Just Another Plague
Friday, Dec. 1 is an important day --- or at least it should be --- for
the
gay and gay-supportive community. OK, class, does anyone know why?
If you said, "It's Bette Midler's 55th birthday," you'd be right, but
you'd
also be wrong and probably spend too much time watching network TV and
ordering stuff from QVC.
However, if you said "World AIDS Day," you're completely right. It's a
time
to recall gay history and particularly the many loved ones lost to an
insidious disease.
Yes, I know --- it's politically correct these days to point out that
AIDS
is not just a "gay" disease; it currently is making its quickest deadly
inroads among heterosexual communities in Third World countries. But it
also
will be forever associated with gay men, among whose numbers the
disease was
first identified. Much of a generation was lost to AIDS during the
1980s and
1990s and in Western countries in particular, most of the early victims
were
gay.
The spread of AIDS among gay men has had mixed effects on society. The
initial reaction of many people was that it was God's punishment on
homosexual people for their wicked "lifestyles." The spread of this
misguided thinking caused a counter-reaction, best expressed by Julia
Sugarbaker on "Designing Women," who told off a homophobic acquaintance
by
saying, "If God handed out sexually transmitted diseases to people for
sinning, you'd be down at the free clinic every day!" Public education
about
AIDS has helped its victims become less pariah-like in society's eyes,
although there are many whose consciousness still needs to be raised.
It's
always been a special disease with a special impact on society --- not
"just
another plague."
That's why we observe World AIDS Day --- to remember those we've lost
and to
remind ourselves what the disease is and is not about about. It's not
just
about wearing red ribbons or holding candlelight vigils while the names
of
the dead are recited. It's about committing ourselves to eradicate the
disease and its side effects on society, which can include social
isolation
of those folks living with the disease and ignorant fear on the part of
some
who still do not understand how the disease is and is not spread.
It also is a time to encourage our young loved ones --- one group
continually at risk because of youth's natural instinct to believe
themselves invincible --- to know the risks and take steps to avoid
them,
whether by practicing "safe sex" or abstinence until they're old enough
to
enter into a committed long-term relationship.
For me and my family, it's a time simply to remember special loved ones
we
have lost. On Dec. 1, I'll be lighting a candle to remember my cousin
T.J.,
a talented professional actor, who, like Edna St. Vincent Millay,
burned his
own candle at both ends in his short life, making a glorious and lovely
light. His gay sexual orientation caused a permanent rift between him
and
his father although our extended family of cousins and aunts and uncles
rallied around T.J. at the end of his life and shunned the father for
his
own rotten attitude.
I also remember my friend Jeffrey, a movie-star-handsome Presbyterian
minister who continued his ministry even after being diagnosed as
HIV-positive. Jeffrey focused his work on the gay community of
Columbus,
Ohio, providing dignified spirituality to many gay and lesbian people
and
gently forcing the reserved and conservative heterosexual members of
his
congregation to interact with those who were "different." When I gave
one of
the eulogies at his funeral, it was before a crowd of nearly 400 people
from
a wide range of backgrounds --- demonstrating the effect one motivated
life
can have on many.
Another friend, Matthew, died as he lived --- angry at his life being
cut
off so quickly and fiercely independent and determined that he would
live
what time he had left his way, even down to making specific
instructions for
his funeral. Matthew was a handsome, exotic man --- he shaved his head
and
had an obscenely erotic tattoo from his shoulder blades to the small of
his
back, as well as multiple body piercings. His career included being a
theatrical designer and creating beautiful gowns for some of Ohio's
top-ranked beauty queens. Some of his creations he also duplicated for
his
own personal use. At the end of his life, before the last of his energy
was
spent, he managed a troupe of male strippers.
Matthew and I knew each other through a community theater group and
formed
an unlikely friendship because he chain-smoked and I needed fresh air.
Consequently, when we were not onstage, we hung out in an alley behind
the
theatre. We talked casually about life and family and shared with each
other
our angers and regrets. I was focused on the then-very recent
disappearance
of my gay oldest son, who is still a missing person after four years.
For
Matthew, it was abandonment on the part of his father, not only in
Matthew's
childhood, but also in later life, when Matthew's sexual orientation
became
an issue. When Matthew said he did not want his father to be present at
his
funeral, my heart broke. I blurted out, "If I could, I would give back
to
you everything your father should have given you. The worst thing in
the
world is for parents and children to be estranged."
Matthew and I became very close --- a middle-aged married guy and an
angry
young gay man who came from two different worlds. On the last night of
the
show we were in, Matthew invited me to go to a bar where his motley
troupe
of strippers were performing.
"Can you just pretend to be my boyfriend while we're there?" he said.
"I get
tired of being hit on."
And so, for one evening, I was Matthew's boyfriend, "Killer," named
after
the unseen love interest of Geraldine Jones, Flip Wilson's drag
persona.
Drunks would come up and try to hustle Matthew --- who was better
looking
than most of his strippers --- and he would put his arm around me and
say,
"Have you met my boyfriend, Killer?" I would glower and look as large
and
scary as I could and the drunk would stumble away, his tail between his
legs.
At the end of the evening, after Matthew paid off his strippers, I
walked
him outside to his car and we hugged.
"Thanks, Dad," he said, and drove off. I went home to my wife and,
still
amazed by the experience, told her about my bizarre evening.
On World AIDS Day, T.J. and Jeffrey and Matthew will be remembered.
I'll
also remember one of the songs played at Matthew's funeral --- the
Columbus
Gay Men's Chorus' version of "You'll Never Walk Alone." I'll be humming
it
throughout the day because I know the spirits will be with me and other
folks who loved them all.
Published 29th November 2000
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