The Adoption Adventure Begins
We’ve been approved to begin the adoption process!
Everyone warned us that it’s a long and tedious process. They sure weren’t kidding! But the good news is that we’ve been approved as adoptive parents and we are actively seeking a child for placement.
It may take weeks, months, or years to find a match. But somewhere out there is a child for us. 
Where Do We Go From Here?
Last week, my hometown in IL was mowed down by a tornado with 170MPH winds. The house I grew up in, the house my parents lived in for 30 years, was busted to pieces. Thankfully my parents moved out a few years ago and now live in an area that was unaffected. The current owners got lucky and made it out alive with only seconds to spare before the roof came off and chimney collapsed where their 3 year old daughter had just been sleeping. If you look closely, you can see the pink bed in the picture.
A few days later, Daniel and I found ourselves surrounded by danger as dozens of tornadoes swept through our surrounding states. It bypassed our home in Nashville, leaving only minor wind damage to nearby towns.
Tornadoes are nothing new to this area of the country. But in the past 4 years, it’s become an annual event, getting more destructive each time. In 2009, a tornado came up the main road right by my house and struck 4 miles away, demolishing a community. I’ll never forget the terror of hiding in the closet underneath the stairs while the nightmare unfolded outside.
You can say a lot of negative things about where I live. We have homophobic politicians and deadly storms. But that’s not the whole picture. We also have thousands of open minded and forwarded thinking people who love and support us. We have the most beautiful seasons, the most wonderful scenery, and some of the most amazing food. There’s a reason Blanche Devereaux always spoke fondly of the south.
I feel torn and conflicted. I have for many years. My husband and I have built a life here. We own a house, we have jobs and friends and family nearby. Sure, it’s possible to move somewhere else and start over. We can make new friends, get new jobs. Maybe live somewhere with less bad weather and more equality. It’s certainly appealing and it’s certainly been discussed many times.
But then again… You can make all these changes, then walk outside and be hit by a car. It’s true.
I suppose we can never really escape problems. And there is no beginning or end to this rambling. I just felt like saying that I’m scared. I’m worried. Seeing the house I grew up in torn apart was a sobering reminder that we are never safe from harm, no matter where we live. I just wish we could at least have a little less dramatic weather to help us along the way.
A Brief Rant About Anti-Whitney Comments
I just wanted to take a minute to get something off my chest.
When somebody dies, they deserve our respect. I lost a nephew to a drug overdose several years ago. Burying a 23-year-old with his whole life ahead of him is more painful than I could ever explain.
People had plenty of crude and judgmental things to say about his death. And what good are poison drenched words spit from the acid tongues of strangers? I’m the one who lost him, not you. So shut the fuck up.
The endless stream of hateful commentary about Whitney Houston’s death is nauseating. We built her up so we could tear her down, didn’t we?
Maybe if we’re lucky we can do the same to another celebrity. How about Adele? She’s at the height of her fame and everybody seems to loves her. Maybe in 20 years she’ll develop a drug or alcohol dependency and we can tear her apart until all the seams of her spirit come undone. Oh wouldn’t that be delicious? Another scandal. Another bright star burning out. It would make such a wonderful story on the evening news.
Both my nephew and Whitney Houston had a profound impact on my life. Obviously for different reasons. I’m a better person because of their presence in my life. It makes me sad that they died from drugs but it does no good to say unkind things about them. It certainly doesn’t help their family.
If the things we say don’t bring any good to the world, perhaps it’s best that we sew our mouths shut so we can do no damage, and saw our fingertips down to the bone so we write nothing that harms others.
Just a thought.
Graduation Day
Over the weekend, our dog Anna graduated from obedience training. She celebrated this momentous occasion by promptly taking a shit in the middle of the floor, right in front of her instructor. Then, to make sure she left a lasting impression, she got into a slapping fight with her classmate.
That’s our girl.
Cuddle Bug
I’ve turned our dog into a cuddling monster.
Before Daniel leaves for work in the morning, he sits on the side of the bed and tells me to have a good day. Then he gives me a kiss and says he loves me. Depending on how lucid I am, I either carry on a conversation with him or just mumble “you too.”
Our dog Anna is sleeping quietly in the crate next to the bed. She was crate trained from the day she was born, so she has a very positive association with it. At night, we just have to say “go to bed” and she’ll voluntarily get in the crate and go to sleep.
One morning, I looked over at her, all curled up in a warm Schnauzery ball, and decided I wanted to cuddle. So I took her out of her crate and put her under the covers with me. Then I did the same thing the next day. And the next day.
Eventually that became a habit and she started looking forward to our cuddle time in the morning. Now when Daniel leaves for work, she thinks that’s her cue. As soon as he walks out the door, she sits in her crate and whines. I open it up and she jumps into the bed and goes to sleep next to me.
It’s a terrible habit and you should never reward a dog for whining. But on the plus side, she only does it in the morning, and as soon as she gets into bed with me, she goes back to sleep and doesn’t cause any trouble. So I’ve decided to let this habit stick.
Becoming Bad Nathan
I sat at my desk chair, sweaty and flushed. My shirt was soaked and clinging to me uncomfortably. My head was dizzy, my stomach was empty.
The phone conversation started with good intentions and rational expectations. I always map out conversations in my head before having them. I’d given it a lot of thought and felt my requests were fair. The yearly Christmas itinerary with my family made me unhappy and I wanted it to change.
As it stands, Daniel and I are welcome in the family, but there’s an established rule that we “don’t act gay” around the children. It’s a horrible rule that was stated long ago when I was younger, and dumber, and not very good with words. I’ve grown up a lot since then and I feel very comfortable in my own skin. The days of playing Bert & Ernie are behind us.
So when I told my parents that I no longer wanted to play these roles, I thought they would be sympathetic. Perhaps explaining why and how it hurt me would humanize my struggles as a gay man. They say they love me. So if you love someone, and realize you’re hurting them, you should make efforts to fix things, right?
Apparently not. My family’s not having it. They “love” us, they want us around. But if I want to acknowledge that Daniel is my husband, and be our normal selves, that’s not going to fly. I was called “selfish.” I was told I’m just trying to be “controversial” and “difficult.” My parents told me that if we weren’t going to “act like we usually do, we should just stay home.”
Fine. Fuck it then. We’ll stay home. I’d much rather spend Christmas curled up with my husband by the fireplace, watching Miracle on 34th Street (the black and white version, not this technicolor bullshit), and enjoying some nice Appletinis while our puppy and cat nap nearby. Sounds grand.
So in summary, my parents don’t want us to come around if we’re going to be ourselves at Christmas. If that’s not painful enough to hear, they went on for another full hour about how “horrible” I am to not agree to their terms. What a terrible, terrible person I am. So not only am I basically kicked out of the family, but then I’m told that I’m a bad person for standing up for myself.
I guess I’m the villain. No amount of ration or reasonability can be had with these people. And I do love them. I love them deeply and genuinely. But their behavior is wrong. They’ll never see it that way and I guess I’m the outcast son now. But all I did was stand up for my true self. If they don’t love that person, then they can’t really say they loved or even knew the real me.
I hate being pinned as the bad guy. That’s how everyone in the family will see it too. Nothing gets under your skin like the disapproval of your family. We can act like it’s easy to walk away, and many gay people have done it. But it’s one of the worst pains in the world.
And yet they try to extend that olive branch to me… Like they are the good guys. “Just be something you’re not and you can come back to us. Don’t you want to come back to us, Nathan? Don’t you want to spend Christmas with us?”
No. Not like this.
Goodbye, Magoo
A few weeks ago, I turned to Daniel and said, “I’m afraid Magoo is going to die young.”
“What makes you think that?” he asked.
“Well, she’s 8 years old and she doesn’t really do much. She’s never done much. She just eats, sleeps, and poops and doesn’t really get much exercise.”
Magoo had always been like that. She was a shy cat, kind of a loner. Everything made her nervous and she wasn’t very interactive. Since her food was located just a room away from the litter box, and right next to my office, where she usually slept, there really wasn’t much incentive for her to go anywhere else in the house. So day after day, she just circled the same area of our home. Occasionally she’d make the trip upstairs to bathe in the warm glow of the sunlight. She loved a sunny day.
Managing Expectations
I talked to my Mom yesterday and sure enough, things didn’t go well. We’ve talked three times and the fighting continues.
She doesn’t understand why I want her to accept that I’m married to a man. She thinks it should be good enough that she loves me and accepts me as her son. And she’s correct, I’m very thankful that she accepts me as her son. But as my previous post stated, I’m not asking for special treatment. I’m merely asking for equal treatment. I want her to respect my marriage the same way she respects my brother’s marriage to his wife.
I’m managing expectations
All relationships have expectations and meeting them is very important for the health of a relationship. I have expectations of my husband, of my friends, of the people I work with.
So I’ve reached a point in my adult life that my family has fallen below my expectations. I’m no longer happy with being the Bert & Ernie at the Thanksgiving dinner table. I’m no longer willing to be the elephant in the room that makes everyone nervous about my nouns when kids are present. This little charade was tolerable in my 20s, even though it drove me crazy. But as I find myself about to enter my 30s, I’ve been evaluating my life very closely and deciding what I want to change about it.
My expectations have changed and in order to grow, I’ve requested some alterations. Will my family adapt to them? It’s too soon to say. But asking is the first step. We can’t complain about our life if we don’t take active steps to change or improve it.
Shockingly calm about everything
God forbid, this is the first sign that my testosterone is mellowing out. I remember the days when I used to get so angry and upset about things like this. I wanted to put my fist through a wall when I got mad. But I’m actually pretty calm right now. It’s not the end of the world, and I know that. My Mom will probably call back for round four, and I know that too. I’m prepared to have another heated argument or debate. It’s unpleasant, but I can handle it.
I was born gay, and I know this. I have the right to be married and to be happy. I know this too. I have an expectation from my family that I want them to provide. I see it with absolute clarity, confidence, and optimism.
It doesn’t mean I don’t love them. It doesn’t mean I’m going to stop being a part of the family. All it means is that they need to try harder.
Uncomfortable
10.17.11
12:45 AM
Dear Mom,
I’ve been thinking about my comfort level these past few days and I have some things I want to get off my chest. I don’t know if I’ll send this letter. I really don’t like to rock the boat. But I’m going to write it anyway, and then we’ll just see how I feel about sending it in the morning.
The reunion was this weekend for the relatives on your side of the family. I told you a few months ago that I really didn’t want to go because I felt like most of my relatives completely dismissed my wedding to Daniel this past April. Since they made it clear that they don’t want to be a part of our big moments as a couple, I figured there’s no point in sitting around making small talk with them.
I thought you’d protest my decision. You always used to encourage me to come to reunions. Sometimes I did so I’d make you happy. And when I didn’t come, I felt really bad about it.
But this year, you had different words. You seemed relieved and told me that was fine. “Really?” I asked in disbelief. I kept waiting for a story about how I should cherish the time we have left with our family. But instead, you confessed that you would have felt uncomfortable with introducing Daniel as my husband.
I brushed it off at first. I wouldn’t want to put you in a position that makes you uncomfortable. I sincerely mean that. I know you were uncomfortable with the wedding itself and I really am thankful that you came anyway. I know you don’t believe it, but you’ll be glad you did someday. I really know it.
This weekend, Daniel and I went to a wedding… A “gay” wedding, I guess. It was two women. One of the women lost her mother just recently. It was a very bittersweet ceremony. The emotion in the air was palpable. She didn’t get to have her mother there on her wedding day. It was such a sad emptiness right there in the middle of such a happy occasion.
And that’s why I needed you and Dad at our wedding. Even if you were uncomfortable, it still mattered for you to be there. If nothing else, I will always be able to look back at that day and say my parents were at our wedding. That’s something our friend who got married can’t say about her mom.
Okay, so 400 words in, I’m getting to the point. Comfort. You stepped out of your comfort zone, but where do we go from there? You took a giant leap forward, but you’re still uncomfortable with the whole marriage topic.
And this leads into a bigger issue — MY comfort. I walk on eggshells to make my family comfortable. I censor the things I say when I’m with the family so that I don’t make anyone uncomfortable with the fact that Daniel and I are married. I censor myself around my brothers, their kids. I go out of my way to be a watered down version of myself just to make everyone else comfortable.
But nobody ever asks me if I’m comfortable. If Daniel’s comfortable. And I’m sorry to sound ungrateful, because I know you’ve done a lot. But on the topic of comfort, I simply don’t feel like this is a relationship where we’re giving fairly.
And relationships are all about balance and fairness. This isn’t as balanced as I’d like it to be. I bet there’s never been a time in your life when you’ve hesitated to introduce Dad as your husband. I bet there’s never been a time in your life that you were relieved if my brother and his wife weren’t coming to a reunion because you were uncomfortable with saying they’re married.
I just want the same fairness that I feel entitled to. I’m not asking you to be the mascot for the next gay pride parade. I just want to be treated as an equal son, with an equal spouse, and get to have the life with my family, with my parents, that you would have given me if I married a woman. I’m not asking for anything “special,” I just want something fair. Something that makes me comfortable for a change.
I can think of half a dozen ways this letter will go awry if I send it. And the mere thought of bringing this up makes me uncomfortable… And will undoubtedly make you uncomfortable too… But hey, what’s the cost of comfort? I feel like I’m paying the price for everyone else’s comfort. When is someone going to give it back in return?
I love you,
Nathan
Spending the Day with Me
Working from home requires plenty of concentration and quiet time. I try to operate the same way I would if I were leaving the house each day to go into an office. So I keep Anna upstairs in her crate, just as many dog owners do when they go to work.
Most of the time, this arrangement works pretty well. But somedays, Anna won’t stop crying, which means Daddy Nathan can’t get any work done. So I have to bring her downstairs to my home office in order to get her to calm down.
Here’s Anna, looking very happy and satisfied that she gets to spend the day with me:
And here’s Purr Purr, less than thrilled that a doggie has interrupted our quiet time:
