The Irresistible Allure of Homosexuality!

Let's face it. The "real" reason there's so much pushback against my (homosexual) rights is because of the deep-seated fear that once people try it (homosexuality), they'll REALLY like it (and who wouldn't) and never go back (I haven't).

Why is that, I wonder? Is it something as simple as "because a man knows what a man likes and a woman knows what a woman likes?"

Probably.

I've known straight men who, even after years of trying, still haven't got a clue how to satisfy a woman and vice versa.

But put a man into bed with another man, or a woman into bed with another woman and WHAM! Suddenly everybody knows exactly what needs to be done in order to make everybody else happy!

Look, I'm all for procreation. After all, not everybody is cut out for a life of spare cash, incessant sexual gratification, fine dining and tastefully appointed condos in New York and South Beach. Some people need the overall deshabille and slovenliness, not to mention excess tonnage brought on by years of junk-food-stuffing-in-lieu-of-sexual-satisfaction, which can only be achieved by a life dedicated to boring old man on woman lovemaking.

And it's not "all about politics" either. And, to prove my point, if you're a gay man which would you prefer:

This:

or this:

And, if you're a gay woman, this:

or this:

I rest my case.

Taps

We buried my father last Thursday in a Veteran's Cemetary in Delaware.

It's the hardest thing I've experienced while sober. My mother died while I was still drinking and I was pretty drunk through the whole thing.

This was different.

There was a brief service at the funeral home from 9:00 until 10:00 a.m. Dad's cremated remains were in a box on a table to the right and, on the left, was a table full of memorabilia about my dad -- much of it from his Navy days during WWII in the South Pacific where he was a gun captain aboard a refueling ship -- the kind of ship the Kamikaze's loved to aim for because they made such nice booms. Dad would only say of his wartime experience that he and his crew had "shot down a couple of Japs."

I was detached and calm through that whole part of the morning. At 10:00 we struck out for the cemetary and were there in about 20 minutes.

As we disembarked in front of the reception building a single bell started to toll. A Navy man, in dress whites, stood in front of the building holding a wooden case containing the folded up Old Glory. As we entered the building, across the quarterdeck, an honor guard, all in dress uniforms, stood on both sides and rendered us a salute.

We turned the corner into the chapel, the back wall of which was solid glass, two stories high. Outside we could see the rifle squad marching out to a mound, followed by the bugler.

My siblings and I, with my step-mother between my brother and sister, sat in the front pew... the rest of the family and friends filling in behind.

The minister made some remarks about dad being called "by the Supreme Commander in the sky" and I just dissolved. It started with a noise I had never heard myself make before -- followed by a flood of mucous and tears and sobbing and more weird noises. I reached around under the pew, looking for a box of tissues, but they only had this wimpy little kimwipe type things that wouldn't hold an ounce of water. I looked down the pew and my sister and brother had also both lost it. We were all bawling our eyes out.

Then came the kick in the gut. After the rifle squad had fired their salute and the bugler had played taps and the flag had been re-folded into the familiar triangular shape, the Navy Captain ( an O-6 ), took the flag as shown above and knelt on one knee in front of my stepmom.

"On behalf of the President of the United States, the Secretary of the Navy ... and a grateful nation..."

WHAM! It hit me. I was feeling feelings I didn't know I could feel. I knew that I loved my dad and had always loved my dad even when I resented him and that I would miss him.

And deep down inside I knew that I had made a good decision 42 years ago, when I decided to enlist in the Navy.

As had my father. As had his father.

I am my father's son.

And at heart, we are all deep-water sailors.

Father's Day - In Memorium

I've written here, over the past couple of years, of my troubled relationship with my father.  Neither of us went fishing for trouble -- times and circumstances being what they were, we both got dealt a pretty crappy hand at the old father/son poker table of life.

Well, the old man passed away last Thursday (June 3, 2010) at the age of 83.  It was not unexpected on my part.  He'd been going downhill for the past couple of years.  Physically, that is.  He still had all his marbles.  My step-mom, on the other hand, was sliding off into dementia.  I recognized the symptoms in her because my birth mom had slid down that same slope, starting in the 1980's until she finally died in 1995.

Life just wore dad down and, finally, he just gave out.  I spoke to him in his hospital bed in Florida last week and he said, "I just want to die.  Are you alright?"  "Yes, Dad.  I'm alright."  I found out afterwards that he'd had pretty much the same conversation with everyone in the family.  He was seeking permission to let go, once he'd assured himself that we were going to be "alright."

I used to kid myself that I wasn't really close to my father.  I didn't know him until I was a grown-up and, besides, he was a macho man, and I was a gay geek.

I was wrong.  I miss my father already.  I miss the "potential" that we still had, as long as he was still alive.  So even though we were strangers to each other in many ways, there still loomed the prospect that things would get magically better between us.  But now, even that prospect is gone.

Wherever things stood between us last week is where things will remain until, in due course, I follow my dad "into that good night."

With any luck, when that time comes, we'll be able to pick up where we left off.  At least, that's what I'd like to believe.

Goodbye for now, Dad.  I love you.