So, I struggle with sexuality. Well,
not mine so much. Spoiler...I’m heterosexual. The only struggle with that is
finding the person who wants to be heterosexual with me. Actually, I don’t really
struggle the other side of that sexuality spectrum anymore.
.
Enter, Pops. MO.m's
"hubby" in my professional life. My student affairs paterfamilias. SNJ.
That second last name I never told you about. MO.m would be where my introversion, my reflection, my calm comes from. The parts of me people do not often see. Pops is genetically (really, not really) responsible for the GirlieGurl many of you have come to know and love! The laughter, the excitement, the willing to try anything at least one, the hosting dinner parties and events...All of that extroversion is Pops. Totally Pops.
There is no real appropriate place to
start when it comes to us. I know, though, that he would begin the story in
2000. UCLA RA Training. Me and my AT&T Nokia phone. Damn shame... I’ve
never been smarter than these damn
phones.
He was my first hall director. My first
supervisor at UCLA. The first UCA alum in my life... And my first openly gay
friend. Crazy that I actually know my "first" gay friend, right? Right. #AnotherCherryPopped.
Anyway, UCLA. SNJ. ORL. Delta
Terrace. Talk about amazing times. Rewriting my incident reports because I
couldn’t control the angry black RA inside of me. Some of the best meals (I cooked for him) in his apartment. Amazing holidays celebrated in the 4th floor
of the staff building. Driving his car like it was my own. Being called out in
Covel Commons with Shellie. I can still hear him calling us Peacock (my wild and colorful braids) and Du Rag (Shellie always had her hair wrapped up). I wouldn’t trade a second of it.
Well, accept the one second that I
would.
People on our staff team didn’t take
too fondly to his leadership. I struggled a little with his sexual identity,
but not so much that I could not work with him. I couldn’t see how they had an
issue with him when I would get ALL the extra work! And I did the extra work without
complaint. But, I suppose that made me his favorite because they complained
about it to our Area Director.
Our Area Director had a “top secret
but not really because I’m an informant” meeting with us. (Damn right I told SNJ about it...hello! He feeds me!). Specific people had
their serious issues with commander in Delta Terrace and felt all too
comfortable to speak up. I’ve never taken too kindly to this format. If you don’t
have the testes or uterus to tell the person, please have several seats. In a confrontation
strategy coaching counseling session. For beginners.
Then someone did it. Someone brought
up my and his relationship. She’s his favorite... He
doesn’t hold her accountable like he does us... She gets to do
whatever she wants... *under
their breath* Doesn’t
she drive his car?
I had a conflict of conscious in that
moment. We’re in a room talking about a man who isn’t here to defend himself.
They obviously know nothing about our relationship. Which isn’t a relationship.
Why are they looking at me? He is a gay man and I’m the daughter of a preacher,
and a Christian. And people know that about us. What am I supposed to do?
I thought about it for a while. Then
I realized exactly who he was. He was my supervisor, a good (albeit crazy) man, a Cowboy’s Fan #WeDemBoys, a generous person, a gay man...and
my friend. And dammit, NOBODY says nothing bad about my friends!!
I began to speak. And with every
word, every You're hella moded statement and …as a matter of fact accusatory finger point, everyone else begin to have a crisis
of conscience. Mine was gone. Me and the other RAs were never the same after
that day. And he and I changed a little too. Only it was me who did the
changing. He was the same ole guy. Pops.
Before I made it to Westwood, I would
have told you that homosexuality is wrong and I’m not sure I could be friends
with someone who lives that life or identifies that way. I could not see how it
could be. Not with the way my Bible reads, and how my Daddie preaches. And it’s
not even about condemnation; it’s just looking at it from a "what’s right
and what’s wrong" perspective, based upon what I believe.
While in Westwood, I made my peace
with it all. I was not his favorite. I was just his. To love, to care for, to
care about, to teach, to befriend, to develop, to watch Alias & Cowboy
games with, and to nag. When I was hungry, he bought groceries and I made us
dinner. When I needed to get to the Rose Bowl for the game, he made me take the
car to get an oil change days before, then drop him off hours early and bring
back lunch – for everyone. When I needed a place to live over the summer, he
took me in – no questions asked and no rent required. And when I need someone
to look out for me because I was (am) so naive, he anticipates all my needs.
Pops and MO.m took me wine tasting in
Napa. You should see them together. How much they care for each other. All of
the memories they collected over the years. The shared hopes for our individual futures. There with me, in Napa,
drinking wine. There, with me, teaching me about wine. And I wasted every dime
they spent on me. We went to some of the best wineries in Napa, because we’re bougie,
and sampled California's greatest bottled creations. I had my thizz face on the entire time. Hated it! Even
the champagne. I didn’t realize just how much I missed our family time...our
together time. Going out to dinner at fancy places I could not afford on financial aid, holidays in the penthouse with that sinful mac & cheese...and good heavens Sweet Tea!
I see now, just how limited my
understanding of love was... I love people better because of him. Anyone who
has ever received any measure of love from me knows something about Pops. There
are days when I am certain, especially at work, that I won’t make it. But Pops
is hella strict, and he just won’t allow it. Even those times I fall from grace...as all aspiring earthy angels do. He is always there, waiting for my wings, so that he can catch me, dust me off, and give me enough air to fly again. And his being gay may have
something to do with it. Or nah. Point is, it doesn’t matter anymore. It doesn’t
make me any less Christian. It doesn’t hinder my walk or relationship with God.
My faith is the stronger for it. I believe a little more because of him.
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