Feels So Right, Can't Be Wrong...Those Happy Days

When I was twelve my mother became a photographer.  She went to school in the city every day (New York) and came home late in the evening.

She spent hours in her darkroom that was built by a friend of hers in our basement.  She gained success and was in a number of shows and press.  She had the "eye'.

When I was twelve I was suddenly in a house with two teenage brothers who did not care much for a pesky little sister.  I was left to my own devices, which on most days meant walking home after school and finding something to eat while I watched TV.

When I was twelve I gained weight and during the summer was shipped off to a fat farm for the summer.

When I was twelve my father died.

There are times when I look back and I can see my life in sections.  Before my father died, after my father died.

Before my husband died, after my husband died.

When I was twelve I started seeking out attention.  Particularly male attention, and naturally older male attention.

When I was twelve I became very uncertain of who I was because of the events in my life that I had no control of.

My brothers had their friends and lives as any teenager would.  My mother for the first time since becoming a mother had her own life and passion to follow.

I had Bugs Bunny, Little House on the Prairie, and Happy Days.

My neighbor at the time took me under her wing and I was allowed to follow her around like a puppy.  She  had long straight blond hair and she would let me brush it for hours.  In exchange I could sit with her and just be in awe of her.

When I was twelve I became confused.

Although my father was gay, I was not privy to this information until long after he died.  During a time of mental upheaval for me I was finally let in on the family "secret".  I was told of how he went to therapy to try and change.  How he married my mother and had children in hopes that would make him different than what he really was.

It was only in the last few years of his life that he was able to live in the way he wanted to and for the most part be himself.

All I heard when I found out my father was gay was how tragic it was.  Not because he was gay, but because he had to hide it, because he felt he needed to take years away from my Mother who had no idea.  How my mother believed he died of a broken and tired heart.

As I matured in age and sexuality I had both male and female lovers.  I chose to marry, not once but twice.  Both husbands I loved, one in a much different way than the other.

If ever asked about my sexuality I have always said, "I date a person, not a gender."  I am a loving person and capable of falling in love with the right person.

Some people who see me assume I am heterosexual because I have such a large family and have been married and speak of my husbands with fondness.

I have grieved the loss of my husband until I almost felt as though I had died along with him.  There were moments when I wished I did.

Knowing that he was going to die allowed us to have many conversations about what my life would look like after he was gone.  We joked around who I would end up settling down with, and without hesitation he said it would be a woman.

He got serious and said, "It's who you are.  You love me, but let's face it, I am damn near close to being a lesbian."  I had to agree as this was a man who loved women and did not at all understand men.

Not too long ago I stepped back and looked at the qualities I find appealing in men.  Then I looked at the women I have been with and for the most part, they all  have those qualities.

I sent my friend a text and said, "I do believe I am gay."  She pretty much responded with , "Duh I have known this about you for 30 years."  She went on to further elaborate that in my history I have been with men, but I have loved women.

Why did no one tell me this?

I was asked if my sexual identity defines who I am.  No, that alone does not define who I am.  I am a mother, a widow, sister, daughter, cousin, writer, photographer, hairstylist, friend, lover, dork, reader, and many other things.  Most people see me with a Diet Coke in hand, I could just as easily be defined by the one who smokes cigarettes and always drinks Diet Coke.


Does it matter how people see me?  Is it easier to put me in a box if I tell you I am gay?  Maybe.  But that is up to you and not me.

I know who I am.

I have a twelve year old daughter.  I am working in a career I love that is also taking time away from her.  Just like my mother I am finding my passion and I am happy.

Just like my father I am gay.

Now I need to open my eyes and make time for my daughter so that she knows that whatever path she goes down I am there to support her.

I will not die of a broken heart because I can not live the way I am supposed to live.  I will not deny who I am to make someone else feel more comfortable in their own skin.   I will continue to teach my children tolerance of all people.

I have never in my life felt the need to "come out" to anyone.  If I was dating a woman, I was dating a woman, if it was man, it was a man.

My children know who I am and who I have loved.  They know I loved their father in the truest sense.

My husband knew before I did what is really in my heart and yes genetics.  My friend knew before I did.

I wonder why it has taken me so long to know something I felt when I was twelve?

This comes as no surprise to many and yet somewhat of a surprise to myself.  In the journey to love myself as I am, I have had to really look at what that means, and yes put a few labels on me along the way.

I feel lighter in my body and spirit having said this to a few select people.  For the first time in a very long time, I feel honest.

And I would like to take a moment now to say that Joanie was way hotter than Chachi.