"Be frutiful and multiply..."
I was the first to "come out" to my folks. In a previous post: "These thing come in threes..." I talked about helping in the care for my grandmother. After her passing, and still living with my parents, I met a man that I would spend the next ten years with. Our first meeting was during the madness of Mardi Gras 1993 in New Orleans. There was a disgreet courtship, and well, I was hooked. I did have a problem being dishonest with my parents. It's the Catholic in me.
Oh yeah, we're Catholic. My sibliings are as follows: Jerry Anthony, Mark Joseph, David Michael, Matthew John (me) and Mary Grace. Being the first to come out meant the pressure was on for my gay brothers (we'll discuss my sister later.) They were older and dateless. My mom was already on the scent of the possibility of multiples.
The new man in my life, a tall, quiet New Englander didn't know what he was getting into. His introduction to my family would be a visit to my folks on a Saturday (a weekly ritual.) Greg had no idea that in one room, three converstations could be held at once, complete with hand gestures and everyone keep up, except Greg. The drive back had him in the passenger seat (fully reclined) radio off, and an arm across his forehead. This would still not scare him away.
After months of dating, Greg asked me to move in with him. This would not be easy as I was big presence at home. I cooked, took care of the yard, and was pool boy. However at 26 years old, I had to leave. Things were going great with Greg and I wanted to be more present in his life.
Greg was on the fast track with Tulane University as a student affairs administrator. It was quite or should I say quiet transition living with him. Greg grew up on a dairy farm in Vermont. His mom, a wonderful woman, was at one time the town librarian. Greg was from "good stock." We complimented each other well. He the playing the "serious" one while I was the eccentric clown complete with little voices and quoting lines verbatum from the TV series "Bewitched."
For Greg, 1993 was a good year. He was just promoted, was now a home owner, and had a new boyfriend. It would take me a while to say the words Greg wanted to hear. We had been invited to dine with a couple of female friends we introduced and were now dating. The dinner was at the girl's apartment in the French Quarter. As desert was being prepared, Greg and I were alone. I took his hand and told him I loved him. He began to tear up and repeated the words. It was special night I'll always remember.
Now that I had settled in at 2327 Constance Street with Greg, we began a tradition of cooking for family and Tulane staff with no plans for Thanksgiving. It was 1998, and this dinner would be one to remember. Anytime you gave my folks a time to show up, they would always be two hours early. We had to establish what was referred to as "mama time." If a function was at a certain time, you just moved it up by two hours. My mom was really applying the pressure, nagging me with questions about my single brothers. "Are they gay?" she would ask. To which I would reply: "You'll have to ask them." She of course would come back with the: 'Well, you're not saying no, so they must be." I headed to the kitchen and open the first of many bottles of wine.
Everyone arrived and we sat down to dinner. In between courses, my dad and one of my brother's boyfriend, Warren, headed to our front porch to smoke. When they came back in my dad exclaimed: 'I think Warren should join us every Thanksgiving." That would be my drunken cue as I blurted out: "It's about time ya'll said something!" The blood drained from my brothers in colossal fear. Greg kneed me under the table. As I slurred and was "Killing Them Softly" with my words, I turned to my mom and said: "There, ya' happy now! It's all in the open." The next thing you know brothers starting crying trying to explain, parents were consoling trying to understand, it was one big "Oprah Winfrey Show" and not the one where she gives away all the free crap. Greg remained true to his New England upbringing sitting in silence. With a big yawn, I got up and went and passed out in the bedroom. Greg would have to serve dessert and clean up in more ways than one.
The next morning Greg awoke me asking: "Do you remember dinner?" "Yes." I told him. "No more secrets." Boy was I wrong. My sister would show up that Christmas Eve with a girlfriend wearing a tie. Suddenly, whispering began and my biggest fear was realized: there were FOUR of us. This was INDEED biblical.
Matt
Oh yeah, we're Catholic. My sibliings are as follows: Jerry Anthony, Mark Joseph, David Michael, Matthew John (me) and Mary Grace. Being the first to come out meant the pressure was on for my gay brothers (we'll discuss my sister later.) They were older and dateless. My mom was already on the scent of the possibility of multiples.
The new man in my life, a tall, quiet New Englander didn't know what he was getting into. His introduction to my family would be a visit to my folks on a Saturday (a weekly ritual.) Greg had no idea that in one room, three converstations could be held at once, complete with hand gestures and everyone keep up, except Greg. The drive back had him in the passenger seat (fully reclined) radio off, and an arm across his forehead. This would still not scare him away.
After months of dating, Greg asked me to move in with him. This would not be easy as I was big presence at home. I cooked, took care of the yard, and was pool boy. However at 26 years old, I had to leave. Things were going great with Greg and I wanted to be more present in his life.
Greg was on the fast track with Tulane University as a student affairs administrator. It was quite or should I say quiet transition living with him. Greg grew up on a dairy farm in Vermont. His mom, a wonderful woman, was at one time the town librarian. Greg was from "good stock." We complimented each other well. He the playing the "serious" one while I was the eccentric clown complete with little voices and quoting lines verbatum from the TV series "Bewitched."
For Greg, 1993 was a good year. He was just promoted, was now a home owner, and had a new boyfriend. It would take me a while to say the words Greg wanted to hear. We had been invited to dine with a couple of female friends we introduced and were now dating. The dinner was at the girl's apartment in the French Quarter. As desert was being prepared, Greg and I were alone. I took his hand and told him I loved him. He began to tear up and repeated the words. It was special night I'll always remember.
Now that I had settled in at 2327 Constance Street with Greg, we began a tradition of cooking for family and Tulane staff with no plans for Thanksgiving. It was 1998, and this dinner would be one to remember. Anytime you gave my folks a time to show up, they would always be two hours early. We had to establish what was referred to as "mama time." If a function was at a certain time, you just moved it up by two hours. My mom was really applying the pressure, nagging me with questions about my single brothers. "Are they gay?" she would ask. To which I would reply: "You'll have to ask them." She of course would come back with the: 'Well, you're not saying no, so they must be." I headed to the kitchen and open the first of many bottles of wine.
Everyone arrived and we sat down to dinner. In between courses, my dad and one of my brother's boyfriend, Warren, headed to our front porch to smoke. When they came back in my dad exclaimed: 'I think Warren should join us every Thanksgiving." That would be my drunken cue as I blurted out: "It's about time ya'll said something!" The blood drained from my brothers in colossal fear. Greg kneed me under the table. As I slurred and was "Killing Them Softly" with my words, I turned to my mom and said: "There, ya' happy now! It's all in the open." The next thing you know brothers starting crying trying to explain, parents were consoling trying to understand, it was one big "Oprah Winfrey Show" and not the one where she gives away all the free crap. Greg remained true to his New England upbringing sitting in silence. With a big yawn, I got up and went and passed out in the bedroom. Greg would have to serve dessert and clean up in more ways than one.
The next morning Greg awoke me asking: "Do you remember dinner?" "Yes." I told him. "No more secrets." Boy was I wrong. My sister would show up that Christmas Eve with a girlfriend wearing a tie. Suddenly, whispering began and my biggest fear was realized: there were FOUR of us. This was INDEED biblical.
Matt
posted by Matthew Cortez at 8/15/2005 09:18:00 AM
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