Where the heart is

Just back from visiting my parents for Easter, a trip I was dreading but one that turned out to be not so bad.

My step mother was asking the same questions over and over and over, but thankfully, none of them involved my Ex. I brought my dog, and we took a really long walk together down the roads where I road my bike as a boy. He enjoyed it, and so did I. I made ham a center bone ham, dee-lish), greenbeans sauted in olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and yams with honey and soy sauce. Simple and good, and well received. (Everybody ate; my stepmother didn't have to leave the table to vomit as is often the case.)

Here was the best part of the trip. After I made myself lunch upon arrival, my Dad says to me, "Want to sit on the porch and smoke a cigar?" That never happened before. When he said it, it was like I've been waiting all my life to hear those words. I haven't, really, but for no good reason, it seemed mythic, a slice of the relationship I've always wanted to have with my father. I said yes, and so we did. The two of us, father and sun, sat out on the porch smoking cigars and reading the paper, occasionally muttering something about what we were reading.

For example:

Dad: "George Bush is such a two-faced phoney. I hope he doesn't get re-elected to another term."
Me: "Who do you like for the Democrats?"
Dad: "I guess that guy from Vermont. He's been around a while. He doesn't seem like a politician, even though of course he is one."
Me: "Howard Dean. Yeah, I think there's a lot to like about him. He's a New Yorker, y'know."
Dad: "How did he end up in Vermont?"
Me: "He's a doctor. He went up to Vermont to do his residency."
Me: "Do you remember Sea Biscuit?"
Dad: "Of course I do. Great horse. War Admiral was the horse that was always going up against Sea Biscuit. They made a few movies about him."

That kind of thing. Two men enjoying cigars and the paper in the early Spring.

Thank you, Dad.


Oh. Another interesting thing. My brother and his wife are going to be in Manhattan all next week, Saturday to Saturday. I invited them to come and see me play softball, and they said they'd like to do that. Can't wait for them to meet the team! My brother, by the way, is a former homosexual. No aversion therapy or religious conversion involved. He just happened to fall in love with the woman who became his wife, and she was not in possession of a penis. That was twenty years ago, and they're happy. Meeting the Ballbreakers (my team) might be a little much for him to handle. There's not a lot of subtlety there. And speaking of subtlety, in the event that they get across the river to my apartment, I am not planning on dismantling the St. Andrew's Cross and stowing away all the floggers and whips. It will be what my pedagogical friends and acquaintances call "A Teachable Moment."

Speaking of which, at the GMSMA Spirituality Special Interest Group, it was mentioned at one point that so much of what is wonderful about S/M is beyond words. And that's why we have such a hard time explaining it to relatives and friends. I'm not even going to bother trying to prepare a little explanatory speech for them. I know (according to my sister) that back in the days when my brother was gay, he used to tie himself up and jerk off. So it's not altogether foreign territory for him. But, given the fact that he's now of the heterosexual persuasion, it might set him off a bit. I hope he has a therapist, and I hope the therapist is not a bad one.

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