I can't imagine living my life in constant constriction. Taking spewed insults as you walk down a public sidewalk, from a moving vehicle full of Frat boys. Or girls. Constant looks of revulsion. Of hatred. Pure vicious hatred.
He suffers from Anxiety Disorder. He's been medically diagnosed. From the time he entered Junior High and on through High School, it never seemed to stop. He's so strong, and he made it through all of that, but not without damage. Hidden damage that most never see, and only he can feel.
So that now, in his third year of an MFA program, he is still scared to walk across a dark campus at night, from classroom to his vehicle, is so wrong, on so many levels. That I still talk to him on the phone, as he walks, because I am scared, that he is scared makes me sad. That parents worry about their children when they leave home for college and then they grow up, and the basic worrying is over, seems somehow, unfair. For I will never stop worrying, I will always be fearful, because he will always be in potential danger.
Hatred is such a strong emotion. Hatred for another human being whom you don't even know is unreasonable and there is nothing about that I will ever understand. That I don't walk in his shoes does not make me feel better, it makes me wish his shoes fit my feet.
As he talked to me tonight, of the fears he still has, the things that still happen that he never talks about anymore, I hung up the phone and cried. He is twenty six years old and this is his life. He was thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen, and that was his life. When can he hold hands with the love of his life and not be in fear of ugliness, hatred, and possible harm?
He doesn't whine, he doesn't complain, these are facts for him. As I said, it's his life. He has good days, where everyone he passes smiles and occasionally says good morning, or hello. And he has bad days, where a perfect stranger walks by and calls him a Faggot. What? Because he's by himself, and he looks like one? Because he is comfortable enough in his skin to be himself in real life, instead of hiding?
This is not a story about acceptance or non-acceptance. This is a story about my beautiful son, who simply wants to live like everyone else. Without fear and horror simply for who he is and who he loves. And his mother who would like for him to always, be as happy as he can possibly be, without the fear and horror because of who he is and who he loves.
It's story about sad phone calls, tense filled phone calls, and the distance in between where he is and my safety net for him which no longer reaches as far. It's not about who eats where, who thinks what, and who believes in what. Or how many people can cram cars into a drive thru food establishment to represent the idea and make a public statement of who they think should be married or not. The First Amendment is vitally important. And it applies to everyone. It's not about me pointing a finger at anyone. Or accusing anyone. If my story makes you uncomfortable, then maybe you have some unresolved issues within yourself. Within your heart. This story is about a Mama's love for her child. No matter what. Ever.
My God loves everybody. Every sinner. Every saint. I know a lot of sinners, can't really say I know many saints. So I figure, we're pretty much all even. We all have the same line to stand in, to get in that gate. We all have our trespasses to admit and explain. No one sin is greater than another. There is no point system. There is no 1-10 scale of good and bad. He will judge all the same. And my beautiful, compassionate and loving son, will probably pass through that gate, long before I do, even though I will have already been far ahead of him in the line.
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