Monday, April 19, 2004
History Lessons
Bony Crow invited me to her mom's 70th birthday party. It was a huge family event and a perfect day for it. Our friend D and his boyfriend T also came, and we sat in the breeze on a large wood deck.
D, T and I were getting caught up when BC broke in to introduce an elderly man: Her father's older brother, recently Out to the family.
At 74 years, Uncle's eyes were clear, if a bit watery; some glinting bridge-work. He had missed a few spots shaving.
But Uncle was far from frail. He was subdued but spoke with conviction. At first, I think he was uncertain what to talk about. We talked about his eighteen years of sobriety. Things perked up when the conversation turned to the 1960s and The Show Boat.
The Show Boat was a steam-powered paddleboat that once hosted "discrete" dances. People would drive in from all over Ohio, Pennsylvania, Kentucky and West Virginia to a remote pier outside Cincinnati. It would leave at midnight on Fridays and Saturdays, float down the Ohio River and chug back at 4 a.m. Uncle began going in 1968, when he was 38. It was raided (for --*gasp*-- marijuana use!) and shut down in the early 1970s.
After one polite comment, I was irritated that D and T ignored him.
So I've been thinking about some of the old guys I've known. When I was first on my own, I had a string of Older Gentlemen friends, all in their 50s -- and maybe older if they had been truthful. Lots of money and plenty to spend -- on me! Me me me! Hugshyhermit certainly turned heads dining at fine restaurants with his "Uncle," wearing Duran Duran-inspired outfits. Oh what did I care?
Most of this occurred when I was 23 and living in England. I would catch a lot of attitude from the wait staff. "Would Sir care for a drink?" they would smirk. "I'll have a Harvey Wallbanger no ice," I'd respond in my blandest American accent and most condescending tone; then they'd have to go look that one up. Hah! (Not exactly a Strawberry Daquiri, now was I?) Yes, it was pretty bratty.
But dating much Older Gentlemen wasn't a path strewn with rose petals. My spoiled behavior was repaid in kind. These relationships didn't last long and featured frequent and sometimes vicious aboutfaces.
"What do you know; you're too young to know anything!" one spat out.
"I think our little arrangement has ended," said another after I disagreed with something. "What 'arrangement'," I whined, "I thought you -- *sob* -- loved me!" Ugh, could I have been any more pathetically naieve?
I bet they're all dead now.
Spring forward fifteen years. In Colorado, I helped form a gay book club.*Unlike most book clubs I've heard about, our group actually read the book each month. After the first few meetings, it settled to an ongoing core of about 12 folks, most of whom were aged mid-50s and older, with some nearing age 80.
One aspect that emerged from the discussions was relating the books' themes to our lives. Because everyone had grown up in a variety of backgrounds before landing in Colorado, I looked forward to these talks and hearing the different opinions. It seemed as though they were just as interested in listening to mine. I don't know if they gained much from me, but I sure learned a lot from them.
After awhile, we added a movie that related to that month's book. One of these was A Very Natural Thing which has become one of my favorites. I thought it was realistic, not all sugar and gay-lib spice, yet optimistic; notable too because the guys in it had "real" bodies, and not the gym-pumped, shaved ones that the porn industry tells us to have these days.
When we viewed it, I was the only one who liked it. "This flm is so... dated." They criticized the low-budget production values and 70s slang. None of that bothered me: The issues the main character faced in the 70s were universal and are the same ones to face now.
Interestingly, favorite films from that same time period were this one featuring Robby Benson, or the other one featuring Parker Stevenson. Talk about repressed!
There's a few history lessons in here.
* Hey R, do you remember the Gods and Monsters discussion? ha ha!
D, T and I were getting caught up when BC broke in to introduce an elderly man: Her father's older brother, recently Out to the family.
At 74 years, Uncle's eyes were clear, if a bit watery; some glinting bridge-work. He had missed a few spots shaving.
But Uncle was far from frail. He was subdued but spoke with conviction. At first, I think he was uncertain what to talk about. We talked about his eighteen years of sobriety. Things perked up when the conversation turned to the 1960s and The Show Boat.
The Show Boat was a steam-powered paddleboat that once hosted "discrete" dances. People would drive in from all over Ohio, Pennsylvania, Kentucky and West Virginia to a remote pier outside Cincinnati. It would leave at midnight on Fridays and Saturdays, float down the Ohio River and chug back at 4 a.m. Uncle began going in 1968, when he was 38. It was raided (for --*gasp*-- marijuana use!) and shut down in the early 1970s.
After one polite comment, I was irritated that D and T ignored him.
So I've been thinking about some of the old guys I've known. When I was first on my own, I had a string of Older Gentlemen friends, all in their 50s -- and maybe older if they had been truthful. Lots of money and plenty to spend -- on me! Me me me! Hugshyhermit certainly turned heads dining at fine restaurants with his "Uncle," wearing Duran Duran-inspired outfits. Oh what did I care?
Most of this occurred when I was 23 and living in England. I would catch a lot of attitude from the wait staff. "Would Sir care for a drink?" they would smirk. "I'll have a Harvey Wallbanger no ice," I'd respond in my blandest American accent and most condescending tone; then they'd have to go look that one up. Hah! (Not exactly a Strawberry Daquiri, now was I?) Yes, it was pretty bratty.
But dating much Older Gentlemen wasn't a path strewn with rose petals. My spoiled behavior was repaid in kind. These relationships didn't last long and featured frequent and sometimes vicious aboutfaces.
"What do you know; you're too young to know anything!" one spat out.
"I think our little arrangement has ended," said another after I disagreed with something. "What 'arrangement'," I whined, "I thought you -- *sob* -- loved me!" Ugh, could I have been any more pathetically naieve?
I bet they're all dead now.
Spring forward fifteen years. In Colorado, I helped form a gay book club.*Unlike most book clubs I've heard about, our group actually read the book each month. After the first few meetings, it settled to an ongoing core of about 12 folks, most of whom were aged mid-50s and older, with some nearing age 80.
One aspect that emerged from the discussions was relating the books' themes to our lives. Because everyone had grown up in a variety of backgrounds before landing in Colorado, I looked forward to these talks and hearing the different opinions. It seemed as though they were just as interested in listening to mine. I don't know if they gained much from me, but I sure learned a lot from them.
After awhile, we added a movie that related to that month's book. One of these was A Very Natural Thing which has become one of my favorites. I thought it was realistic, not all sugar and gay-lib spice, yet optimistic; notable too because the guys in it had "real" bodies, and not the gym-pumped, shaved ones that the porn industry tells us to have these days.
When we viewed it, I was the only one who liked it. "This flm is so... dated." They criticized the low-budget production values and 70s slang. None of that bothered me: The issues the main character faced in the 70s were universal and are the same ones to face now.
Interestingly, favorite films from that same time period were this one featuring Robby Benson, or the other one featuring Parker Stevenson. Talk about repressed!
There's a few history lessons in here.
* Hey R, do you remember the Gods and Monsters discussion? ha ha!