Last weekend, my extended family (to the second cousin degree…) convened Upstate in Saratoga for my great-aunt’s ninetieth birthday. One cousin, only slightly older than me, was there with her two sons, four and 14 months. As usual, I gravitated towards the children, spending most of the family reunion blowing bubbles, balloon-sword fighting, flying a kite.
My four-year-old cousin and I made up this really fun game where we sat facing each other on stools and insulted each other to the delight of the entire room. “Stinky sock face!” “Broken TV head with no body and no DVD!” In general, I was easy on him, and never went above the vocal energy level he was giving (in fact, part of the fun of the game was the way I would hurl back different words in the same rhythm and tone as his), but I did allow myself to throw a little shade (“Pre-K Haircut!”) when he insulted my glasses. Bliss.
It’s hard to describe how rewarding all that was for me, but suffice it to say that the weekend brought things into clearer view. I don’t need the Tony or the penthouse, or maybe even the boyfriend, in order to be a dad. I know I can’t squeeze a kid into the cabs-home-at-4:30 AM routine, but wanting something more, wanting and needing it more deeply, is showing me that there is more to want, more to be. Isn’t this how the traditional nuclear straight family forms, slowing down after their frat party or “Sex and the City” days?
But maybe up to now my reluctance to grow into a more responsible lifestyle has not been some psychological defect in me, rather, it’s a natural occurrence considering the lack of real incentive for me to do so. I’m gay, and I certainly share these booze-soaked nights and wasted hung-over days with many of my gay friends. But then of course now there’s a little something called marriage equality . . . .
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