Love, Ellen: A Mother/Daughter Journey (27 page)

Craig and his partner adopted two children at birth. In fact, they were present for both births. Craig proudly showed pictures of a darling brother and sister who look alike, although they aren’t biologically related. This couple have been together over twelve years, and both knew that they wanted children. Before they went into it, however, Craig said they talked over every aspect for years, including their families and an adoption counselor in their discussions. They both have lots of flexible time, and one of them is almost always with the children, even though they have a day nanny. There’s a large extended family, and there are lots of family trips with the grandmothers. So much love—what lucky children.

Craig said that there’s complete acceptance in their neighborhood, with all the children going back and forth to each other’s homes to play.

Once again, the night of the big dinner was another wonderful evening of meeting many fine men and women who were so appreciative that I was almost embarrassed. My message is so basic—that a family should be the safest place on earth, a place where our sons and daughters receive unconditional love.

The next morning, I awoke to find an envelope under my hotel room door, from Philip, a tall young man who had been at the party the night before. He had gone home, written a two-page letter, and returned with it at midnight. Of the many congratulatory and thoughtful words he’d written, these in particular touched me deeply:

I loved the comparison to the gospel. Indeed, the spreading of love and acceptance is good news. And I am proud to accept Philip’s words of thanks on behalf of all the mothers, fathers, family members, and friends all over the world who also carry that gospel by standing up for fairness.

One such parent activist, whom I met in Denver, is David Dinwoodie, a past president of the Fort Collins P-FLAG chapter and the father of Rebecca, who worked at HRC in Washington and is now with the ACLU.

David is a walking encyclopedia of knowledge about the fight for equality for gays and lesbians, and he has worked tirelessly for change on the local and national levels. His wife too, he said, has been very active with him in P-FLAG. Rebecca, an attractive, vivacious, red-haired young woman, is their only child and, he said, “our pride and joy.”

He described his daughter’s coming out as a gift, letting me know how much he loves the work he does and the other admirable parents he meets in the course of that work. David made a familiar comment, “My life has just opened up in so many wonderful ways I couldn’t have imagined.”

I told him I could certainly say the same thing. And this feeling was shared by many at the HRC dinner in Raleigh, North Carolina, for example, where the theme was “Bring Your Mom.”

I will never forget two mothers, Patsy and Eloise. Both had sons who died of AIDS, and they are now activists because they loved their sons. Patsy said her son went quickly, but Eloise cared for her blind, incontinent son for eighteen months.

Eloise told me, “I was so grateful I could do that for him.”

With tears in my eyes, I said softly, “I can’t imagine losing a child. I think I’d collapse and not be able to function.”

Patsy said, “No, you wouldn’t. You’d continue to speak out and be active, just as we’re doing.”

Eloise said, “That’s what keeps us going.”

I met a very handsome young man, Crae Pridgen, and his mother, Marie, who live in a small town in North Carolina. They told me that five years ago Crae was beaten up by three Marines. He and his mother went to court and finally won a judgment.

In Raleigh, as in many other cities, several people I met were there simply because they had good friends in the gay and lesbian community. One young woman was a straight writer who was being persecuted simply for being friendly and supportive to the gay community. In the neighborhood where she lives with her husband and children, people put signs with hateful messages on her lawn. Still, she perseveres in living up to her highest sense of what’s right. God bless her.

The next morning at brunch, I was sitting at a table with another mother. With her were her two sons, Patrick and Rick. Her son Rick’s partner was there; his name is also Rick. After I spoke, this mother said she’d like to say something. She stood up and said, “I’m sixty-five years old, and I lived on a farm. When my youngest son told me he was gay, I didn’t know what that meant or anything about it, so I had to get books to read.”

Then she looked at her youngest son and said, “Patrick, I want to apologize to you in public for the way I treated you.” She continued, “He left home—not right away, but he left. Several years later Rick told me he, too, was gay, but it was easier for me to hear by then. Patrick says he paved the way for Rick. And I just wanted to apologize in public to you, Patrick, because I have never done that.”

She went over and hugged Patrick, and then Rick, and by then there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. It was a precious, special moment that none of us will ever forget. I’m grateful I was there to witness that love.

Everymoms of the world unite. We’re everywhere!

As you can see, again and again on these journeys to new and different places, I heard testimony about the transforming power of love. Love can transform ignorance to understanding and rejection to acceptance. As it has been said, with love all things are possible.

My personal transformation is a case in point. In fact, another unexpected offshoot of my work for HRC is that I am now represented by a speakers’ agency and have the great pleasure to speak to a variety of groups.

As much as I enjoy speaking, sometimes the best part of my journey is listening to others speak. One of the most moving speeches was from Carol White, who spoke at an HRC event in Denver.

Carol was the minister of music at a large church in Houston, Texas, but had been fired when the church discovered that she is a lesbian. “And there I was,” she said, literally on the street, “with two worthless master’s degrees”—both from Southern Methodist University, one in sacred music and the other in choral conducting. At this turning point, she could have seen herself simply as a victim of bigotry. Instead, to quote from her bio in the dinner program, “She set out to heal the world of homophobia through music, activism, and leadership.” This she has done in music and in the Methodist church throughout Colorado.

“Whatever the music is inside of you,” Carol said that night, “play it, dance it, sing it. … Don’t let it die inside of you.’’

As she said those words, I thought of Ellen and Anne and all the openly gay and lesbian people everywhere. That’s what they’re doing—playing and dancing and singing the music inside them.

A
MERICA IS A
great country. As my travels have shown me, Americans are a great people. I feel blessed to be meeting many unsung heroes—gay and straight—who are standing up for diversity and who recognize that we are all family. I know that we still have many miles yet to travel toward equal rights for all our gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender family members. But I have also seen firsthand how closely we are all bound together on this journey.

That sense was strong for me when I attended the Ninth Annual South Carolina Gay Pride Festival and March in May 1998—my first participation in this kind of event. This was also the first time the event had been scheduled in Myrtle Beach. It was a rousing success in spite of opposition.

Flying in, I heard that local zealots had forced a cancellation of the Indigo Girls, who were scheduled to perform in a town near Myrtle Beach. The Indigo Girls are lesbian, and the cancellation was all the more upsetting to me because they’re friends of El’s.

The mayor of Myrtle Beach had done everything he could to have the entire festival canceled. When he failed, a local landowner put pressure on all his business tenants, forbidding them to advertise the event and demanding that all rainbows (a symbol of diversity, used to show support for gay rights) be removed from the buildings he owned. Another local business had a rainbow in its company logo but changed it just for the weekend.

In spite of the controversy, it did not ram on our parade.
Au contraire.

Saturday dawned bright and clear. Several blocks in downtown Myrtle Beach had been roped off, and the police were plentiful—in cars and on motorcycles. I made it a point to say hello to several officers that I passed. “I hope you have a quiet day,” I said, and they did.

It was estimated that 8,000 men and women attended, most of them from South Carolina, North Carolina, and Georgia. I wasn’t the only non-gay person participating. I met a number of supportive family members sharing in the celebration, lending moral support to the concept that gay men and women have every right to come together, feel comfortable, and celebrate who they are.

One of the first people I met was Harriet Hancock, the matriarch of what has to be one of the first families of the South Carolina gay community. When Harriet’s son Greg told her that he was gay, she not only stood by him but stood up next to him. She jumped into the fray for equal rights, immediately organizing P-FLAG in South Carolina and going on to work tirelessly in all nine South Carolina Gay Pride Festivals. No question of her love for her son.

When we discussed Harriet’s background, I felt a close kinship with her. She too had gone back to college in her forties, getting a law degree when she was fifty-two. She now specializes in family law and does pro bono work in cases involving AIDS patients versus insurance companies.

Of course, I also met her son Greg; his sister, who was there helping out; the sister’s five-year-old son, Tommy (Harriet’s grandson), who wore a T-shirt saying “I Love My Gay Uncle.” Talk about family values! Greg and Tommy led the Pledge of Allegiance to start the program.

I also met two young men who were there with their two adopted children, both of whom had been born drug-addicted. The men said that because of this, they keep the children’s routines and schedules highly structured so the children know just what to expect every day. These young men couldn’t have been more caring and proud. One wore a T-shirt that said “Daddy,” and the other’s said “Father.” Grandmother was there, too, with her much appreciated love and help. Her T-shirt said “Nana.” Each daddy was a speaker, as was I. At the end of their speeches their little boy was supposed to tell the audience good-bye. Instead, to everyone’s delight, he sang the alphabet song.

Mandy Turner spoke, too. She’s a bright, articulate African-American who is a devoted gay rights activist, in addition to being national field director for the National Black Lesbian and Gay Leadership Forum. She is a credit to South Carolina. Candace Gingrich was there, as well. No matter how many times I hear Candace, this tiny, dynamic speaker never loses her impact. I love her.

My own speech was heartily received, and I was soon deluged with more thanks and words of admiration for Ellen and what she has done, as well as for me. I feel like I met all 8,000 people there—or at least signed their programs, their T-shirts, and their hats, and smiled while having my picture taken with them.

This weekend brought a pleasant surprise—I reconnected with some people I had met in other places along the road. Steve Gunderson and his partner of sixteen years, Rob Morris, whom I’d met in Washington, were there. Steve is a former Republican congressman from Wisconsin and Rob is an architect; they are smart, warm, great guys. And the two Ricks were there—one an artist and one a doctor—familiar faces from my weekend in Raleigh, North Carolina. From Birmingham, Alabama, there was Kevin Snow, the young entrepreneur who had organized the private
Ellen
party for 3,000 when the ABC affiliate refused to run it.

At one of the booths, I bought a necklace of rainbow-colored wooden beads on a black string. I often wear black, and I love these colors against it. Rainbows celebrate all of us, gay and non-gay.

The parade itself was a joyful one-of-a-kind experience.

Six of us marched in front holding a banner that read, “Pride 98—United for Gay and Lesbian Rights.” We were followed by marchers, a small brass band from North Carolina, a few motorcycles, and a truck filled with girls and a glamorous drag queen lounging on the hood. We were a modest-sized but vocal group doing our call-and-answer chants:

The leader of these chants was a young man, small in stature but with the loudest voice I’ve ever heard. As an activist, I was happy; as a speech pathologist, I worried about his vocal cords.

Along our one-mile route our audience ranged from enthusiastic supporters to older couples and people watching with a baffled expression—”What in the world is this?” We smiled and waved at all of them.

And as I marched along, chanting, smiling, and waving, I thought of Carol White’s words, realizing how well they applied to everyone, including me. What an incredible feeling to be in touch with the music inside of me and to allow myself to play it, dance it, sing it, and live it!

10

Speaking Out; Speaking Up

M
OM, WHERE ARE YOU?
We have to leave in twenty minutes,” Ellen said as I answered the phone one morning in the spring of 1998.

“We?” I asked. “Leave for where?”

“I’m speaking at that high school, remember? Anne and I want you there with us.”

Now I remembered. A few weeks earlier there had been a powerful story in
Buzz Magazine
about how hard it is to be a gay teenager. It described two high schools here in Los Angeles which have clubs that are gay-straight alliances, and it featured the two boys who were presidents of those clubs—Garrett at one school is gay and Noah, at the other, is straight. Both are heroes.

When Ellen read the article, she was so impressed by Noah’s activism that she called him to say how proud she was of his efforts to make things easier for his gay friends and fellow students. During the course of their conversation, Noah asked if she would speak to his club.

Somehow Ellen had forgotten to mention the date and time for the event until now. For a moment, I deliberated. My desk was piled high. I had a new speech to write, not to mention a book. And I had to do laundry and pack for a trip the next day. Then I thought again. This was an event I didn’t want to miss. Grabbing my keys and my purse, I told her, “I’m on my way.”

Ellen, Anne, and I piled into El’s car and went to Harvard-Westlake for questions and answers from the whole school. Along with us was a baby bird that we rescued on the way.

It was understandable that Ellen had forgotten to tell me about this event: things had been crazy lately. Rumors of
Ellen’
s cancellation had been flying around for weeks. The network wasn’t going to make an official announcement for another month, but Ellen wasn’t at all hopeful. ABC-Disney had tried to put a parental warning label on the show—evidence that they were unable to stand up to the antigay invective from right-wing organizations who had targeted the show from the moment the closet door had opened. Much was made of a prank kiss between Ellen Morgan and her straight friend Paige (Joely Fisher). El thought this was unfair, especially because scenes with similar prank kisses between two men had been shown on two other ABC sitcoms without critical comment or warning labels.

A week earlier I was asked by an interviewer from Florida about the rumored cancellation and how Ellen was handling it. I answered matter-of-factly, “It’s a stressful time for her. I feel like any parent. When any of your children are hurting, you hurt too.”

Another question I had been getting was how I felt about comments that perhaps the story line had become “too gay.” I would say that disliking the show for being too gay is the same thing as disliking it for being gay at all. To be fair, I realize that this criticism came not necessarily from extremists but from middle-of-the-road people. Still, the implication was that it was OK for Ellen Morgan to come out of the closet, but now that she was out and the show was still talking about it and raising so many issues—both humorous and serious—which openly gay people must face every day, those critics wanted her to go back into the closet and stop talking.

But now that an amazing national dialogue had begun, stopping wasn’t possible. Obviously,
Ellen
was spurring change that seemed to be scaring some people—whether they might be gay themselves, middle-of-the-road, or homophobic. The status quo had been challenged.

What was changing? Most dramatically, from my point of view, a growing number of gay people were deciding to come out, and a growing number of straight family members and friends were taking an active, supportive role.

El and I received hundreds of letters about how gay sons and daughters had used the show to help facilitate family understanding. “Mom, I’m like Ellen,” became a new way for many young women to come out to their mothers.

At one HRC event, a young woman said, “When I told my mother I’m gay, she called a priest and a doctor. After Mom watched the show, she decided maybe I’m OK after all.”

A young Hispanic man’s story echoed hers. “My parents weren’t accepting at all, either,” he said. “After the show, they called and asked me to come home so we could have a long talk.”

Another woman, also young, said that right after the show aired she was in a grocery store and overheard a cashier and another employee talking about gay people in a derogatory way. Had it not been for the show, she said, she wouldn’t have the courage to say something. But she spoke up immediately, saying, “I beg your pardon, but I’m gay and I resent the way you’re talking.”

More and more, I was hearing that people around the country were allowing themselves to speak out and speak up—like a woman student at a small college in the Midwest who wrote:

Ellen
was also creating change and stirring conversation in other communities. Whenever I was on television or radio shows there were always several calls from non-gay people thanking me and thanking Ellen for opening up their awareness. On one show in Philadelphia, I got a call from a heterosexual married woman, a mother, who said she loved watching
Ellen
with her twelve-year-old son because it was such a great opportunity for children to see that gays and lesbians grapple with the same issues as everyone else.

Her call was followed by one from a heterosexual married man who watched regularly with his wife and kids. He was genuinely upset about the rumors of cancellation, saying, “I can’t believe it. There’s nothing else like it on TV. How can they do that? It’s terrible and awful and makes no sense.” He vowed to start a local letter-writing campaign to protest to the network.

I remembered that man’s passion as Ellen drove us through the streets of Los Angeles on our way to Harvard-Westlake. El really didn’t have time to take a morning off to speak at this high school. But given our growing awareness about issues concerning gay teens, this was just too important to miss.

Indeed, if people need a reason to become active in the fight for equal gay rights, they need only look at the alarming statistics that show gay teenagers at risk of severe depression and suicide. Of all teenage suicides, 30 percent are gay. Gay teenagers have the same sensitivity as any adolescent, and in addition they are subjected to bashing—verbal abuse and physical violence. These kids desperately need our support. Organizations with suicide hot lines report that low self-esteem related to sexuality is one of the leading reasons why their adolescent callers are contemplating suicide.

TEEN-LINE is one such hot line in Los Angeles: an extraordinary service for teen callers whose calls are answered by other teens trained to listen and help. A few days before our trip to Harvard-Westlake, Ellen and I were honored at TEEN-LINE’s annual lunch and fund-raiser at the Beverly Hills Hotel; the teenagers and their board had voted to present us with humanitarian awards. It was my first award for the work I’m doing now—a cherished honor.

That day, many of the teenagers who work the phones told us that they feel Ellen and I have directly reduced the panic and fear in the gay teens they have counseled. The young man who introduced Ellen to the audience said that for millions of gay teens, El has been a “life raft” in a sea of discrimination and rejection.

As Ellen took the podium, she made a funny remark or two to loosen up the crowd; but then, because of all the controversy, she broke down. This was tough for her. El had gone from being a person whose main motivation in life was to make people happy and have them like her to being an outspoken activist. Now she was being criticized, even by some she had considered friends, and in extremist camps she was being demonized. Now it seemed likely that the TV show in which she starred, the show which she had dreamed of and worked so hard for, was going to be ended. There was silence in the ballroom. I was a few steps away from Ellen on the dais, and I instinctively moved next to her, putting my arm around her shoulder as she regained her composure.

El said, finally, “If I have been your life raft, then you have been mine.” She went on to reiterate that in spite of the controversy and the attacks, knowing that she has touched people and made a difference—”even if it has been just one person”—is all that really matters to her.

And so, feeling empowered by that conviction, Ellen, Anne, and I went to meet the diverse group of students at Harvard-Westlake.

T
HE QUESTIONS RANGED
from students wanting to know how Ellen had gotten started in show business to how these teens can help work for equal rights. We talked about gay-bashing, about homophobia, and about all the risks of coming out. We talked about the impact on straight family members—parents, kids, and spouses—when a loved one comes out. We talked about gay marriages and gays as parents.

These weren’t only important issues to me, they were personal concerns of real people I had met over the last year. In my mind, I could see these people’s faces and recall their names. I could vividly remember the anguish in their voices as they told their heartbreaking stories.

For example, there were painful recollections about partnerships which are not fully acknowledged. When I traveled to the HRC event in Denver, I was met by Tom, a handsome man in his fifties with whom I shared a quiet dinner that night. Tom told me of his experience when his partner of eighteen years was dying of AIDS. He put a hospital bed in a large bedroom and a mattress on the floor for himself so he could be there all night for Paul. While carrying this heavy burden, Tom continued working every day. Yet he couldn’t share with anyone on the job what he was going through at home. He said if that had been his wife dying, he would have had all kinds of support.

At the other end of the spectrum were the many accounts I heard from men and women who tried to stay in hetero-sexual marriages, hoping to hide or deny their sexuality. They all attested to the fact that being forced into traditional roles is destructive. How could living any kind of a lie be otherwise? What a waste of life and time. Unless you believe in reincarnation, this is the only shot we get. How tragic to live it as someone you’re not.

In San Antonio, I recalled meeting a woman in her fifties who came out to her adult daughter after her husband of thirty years passed away. Thirty years of hiding.

Difficult though many of these accounts sound, I have been inspired over and over by hearing how resilient loving families can be. One woman I met, Ruth, said that when their children were grown her husband admitted, to himself and to her, that he is gay. They remain friends, and she is entirely supportive. “My anger isn’t with him,” she said, “it’s with society and our rigid rules that force people to pretend to be someone other than who they are.”

I thought of my dear friend Phyllis, who is a writer. She shared with me a very powerful piece she wrote about what she went through when her husband told her he was gay and left their marriage and family. She described her feelings of devastation in emotional detail. Then, she wrote:

Indeed, she is “enough.” She is now an active member of Straight Spouses, a national organization and support group for men and women whose spouses have come out—and she is also a devoted mother. Her life has purpose and meaning.

Then there were the memorable stories I heard in Dallas, where I did several interviews along with Nancy McDonald, the national head of P-FLAG. One morning we were interviewed at KERA, the National Public Radio station in Dallas. The subject was gay parents coming out to their straight children, so joining us were Pat Stone, the Dallas head of P-FLAG, and John Selig—who both had personal experiences to share.

Ten years ago Pat’s daughter came out to Pat and her husband. A year or so ago, Pat realized that she, too, is a lesbian and divorced her husband of thirty-five years, knowing that she could no longer be the wife he expected her to be. She said during the interview that her ex-husband has met someone and that she hopes he is having a happy, fulfilled relationship.

John took up where she left off, saying, “In my case, the marriage was already falling apart and my wife was the one who asked for the divorce.” He was then able to admit to himself that he is gay. Extremely intelligent and articulate, John expressed his hope that people stop picturing gay men and women as stereotypes—”flamboyantly effeminate men or masculine-looking women in black leather.” Instead, he hoped people could be given more diverse images of gay men and women. For example, one image he knew well, as a father who happens to be gay, was putting a Band-Aid on his son’s scraped knee.