The only person I hadn’t told about my marriage was my mother. I knew she knew. It’s just that I hadn’t shared it with her. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t ashamed. I simply didn’t want to deal with her judgement, her comments and that ridiculous look she was gonna give me…the one where she squinches her lips together tightly and gets that look of disgust in her eyes. Maybe it’s her eyebrows. I’ve grown not to need or want her blessing or her approval. But we were moving to Florida and I knew there was a strong likelihood that I may never see her again. Yeah, we have a relationship like that.
I called her a couple of weeks before we left to see if she would like to have lunch. She said, “Yes,” which kind of surprised me.
I took her to a vegan restaurant. I knew she’d never been and likely wouldn’t go on her own. But, since it seemed to be in the spirit of exposing her to new experiences, why not?
“Mom, I know you know we got married. It’s true. I married a man.”
Her reaction was as I expected.
“You know how I feel about that.” Pause.
“You know how God feels about it.” Pause.
“I don’t understand.” Pause. We were getting to the heart of the matter.
“Which one of you is the woman?” Now we were there.
“Mom, that’s like asking which chopstick is the fork. We’re two men.”
It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard of gay marriage. It was that she’d never really accepted that I was gay, why would I ever marry another man?
Later that night when my husband and I were in bed, as is our practice, we talked about it and other events of the day. I told him about the chopsticks.
“Oh, that’s good. It’s sort of like a spork. You know one of those forks that is also a spoon. I’ll be the spork. You be the foon.”
And thus The Adventures of Spork & Foon was born.