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My first great male mentor is a gay man. I still check in with him, once or twice a year.
The queeniest homosexual male I have ever known, to be honest. I wish you could hear his girlish laughter.
He took it upon himself to care for a ragtag bundle of young people who were active in theater. Got us to rehearsals, got us home again.
And he ran an "open house" for adolescent kids, 24/7, a safe place for them to be not at home.
@GeePawHill and I hope he's safe from our current crop of right wing morons
@deepmud Me, too. I should call him. I am, of course, a terrible person, and I do not call him often enough.
@GeePawHill it's hard to keep up with everybody. But do try. It means a lot!
I remember a night, at an outdoor venue we were "guarding", with a half-dozen of us kids, and the subject of his sexuality came up.
We were 12, 11, 10, such like.
This was Kansas, mind you, in '70, '71, '72.
We dared ask the question of whether he was queer.
It wasn't unanimous, the vote. But it was a super-majority for sure. :)
What a wonderful man.
Years later, I was in my 30s, shortly before she died, my mother asked me about him. She'd heard rumors that T might be "gay".
And she strapped on her genitalia, and she asked me: "Do you think T might be . . . 'gay'?" *TOTAL* voice-quaver here.
I burst out laughing.s
"Yeah, Mom, queer as a three-dollar bill."
And now, *serious* trembling voice: "Did he ever, was there, mumble mumble inappropriare mumble mumble?"
I was still laughing so hard.
"No, Ma. T's gay, he's not a creep."
These ideas, of gayness, of creepness, seemed new to her. Which is rather interesting, because . . .
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