“A father is a son’s first hero and a daughter’s first love.”
– unknown
You see, I had to grow up very fast. My parents separated when I was three due to my father’s inability to break up with alcohol. I remember the separation, talking to the court, the battles between my mother and great aunt and what it was like to see my father again after months of being apart while he tried to get his sobriety in check.
That memory of reuniting is my truest happiest early memory! My mother’s step-mom, Grandma Ina (may she rest peacefully) made it happen. She was an incredible woman and I will always be thankful for the seven years I knew her! When we arrived at my great aunt Mary Lou’s, whom from here on out will be referred to as simply, “Auntie”, it was like every kid’s dream come true. Presents stacked from floor to ceiling in every holiday wrapping that we missed dad. We even had both Christmas stockings and Easter baskets with Valentine treats to boot. Purely magical in the eyes of a child. Hell, even as an adult who wouldn’t love a scene like that? The Valentine treats being the most symbolic because as of February 14th, just before my fourth birthday, my father stuck to his sobriety and hasn’t looked back!
Other memorable early memories with my daddy include: Friday nights, fish sticks with macaroni for dinner, watching Full House and playing games, particularly barbies, on the kitchen floor. Odd as it may seem, playing on the kitchen floor became “our thing” for years to come.
With sobriety came truths, secrets and personal turmoil. For the first time my father had to face who he was, what he was and what it’d mean going forward. Remember how I mentioned that my father was raised Catholic? We’re talking about five siblings, private school and a mother who worked for the church kind of Catholic. Irony there is that dad and his siblings all struggled with substance abuse and addictions. So much so that out of all the “kids” in my generation on that side – I can confidently say that I am one of, if not the only one, who hasn’t had a substance abuse issue! Unfortunately history repeats itself, passed down by generations. I actually had a cousin who was so caught up down the wrong path that he was wrongfully executed by the state of Texas. That’s right, the asshole known as Rick Perry allowed an innocent man to be put to death. By the sound of those crickets instead of gasps, this news clearly isn’t a shock… Texas has the Law of Parties, which allows someone to be held criminally responsible for the actions of another. Steven Michael Woods Jr. was murdered by a wrongful justice system – while the real criminal (who pled guilty and ALL physical evidence points to) sits in jail for life. The most fucked up part is that Rick Perry had to give the final “okay” just 15 minutes prior, knowing Steven was, for all intents and purposes, innocent of a crime that would warrant death. Perry then went on record just weeks after bragging about his number of executions. ASS-hole!
Just a few short months after working the program, Dad met Brian. Anyone who knows anything about the program knows that you should wait at least one year before starting a new relationship. Yes, you read that right; Dad and Brian started a relationship. Not only was my dad battling for sobriety, but also the truth in the fact that he is gay. I honestly believe if it wasn’t for Brian, my dad may not be where he is today. They were the best thing for each other at such a pivotal point in my dad’s life! [Thank you, Brian, for not only helping my dad, but also for being a decent step-mother… even if you did tie us up that one time while watching us. 😉 ]
Obviously these new revelations spiraled confusion for everyone involved and everyone dealt with it differently. It took some time, but finally everyone came around with acceptance. In fact, my parents are the best of friends, they talk almost every day and we celebrate holidays as one big family. Brian and mom get along great. You’d never know there was a time when things weren’t so great… but there definitely was. I’m not sure when Jack found out about Dad, but I was nine. Jack had a very difficult time with friends for various reasons, but having a gay father didnt help during a time with less acceptance and when HIV/AIDS was on the rise. Dad didn’t want me to face the same hardships, wanted to protect his Princess from prejudice. As I was getting older Mom tried convincing him to fill me in – but it was too late. I found out during a fight with my life-long friend [shout out to my Lori-Lou Sissy Poo]. Lauren and I fought like sisters. The two most memorable being when she threw a handful of panty liners at me, while simultaneously yelling at me to, “eat pads!” and the other was when she yelled, “at least my dad isnt gay!”
My brother and Lauren’s brother were in boy scouts together and our mothers became instant friends. Every morning before school, for 6 years, Lauren would be dropped off at my house roughly two hours early while her mother went to work. I was usually still asleep and would wake up to either A) Lauren playing, B) a clean room that wasn’t clean the night before (having an organized clean freak for a faux sister had its perks), and more often than I would have liked, C) a sneaky little blond trying to glance at my latest diary entries. Talk about invasion and lack of privacy! Usually I wasn’t mortified, however once when we were seven, the last thing I wanted her to discover was sprawled right across the page: “Mrs. Jena Martin. Mrs. Ricky Martin” … her brother’s name is Ricky…
Yes, Ricky Martin.
No, not the singer.
As I’ve mentioned, we fought like sisters. Over everything. One morning a fight broke out revolving around my dollhouse. This was not new territory, however the following was. I’m not sure exactly what was said leading up to it, but I’ll never forget these few lines:
Bratty Jena: “at least my dad’s not fat!” (Sorry Rick!!!)
Upset Lauren: “well at least my dad isn’t gay!”
Shocked Jena: “my dad’s not gay!”
Confident Lauren: “uh-huh! I heard Mom and Ricky talking about it!”
[Confused, angry Jena runs upstairs and sits on sleeping mother’s bed]
“MOM lauren just said Dad is gay!”
[Half asleep Mom yelling, “oh shit” inside her head]
“What?”
J: “he isn’t gay, right Mom?!”
M: “Lauren, go watch T.v.”
[Pause that lasted an eternity]
J: “Mom?”
M: “I think that’s something you need to talk to Dad about.”
I didn’t. And it wasn’t until a few weeks later that my dad sat me down and told me what I had already come to realize as true. He is gay and him and Brian aren’t “just roommates”.
Funny story… I had known Brian was gay for at least 3 years – never thought anything of it. Never made the connection. Though, it all made sense then why Dad slept in what I thought was Brian’s room (which was really their guest room) any time Jack and I were over, why we celebrated so many things with Brian’s family. Ah yes, explains a lot. I had found out Brian was gay when I discovered his male calender. At the time he told me it was his former ::coughpartnercough:: roommate’s. I mentioned it to Jack and he told me it was Brian’s. When I asked if he was gay, Jack came right out and said, “yes.” Surprisingly enough, Jack didn’t mention anything about Dad. My guess is because he was protecting me as well… I was only five or six. But don’t you think if I knew what gay was at five, I would have been filled in? That’s what I thought at least when Dad finally told me. I wasn’t upset he was gay, I was upset about the decite and waiting so long to tell me – or rather, for me to find out.
Ironically, I only ever had one incident, actually two – same person – when it came to my father’s sexuality. I always had friends going with me to stay the night at Dad’s. Okay, maybe not “always”… again, female = absolutes… anyway, there was never an issue until 5th grade. I had a friend over for a sleepover – nothing out of the ordinary happened, and yet the next day my mother received a very rash, disgustingly hateful voice message from said friend’s mother. She could not believe my mother failed to let her know about my dad before she allowed her daughter into “that environment.” Needless to say, said friend wasn’t “allowed” to be my friend anymore. The second incident happened a few months later at a school function. The entire 5th grade throughout the district had a meet and greet at the local skating rink. Good ol’ Skatin Station II. My former friend had gotten into an altercation with her friends from her previous school. I just happened to witness it. Yay me! When the girl told her mother, I somehow was again present and was accused of being involved. It was then when her mother publicly announced that I was, “the girl with the faggot father.” Yeah, maturity at it’s finest, ladies and gents. It wasn’t until three years later at the 8th grade end of the year party that the girl’s mother actually apologized.