My Life in the Slow Lane

Dear Pop,

It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. It feels like a decade; it’s been 3 years (and two months and four days) since you left. So much has happened in that time… I’m like a totally different person now… There’s so much I want to catch you up on: The Midnight Cat is now a permanent fixture in my home, I’m living with Janek now (and three others), I’ve resigned from one job and have another one now, and I’m having one of these blog posts published in a book in April.

So for a start, I turned twenty-six on Monday. I am now officially hurtling towards the outer edge of the “mid-twenties”. When you were twenty-six, it was 1940. You were married, had a daughter and another on the way, and (or so I thought when I was little) the world was eerily in black and white. You were working full-time, a fully qualified draftsman in a small firm in Martin Place in the city, living with your wife and daughter at your parents’ place in Hammond Ave. You were soon to leave for Port Moresby in the Royal Australian Air Force during the war. When my dad was twenty-six, it was 1981. He had already been married for three years, though I wasn’t to come onto the scene for another three. What is it about thinking of you and Dad as young men my age that makes me feel vaguely inadequate? The trippy thing is that the twenties are generally regarded as “the best years of your life”—full of parties, live bands, sex, drugs, alcohol, and very little responsibility—and that’s where I am (though without some of these features, admittedly). This is where you were in 1940!

So Janek and I took the plunge and moved in together. After The Proposal, it was kind of a foregone conclusion that we would eventually move somewhere together, since our respective leases ended at the same time. They were due to finish in November, but we were lucky enough to find a room in a sharehouse without really trying. We moved in during October. It was interesting. I suddenly had half as much space as I was used to, with twice as many things to cram into it. Janek, God bless him, has been incredibly patient with my messy tendencies and has even promised not to clean up my stuff because when he does I can never find anything. He has revoked this promise twice thus far, when it got too much for him to ignore.

We live with three other people: The Child, The Writer and The Clubber. The Child is gay, twenty, totally incompetent in that fresh-out-of-home way, and totally annoying on a daily basis. He doesn’t do the dishes without being asked, doesn’t clean the bathroom or kitchen at all, and his personality grates on me. The Clubber is the only girl in the house, so she has the bedroom with the ensuite. She’s a lot of fun and we really get on well together. The Writer is my favourite. He’s straight, my age, and works by day as an accountant. He’s like Clark Kent in that way: at night he is a party animal and a writer, working on a novel and writing short stories. He’s amazing and great to be around.

The fourth roomie is the queen of us all. I am referring, of course, to The Midnight Cat. After we moved I missed her terribly. I even cried on a few occasions because I missed her evening cuddles. Though by the time I moved she was spending most of her time either with me or Janek, technically she wasn’t ours so we had to make the difficult decision to leave her behind. One Saturday, I arrived home and was greeted by Janek’s enormous grin. “Guess what!” He said, beaming, “I have a surprise for you!” I was about to ask what it was when I saw a movement in the kitchen, just behind his left shoulder. I focused my vision. The Midnight Cat meowed and sauntered over to me. It turned out that Janek had been driving home, feeling miserable after spending the weekend with his family, when he decided to stop by the old place because he wanted to see her. She materialised at the sound of the car’s engine, Janek picked her up, chucked her into the back seat, and drove her here. We called the owners, of course, and were told they hadn’t seen her in three months, and had assumed she’d found a new home. She had. She now rules the house with an iron paw, which she swipes at The Child when he gets too close to her. You’d like her. I know that everyone thinks their cat is the best, but mine totally is.

I resigned from my job a month ago. After clashing heads with someone else in the organisation, Ada, my (former) manager resigned in November. I was determined not to resign on a knee-jerk, in perverse solidarity with Ada, although I did know deep down that my time there was numbered. Janek begged me to resign months before I actually did, always asking me “Did you resign today?” when I got home. It was starting to affect my health and I knew I couldn’t work there any further, which is very sad because until recently, it was my dream job. Ultimately, I clashed heads with the same person and resigned. That day was contacted by a lady at uni that I have worked with in a voluntary capacity and she offered me some casual work over the next few weeks. I have since got a little more, and though it’s all short-term contact work, so it likely won’t last, it’s a step in the right direction. The pay is better, the people are nicer, and I’m really enjoying it.

Finally, I have some big news. I received an email in October from an editor at a publisher, asking if I would give permission to publish one of my blog posts—“Reality and Truth”—in an anthology. I said yes, if I could combine it with another post—“Retraction”—and it was accepted. I’m currently trying to write a short bio… It’s really, really hard! I can easily spurt out 1000 words, like this little letter, but for some reason I seem incapable of only 150.

I miss you. I love you. I still want to call you up and talk to you, tell you everything that’s been going on. I just tried your telephone number, in fact, and it rang. I want to know who has your phone number now, but I chickened out and hung up after one ring.

Well I should get to bed. Night.

It seems my worry was somewhat justified. After the resounding success of the meeting-of-the-grandparents the other week, things took a surprising turn.

I called Grandma on Friday (three days after the meeting) and, after a respectable amount of small talk I asked the question… “So, what do you think of Janek?” “Oh,” she said, “He’s a lovely boy!” We chatted briefly about him before I swallowed hard and took the plunge:

“Would it be ok if Janek came to family day?”
“Oh, well darling, I don’t think that would be appropriate. Family day is exclusively for family. He can come to the barbecue for your grandpa’s birthday, of course, because anyone can come to that.”

I was more than a little stunned. Asking permission to bring a partner to family day is like a right of passage. All my other cousins have done it. And, to my knowledge, all my other cousins have been given permission. After Grandma reached out to me the other week and asked to meet Janek, I genuinely wasn’t expecting her to say no. In retrospect, perhaps I shouldn’t have been so optimistic. The issue is that, unlike Janek, the boyfriends and girlfriends of my cousins are all welcome.

“Right.” I said. “Will Alex and Mary be there?”
“Oh yes, I think so. U1 said they should all be coming, except Bee I think, she’s working…” At this point Grandma rattled off a shopping list like account of who would be coming. She either missed my point entirely or chose to ignore it.

I was confused not so much because permission was denied (I may not like it, but I am realist enough to know that gay couples aren’t going to be accepted right off the bat in this family), but because of the mixed signals from Grandma: first she says she wants to meet him, then she meets him and says what a “lovely boy” he is, then this. The other factor in all this, of course, is Grandpa. He is the source of mixed signals here.

After deliberation with Lala and Dad, we believe that it was Grandma who wanted to meet Janek, and Grandpa went along because she asked/told him to. My Grandpa often tows the line, does what he is asked to do, all to make Grandma happy. I think that’s what happened here; he didn’t particularly want to face the possibility that I have a (male) partner, but was forced into the coffee date. Then Grandma would have said that Janek is coming to his birthday barbecue and again he probably gave in because he didn’t want to upset Grandma. But though he does these things he doesn’t necessarily want to do, he puts his foot down when it is really important to him. Family Day is important to him. So that’s the theory.

Now, it would make sense to just ask them what happened, particularly Grandma with her mixed signals, but I don’t want to rock the boat any more than Grandpa does.

It’s happened before, and I am certain it will happen again, but tonight’s meeting left me with the distinct feeling of “was that it?”

It was a little anti-climactic I have to admit, though in the cold light of rationality I don’t know what I thought would happen that would be so horrible. Even if my grandparents’ reaction was totally negative, they are intelligent pragmatic people and they wouldn’t have made a scene in public.

We were waiting outside the coffee shop. I was freaking out, visibly, while Janek was probably freaking out internally but putting on an incredibly admirable brave face for my benefit. I saw them walking towards us and then was faced the awkward situation of having made eye contact, and waving, when there was a good twenty metres between us. That way I stood awkwardly until they got close. I introduced Janek, he shook Grandma and Grandpa’s hand and we sat down. It was a little awkward when I went inside to buy coffee and John didn’t know whether to follow me or stay with them, but in the end he followed me.

The chat was somewhat superficial but it was wonderful nonetheless. It only lasted for about half an hour because they had somewhere to be, and so did Janek and I, but it was an introduction. Now when he comes to the barbecue he will already have his foot in the door as far as they’re concerned.

I can now go to bed and catch up on all the sleep I missed out on last night due to worrying.

I have just officially come out to my grandmother. And, by extension, my grandfather.

This freaks me out no end.

On Sunday, most of the extended family (on Mum’s side) met for lunch at my grandparents’ local RSL. Sister and I travelled there together on the train (she is now living in the inner-west too) and met Mum and Dad there. Grandma and Grandpa were sitting at the table in the restaurant, waiting, when we arrived. Shortly after, my parents arrived too.

After hugs, kisses and small talk, we got down to the serious business of gift exchange. I gave Dad his card and his gift (two DVDs with more blood and guts than you can poke a stick at) and I gave Grandpa his card, explaining that being a poor student I couldn’t afford to get him a gift until pay-day on Friday, but that I would sort something out soon. The two cards were made by my friend’s boyfriend, Kristan, and featured photos of his artworks. Grandma was very impressed with the beautiful photo on Grandpa’s card, so she picked up Dad’s to have a look. Then she read inside it. I would have been a little more reluctant to show off Kristan’s artistic genius had I remembered that the card to Dad was signed from both Janek and I.

Grandma closed the card, placed it on the table and then leaned in to talk to me as privately as possible in a crowded RSL.
Grandma: So this Janek… He’s your boyfriend, yes?
Me: Ummm… yeh.
Grandma: Well I would have liked for you to tell me yourself, rather than just leave me to find out.
Me: Well I figured you already knew, or had worked it out yourself.
Grandma: Oh, Daniel, I did already know. I knew before you did! I knew when you were fifteen!
Me: Well then what’s the problem? Besides, it seems everyone knew around then except me anyway.
Grandma: Well we’re having a barbecue for Grandpa’s birthday in October. You can bring him then to meet everyone.
Me: You can meet him on Tuesday. (Grandma and I had already arranged to meet for coffee on Tuesday because she and Grandpa will be in the city)
Grandma: Oh that would be lovely.

That was the end of the conversation, as my three year old cousin successfully fought for, and won, Grandma’s attention.

As we were leaving the restaurant, Mum grabbed my hand and practically dragged me into another room and then demanded what had been said, because all she heard was Grandma use the word “boyfriend”. I relayed the conversation to her, and then repeated myself when Dad joined us and said conspiratorially, “what’s all this secrecy going on here?” I told them I was more than a little nervous about the boyfriend-meets-grandparents scenario, but they assured me it would be fine as long as all spandex, feather boas and high heels were left at home. I promised them to dress in drab colours and look disinterested like heterosexuals and they said that was the perfect look to go for. At least they have a sense of humour.

I called Grandma from the train on Monday to confirm our coffee date and confirm that Janek could make it. I then had a mild panic attack. I texted a few people in what I hope wasn’t a too transparent grope for validation and got many lovely and reassuring messages back, including one from Dad that said “Just say hi…this is janek…then ask about their day…fill up time with small talk and don’t feel compelled to explain too deeply…and smile…love you”. I wrote back and asked what he wanted me to refrain from saying, what went in where or something, but he never answered me.

Two hours later I received a voicemail from Mum saying much the same thing, that I should introduce Janek as “my friend” not “my boyfriend”, that I should relax, make sure Janek gave Grandpa a good manly, firm handshake, and whatever I do, don’t explain too deeply. I was genuinely at a loss as to what this whole explanation thing that they were so scared about was so I called her. First I told her that I was planning on introducing Janek as “This is Janek”. I said that there’s no need to qualify his relationship to me because everyone already knows he’s my boyfriend, but that I certainly wasn’t going to try to minimise it with the label of “friend” when he isn’t. I agreed with the handshake and added I would make sure he’s well dressed too. Then I asked what she meant by not explaining too deeply (leaving out the question I had asked Dad by SMS). “Well,” she said, “don’t go too much into gayness”. I laughed. I knew what she meant by the way she said it was hilarious.

So that’s where we stand at the moment. This whole business will take place at 6pm tonight. I’ll keep you all posted.

I had many emails, SMS, IMs, facebook messages, tweets and smoke signal messages from friends and readers asking me what happened next. What, they ask, is this “fallout” that you allude to? Was it really that bad? Surely there was no radioactivity involved?

I will finish it off soon, I promise, but I’ve been snowed under in a pile of snotty tissues of late and my head really isn’t prepared for thinking of anything more complex than “must sleep”.