Your Little Secret

From Melissa Ethridge's Your Little Secret:

I could, I won't, I can't, I don't,
You make it hard, talk down my guard,
My senses soaked, my ego's choked,
I will not lie, I will not lie.

Of course, Melissa's talking about cheating on your partner with another person. But when I heard myself screaming those words at my partner, my heart, my lover, my best friend last night as I cried so hard I couldn't see her, I knew we had a problem. Put that on the back burner.

Get a really big stew pot. This is big and bad. Heck, there's so many things wrong with what I have just said. My partner is trans. It should read "he" and increasingly does. Cameron's living this wretchedly double life caught between who he is and what he is, facing dysmorphia every time he looks in the mirror. But we were fighting about his parents, who see him by his very feminine first name. And who see me as the best friend because, on top of everything else he's not out to his parents.

Keep stirring. I'm invited to every wedding, every funeral, every family reunion. I receive the same gifts as Cameron every Christmas and birthday except I get the uber-fem version. Yes, that's a technical term. But as Cam pointed out, there's the side of the family that I have never met. Her dad's side of the family would not welcome me. I don't receive the invitations. And when her dad passes away, I would be seated not up front beside my partner, but somewhere alone in the back.

(Side note, when my oldest son got married, he broke his four year silence to invite me to the wedding. We were seated on the bride's side of the family behind her parents. The minister didn't know who I was and was shocked to learn I was the birth mother. Indeed, there was a lovely point of the ceremony where the mothers went up together and lit candles to join the two families. It was his step-mother lighting that candle. I wanted to crawl under the pew. Some wounds never heal. We weren't included in the wedding pictures. We finally got one, by request, at the reception, in a side hall. They didn't purchase it and I don't have a copy.)

Last summer at the family reunion Cam's cousin asked how long we had been together with her father standing just out of hearing range. He was just trying to be polite and strike up a conversation with the much older dyke because he's a nice person, likes us, and wanted me to feel welcome. Had her father heard, we'd have been out of the closet. Put the stew pot on the back burner. It may require more ingredients. I don't know yet.

Grab a sauce pan. Let's thicken this mess up a little. Looks like we're having stew. In the sauce pan goes the agreement we would not address our couplehood with her parents because they are in their 80's, her dad is insanely bigoted, and she fears rocking the boat. Cam and her/his father are close. They talk every night at 8 when the dog gets walked and I'm tucked into bed listening to my favorite blogtalk radio program before falling asleep for the night. We've agreed a hundred times in a thousand different ways it doesn't matter. So why does it matter now? Keep stirring and move to a low temperature. Let it thicken awhile.

Grab another pot and let's get ready to stir.

Facebook. That lovely social media. Mom got a touchpad, which Cam's brother-in-law is setting up for her. He set up her facebook, unfriended us on his own facebook so mom can't get to our walls, and I immediately show up as a friend suggestion. Mom and I still have other people in common.

When I show up as a friend suggestion, there's the picture of Cam and me taken as a couple taken for the church directory a couple of years ago. The same picture that hangs on the wall of the brother-in-law's house when he made himself a copy from mom and dad's original. Complicated much?

Somehow I think it looks different on facebook. Especially when I say I'm "married". Especially with my feminist/politically active/GLBT posts all over the place. Especially with my right to marry statements, pictures of flowers from my partner, etc. And not only do I stand to out Cameron as my "gay" partner, but I also stand to out him as "trans". This sucks. Yeah, I know I can block mom. But what reason, authentic and true to myself, can I give? She wants facebook so she can be closer to family. And I am family. Not sure of my role, but I'm family.

So yes, I'm madly changing security settings, etc. And I threatened to change our picture today. But for me the issue is even more complicated. It's ethical. It's identity. It's about who I am. I don't want to change the picture. I moved to SC so I would not have to hide. I've already lost my oldest son to the excuse that I'm gay and he doesn't approve. He's about to have my third grandchild. Yet another grandchild to grow up without me. I paid my fricking dues to be authentic. I pay everyday when I think about Beauty and see how much she looks like me at that age. I see those pictures on Facebook because my daughter-in-law allows it. My son has me blocked.

Let's add some more ingredients to a skillet and put this on the front burner. When I outed myself ten years ago, a very wise woman said to me, "Claiming to be lesbian is not about sexuality or orientation. It is a political statement. Think about what it means to you. And live it." I did.

For me it's a political statement. I "look" very "straight" until seen out in public with my "gay accessory." If I am to challenge and participate in change then it is my job to live authentically, to hold hands in public when appropriate, to talk about my partner the same way I would a husband, to honor our relationship. At work Cam's paintings hang on my wall and talk very openly about him as an artist. I must have two conversations a week with different people about being gay, trans, other.

Of course, if Cam's straight and male, we aren't a gay couple at all. Let that twist my identity awhile...and Goddess know what his parents would say to that. It is neat solution to being gay, isn't it? And that also seems to fall short of the truth.

And if we are going to be political, let me rant a moment. My partner can barely walk, needs surgery, and is in school so he can pull his financial weight in this relationship. But for the last eight years it's been me to hold a steady job and have money for food, gas, and trailer payment. I used to be able to claim him as a dependent. Until the IRS changed the tax law this year and I can't claim anyone older than me unless they draw disability. So I got $2000 less back on my refund this year. Two cannot live as cheaply as one. That was the money that was supposed to repair the sagging, soft floor in the bathroom. Maybe put cheap flooring in the kitchen. We've lived on subfloors for the last five years. They are not meant to be swept and mopped, but what cha' gonna do? Of course, I live in a state that will NEVER allow gay marriage.

Stir in the fact that when Cameron got the first hip replacement it was with my insurance, my sleeping at the hospital and my care. "Loophole in the policy" my ass. Anyone with two brain cells knows the only "loophole" for insurance is partner's benefits. Which I lost when the company laid us off and closed the doors.

I reread this mess and I'm not even sure what the point is. I'm angry, I'm hurt, I'm frustrated. I don't want to be the cause of Cam loosing his parents. I don't want him to choose. I don't think a choice should be necessary. My partner is agony, and I'm truthfully not a lot of help. But this bitter recipe aside, I love him. He is my heart. And I will be here no matter what. Nevertheless, I just want to grab all those pots and throw it out. It is bitter recipe and has no good answer.

Identity v. Labels

I recently received an email from a friend regarding her identity has a bisexual woman. While she is married to a woman, she feels offended when she is identified as a lesbian. My friend questions if the morality of her Christian upbringing taints the label of lesbian, or if there is something else that bothers her. Before I answer her, however, I thought I would work out some of my thoughts here.

For forty years I identified as a heterosexual woman. I have been married four times, divorced three times and widowed once. I have two adult sons. While there had been a few women in my life along the way, I had mostly relegated those relationships to my "wilder" days. As a now post-menopausal woman, now I recognize how profoundly hormones, church and societal expectations dictated my self identification.

My first clue of at least being bisexual came when I was seventeen. My neighbor was twenty-five, and her husband close to forty. We got involved in a threesome, but my focus was much more on her than her husband. Ten years later in graduate school, although I was married, I had a two year long relationship with a lesbian. Still later there was a brief affair with a much younger woman who wasn't really ready for a relationship with me and my complications.

As the years accumulated and the damage worsened, I chose inappropriate men. By the end, I had a string of sociopaths that would make your skin crawl. It was a dark time, and I was blessed by the Lady to have survived. At forty I embarked upon a brief affair with a woman I love deeply, now as my sister-of-the-heart. In traditional lesbian fashion, my ex-lover is also my best friend.

For years I was resistant to identifying as lesbian. I have two sons that I love deeply. I have been married to men that I loved. I felt that if I identified as lesbian, I disavowed those relationships. I no longer believe that; now I believe that identities are fluid, shifting with the place we find ourselves. I was heterosexual. I was bisexual. I am lesbian.

Cameron and I began our relationship six years ago. The word bisexual is a difficult one for her, as her former lover identified as bisexual, and then proved to prefer men. The pain and anxiety of those years has left her very sensitized. Certainly the lesbian community treats women who identify as bisexual with great suspicion. The accusation of greediness, though wrong, is not uncommon.

For myself, I decided that if I am in a committed relationship with a woman, then I am going to identify as lesbian. I think I secretly like the rebelliousness of it, as well. Our society still disproves of homosexuality, and if I am bisexual, then our society will assume I haven't met the right man yet. If I am lesbian, I can be a card-carrying rainbow flag kind of girl. Yet I don't think my blatant homosexuality is as difficult of a space to occupy as being bisexual. It seems to me that no matter who your partner is, you would have to always defend that other aspect of self in order to be true to your identity.

Most importantly for me, I don't believe I could ever engage in an intimate relationship with another man. If, Goddess forbid, Cameron should cross in to the summerlands before me, I cannot see myself involved with a man. I don't find myself watching them, or feeling a pull of attraction or desire. I do find myself watching women, attracted to them, desiring them. So it makes since to me that the drive of hormones has subsided, and this place in my life is exclusively lesbian.

I wonder if my friend resists identifying as lesbian because it would require her to disavow an important part of herself. Perhaps she has had significant heterosexual relationships and she doesn't want to be accused of not letting them work out well because she was really gay. Perhaps our society's attitudes make her resistant to limiting herself, regardless of the commitment to her current relationship. Perhaps the echoes of our Christian churches cause her to be resistant of the lesbian label.

Ultimately, I think it comes down to a difference between identity and labels. How we identify is self determined. I am a lesbian whether I am with a partner or not. Labels, on the other hand, tend to be applied by other's perceptions of us. So perhaps my friend objects to the labels others apply to her, even though she is married to a woman, because the label limits her identity.

Deity is an Iron

Today the office manager of the not for profit clinic, where I am a Marriage and Family Therapy Graduate Student, asked me to see the Wiccan family of a former client. The child had been assigned to me because there would be things I might "get" that another therapist would not because - duh, I'm Wiccan. After completing the required sessions I did not expect there to be any further need of counseling.

However, today I was offered the opportunity to see the entire family. Aware of issues beyond my current level of training, I requested a male co-therapist. The office manager suggested a wonderful minister/intern. I accepted, said I would talk to him, and went my merry way. After talking to him, and he accepted, I had a moment of clarity and insight.

I just asked a Baptist Preacher Man to be my co-therapist with a Wiccan family. Oh, and I'm lesbian, which he has openly expressed as something which he theologically disagrees. Why did I do it? After yesterday I am tempted to say I've lost my mind. Maybe I did it because our God is an iron, and life is filled with little ironies. I love Preacher Man because his heart is true. We spent a semester of pastoral therapy together, and I trust him. I know a little of his back story and nothing but the greatest respect for him. And so one more time I become the Lady's emissary to spread the GLBTQ message, one human being at a time.

Transformation and Sex Ed

The classroom lights have been turned off. My classmates have already left the building. Sex ed ended about half an hour ago. After going to get some food, I have slipped back into the building and headed for the computer lab. I feel a need to capture the energy of my experience and to share it before I go home to a dirty house, a dog begging to be walked, and the final exam that I need to complete and email to the teacher. This has been a week of transformation, not just for myself, but also for most of my classmates. We had 13 people in the class (two dropped early due to conflicts in their schedules). A local sex therapist was the instructor. She's everything I want in a teacher. Mature, on target, gentle, challenging, and ready for anything.

Let me back up just a moment and explain where I am coming from. After four marriages, three divorces and one committing suicide, I am in a committed relationship of six years with Cameron. I made a decision when I began this grad program to be openly gay and to use my presence to discomfort and challenge the heterosexual future therapists. I try hard not to offend, but I do not remain in the closet. There are a few therapists in the program, however, that make me uncomfortable enough not to have taken this class last summer when they would be there. That means I took the class with people I barely know.

My classmates ranged from twenty-something and just finished the undergrad to sixty-two and getting a new career. I was the oldest woman. I thought I was the only lesbian. The class really heightened my anxiety. Hearing about heterosexuality over and over again as we discuss erection disfunction, heterosexual couples issues, etc sometimes felt overbearing (it was, in fact balanced for the needs of our clients). We covered such topics as fetishes, BDSM, polyamoury, transgender, gay and lesbian issues. We read, we discussed, we watched videos. The instructor brought sexual aids, lube, and handouts. We role played, challenged, questioned.

Yesterday Cameron was invited to discuss what it's like to be caught in the middle of the gender continium. She made herself vulnerable to share with my class her challenges. She challenged their heteronormative assumptions. In the end, the class did a lot of soul searching and thinking. Then today SammieJoe came to talk to us. She's MTF. She's not flamboyant, or obvious, nor does she wear short skirts or too much makeup. She's also beautiful, feminine, and comfortable in her skin. She also arrived on her motorcycle wearing her pink helmet! And again my classmates rose to the challenge, asking questions, seeking to understand.

SammieJoe scared me to death. For a few hours I had to process the reality of Cameron's conundrum. I admitted to my future therapist friends in the breakroom the scariness of the something that can roll over a loved one's life, demanding transition, regardless of everything else. Today Cameron says she doesn't need to transition. But I know from listening to others that beneath the surface, the thinking can process and eventually come up with a different conclusion. And I know that no matter how much Cameron and I love each other, transition is ultimately her decision. Indeed, it has to be her decision. And while she would of course weigh the value of our relationship, she cannot ever choose me over something so profound. Nor would I want her to.

Once I named my fear today, I felt much better. And I realized how deeply my classmates lives have been touched by Cameron and SammieJoe. Several didn't even know what it means to be transgendered before this week. Others had simply never put a face to it. Our 62 year old future therapist said that he was doing a lot of soul searching because, despite what his baptist church might say, he believes in looking after his client' wellfare, and cannot see how SammieJoe could be wrong. I sit here in awe of the growth I saw in the class. The instructor praised us, saying we were one of the best classes she's ever taught. I don't doubt it. And I'm privileged to have been some small part.

Oh, I almost forgot the best part. We had to do the book report (see previous gripe about Barnes and Noble). A young woman stood up after me and said "When I went looking in my part of the store at Barnes and Noble, I couldn't find my books either." I looked up, suprised. Then she said, "I'm gay. I was going to talk about Lebian Couples, too. But since you've already done my book, let me tell ya'll about another." This beautiful, brave lesbian stood up in class to say she was gay. I am in awe. What tremendous courage -- she'll be in classes with everyone for the next two years. And she found the courage to claim her identity today.

Open Hearts. Open Minds. Open Doors. NOT

Disclaimer. I am about to bash a Methodist Church. Let it be known that this experience was exclusive to the church where we went Sunday. We have had the opposite reaction at another Methodist Church ten miles away.

The original intent had been open hearts, open minds, open hands. As Peter DeGroote points out in his blog,

The decision was to replace “open hands” with “open doors,” thereby sabotaging purpose, clarity, and effectiveness. Church doors were already open; the question was (and is) how people were treated once they got inside. “Open hands” dealt with human community, “open doors” with public access to a building (the corrupting influence of mixed metaphors!

Cameron and I certainly ecountered the open door/closed hand this weekend. Light is visiting us this weekend, kindly helping us with major reorganization of our home, and we promised to take her to church Sunday. We were headed thirty miles south to our Episcopalian church, when I suddenly took a left hand. Since the door was metaphorically slammed on Cameron, she has never gotten photos of her murals for her portfolio. Light has a professional grade camera and will soon be photographing Cameron's work for an upcoming website. Without any pre-thought, I turned, we parked, we entered. Sunday school was going to be begin about ten or fifteen minutes. I figured the bustle would mask my intent.

I had forgotten just how breathtaking her work is there. She has a temple scene where Mary and Joseph are presenting baby Jesus. Simon is about to take Joseph and child to the inner court. My favorite: the prophetess Anna is about to take Mary to the women's court. Spiritual mentor between women is a powerful, but forgotten, theme of this text. I stood and wept at the beauty of the work, and the power of the Crone/Mother image.

Cameron had been greeted by the youth director, who made us welcome but quickly had to excuse herself to go put out fires. Another woman followed, who was intensely uncomfortable with me. Maybe it was pentacle. Maybe it was because she knows I am Cameron's partner. The minister quickly appeared, once she left, although I only learned his identity later. He made Light and I horribly, horribly uncomfortable and seemed intent on seeing us out the door as quickly as possible. It was a terrible, terrible experience and I was horrified.

When we got to our own church, hugged and welcomed by Father Mike and Mother Linda, made welcome by friends we hadn't seen in several months of an intense schedule, the stark contrast made me painfully aware of the contrast between the churches. It finally struck me that had that Methodist minister been doing his job, he might have introduced himself, made us welcome, invited us to the service. Or any one of a number of other people!

A few months ago Cameron came across the last check this same church had issued her several years before. In the chaos of the time, she had neglected to cash it -- about $250. Enough to have made a big difference in our current circumstances. She contacted the church, they assured her that it could be replaced by a current check. She took the old one, they said come back the next day for the new one. When she went to pick it up, Cameron learned that the minister had stopped the issuance of the new check...there's more to the story of this minister, but it's Cameron's to tell.

It breaks my heart that a supposedly open minded church could be so rejecting. I still have my membership placed with a Methodist church in Atlanta. I think its time I write a letter to move it, but also to those higher up. I am disillusioned by the church of my early childhood that I had held so dear to my heart.

Trans Dream

I had an interesting dream last night. Apparently trans issues are very much on my mind. The dream:

I was in my early thirties, lesbian, and single. A work related event had me attending a conference on substance abuse counseling. For lunch, we were paired and seated in small groups at round tables. The host of the event had arranged for specialty breads to accompany lunch, which arrived at the table in small, personal shaped loaves. I had been late arriving, and was seated at a table with another late comer named Jennifer. She was friendly, but very reserved. I was really attracted to her. We had each been served a different kind of bread, so we split our loaves and shared with each other. We seemed to be having fun, and then suddenly it was as if I hit a wall. I couldn't figure out what was wrong.

Next moment, we were standing outsound the building on a balcony after dinner, chatting. I had been flirting with her, but she was rarther reticent. Yet I could tell she was interested. She had changed clothes, and was wearing a shawl drawn up to her neck. The wind caught it, she moved just right, and I could see a thick thatch of hair on her chest. My first thought was curiosity. If she was self conscious, I wondered why she had not shaved. My second thought was the realization that I faced a trans person who presented as female. On the one hand, I am lesbian and was saddened that she wasn't really a woman. On the other hand, I fascinated, and I wanted to talk about it, but didn't know how to bring it.

Then the alarm went off

Having read and been strongly affected by Alissia's blog (her entry about her ex-wife), it is apparent that I was still processing what I read. I also must add that I am part of an online trans partner list, so I get a lot of food for thought there, as well. Then there is the obvious; that Cameron is transgender. The dream didn't seek to apply labels. I don't want to figure the dream woman, although I wanted to hear her story. I wasn't turned off or discouraged by recognzing the male beneath the exterior. I just sought the company of a fascinating person. Indeed, that juxtaposition of the male/female is wildly attractive and exciting to me.

So I tend to see this dream as an affirmation of our relationship, my attraction to her, and the power of that blend of masculine/feminine. On the other hand, a confession. that male/female juxtaposition was much easier before it was named. When I saw it, and simply recognized it as part of the woman I love. It was easier before someone pathologized it; named it; called it a disorder. Maybe the label gives Cameron relief, that ah-hah moment of "so that's what I am." For me the label undercuts who she is; for me; she simply is the boi I love beyond all measure, beyond all reason simply because she is what she is.

Sometimes Cameron feels like she has opened Pandora's box. She fears how this journey might affect us, as do I on occassion. Nevertheless, I am not hostage to this journey. I walk this journey of exploration because I love her. Because I choose it. Because I want to. Because I have lived without her, and this is better. And while recognzing her as Transgendered changes everything, it also changes nothing.

Sex Ed Class and Discrimination

I am taking a required sex education class the first week of August. The teacher, in an attempt to desensitize us, gave us an assignment. We were to go to a book store, such as Barnes and Nobles, and select ten sex self-help books. We are to choose one to read, and the other nine needed to be listed on a bibliography with book descriptions before class starts.

Being a rabid lesbian in a room of heterosexuals, I believe it is my sacred duty as a daughter of the Goddess in a fertility religion to educate my peers. So I headed for the gay/lesbian section. I could not find it! I finally asked at the desk, and found out that gay/lesbian books had been reduced to two bottom shelves in the "Cultural Studies" section. I am not a cultural study.

I was outraged that there were only two lesbian and two gay books that fit the requirements of the assignment (The other books you see in the pile on the floor pictured were interesting things found in other parts of the store on other subjects. I was, after all, an English major many years ago). The rest of the two shelves were either histories of the gay/lesbian movement or they were erotica, neither of which were useful for the assignment. I only saw one book, other Helen Boyd’s book My Husband Betty, on transgenders.

Next I headed to the self-help section. It was completely, as expected, exclusionary. Apparently only heterosexuals need self-help given the six shelves of books and the section label! Nice to know that Barnes and Nobles has such confidence in our ability to have sex. On the other hand, the more book titles I went through, the more angry I became.

Warning: The rest of this rant is X rated. Buy your ticket for the TMI bus before continuing. And the opinions expressed her violate my feminist union card.

Side explanation: This is completely politically incorrect, and a deep secret of my feminist lesbian soul. I love porn; not so much the pictures, but the cheesy movies where everybody has a great time engaging in incredibly intimate sexual play. I even like heterosexual porn, although I am way more focused on the women than the men. Unfortunately, most so called lesbian porn is performed by straight girls, and they don’t tighten straps enough, or seem to understand the nervelessness of simply engaging in their own pleasure without a man intruding at some point. Nevertheless, I get an erotic kick out of porn, so I assumed I would likewise have fun looking through the pictures in self-help books. For some reason, gay male porn seems to be a lot more convincing.

Unfortunately, when I saw the heterosexual self-help books, illustrated or photographed, I unexpectedly train wrecked. I mistakenly assumed that my secret porn fetish would allow me to enjoy looking through the books. I was wrong. (I only found one I would refer my clients to with a clear conscious. The rest would be intimidating, or I didn't like the illustrations/photography, or something.)

I finally come to the conclusion that movie porn invites the viewer to participate, if only visually. The so-called actors often break the frame by looking directly into the camera to heighten the sense of immediacy. Movies seem to presuppose that having someone watch is part of the experience. Regardless of my orientation, I am invited to participate; not so with heterosexually oriented self-books. They feel entirely exclusionary. The books are written only to the heterosexual experience, from a heterosexual point of view that assumes my lesbian experience to be invalid.

Suddenly I was confronted with exactly how far from the mainstream I world I have gotten, and the contempt with which I am ignored. The books dealt with exclusivity between the man and woman, presumably married (last time I looked, Cameron and I can't married in SC!) and pointedly leave me out of the picture. They also seemed to focus heavily on pleasing and pleasuring the man. I got the sense that the woman's pleasure didn't come from her own enjoyment of sex, but pleasure from her partner's enjoyment of sex. Shesh. The more I read the books and viewed the pictures, the more irate I became. And the more my gender bending wife panicked on the other end of the phone! I think she wondered if I would castrate her when I got home on general principle.

Despite my grumpiness with the heterosexual books, I was almost equally disgusted with that I found in the gay/lesbian section. The first Barnes and Nobles, which had the two lonely books for lesbian self-help, only had The Whole Lesbian Sex Book: A Passionate Guide for All of Us by Felice Newman (editor of On Our Backs) and On Our Backs Guide to Lesbian Sex edited by Diana Cage. Both are good; but both are slanted by their own poltical/social views.

Let me explain. While both books are explicit, fun and edgy, they also can be incredibly intimidating. For the young, savy lesbian who is totally comfortable with her orientation and likes living in an exploratory world of night clubs, parties, and dating, these can be fabulous books full of information, insight, and encouragement. If I had read either during my own middle-aged coming out, I might have fled screaming into the night. Not because I hadn't done as much or more in my young, heterosexual world, but because if that's what is expected by the hot dyke sitting next to me, I'm out of here. (When Cameron realized how nervous I was about stepping outside my comfort zone the first time we were together sexually, she slowed way the hell down and let me catch up! Cameron likes reminding me that I was a rowdy girl, just out of my heterosexual comfort zone.)

Furthermore, both books were written by magazine editors, which introduces a very slanted view. One is the editor of Curve, an upscale magazine with interviews of such people as Melissa Etheridge. It is not porn. It talks about sex, but is not graphic (like Maxim). They do not write "How to Please Your Woman" articles, although the Fairy Butch advice column will talk about dildos and sex. The other magazine is the lesbian equivalent to Hustler, with graphic photos and instructions on how to safely engage in some of the edgiest sexual behaviors safely. Each magazine has its own agenda and political views, and the editor's views are very clearly shown in their book. What a sharp contrast to the heterosexual self-help books with Ph.D. behind their names!

If this little assignment is any indication of how the class will go for me, then my classmates are going to be rather unhappy with with the outspoken lesbian with an agenda. I bet not a one of them has considered the struggle of gays or lesbians, let alone a gender bender outside the binary box. I consider it my sacred duty, as the daughter and priestess of the Goddess, to knock them from their comfort zones. In the mean time, I going back to Barnes and Nobles to complain. The smaller store didn't even a section header for me. I want it back! Meanwhile I'm talking about being subversive and rebellious in class while my wife is trying to remind me that I may have to take other classes with these students. Do I look like I care? Hrumph.

On the bright side, I've been thoroughly desensitized. I read everything, as I grumbled on the IM to Cameron, surrounded by people, including the innocent with children. I was careful not to let the pictures show. But since I had to plug up the lap top, the only seat available landed me in the middle of four men and a woman who kept sneaking glances at my stack of books (which included great stuff for gay gals such as my favorites, Is It a Date or Just Coffee by Mo Brownsey, The New Lesbian Sex Book by Wendy Caster, and Lesbian Couples: A Guide to Creating Healthy Relationships by D. Merilee Clunis, PhD and G. Dorsey Green, PhD which is not specifically a sexual self-help book, but so amazing my straight friends need to read it to. The gay sex books garnered the most sideways glances, and included The Joy of Gay Sex by Dr. Charles Silverstein and Felice Picano, Gay Sex Secrets Revealed by Jonathan Bass, and The Gay Man's Karma Sutra by Terry Sanderson. I never blushed once.)

Raising Children while Gay and Wiccan: A Double Whammy

I think one the darkest challenges of walking my path has been dealing with the loss of custody of my children. While much of the past are stories for another day, I will say that leaving my sons in the custody of their father was one of the hardest choices I ever made. It was also one of the wisest. The agony nearly destroyed me until about six months after I left, when I had a vision/dream. I saw the huge hands of God cradling my tiny sons in the palms of his hands. It was a visual affirmation of the words my sponsor kept repeating, “Children never belong to us. Sometimes we are just gifted with the opportunity to care for them for awhile.”

Gaining joint custody when they were teenagers turned out to be a disaster because of The Evil Warlock, my fiancé. Nevertheless, during those years I was attending ritual regularly while training with the a Grove in the suburbs of Atlanta. I knew I had a calling. I seemed to have been led to the grove. Yet just before initiation I knew something had gone horribly wrong. I challenged for initiation, but they refused to allow the trial Meanwhile, my bipolar, unemployed fiancé managed to gain his first degree. He was completely unstable at the time, but had gained the confidence of my also bipolar priestess. They seemed to feed each other illnesses. He was also taking money, unbeknownst to me, and paying her bills. It took about six months for me to realize the harm my fiancé had been causing to me behind my back. It took the grove about another year and a half to realize their mistakes. I have subsequently received an apology.

One of the reasons I was determined to expose my sons to paganism was to expand their world view. We come from an area dominated by Baptists and the Church of Christ, so I wanted the boys to know there are other ways to explore their spirituality. My oldest son never “got it” and pursues a path possibly leading to becoming a Chaplin the military. My youngest is extremely involved in the Baptist church with his wife. While the oldest is traditional and narrow minded, the youngest remains open minded and nonjudgmental. I have no idea how I actually influenced either son.

Just as my spirituality can be challenging in my life, so can be being gay. My youngest son is entirely unconcerned regarding my orientation and loves my partner. My eldest son, however, is military and breaths military culture. I suppose the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy reinforces his resistance to homosexuality. Ironically, he loves my partner who has been part of his life for 11 years. The agony of grandchildren growing up without my ever holding them, reading them stories, or hugging them is indescribable. Unfortunately, between paganism and gay, the distance between myself and my son seems insurmountable. Fortunately, I believe in miracles.