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Monday, December 5, 2011


Recently, at work, I sat in a meeting with my peers. We all have the same job. We phone people. It's really very exciting stuff. Our meeting was with a sales coach. He was a droll, older man with whom we had contracted to mentor us. All week, his ambition was to make our calls more effective and create a sense of cohesiveness between the sales unit and the marketing unit. Ultimately, despite my ability to be overwhelmed with emotion for week's events, I found him to be prudent and commonsensical with a bout of hilarity.

One evening, after the days summits, everyone was going to meet for drinks. It was to be a pleasant gathering with wine and cocktails and an appetizer or two coupled with the bar's televisions sounding the night's sporting events. Not me though. First, I don't like people that much. Second, I don't get to see my family as often as I'd like. Third, I have homework. Fourth, I try my very best to not mix alcohol with work. Fifth, I am full of excuses. So I mentioned my excuses, most of them, to my peers and my coach. It was excepted in the past without issue, so why would today be any different? 

And it wasn't different. Not that different anyway. In fact, the only difference was that one of my peers brought up my family and was raving about what a beautiful little girl "we" have and that "we" are expecting another. Coach didn't know about my family. Everyone else had talked about theirs. Not me. I'm a private person, but I was sure this was going to be the moment. Insert disclaimer here because that statement makes it sound like I am ashamed of my family. Please let it be known I am nothing of the sort, thus the entire reason why I was so taken aback by my emotions that day. In the midst of the ramblings about our child, I felt myself want to jump up and scream, "Okay! You got me! I'm G-A-Y! That's right. Gay. Actually, the technical term is lesbian, but I am completely turned off by that word most of the time, so let's go with gay. I have a wife, Sara, and a daughter, Graisyn. Nope. I'm not pregnant, but my pretty lady is expecting our second child. We live a normal life. We have two dogs. We go to school. We work. I cook. Sara cooks. We like wine, but Sara not so much right now. Remember, she's pregnant. Not me. Her. Graisyn is three. She is a perfectly well adjusted child despite the fact that she asked once at swimming lessons where her daddy was. It was only once and I told her everyone's family is different...even those with a mom and a dad. She agreed and we went on to swimming. Grai refers to me as mommy and Sara as mumma. I anticipate the new baby will do the same. Sigh. Can someone please get ME a drink? Yes, after work. No, not with all of you. Please and thank you."

There was no reason for my silent tangent. Never mind that my brain is a little sporadic. Forget that I have an imagination. The conversation never got that involved. Phew! It never went "there", and even if it did who cares? I wouldn't care. Not me. Not the real me. I don't typically care too much about what people think. That day I did. That day I was afraid of being judged and, more than that, I was afraid of my family being judged. That day I was scared. Shitless. And I didn't like it.

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