Me, Rex and the Supreme Court

Clockwise from top:Rex, Rob, Elise, Ty, Jennifer.
Center: me, of course. It's always about me.
Isn't it always about you?

Back when I was getting reacquainted with my brother after an eleven-year separation, I realized I had some thinking to do.

In the beginning, Rex lived in a nasty, run-down apartment on the bad side of town. His sweet good-nature made him the target of all the drug dealers, prostitutes and who-knows-who-else in the neighborhood. Rob and I couldn't convince him it was a bad idea to let people use his phone to arrange their business dealings. It was obvious to us that Rex's phone was the epicenter for all the illegal activity in the area. At the same time, Rex made a new friend. The guy needed a place to stay and my brother, being my brother, generously offered let the guy live with him.

My alarm bells went off the first time I met Rex's roommate. Instantly, from the first hand shake, I was concerned. Every time I tried to talk to Rex about getting rid of the guy, he got defensive, saying, "He is my FRIEND! I don't want him to leave," and then Rex would tear up and start to cry. It broke my heart. I understood how lonely Rex was, I could see how he longed to be appreciated and needed. But this guy? Not to be trusted.

After one particularly stressful visit where I found porn magazines stashed in the bathroom, I demanded Rex tell me exactly what was going on. Was the porn his? Did he buy those nasty magazines?  How does that kind of filth fit in with what Jesus would want for him?  Rex told Rob and I that the magazines were not his, they belonged to his roommate. He knew they were in the apartment, but did not look at them. I was mad and confused. The roommate was at work so we couldn't talk to him. I told Rex that was enough, his roommate had to go. No ifs, ands or buts, he was leaving. Rex cried, begging us to let the man stay. He really liked him and didn't want him to be homeless again. I replied I didn't care what happened to the roommate. My only concern was his well being, no one else's. As Rob and I left his apartment, Rex was still crying. I was scared. What was going to happen when Rex told his roommate to leave? Would he beat my brother up? Should we have stayed and taken care of this ourselves?

During the hour long drive back to our home, a new thought occurred to me. What if my brother's affection for his roommate went beyond companionship? What if my brother was sexually attracted to him? Was Rex even aware of that? What if my brother was gay? I hadn't considered that before. We were raised in the church, like everyone else. The church that said it was a sin, grievous unto death, if you were gay. I didn't know any openly gay people. I knew they were around, but not in any circles of my life. My only thought about being gay was I didn't want that for my children or my brother because life would be very, very hard for them. No loving parent wants their child to be ostracized by society, told they are sinners, and shunned. I just wanted my family to be happy.

I was so bothered by this new thought, I picked up the phone and called Rex's bishop and told him the situation. What if Rex was gay? Would he be kicked out of church? Would he lose the only group of people in his whole life who ever showed him unconditional love? Where would he go? What would become of him? What would the bishop do? This situation was so far beyond a theological debate, it wasn't even funny.

The bishop reassured me that he didn't believe Rex was gay. He didn't know for sure, they had never talked about it, just like I hadn't either. All the bishop positively knew, was that Rex was fine. No matter how this played out, he was not going to lose his church family and no one would treat him poorly. I was flooded with relief. In 1994 this was not a topic widely discussed in public, let alone in the church. I just needed to know my brother was safe and accepted. Since Rex lived his life on the emotional level of an 8 year-old boy, I didn't know how to even discuss it with him.


The next weekend, Rob and I informed Rex's roommate he needed to pack his porn and leave. I took Rex and my kids to play at the park while Rob helped the guy move out. Rex was still very unhappy with what we were doing, but I pulled the same sister rank I had always used in our childhood to do what I thought was best for him. I had been the boss his whole life and that wasn't changing.

Within a matter of weeks, Rex's apartment developed a deadly gas leak and he was moved to emergency housing across town, far away from the drug dealers and other shady characters still in his life. He was placed in a low-income, secured high-rise apartment  building traditional reserved for elderly women. He quickly went to work making friends with all the residents. My brother found his home and I was so relieved.

I never did get a clear picture of Rex's sexuality. He talked often about getting married and having kids, but was that because of how we were raised, or because he was attracted to women? I decided it didn't matter. My love for him transcended whatever my brother's sexuality was. Gay, straight, bi, whatever, I didn't care. He was my family and I loved him, including whoever he chose to love.

Yesterday the US Supreme Court decided that everyone, regardless of their sexual preferences, should be afforded the opportunity to legally wed if they choose to. I am glad they made that decision, the same one I made 21 years ago.

If my brother taught me anything, he taught me Love Always Wins. Always.

Blackberries Make Achieving a Goal Possible

Blackberries In the Wild



The best part about growing up in Oregon was the summer fruit. In our neighborhood I had free reign to plunder neighbors plum trees, cherry trees, and the blackberry bushes that grew like feral cats in the empty lot across the street. The blackberries were considered such a nuisance that our adoptive father Harley gave my oldest brother, Matthew a machete so he could chop down the thorny bushes wherever they took hold. This was, of course, back in the 1970's when it wasn't considered odd to give a 12 year-old boy an oversized butcher knife, along with a quick lesson on how to keep it deadly sharp. 

Luckily, Matthew was a tender-hearted, sensitive boy who used his machete only for good, never for evil. He chopped paths through the center of the tangled blackberry bushes that grew on the fence surrounding the 5 acre empty lot. He braved the thorny blackberry vines that could take off a layer of skin within seconds. He chopped out hidden forts, secret passages and small holes of cleared dirt that were perfect for spending the afternoon away from the troublesome adults in our lives. Having a working machete at our disposal made all kinds of childhood life improvements that were otherwise unimaginable.

Besides the fact I and my adoptive siblings used the bounties of Oregon fruit season to combat the regular punishment of not being worthy enough to eat food at home, blackberries also were integral to my accomplishing my very first life goal.

I had developed many unspoken goals in my childhood, like to not be beaten with a stick; eat regularly even when food wasn't given; avoid the adults I lived with; and to stay out of trouble at school. I hadn't yet attempted a serious, measurable goal all on my own. At 8 years old, it was hard to find a goal that didn't smell like a grow-ups attempt to make me work. One night, after a hard day of playing in the blackberry forts, I noticed my denim jean shorts were stained with blackberry juice. As I changed into my pajamas for bed, I saw the areas caked with fruit juice and dirt were stiffer than the rest of my shorts. The thought came to me that it would be neat to see if I could wear my shorts every day, to the point that they could stand up in the corner of my room all by themselves. Yes! This was a goal worth trying for.

 

My experiment with nature, science and cotton blue jean fabric commenced the next morning. No one said anything about my dirty shorts while I hurried through my required morning chores. When I arrived back home in the evening at supper time, the adults were busy watching evening tv. Lunch was always eaten away from home, straight off whatever nearby plants God provided, to lessen the chances of being caught up in doing extra housework for our adoptive mother, Virginia.  Day by day, I methodically tested plum, cherry, blackberry, and peach juice smeared on my shorts to see which created the stiffest possible fabric. It appeared to my novice eye that blackberries won the contest hands down. Layered with regularly applied fine dust and grit, my shorts became a hardened cast that was actually difficult to sit down in. 

After a week of hard work, I proudly showed off my efforts to my siblings.  Mission accomplished! The shorts stood, all by themselves, without any support from the walls. They were completely covered with black juice, brown dirt and signified the first time in my life I set out to accomplish a goal and did it. 

My shorts didn't last after that night. One of my siblings told Virginia about my so-dirty-they-could-stand-by-themselves shorts and she took them, leaving me only with a lecture about ruining perfectly good clothes ringing in my ears. 

I didn't care. 
Blackberries taste great and are wonderful in pies, smashed into jam, and they let a girl know that accomplishing a goal all by herself is possible. 

Because I am awesome mom, when my kids had the opportunity to get muddy,
I helped them do it. Yay me!  

A Happy Day

In Cheyenne Wyoming, early 1990's

I don't remember when this picture was taken. There is nothing written on the back of it or date stamped from the film processing center. It had to be taken in Cheyenne because that is where my brother and I met as adults. I don't recognize the back of what we are sitting on, so it probably wasn't taken at his apartment. I dunno. All I do know is our smiles are genuine. That is such a big deal. I don't have many picture of Rex and I, not more than a handful. Most of them are posed group shots with family members. Those are nice, but they are devoid of the spontaneity of the leaning in that we are both doing in this photo.

This photo is proof of a happy day that I don't recall and I don't care. All that matters is that we had it - one happy moment that I choose to believe lasted all day. Life is fraught with so many ways a happy day can quickly go sideways. I am grateful I have this photo that captured Rex and me and our uncensored affection without any baggage of what happened before or after it was taken.

One happy moment, one happy day. What a wonderful thing.  

Kirkus Book Review



Kirkus Review, a professional book review company that helps libraries and bookstores decide which books to buy, wrote a review of Ezra and Hadassah: A Portrait of American Royalty. I was really worried before I read their review. Kirkus has a reputation of being very critical and hard to please.
Guess what?!?!
They liked it!
I feel just like Sally Field did when she accepted her Oscar in 1985. Boy, can I relate to her. Kiss, kiss, Sally, kiss, kiss.

 

 

Click on the Kirkus Review to see for yourself what all the fuss is about. I'll be over here in the corner, hugging myself.