(Not Quite) Out to Pasture: Life Among the Outlaws

A COLUMN BY: CURTIS COMER

For anyone, gay or straight, meeting the family of your significant other can be a daunting experience. Not only do you worry that you’ll fail to make a good impression, but you’re aware, too, that you’re being judged like a prize bull at the state fair. The experience can be harrowing, to say the least.

The first opportunity I had to meet one of Tim’s family members never happened. Shortly after we met, his sister, Teresa, came to San Francisco with her daughter to visit. As Tim and I were still newly dating (and not really yet into the "family thing") I wasn’t introduced.

And there was the tiny matter of Tim not having yet come out to his family.

A couple years later, Tim’s brother, Darrell, came to visit with his wife. By this point, a select few of Tim’s family knew that he was gay and we ended up having a wonderful time. Before they left San Francisco, Darrell hugged me and asked me to take care of his little brother, a sweet gesture that meant (and still means) a lot to me.

A few years later, Tim received news that his mom, sister, Louise and brother-in-law, Gary, were coming to visit. Still, Tim had not yet come out to his mom, dad or sister, Louise. With the visit looming, I grudgingly offered to sleep elsewhere. I say grudgingly, because—at that point—I had been out to my own parents for a number of years and couldn’t understand why a man in his thirties could still find it acceptable to be in the closet.

"Or we could tell them that the spare bedroom is mine," I offered. "We can bunk together while they’re here."

Instead, Tim did what I hoped that he would do and he wrote a letter to his mom, explaining the situation. To his utter amazement, she confessed that, not only had she known for years, but she and Tim’s dad had even discussed the possibility.

"I just figured that you’d tell me when you were ready," she explained.

Yeah, a thirty year old man, living in San Francisco with another thirty year old man and neither of them had a girl friend. Of course she knew.

Finally D-day arrived. I was nervous as hell and, as I said earlier, wanted badly to make a good impression on the people I had heard so much about. Tiny details like how my hair looked and whether or not I should pick the blue shirt because it highlighted my blue eyes suddenly felt like life and death decisions, all for the in-laws. Or, as I secretly referred to them since, back then, legally recognized gay marriage was nothing but a pipe dream, the Outlaws. And, while Tim’s brother, Darrell, had been easy enough, I was about to meet the mother. The anticipation filled me with dread.

As is often the case once we’ve worked ourselves into a suitable frenzy, I was surprised to find that I had worried myself over a whole lot of nothing. Tim’s sister, Louise (who honestly worried me more than his mom, Phyllis) proved to have a wonderful sense of humor. And, not only did she and I share the distinction of being the oldest child in each of our families, Louise and I share a birthday.

Gary, who was the husband of Tim’s recently deceased sister, Rhonda, was there mainly to get his mind off of his wife’s sudden death and to pass on some of her things to Tim. Despite the recent trauma he had gone through, Gary was easy to talk to and had an infectious laugh and I instantly liked him.

I knew I’d made headway with Tim’s mom when she insisted that I stop addressing her as Mrs. Woods and to call her Phyllis, instead.

But she kept forgetting my name, something that continued for a few years. Visits to her house in Indiana could be quite an experience.

"Ask whatchamacallit if he wants a piece of pie," she would say to Tim, referring to me.

"His name’s Curtis, Mom," Tim would insist.

"Curtis," she would repeat. "Ask Curtis if he wants a piece of pie."

One or two hours would pass and, suddenly, my name was gone again.

"Tell whatchamacallit that he can watch television if he wants," she would instruct Tim.

"His name is Curtis."

"Curtis."

The simple truth was that Phyllis simply found it difficult to remember new people’s names and I, so newly introduced to the family, was still "new" in the grand scheme of things. Fortunately for my self-esteem, Phyllis no longer forgets my name.

When we moved to St. Louis six years ago it gave us the opportunity to visit our families more regularly. In time, I met all of Tim’s siblings and their children and have grown to consider them family—more so than with some of my own blood relatives. Unfortunately, in my family the "gay thing" is still too much to deal with, brother or not.

It was during my mom’s funeral that I realized just how serious the matter of family versus gay partner could be. Happily, Tim had been able to meet and hang out with my parents on quite a few occasions before a brain tumor took Mom’s life, and I’m proud to say that not all of my family is homophobic. I know that my sisters, Jill and Beth, love Tim like family, as do their children. Two of my six brothers are cool, fun guys who seem to accept us as we are. Sadly, four of my remaining brothers seem to take issue with my homosexuality and, it was during Mom’s funeral that we were threatened with physical violence. Apparently, ignorance and hate have no regard for time or place, even the funeral of a parent. As a final insult, Tim’s name was omitted from Mom’s obituary at the last minute, its presence apparently too distressing for one of my dear kin.

Life goes on.

Personally, I’m glad to be a part of Tim’s family. Unlike those families bound by "traditional" marriages, our relationship and love for one another is based on trust and respect, not on any contract. And, while I’m sure that they still view me as quirky and a bit of an oddball, I comfort myself knowing that they love me, nonetheless.

Besides, I make them laugh, and that’s got to count for something, right?

Despite all of the brouhaha over gay marriage these days, I remain hopeful. There will come a day, soon I think, when gay marriage will be legal in every state of the union. Progress will eventually demand it.

Until then, I’m content with my quiet life among the Outlaws.