therealljidol, week 4: I don't skate to where the puck is. I skate to where the puck is going to be
Dar told me, on our first date, that I was the sort of person her parents would hate.
"Not that I care, I just..." she started, then stopped, drew a breath. "Look. I like you a lot. It's been an issue in the past, and so I'm warning you now: I'm out to my parents, and they're all right with parts of it, but other parts..."
I didn't know what she meant at the time, what it was going to mean. What out but not out-out meant.
I told her it was okay, that I hadn't talked to my own parents since I'd come out, years ago. "Because, you know, with the whole religious thing, they think I'm going to Hell, and I can't convince them that I'm happy, so if you can keep your family..."
She nodded like she understood, and it didn't come up again.
She didn't let me meet them until we'd been together a year. "You need to be prepared."
"I'm sure it'll be fine. I think I can hold my own."
I did, but only just.
"Isn't Alex a boy's name?" asked her dad, first thing, and I just shrugged.
"It's short for Alexandra," I told him.
"I used to know an Alexandra," he said, stuffily. "She went by Lexie."
The unspoken question: so why don't you?, and I dodge it with a true story: "I used to, but there are some unfortunate things that rhyme with Lexie, and I started going by Alex in junior high."
I could see him think, when I said this. He laughed after a moment.
"Let me get you a drink, Alex," he said, and I knew that was as close to acceptance as I was going to get. I saw Dar relax when he said it.
When he disappeared into the kitchen, she let out a sigh and squeezed my hand.
"I think you'll be all right," she said. What she meant was, I think we'll be all right.
"Yeah," I said. "I think so."
That dinner went smoothly, and the ones after it, and slowly we were invited to all the Sunday dinners, the little family events. We didn't have my family, but we had hers, and I could feel the pull, every time she asked me if I wanted to go: is this all right?
I knew what she wanted me to say; knew what had to happen to keep everyone happy.
"Of course? Why wouldn't it be?"
So we went, to every event, and answered every invitation with a yes, unless we had a reason not to.
So we keep going.
Every time we visit, I'm struck by how we all keep dancing around the topic. It's all right that their daughter is a lesbian. They've managed to wrap their heads around this. What they fear is that she'll date someone who doesn't look like their idea of a woman.
Whenever we go visit her family, I keep my hair down, try to dress feminine, or feminine enough, don't correct people when they use she and her. It's not a place for other pronouns, not somewhere I can pull my hair back, or hide it under a hat. I'd have cut it all off a long time ago, except she told me, sort of sadly, that if I did...
"They accept it, you know," she says, and waves a hand. Meaning, that I'm a lesbian. "They couldn't accept..."
The more generic label: queer. They don't like in-betweens. Black and white, and no shades of gray, or rainbow.
"They'd rather I was seeing a man, but, you know, they've come around on this, I don't want to push too much..."
So we dance around the edges, and I pay no mind to the whispers in the kitchen, questions about how I'm dressed, the lack of makeup.
"We have to stay one step ahead," she says, and I listen to her, because I love her, and I know how important her family is. It's one night a week. "Someday I'll tell them..."
"Doesn't it bother you?" asks someone in the support group we're both part of. "You know. You came out, your parents disowned you, and now if you really come out to her family..."
"No," I say. "It doesn't bother me."
"It should," and the subject is dropped.
I want to say, sometimes it does.
Sometimes I find myself wondering what life would be like, if I could be honest with her family. If I could cut my hair the way I wanted to, wear the clothes I want to, put on my binder when I feel like it. I know that she loves me for who I am; that she fell in love with me because I don't conform, and I don't question whether this means she wants a femme girlfriend, but sometimes...
It comes to a head around the holidays.
"Darcy, you and Alexandra are invited to the family Christmas party. Jim's going to propose to Stephanie, so please dress accordingly,” says the message from her mom.
“‘Dress accordingly’?”
“For pictures,” she says. “If she says yes, they’re going to take a bunch of photos. The party is usually semi-formal anyway, and I’m pretty sure Stephanie knows what to expect.”
“I don’t even own a dress.”
“You can borrow something, maybe from Janine? I think you’re both the same size. She’s a fourteen, too.”
“No, I don’t…” I pause. “Look, we’ve compromised a lot on this. I have nice clothes that aren’t a dress. Can we please…”
“It’s important to them,” she says. “Like. Appearances are the most important thing. You know I love you because of who you are, not in spite of it, but this is...different.”
Please don’t make me choose, her eyes say. Please don’t tell me I have to choose between you and my family.
“Fine. I’ll text Janine.”
I find a dress that I can wear without feeling like I’m being strangled around the middle. I leave my binder off. I let my hair down. I don’t put on makeup, but they don’t expect me to, these days.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and stare at the reflection of myself, suddenly transported back to high school, closeted and unhappy.
“Are you ready?” comes Dar’s voice from the living room. “I’ll go warm up the car, if you are.”
There’s a pair of clippers in the drawer. I bought them when I first came out, when I told everyone who I was by buzzing my head.
“I need a few minutes,” I tell her. “Go warm up the car; I’ll be ready when it is.”
When I meet her in the car ten minutes later, I’m wearing lipstick.
“You look, um,” she starts, lamely. “Nice?” She wants to ask about the makeup, and I can tell, but she’s polite enough not to ask.
“Thanks,” I say. I think silently about the pile of hair in the bathroom trashcan and grin. The undercut I’ve given myself is ragged and imperfect, but it’ll do to keep me centered until I can clean it up after the party.
Jim proposes to Stephanie. Her parents see that I’m wearing a dress, for the first time since they’ve known me, and compliment me carefully on it. No one notices the hair, and I feel like I’m getting away with something.
“Thanks for keeping the peace,” Dar says, in the car, and I smile again.
“I gave myself an undercut.”
“What?”
“In the bathroom, while you were warming up the car.” I lift my hair and show her. “It’s not quite what I would want, but…”
She laughs.
“Compromise,” she says. “One step ahead.”
“I figure, if they accept this…”
“You’re moving the goalposts,” she says. “Making it okay.”
“So that eventually we can tell them.”
“Yes,” Dar says, and it’s the answer I want to hear.
fiction
[A quick explanation.]I know nothing about hockey, but when I read the quote, I was reminded of how my own relationship with my family has changed over time: how it went from, "if you ever come out to us, it's going to be a huge problem" to now where we basically all acknowledge I'm queer, but it's not something we talk about. I've managed to avoid conflict mostly by staying one step ahead and gently changing our dynamic: never quite forcing my parents to sit up and go, "our daughter is queer! Our daughter has a complicated relationship with gender identity!", but pushing just enough and staying one step ahead, recognizing patterns and knowing what will be acceptable and let me be true to myself, and what will not be.
"Not that I care, I just..." she started, then stopped, drew a breath. "Look. I like you a lot. It's been an issue in the past, and so I'm warning you now: I'm out to my parents, and they're all right with parts of it, but other parts..."
I didn't know what she meant at the time, what it was going to mean. What out but not out-out meant.
I told her it was okay, that I hadn't talked to my own parents since I'd come out, years ago. "Because, you know, with the whole religious thing, they think I'm going to Hell, and I can't convince them that I'm happy, so if you can keep your family..."
She nodded like she understood, and it didn't come up again.
She didn't let me meet them until we'd been together a year. "You need to be prepared."
"I'm sure it'll be fine. I think I can hold my own."
I did, but only just.
"Isn't Alex a boy's name?" asked her dad, first thing, and I just shrugged.
"It's short for Alexandra," I told him.
"I used to know an Alexandra," he said, stuffily. "She went by Lexie."
The unspoken question: so why don't you?, and I dodge it with a true story: "I used to, but there are some unfortunate things that rhyme with Lexie, and I started going by Alex in junior high."
I could see him think, when I said this. He laughed after a moment.
"Let me get you a drink, Alex," he said, and I knew that was as close to acceptance as I was going to get. I saw Dar relax when he said it.
When he disappeared into the kitchen, she let out a sigh and squeezed my hand.
"I think you'll be all right," she said. What she meant was, I think we'll be all right.
"Yeah," I said. "I think so."
That dinner went smoothly, and the ones after it, and slowly we were invited to all the Sunday dinners, the little family events. We didn't have my family, but we had hers, and I could feel the pull, every time she asked me if I wanted to go: is this all right?
I knew what she wanted me to say; knew what had to happen to keep everyone happy.
"Of course? Why wouldn't it be?"
So we went, to every event, and answered every invitation with a yes, unless we had a reason not to.
So we keep going.
Every time we visit, I'm struck by how we all keep dancing around the topic. It's all right that their daughter is a lesbian. They've managed to wrap their heads around this. What they fear is that she'll date someone who doesn't look like their idea of a woman.
Whenever we go visit her family, I keep my hair down, try to dress feminine, or feminine enough, don't correct people when they use she and her. It's not a place for other pronouns, not somewhere I can pull my hair back, or hide it under a hat. I'd have cut it all off a long time ago, except she told me, sort of sadly, that if I did...
"They accept it, you know," she says, and waves a hand. Meaning, that I'm a lesbian. "They couldn't accept..."
The more generic label: queer. They don't like in-betweens. Black and white, and no shades of gray, or rainbow.
"They'd rather I was seeing a man, but, you know, they've come around on this, I don't want to push too much..."
So we dance around the edges, and I pay no mind to the whispers in the kitchen, questions about how I'm dressed, the lack of makeup.
"We have to stay one step ahead," she says, and I listen to her, because I love her, and I know how important her family is. It's one night a week. "Someday I'll tell them..."
"Doesn't it bother you?" asks someone in the support group we're both part of. "You know. You came out, your parents disowned you, and now if you really come out to her family..."
"No," I say. "It doesn't bother me."
"It should," and the subject is dropped.
I want to say, sometimes it does.
Sometimes I find myself wondering what life would be like, if I could be honest with her family. If I could cut my hair the way I wanted to, wear the clothes I want to, put on my binder when I feel like it. I know that she loves me for who I am; that she fell in love with me because I don't conform, and I don't question whether this means she wants a femme girlfriend, but sometimes...
It comes to a head around the holidays.
"Darcy, you and Alexandra are invited to the family Christmas party. Jim's going to propose to Stephanie, so please dress accordingly,” says the message from her mom.
“‘Dress accordingly’?”
“For pictures,” she says. “If she says yes, they’re going to take a bunch of photos. The party is usually semi-formal anyway, and I’m pretty sure Stephanie knows what to expect.”
“I don’t even own a dress.”
“You can borrow something, maybe from Janine? I think you’re both the same size. She’s a fourteen, too.”
“No, I don’t…” I pause. “Look, we’ve compromised a lot on this. I have nice clothes that aren’t a dress. Can we please…”
“It’s important to them,” she says. “Like. Appearances are the most important thing. You know I love you because of who you are, not in spite of it, but this is...different.”
Please don’t make me choose, her eyes say. Please don’t tell me I have to choose between you and my family.
“Fine. I’ll text Janine.”
I find a dress that I can wear without feeling like I’m being strangled around the middle. I leave my binder off. I let my hair down. I don’t put on makeup, but they don’t expect me to, these days.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and stare at the reflection of myself, suddenly transported back to high school, closeted and unhappy.
“Are you ready?” comes Dar’s voice from the living room. “I’ll go warm up the car, if you are.”
There’s a pair of clippers in the drawer. I bought them when I first came out, when I told everyone who I was by buzzing my head.
“I need a few minutes,” I tell her. “Go warm up the car; I’ll be ready when it is.”
When I meet her in the car ten minutes later, I’m wearing lipstick.
“You look, um,” she starts, lamely. “Nice?” She wants to ask about the makeup, and I can tell, but she’s polite enough not to ask.
“Thanks,” I say. I think silently about the pile of hair in the bathroom trashcan and grin. The undercut I’ve given myself is ragged and imperfect, but it’ll do to keep me centered until I can clean it up after the party.
Jim proposes to Stephanie. Her parents see that I’m wearing a dress, for the first time since they’ve known me, and compliment me carefully on it. No one notices the hair, and I feel like I’m getting away with something.
“Thanks for keeping the peace,” Dar says, in the car, and I smile again.
“I gave myself an undercut.”
“What?”
“In the bathroom, while you were warming up the car.” I lift my hair and show her. “It’s not quite what I would want, but…”
She laughs.
“Compromise,” she says. “One step ahead.”
“I figure, if they accept this…”
“You’re moving the goalposts,” she says. “Making it okay.”
“So that eventually we can tell them.”
“Yes,” Dar says, and it’s the answer I want to hear.
fiction
[A quick explanation.]I know nothing about hockey, but when I read the quote, I was reminded of how my own relationship with my family has changed over time: how it went from, "if you ever come out to us, it's going to be a huge problem" to now where we basically all acknowledge I'm queer, but it's not something we talk about. I've managed to avoid conflict mostly by staying one step ahead and gently changing our dynamic: never quite forcing my parents to sit up and go, "our daughter is queer! Our daughter has a complicated relationship with gender identity!", but pushing just enough and staying one step ahead, recognizing patterns and knowing what will be acceptable and let me be true to myself, and what will not be.