Parents of Gays- the old days long ago when we lived in caves.
In 1972 my younger brother Richard came home from a two month trip to Europe, back-packing with friends, with a golden tan from his time on the island of Skiathos in Greece (his last stop before flying home to NYC) and an earring in his ear.
Now you may not think that is a big deal but back then a male wearing an earring was not acceptable. Some male musicians, primarily jazz players and certain beat poets and artists sported an earring, but having a pierced earring in your ear, was to court danger and a big statement that “I am gay” was usually the message. Looking back from today’s vantage point, where many males, cis and queer, wear dresses, skirts and heels on the red carpet at Cannes or to the Emmy awards, or at the Oscars or the Country Western awards shows; seeing males embracing clothing that the dominant rigid cisgender culture deems inappropriate for males- it is breathtaking to witness, in all its splendor and glory the changes in the culture today.
Richie came out to the family as gay that summer, he and I had discussed his attraction to other boys years before the summer of 1972; me, being stuffed into my own closet, trying to be supportive of him when he came to me as a 15 year old, telling me he thought he liked boys more than girls. I was wrestling with my own demons, the demons won when I married my boyfriend, Bob,in 1971.
I left my marriage two years later and came out, first to myself, then my brother Richie. In 1974 I told my parents they now had two gay children. Please remember, the language of the 1970’s and beyond was not inclusive. Gay, or lesbian, straight or not, (awful term that “straight” word with all it implied); not much choice back then, and yes, the term, bi-sexual. That was it, at least in my world those were the only words I had to describe who I was, who I was attracted to and who I loved.
My parents were exceptional in many ways. My mom was the mom that my friends could go to and talk with about whatever troubled them. She was engaged and interested in them. My dad was a typical dad of the 1950’s, I call him a “Jewish John Wayne”, silent much of the time, not tall like John Wayne, but he had that monosyllabic language down to an art. Hiding behind the wall of his newspaper, emitting pronouncements now and again, don’t get me wrong, my dad talked, but my mom set the tone; both were politically Democrats but my mom was the more liberal parent of the two. She didn’t want to throw Richie out the door when he told them he had been smoking pot (aka weed); Dad was his usual reactive self; Mom calmed him down and Richie was not forced to leave home. Laughable I know, weed compared to ….anything else, but Dad felt he had to be strict. It never lasted with Mom’s ability to moderate his knee-jerk reactivity with her moderate and balanced view of life for a teen growing up in the 1960's.
When children come out to parents it challenges everything they believed they wanted for their children, heterosexual marriage, grandchildren, etc, again, think back, this was the 1970’s and the door was just opening to help create the world you now see today- marriage for all, dressing as you want, language fluidity, gender fluidity, none of this would have happened without the generation before and before that, blasting open, shoving open, the closets that kept us in hiding.
My parents did not accept my coming out two years after Richie’s, with joy. My mom was not surprised, yup, Moms ALWAYS know!! My dad was non plussed, yup, Dads often are, not so tuned in, or at least mine wasn’t. “ TWO gay children what did we do?” (wrong, was the implied unsaid word); “Mom you and Dad had nothing to “do “ with this, this is who I am , who Richie is”.
My mom and Dad took about a year to get over their shock, coming out is a developmental process, even for parents, they too need to go through shock, denial, grief, etc, until, if we are fortunate, they come around to the bottom line, they love their children no matter who their children love. Finally months after my proclamation, my mom, issued an ultimatum to my dad.
“I told your father, either he starts talking to me about our two gay children and how he feels about it, or I swear, I will divorce him”. She didn’t threaten divorce lightly, theirs was not a marriage where one or the other was often flinging that threat around, I had never known her, even when she was very angry with my father, to threaten to leave him; although who knows in the privacy of their marriage and their history, perhaps it was not a new threat. Whatever it was, it worked. My parents began talking about it; a few months later the next bit of amazing news came to me from an old friend. Her ex-lover’s mom was a manicurist and she had a regular client in the shop who had just started a support group for parents with gay children. I called my mom and told her about it.
“ Mom, there is this group it’s called, ‘Parents of Gays’ some woman named Jeanne Manford is Harriet’s client at the beauty shop and she told Harriet her son is gay and she needed support and she started this group. She’s in Bayside, not far from you and dad. Can you believe it? Do you want me to get her phone number for you?”
Silence greeted me, then, “Let me ask your father and I will call you later in the week”.
My mom was a very private person. Unlike her children, she had never been to see a therapist, let alone sat in a support group to discuss her family life with total strangers, however, my mom was very astute and open in other ways. She knew she needed help. After all in the 1970s there was on Oprah on television, no open discussions of this on radio programs or in books. Where did one turn to discuss this in an era where women still needed their husband’s approval for credit applications? Where the only future plans about one’s grown children to share with the neighbors had to do with weddings and baby’s on the way.
I gave her the contact information for Jeanne Manford and the rest is history. My parents became very active in the group and were asked to speak on the radio about their involvement, which, sadly, my mom turned down. But they went to meetings and much more than that.
In 1983 on a Sunday evening in late June my mom called me, by then I was living in San Francisco. Richie lived in L.A., following his dreams to work in the “industry”, he was a few years from being hired by Disney Studios as Director of Home Video Marketing, but that is another tale to tell.
“Sue did you go to the Pride parade today?”
“No mom, I had a bunch of friends here for brunch but my knee is so bad I can’t do much right now, the doctor said my meniscus needs time to heal”
Mom laughed, “Sue, Richie didn’t go to the Parade in L.A. last weekend and you didn’t go to yours, but Dad and I marched in the parade in NYC with our group, Parents of Gays, and afterwards we ran the booth selling buttons and giving away literature and chocolate chip cookies.”
My eyes filled with tears, even as they are filling now, my heart filled with love, pride and deep gratitude for this woman who stood up to my dad’s wall of silence and demanded that they deal together with the earth-shattering, life changing coming out of their two children - and here they were marching in the Pride Parade, unafraid and proud to be parents with gay and lesbian children, giving hope to all those seeing them, that not all parents disowned their children after they came out to them, that there were loving parents who accepted their children unconditionally.
“Oh Mom, wow, you and Dad, you’re the best. I can’t believe it! Richie and I slacking off, and you and dad go marching! I am the luckiest woman in the world to have you two as my parents.”
The picture for this piece is from that day in June, long ago, of Missy Ida and Sol Fried.
I believe my folks are in some amazing place on the Other Side, reserved for parents with big loving hearts.
And now you know how POG broke ground and paved the way for all that came after it and how my family became one small piece of LGBTQ history long ago.
