It wasn't always like this. My grandparents used to love us, they used to actually give a shit. We would go over to their house and watch movies and my mom would play cribbage with my grandpa while my grandma gave us some warm milk with some sugar in it. I loved my grandparents, and they loved us. My sisters and I thought that that love was unconditional, you know the type of love that a grandparent is supposed to feel for their grandchild. In fact, they were a constant in our often chaotic lives. When my mom was in serious financial troubles back in the mid-90's my grandma and grandpa gave her a loan. When we were hungry, they fed us. When we were cold, they took us clothes shopping. I loved my grandparents with all my heart. I assumed they loved me.
What changed so much? Why did my grandparents disown us? How could unconditional love turn into absolute hate? I have often wondered how they could pretend to love us so much, and then, in the blink of an eye, completely turn their backs on our new family. I loved everyone in my new family, why couldn't they? The fact is this: religion tore my grandparents away from me. My mother came out of the closet, and my grandparents are mormon.
Back in '94 my mom came out of the closet with her partner, Rosanne. They were poor, but happy about the decision they made. My mom had just been through a bitter divorce battle with my father and had won custody over me and my two sisters. Rosanne's husband had relinquished custody of her daughter. We were a newly forming family in an ever changing world. The love that we felt for one-another was unequal to any other love I had ever felt in my seven year old stint on this planet. I felt like I was on top of the world, then, our elation came to a crashing halt the day that my grandpa called my mom.
My grandparents didn't know about my mom's sexual orientation. They knew about the divorce, but my mom deliberately put off telling my grandpa and grandma about her newly found lifestyle. She was nervous about what they might have thought about it, considering their fanatical devotion to their faith. You see, my grandpa is some kind of leader at the mormon temple here in Oregon, and my grandma is his long-time secretary. My mom knew that, but felt that my grandparents had a right to know about the new changes in her life. She thought that they, at least, deserved the right of us not hiding from them. They may have had a rocky road during her childhood, but they were still her parents...right?
So the call came, and I remember my mom having a long conversation with my grandpa. I can remember the indignant look on my mothers face as she argued her case to my grandfather. I could hear the yelling, even though it seems so far away now. My mom's voice gradually got louder and louder until I couldn't bare to listen to it any more. I started to cry, not because I knew what was happening, but because I didn't understand. My mom had never talked to my grandparents like that. Finally, I remember her saying "You know what dad, why don't you just meet them? I mean, you can't judge unless you know who they are, right?"
Finally my mom hung up the phone. She walked out of the kitchen and sat down with Rosanne, and there was silence for a long time, and then she put her hands to her face. I remember walking over to her and hugging her and asking her what was wrong. I don't really remember what she said, but that was the first time I had ever seen that look on my mom's face. It was the face of pure resignation. At that moment my mom truly did not know what to do. She could subject her newly found loving family to the hate she expected on the slim chance that my grandparents might have an epiphany, or she could completely lose them. It was the first time in my life that I saw what an adult decision was like, and I never wanted to make one.
The ride in the car that night was silent. No one talked for fear of jinxing our luck. We all hoped that it would not end like we thought it would. My mom, in the most gentle way she could, explained to me what was happening. She said that I might not get to be able to see grandma and grandpa ever again. She said that it was their decision and we were only going there to try to help them make it. It didn't matter how much she tried to sugar coat what we were doing, I knew then that my grandparents would ever be the same to me.
Its funny, my first experience with hatred and bigotry was not from some outside source, but from within the people who I thought loved me the most. I still feel that bitter feeling I felt all those years ago still bubbling up inside me. I have never told anyone about this moment, not even my fiancee because it is still to painful for me to talk about. I cannot physically speak about this without crying, and it is entirely too complicated to try to speak about.
We got to my grandparents house and I remember having a feeling of pure tension. That is not a feeling that I had ever felt before that point. We stood on the doorstep together, all of us wrapped up in our own worry. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the door opened and we were let inside. There were chairs in the sitting room, two on one side, two on the other and us kids were told to go play in the TV room. I went to the toy chest that had been there for all of my life and pulled out the legos that I had gotten last christmas from my grandma and grandpa. About fifteen minutes went by before the yelling started.
Once again, I don't remember what was said, I just remember the emotions behind the words. I remember my mom's absolute frustration with my grandparents lack of open-mindedness. I remember the hatred that dripped in my grandma's speech. I had never heard her talk like that. Her voice was usually a sweet old lady's voice, but in that moment, I decided that was the voice of hatred. I remember a huge clatter and my mom screaming to us that it was time to leave, and I remember Rosanne's black eye.
My grandma had hurled a chair at Rosanne's face. Yes, one of those aluminum fold up chairs. She got hit in the face and ended up with a black eye. Once again, the ride back to our house was completely silent. No one said a word, because to say something would make that moment real. It seemed like more of a complete nightmare than reality. My mom and Rosanne got home and went straight to bed without saying a word to anyone.
The worst experience out of this whole ordeal was hearing the crying that came out of that room. It lasted for a long, long time. It wasn't wailing of course, but it was the most heart-wrenching sobbing that you might ever hear.
We didn't hear from my grandparents for a long time after that. In fact, there was no mention of them in my house. We tried not to think about that night but it was always somewhere in the back of our minds. It was the one wound that our family had that we never fully recovered from. It was the one thing that made us rethink our decision to become what we wanted to be, but we continued on as normal anyway.
One day after school I got a call over the loud speaker to come to the main office. I was excited because that usually meant that you were getting out of school for the day. I leaped out of my chair and flashed a "Ha-ha I am getting out of school and you aren't!" face to the class and walked out the door. I walked into the main office and my grandpa was waiting in a chair for me. My face flushed with anger, but I didn't say a word. My grandpa came up to me and had the audacity to hug me. I remember thinking about that word "audacity" because I had just learned it in school (we had to do a report about a random word out of the dictionary, isn't it funny that I found that word just a couple days before). He said a couple of things, and I told the office lady very discreetly that I didn't want to go with him, but she made me anyway.
I got in my grandpa's car and we drove for a while. We kept driving and driving and didn't stop for a long time. Finally, we got to a Burger King in some town that I had never been to. My grandpa told me I could get whatever I wanted (a rare treat). So I ordered and we sat down. My grandpa began some of his famous small talk before our food was ready. Our order was called and we went and got our food and sat down again. He looked me in the eye for a long time and said
"Adam, you know I love you with all my heart."
"I know that Grandpa" I said, even though I didn't believe him.
"Adam, what your mom is doing is wrong. She is violating everything god has ever told us. I just want to let you know that. Your mom is going to hell, son. I don't want you to go down that same road. I want you to grow up in a household that loves god, not one that hates him. Do you want to love god, Adam?"
"I dont know", was my answer. In truth, I didn't know.
"Come live with me and your grandma, Adam. We can raise you right. You can have a good relationship with god. Living with your mom is a sin."
"I love my mom, grandpa, I can't do that. I just want to go home."
At that point the fact get a little fuzzy in my head. From what I remember my grandpa looked at me, and turned his head. He got up, and I got up with him and he drove me home. I got out of his car and walked to my apartment, and he left. I called my mom absolutely crushed and my mom came home from work that day and just held me. She held me and held me and I just cried. I never talked to my grandparents again.
A few months later we got a letter from the mormon church stating that my mom had been excommunicated. We framed the letter and put it on our wall. It was the first success in defeating bigotry and hatred we had ever had. It was a proud moment for my mom and Rosanne. Their love was tested and it won.
I, however, was extremely pained. I began to hate Rosanne for tearing our family apart, and in my seven year old mind that was how it was. I resented her and did everything I could to get our family torn apart and my mom and my dad back together. I found out later that it is quite common for kids to do this in divorce, and I didn't feel so guilty. I took me a long time to heal the wounds that my grandparents gave me. I really loved them, and in some fashions that love never dies, but for as long as I live I will make sure that my kids, and my kid's kids never have to go through anything like that.
So all through my life I grew up without having a grandma and grandpa (my dad's parents died when I was small). I resented those with grandparent so much, because they didn't understand what they had. They never knew what it was like growing up without them. I never got birthday cards from them, or presents, or love, nothing. Just silence, and silence, is the worst kind of hate.
Once again, thanks for letting me vent.