Of course, sometimes waiting is not an option, such as when a person’s gender presentation is ambiguous and you need to refer to “him” or “her.” You can only switch to the plural “they” for so long before it becomes obvious that you’re avoiding gendered pronouns. I actually had this problem once with a student, whose name was as gender-ambiguous as [his? her? their?] clothing. Turns out she was a MTF who deliberately skated the line as “genderqueer”—something I discovered only when other students filled me in. But absent such informants, how does one politely ask?

    Regarding my angry questioner, though, I had no such doubts—just doubts about how to respond to her “nothing about me” complaint.

    At the time, I think I said something like “I don’t know you, so how can I talk about you?” That was a reasonable answer then. But what about now?

    The truth is I still hardly ever talk or write about transgender issues. That’s partly because I’m no expert on them. There are only so many minutes in an hour (or lines in a column), and you can’t cover everything.

    But to be frank, it’s also partly because I’m nervous about offending people whom society has already hurt enough. It’s a touchy subject, and like many touchy subjects, it’s often easier for those of us without a direct stake in it simply to avoid it.

    And that’s probably as good a reason for Transgender Day of Visibility as any. Our discomfort around the issue—I know I’m not alone in this—means that we’ve got some learning to do. Bravo to those trans people willing to come out and teach us.

    Some gay people wonder why we get lumped with the transgender community at all. Sexual orientation is one thing, they say, and gender identity is another.

    That’s true as far as it goes, and perhaps it’s better to talk about our overlapping communitieS than about a single GLBT community.

    Still, the alliance makes sense insofar as both (overlapping) groups suffer from rigid social expectations about sex and gender. Compare “If you’re born biologically male, you should grow up to be a man” with “If you’re born biologically male, you should grow up to love a woman.” The similarities between the two inferences seem to outweigh the differences.

    Then there are those who question whether linking GLB to T might slow down GLB political progress, insofar as society has a harder time with trans issues than sexual- orientation issues.

    Even if you find those who raise such questions insensitive, it’s hard to argue that they’re being irrational. In general, society does have a harder time with trans people than gay, lesbian, or bisexual people, which is one reason why the trans community needs and deserves our support.

    The bottom line is that there are a lot of us who could benefit from frank and open dialogue about all of these issues. Transgender Day of Visibility is an important step in that direction, and gays—and everyone else—should support it.

  • Why Not Plural Marriage?

    First published at 365gay.com on March 23, 2009

    Recent discussions of various civil-union proposals have revived some familiar questions, including “Why limit such recognition to couples, as opposed to larger groups?” and “Why limit it to romantic/sexual couples, as opposed to other interdependent relationships?”

    Such questions come from various quarters, including both friends and foes of marriage equality. Although they’re sometimes offered as “gotcha” challenges, they deserve serious reflection.

    I was mulling them over recently when two events occurred that hinted at an answer.

    The first was a phone call from my home-security monitoring company about a false alarm I triggered with smoke from a minor kitchen disaster.

    “While we have you on the phone,” the operator suggested, “can we update your emergency numbers?”

    “Sure,” I said, remembering that some of my listed neighbors had eliminated their land lines.

    After going through the numbers, she said, “So, you’ve given me your community patrol number, and numbers for Scott, Sarah, and Mike—all neighbors. But this Mark person—what’s your relationship to him?”

    “He’s my partner.”

    “Um, roommate?”

    “No,” I replied, “partner.”

    “I don’t have a box for ‘partner,’” she retorted. “I have a box for ‘roommate.’”

    “Fine,” I said, “roommate.” Then I hastily hung up and returned to the kitchen, since I didn’t want my “roommate” to come home to a burned dinner. (Later, I regretted not asking for, and insisting on, the box for “husband.”)

    The second event occurred not long afterward, when my high school called asking for a donation for their “Torch Fund” endowment.

    Some background: I attended Chaminade, an all-boys Catholic prep school on Long Island. For years I notified them of my various milestones for their newsletter, and for years they declined to publish anything gay-related—publications, awards, whatever—despite their regular listings of the most insipid details of my classmates’ lives.

    So now, whenever they ask me for money, I politely tell them where they can stick their Torch. I did so again this time.

    “I understand,” the caller replied. “But while I have you on the phone, let me update your records…”

    Here we go again, I thought.

    Eventually she came to, “Any update in your marital status? Can we list a spouse?”

    “Well, you CAN,” I responded testily, “but I suspect you won’t. My spouse’s name is Mark.”

    “Why not?” she replied, seeming unfazed. “And his last name?”

    I doubt his listing will stand long. But what interested me was this: here was someone representing my conservative high school, and she had a box—in her mind, anyway—for my same-sex spouse.

    For all I know, she might be a paid solicitor with no other connection to the school. But she illustrates a significant cultural shift toward recognizing the reality of gay and lesbian lives.

    The reality is this: like our straight counterparts, we tend to fall in love, pair off and settle down. It’s not for everyone, but it’s a significant enough pattern to merit acknowledgement.

    And that’s at least the germ of an answer to the questions raised above.

    Why do we give special legal recognition to romantic pair-bonds? We do so because they’re a significant—and very common—human category, for straights and gays alike. They benefit individuals and society in palpable ways—ways that, on average, “roommates” and most other groupings can’t match.

    To put it simply, we recognize them because it makes sense for the law to recognize common and valuable ways that people organize their lives.

    Of course, there are other significant human relationships. Some of these, like blood ties, the law already acknowledges. Others (like polygamy) pose serious social costs.

    Still others may deserve more legal recognition than they currently receive, or may be dealt with on a case-by-case basis. (I doubt that we need to change marriage or civil-union law to accommodate unrelated cohabitating spinsters, for example.)

    But none of these other unrecognized relationships holds a candle to same-sex pair-bonds when it comes to widespread mismatch between the social reality and the legal recognition.

    Which brings me back to Mark. Mark is not just some dude I share expenses with. He’s the person I’ve committed my life to, for better or for worse, ’til death do us part. We exchanged such vows publicly, although the law still views us as strangers.

    In short, he is—whether the law or our home-security company recognizes it—my spouse.

    We fall in love, we pair off, we build lives together. The law may be a blunt instrument, but it need not be so blunt as to call that “roommates.”

  • The Power of Words

    First published at 365gay.com on February 13, 2009

    Two decades ago, when I first came out of the closet, my mother had an irritating habit of referring to my boyfriend as my “friend.”

    You could almost hear the scare-quotes around the word as she would speak it. “This is John’s, um, ‘friend.’”

    When I complained to her about it, she feigned innocence. “Well, he is your friend, isn’t he?”

    “No, Mom, he’s my boyfriend,” I retorted.

    “Isn’t that based in friendship?” she tried.

    “Mom, how would you feel if someone referred to Dad as your ‘friend’?”

    “That’s not the same thing!”

    Which was true, as far as it went. Mom and Dad had been together for decades; the boyfriend and I had been together for mere weeks. Still, he was my boyfriend, not my “friend,” and I bristled every time she would use the latter term to refer to him.

    Fast forward to a few weeks ago, when Mark (my partner of seven years) and I were visiting my parents in Texas. We stopped by the large salon where Mom recently started working.

    I’d visited the place before, but Mark hadn’t, so Mom grabbed him by the hand and started introducing him around. “Hey, everybody—I want you to meet my son-in-law.”

    I smiled to myself.

    Mind you, there’s no “law”—either where we live in Michigan or where my parents live in Texas—that recognizes the relationship Mark and I have. We have a big fat expensive binder full of powers of attorney and what-not, but legally speaking, that’s it.

    But “son-in-law” wasn’t about legal reality. It was about our familial reality, which is far more important to Mom. (Us, too.)

    The funniest part of it is that she often didn’t even bother to mention his name. This pleased me. My family has a longstanding habit of referring to family members by roles instead of names. So Mom will say, “Your sister called” instead of “Jennifer called;” “It’s your uncle’s birthday” instead of “It’s Uncle Raymond’s birthday.” This never struck me as odd until a high-school friend pointed it out. It’s certainly inefficient (“Which uncle?”) but it nicely expresses the tight fabric of our family.

    Mom’s comfort-level transformation happened years ago, and I wouldn’t have even noticed “son-in-law” were it not for the occasional perplexed reaction it evoked. (Jennifer, who lives near my parents, is unmarried.)

    “Your son-in-law?” her co-workers would ask, wondering if there was another daughter they hadn’t met.

    “Yes, my son’s partner!” She now says it without batting an eyelash.

    Notwithstanding the importance of law, these kinds of shifts will do more to bring about marriage equality than any court decision or legislative initiative.

    That’s not just because black-robed justices are no match for red-aproned Brooklyn-Sicilian mothers. It’s because marriage is, at some level, a pre-political reality. Yes, the law creates something, but it also acknowledges something that’s already present. Both roles are important.

    In calling Mark her “son-in-law,” Mom is saying something that is false legally but true socially. The fight for marriage equality is largely a fight to align the legal reality with the social one. And the more often ordinary people refer openly to that social reality, the easier it will be for the legal reality to catch up.