Christmas in Dixie

I have too little bandwidth to upload my photos (as I borrow wireless from the neighbors when I'm back in Mississip), so rest assured that I will blog about New York very soon. As soon as I can post my photos, too. Until then, I'll share with you some struggles young people face at holiday celebrations with the extended family down South. Here we go.

My 18-year-old cousin is four months pregnant. She attends community college and works as a waitress at a restaurant in town. She has a boyfriend, he's 20, and he's a nice boy. She brought him to meet the family yesterday. While my family members were wonderfully nice to them, my aunt (the old bitty) kept working in passive aggressive commentary about "marriage," "gainful employment," and "the costs of raising a child." For my aunt, my cousin has two options in her current situation: marry the boy who knocked her up or "get rid" of the baby. What a dismally closed-minded set of imperatives.

I don't see what the big deal is. So, she's young, and pregnant, and unmarried. She doesn't even want to marry the boy. That doesn't make her a bad person. A baby sort of slipped up on her? Well, at least we all know she's human now, and human beings often experience blessings conveniently disguised as "mistakes" at the time. This baby is a gift, and s/he will be loved. That's what matters, right? A dozen more horrible things could have happened. She could have killed someone in a drinking and driving accident. She could have joined a terrorist cell. Or (hang with me for this one--I'll explain) she could be a lesbian. I think the whole family should just give her a break and support her. Sheesh.

Now, of course I have no problem with lesbians. Hell, I love them, because I love everyone. But my family--not mom and dad and step dad and brother, but those various aunts, uncles, and cousins who don't know me--can't handle the homosexuality. What I mean by that is they LOVE that there are gay family members, only because they have some pariah to constantly judged their morality against. So what if Hunter is in jail for drug paraphernalia and DUI again, at least he's not gay! It's sickening, really. Compound this with the fact that I'm the gay family member, and a handful of cousins my age have gotten married and are having babies. More power to them. Marriage and babies are events to celebrate. They seem fairly innocuous topics of conversation. Until busy body aunts and my dear, sweet, misguided grandmother turn the discussion on me: "Timmy, when are you gonna bring a girl home for us to meet? I know you will one day. You ain't a queer. I won't ever believe it."

Yep, that's what my grandmother says to be, nearly every time I see her. And I know she's not being mean. She's just concerned about me, because she doesn't know what a gay relationship or life look like. I think it's hard for her to love someone so much (I'm her favorite) and not know how to understand him because his life is so different from what she knows (my grandmother has been married since she was 14). I'm good at just shaking my head and changing the subject. But I wish the extended family would except the fact that I'm not going to bring home some pretty little girl, marry her, have babies, and live in a double wide on the 40-acres in Cedar View where all the other aunts, uncles, cousins live.

Don't get me wrong. I love my grandmother. I know she loves me. She's helped me out in a lot of situations, and I know I can call her for help any time. I also remember to call her and just chat with her a couple times a month, because I know she's old and lonely and a 10 minute phone call from her grandson makes her day. It makes my day, too. So I can look past her grumbling with my sexuality. She really just doesn't understand. So, this Christmas, as I'm sure will be the case in every holiday celebration for the rest of her life, I will smile, nod, and change the subject each time it rolls back around to marriage and babies. Then I'll go to the shop to drink beer and whiskey with the men of the family while the women discuss me. It's fine, though. When they're talking about me, at least they're giving someone else a break.