Sharing - 8. Chapter 7 - Challenging Times

Reporter: I had learned how the group had come together (no pun intended). It all seemed wonderful. But that brought suspicion to my reporter’s mind.

“I’m a little teary, now myself, and deeply envious of what you all have made here. I have no doubt of the love and caring you all share. Still, I have to wonder about the bad times, when things haven’t gone well. Surely there have been dark days.”

The group shifted uneasily. Tim moved to sit with John who embraced him protectively. Then quietly, Tim said in John’s ear, “you tell it.”

John replied softly, “I’ll get it started, but it’s your story, you were the only one there.”

John: It was our first Christmas together, just the three of us then, Sean, Tim and I. None of us is particularly religious, but its fun to decorate a tree and ‘deck the halls.’ Sean had left the day before to spend time with his family on the West Coast. While he was sad to leave us, Sean’s family has embraced their gay son, so he was eager to go.

I’m from a small family with only a much older sister left; my parents were much older when I was born. My sister has a family, married to a decent man, two kids in their teens. They lives and mine don’t intersect much, we’re down to just Christmas cards. I judge that my sister and her husband are more comfortable with some distance between us, even if they just live at the other end of the state.

That left just Tim and I. We hadn’t made any big plans, just a quiet couple of days together. On Christmas Eve, we had started a fire and were enjoying a bottle of wine when the phone rang. I answered and a man’s voice asked to speak with Tim. I turned the phone over to Tim. On hearing the voice, his face blanched.

Tim: It was my father. I hadn’t talked with them since the big blow up almost a year before when they cut me off and said they never wanted to see me again. Now he was on the phone saying that my mother wanted me to come home for Christmas. He said he was in the city and could pick me up in ten minutes. I couldn’t think what to do, so I asked him to hold on.

John had overheard the conversation. “If your family wants you to be with them, I think you should go. Maybe things have changed and it will be okay. You have to give it a try, they’re your family.”

“What about you? You’ll be alone.”

“I’ve been alone before. Sure I’ll miss you, I miss Sean, too. I’ll be alright. Go.”

So I told my Dad to come over.

We were surprised by a knock at the door a little while later. Normally people can’t get past the lobby without buzzing. He must have ‘piggy-backed’ off of another tenant coming in or going out. John opened the door. It was my dad. He’s a big man, almost as big as John. I’ve always been a disappointment, small, kind of fey. My younger brother is big and athletic. My sister’s even bigger than me. John introduced himself and shook my dad’s hand, meeting the challenge of my dad’s hard look. My dad was pretty rude. He didn’t reply, just looked over the room, kind of huffed and said he’d wait in the car.

The entire ride home – to my parent’s house – Dad was nearly silent. The only thing he said was that my mother wanted me home for Christmas so he came for me. My parents live in a distant suburb. I had a long ride to think about what might happen.

When we got there, I bucked up some courage and went in the front door with a big ‘hello everybody’. My brother was coming down the front hall stairs and kind of gave me a look of ‘you don’t know what’s coming’ but gave me one of those shoulder hugs that’s not too gay. My mother came out of the kitchen, wearing her holiday apron.

“Oh good, you’re back” to my father. “You, too, Timmy.” Like I had only been away a day. “Dinner’s almost ready. Let’s sit in the dining room. My sister was already seated, ignoring my mother’s unspoken request for help and being very cool to me.

I was pretty desperate for a drink and looked over to where the bar cart had stood for years. It was gone. My brother, Todd, saw my glance and said under his breath “things have changed.”

A couple of years before, my mother had gotten involved with an evangelical church. At first, it seemed good for her. As we, her children were nearly grown and no longer needing constant care, she was able to participate in something that seemed to give her life meaning. She had lots of new friends and many activities. Then the sniping comments began, about how long my hair was, that nobody went to church with her, that my sister should be more careful about how she dressed, how my father – really never much of a drinker – shouldn’t expose his children to alcohol. It just escalated over time. My father kind of withered away and seemed to acquiesce to the growing influence of the church in our home.

I had been a little isolated my freshman and sophomore years of college, living on campus and only going home on holidays. During that time, the church thing had just grown and grown. My sister had been brow-beaten into a sullen bitch. My once sunny brother had become cynical in private and a toady in my mother’s presence. I didn’t recognize them. My father had become silent, almost cringing. And my mother, who I remember from childhood as a sweet, cookie baking, PTA-going, a little bit shy woman had become a Bible-quoting harpy spewing invective at everything and everyone outside her church.

That spring break is when it all happened, the confrontation. I had changed, too. I hadn’t really thought about it, until my mother’s reaction of disgust as I came in the door. My hair was down to my shoulders and I had managed a little chin scruff, I was wearing a pooka bead choker – a gift from my then boyfriend – open flowered shirt, low cut jeans and sandals. I was in my post-hippy gay boy phase. I thought I was cute – so did my boyfriend. What is cool at college was not acceptable at home.

My mother confronted me, “This is not my son. This is some kind of ungodly low life. Go shave that thing off and put on some respectable clothes. Anyone would think you’re one of those cursed homosexuals.”

I guess my expression gave me away. “Have you been living a sinful life? Have you given way to Satan? I should have known that college would lead you astray. I told your father we should forbid you going there. And now this. The pastor was right. He warned me that you’d become one of those and here you are.”

“One of those what?” I challenged.

“A homosexual, a sodomite.”

“And if I have?”

“That university will never get another penny from us. You’ll never get another penny either. If I could, I’d demand back what we’ve already paid.”

The sad thing is my grandparents had left the money to us kids in a trust to pay for college. It wasn’t even her money.

“And you’ll not be welcome here, either. We’ll never speak to you again, no none of us” she warned my father and siblings.

I was dumbstruck. I was in the middle of a very successful semester. My boyfriend and I were really clicking. My life was really okay. And now this horrible confrontation.

I went up to what had been my room. The posters were gone from the walls. A creepy picture of Jesus replaced them. A Bible lay on the bedside table. I was sitting on the bed when my dad came in. He looked like he had been hit with a brick.

“So are you one of those homosexuals?” he asked quietly.

I didn’t answer, I just began to cry. All I could feel was how I had disappointed my family. I felt dirty and ashamed.

My father put his hand on my shoulder for a moment then left the room. I didn’t sleep that night, even after I had put Jesus in the closet. Yes, I see the irony there, but I’m still sad about it all. About four in the morning I gave up trying to sleep and snuck out of the house, walked to the train station and came back to the university.

I had had no communication with them until my dad called. Now I was in the family dining room, seeing my diminished family, all waiting for my mother to return with the Christmas feast.

When she had made the last trip to the kitchen and had taken her seat, she bowed her head and said, “Let’s all join hands in prayer.” Okay, I’ll go along to be polite. “Lord Jesus, thank you for the bounty we enjoy. We pray it may be put to your service. Thank you for the blessing of our family gathered here today. We have missed your son, Tim, these many months. Thank you for bringing him back to us.” My brother shot me a ‘here it comes’ look.' And we pray that you will intercede in his life to bring him to you, dear Lord, away from temptation and sin, to know the true way, your way, and forsake the worldly evil that rules his life.” I was thunder struck. To be insulted is one thing, to be insulted and reviled in prayer; this had no precedent in my life.

My sister mouthed at me, “this is all your fault.” Her eyes shot daggers.

My father averted his face from me. My mother looked at me full on, no head bowed in prayer, no humbly closed eyes.

“This we pray, in your name. Amen.”

And then, as if she had heaped blessings on us all, she took her napkin and said, “I hope everything is to your liking. Please help yourself.”

When no one moved, she took the pause as an opportunity to go to the sideboard and take some papers that were there. She handed them over the table to me with a forced smile. “Tim, the pastor gave these to me to give you.”

I looked at them. They were tracts on reparative ex-gay therapy. I was aghast.

“Your father and I have arranged for your treatment, so you can come back to us, back to the Lord.” Again the forced smile.

My mind raced. Here we were at a family gathering, supposedly to celebrate the Prince of Peace and here was my own mother handing me what amounted to an ultimatum, a full serving of hate. I could choose their way of life or be banished. It demanded that I give up what I understood to be my very being. I tried to see love, however misguided, as a motivation, but love does not demand compliance. Love is expressed by understanding, acceptance and celebration.

Unlike the previous occasion, I was not upset. My mind was clear. “Who I am, who I love is not about you. If I am gay, that doesn’t make you gay; it doesn’t mean you’ve done something wrong, that you are tainted. It only means that when my heart reaches out for love, it’s to a man, not a woman. That is your problem, your own guilt over some thing you didn’t do, cannot influence. Yes, I’m your son, the product of your genes, but I’m my own person and this is who I am.”

I stood up, took my coat off the rack in the front hall and walked out the door. I understood the consequences of my actions; I understood I would likely never see any of them again. If I submitted to my mother’s plan, no one would ever see me again. Even if my body survived, I knew that my soul would have to die to deny who I understood myself to be.

I walked out into the frigid night, feeling it warmer than my childhood home had been. I had no plan but to get back to the city, to John and my real home.

I walked as far as the highway entrance when the snow began to fall. Even then I didn’t regret my departure. Before I stuck out my thumb, a car pulled along side me. A curly head thrust out the window with a “need a ride?”

“Yeah, heading to the city.”

“Us too, climb in. You’ll need to get in the other side.”

I opened the driver’s side back door to some bustle as things were being rearranged. “Thanks a lot, you’ve really saved me.”

During the drive, a man, said, “Been there, too recently.” The car, an old beater, gave evidence that it wasn’t long ago. “Glad to help out. We’re going near downtown to my parent’s. They live next door to the church where my dad’s the priest. Great old building, but the neighborhood is in transition.”

“Anywhere downtown is great.”

There was a soft gurgling noise from the other side of the back seat, beyond the pile of bundles and packages that had been restacked to make room for me. I peered over the stack to see two wide set blue eyes twinkling back at me. Fat little arms waved crazily, stuffed into a snow suit. And then a sight I’ll never forget, a smile, toothless, drooly, and full of the delight of innocence. My heart radiated with all the love of the universe.

“What’s his name?”

“Oh, that’s our little Teddy. Theodore – from the Greek for God’s gift”.

“A perfect name. Thank you Teddy, you’ve save me tonight.”

“I don’t mean to stick my nose in your business, but it’s late on Christmas Eve. Not a great time for hitchhiking. Are you in trouble?”

“Not any more.”

John’s building was only a few blocks from the church where they were headed. I helped them carry things inside the adjoining rectory. They even gave me the honor of carrying Teddy. The man took me aside and said quietly, “If you are in trouble, now or ever, you can come here, to the church or rectory, and my dad will help you, no matter what. I, we, know about trouble. Hey, there’s a great carol sing at the midnight service and tomorrow’s Christmas service, we’d be very pleased if you came.” I told him I needed to get to my home. He embraced me and wished me ‘Godspeed’.

I walked the few blocks back to the apartment. When I opened the door, John was sitting by the fire, looking pretty glum. On hearing me come in, he leapt to his feet, completely surprised at the sound. “What’s wrong?” My face must have told the story. I walked over to him and he surrounded me with his arms. I broke down completely.

“I, I, they, my mom, I” I was unable to speak a coherent sentence.

John held me tightly, stroked my hair, and shushed me. “Ssshhh. Don’t try to speak. You’re here now. You can tell me all about it later.” I remember sobbing into his chest, then wakening in his bed, still in his strong embrace, though he slept.

I pressed into him and drew his arms tighter about me. He stirred, adjusting his hips so his hardening cock had room between us, settling between my ass cheeks and along my back. “Mmmmm” he said contentedly in partial sleep.

I lay, reveling in the warmth and love I felt and remembered the smile of a little angel. Love and kindness were the memories I wanted to keep of that Christmas, but they will always be clouded by the other memories, memories of my own family, my own mother rejecting me.

When John woke up, his cock was raging. He sprang from the bed with “I gotta pee, must have been the wine.” When he returned, I watched him cross the room with his soft, but still engorged cock swinging. Got me hard. He snuggled under the covers with me, kissing me, holding me. “Want to talk about it?”

I gave him the short version: Got to my parents’ house, Mom cussed me out in the prayer, offered to send me to ex-gay conversion. I left, got picked up by an angel and his family, came home to him.

“You know I love you and Sean loves you, don’t you? Will we be together forever? I hope so. I know I’ll love you – this you, the real you - forever. I’m sorry you had a bad time of it. I’m proud that you faced your family. Who knows, someday they may come around and appreciate the man you are. In the meantime, I’ll appreciate the man you are.” He stroked my cock and tickled my balls.

I reached back and pulled his cock between my legs, under my balls. I caressed his cock head, feeling it swell. He thrust between my thighs, trying to get more attention on his cock, giving me more than enough to stroke. I made slow, loving work of stroking him to climax, the first blast of cum shot across the bed, all the rest I caught in my hand. I raised my dripping hand to my mouth and took a long lick, the offered my hand to John who licked off all that remained, sucking on my fingers. A momentary, light touch of his hand on my cock brought my own orgasm that John caught in his large hand. He offered me my cum, then again consumed the rest himself.

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

John: We lay enjoying the moment, aware that on Christmas morning, the city’s usual soft roar was silent. The phone rang, jarring in the quiet. John rolled over to reach the bedside phone.

“Yeah? Well Merry Christmas to you, too. Isn’t it awfully early in San Francisco? Just a minute, I’ll put it on speaker.”

“Timmy, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Sean. Good Morning.”

“Merry Christmas. My younger brothers and sisters were all too excited this morning. We’ve already been up for a while. Did I wake you?”

“Not exactly, but we’re not out of bed yet.”

“Well, I know what you’ve been up to. Hey Mom, say hello to Tim and John.”

A sweet, Asian voice wished us a ‘Merry Christmas’ and that she was pleased to make our acquaintance. She said we must be a good influence on Sean, he looked well and happy. All the while she spoke, Sean nervously tried to get the phone back, and we could here his plaintiff calls of ‘Mom, Mo-om’. Then she demanded, “How big are you?” Tim and I just looked at each other – what could she be talking about? At that point Sean gained control of the phone. “I can just imagine the looks on your faces.”

“Want me to measure?”

“What have you been telling them? On Christmas?”

“No you assholes, get your minds out of the gutter. She wants to make you sweaters. That’s what she does for people who are special to any of us in the family. She is a brilliant knitter. I already told her that Tim is my size.”

“You wish” came the tease.

“She has trouble understanding how big you are, John.”

“So do the rest of us.”

“I meant his shirt size, Tim, you asshole.”

“I thought that was your territory.”

“We certainly seem to be in a mood, this morning.”

“Just happy to be with John and looking forward to you coming back.”

“The size question…if you can believe it, they all think I’m giant sized in my family, all too American. When I guessed you had a 48 inch chest, she laughed at me and asked if you were a bull. I nearly bit my tongue off. She seems to have her own plan now.”

“Anyway, I want one of you guys to get up, put on some clothes – unless you need a shower first.”

“No, we’ve managed to contain the flow. It was delicious”

“Lucky you. I think you should be decent for Christmas morning. At least put on some shorts, go to the hall closet, and look in the back.”

Both Tim and I grabbed some gym shorts, first time getting each other’s and needing to switch. We must have looked a site with Tim swimming in my shorts and me hanging out of his. Tim ran ahead and after a moment’s rummaging, returned with a big shopping bag of presents.

“Got ‘em?”

“Oh Sean, presents. You must have been planning this a long time.” We could hear Sean laughing delightedly. “I’ll put them under the tree. Hey it looks like Santa Claus was already here.” I had put out presents for Tim and for Sean for his return when Tim was asleep. It felt a bit like a ‘dad’ thing to do. Tim gave me a big hug and deep kiss, only stopping when we heard Sean’s voice “Guys? Guys? Are you still there?”

“I was just giving John what he deserves.”

“I would think John could still talk; only your mouth would be busy.”

“It was a kiss, though you make a good suggestion.”

“Before you go there, look in the freezer. I made a special breakfast for you guys. Just got to put it in the oven for twenty minutes – I left instructions.”

“Sean, you seem happy with your family, and I’m glad, but I sure miss you, in all kinds of ways. Your thoughtfulness and caring makes this more of a home than I have ever known.”

“Tim, are you crying?”

“Tim had a rough visit with his family last night. We’ll tell you about it when you get back.”

“That’s another thing. It’s been great visiting everyone, but I’m coming back early, I miss you guys – and the sex, too.”

“You make sure you be nice to those boys” Sean’s mother’s voice again.

“Oh he is, he is.”

“I gotta go its turning into a riot over here. Four brothers and three sisters all under age fifteen, its wild, fun, but wild. See you day after tomorrow.”

We sat contentedly, gazing at the Christmas tree and presents beneath. Tim hopped up saying, “ooh, almost forgot” and ran into the spare room, returning a few minutes later with some wrapped packages. I enveloped him in a hug and kissed him again and again.

Just as kissing turned into arousal, church bells rang in the quiet morning. Tim sat bolt upright. “John, would you mind if we went to church this morning?”

I was a little surprised; church had never come up before. “Sure, if you want to.” He reminded me of his ride back to the city and wanted to show his gratitude. “Why not, the carols are fun, anyway.”

We had time for Sean’s prepared breakfast and a quick clean up – of the dishes and ourselves. The presents still beckoned from under the tree. “Want to wait for Sean to come back? It’ll be more fun together.”

Tim led the way to the nearby church. We were greeted by the young couple who had given Tim the ride and made very welcome. The man escorted us toward the front of the sanctuary and indicated a place in a pew for us to sit. We saw a number of familiar faces from the neighborhood and gay community as we walked down the aisle. Small waves of recognition were exchanged. We were still fussing with our coats when a magic moment occurred. Beside the grey head of an older lady came the angelic face.

“Teddy!” Tim exclaimed. The baby burbled at him. The lady, who held the baby at her shoulder, turned to say good morning.

“I’m the rector’s wife and this is my grandson, who you already seem to know.” She beamed with contentment.

The service began. I stumbled along following Tim’s lead, not having any real church background myself. The carols were familiar and the choir seemed in good voice.

As we went to leave at the close of the service, Tim was embraced by a young couple. The man asked “May I introduce myself, I’m David and this is my wife, Jenny. We met Tim last night, he seems much better now. And you are?” he asked with very questioning eyes.

“This is John. He’s my lover. He’s why I couldn’t stay last night. I had to be with him.”

“Welcome, John, and Merry Christmas. Know that you are welcome any time. And Tim, my Dad’s offer to help is always open, too.”

Tim and I walked back through the frosty morning to our apartment. Tim held me with an arm about my waist as we walked. His face showed an internal struggle. “What’s up?”

“That obvious?”

“Yeah.”

“I was wondering how many different faces religion has. Last night, I was maligned and rejected by what is ostensibly the same institution that welcomed me today. Somebody’s got it wrong, and I can’t help feeling it’s the haters. What happened to the beautiful embrace that turned it so hateful?”

“Somehow I think it’s more about the people, not the religion. It’s a shame.”

Reporter: You seem to have resolved some of your conflicts, Tim. That’s encouraging for the rest of us. But to a point from earlier on in your story, how did the sweaters turn out?

Sean: A couple of weeks later, a box arrived from my mom.

Tim, John and I gathered for the big unveiling. We opened the box and in it were the sweaters. Guys, you have to admit they are beautifully made, and with the best silk yarn. John insisted we call my mom to thank her for the gift.

John: That’s right. But what does Sean say first off? “Mom, even I’m not gay enough to wear that color pink.”

Sean: My mom has fairly fixed notions as to the tastes of gay men – no color too bright.

Reporter: How pink are they?

John: Tim could you get them out? We keep them carefully under wraps.

Reporter: Tim brought out the sweaters, no doubt impeccably made, but in a shade that would make Pepto Bismal look dull. Yikes.