Distance and Misogyny

I received a letter from my mom the other day. She had been to a therapist and wanted to diagnose me. There's food left uneaten on the stove. It's been three days, and the bed is more inviting than living.

"I can't see it"

It would be easier if there wasn't 2,300 miles between us, a sea of land and mountains, gold and grass. I tell her there were warning signs, and I figure she can't see them anymore, they've been buried under years of dirt in her mind, some I've buried from myself, and some that could never see, never fathom. Coming out to your parent's isn't the hardest thing - it just the jump off the cliff - it's the time and silence after that deafens everything around you. It would be easier to see if you were here. I don't know if she will ever see me as her daughter, but a son always in soul.

Dad is gone for the week, and her therapist told her that absent fathers and strong mothers are what cause people to be gay. Mothers are not fit to raise boys. My identity must be attached to hers. Male influence is what the boys need. Misogyny by any other name. But what about the others?

-- What others?

The others. The ones who grew up with only mothers. The ones who aren't...

-- ...freaks?

The ones who grew up with mothers, found a girl, and married and lived happily ever-after.

"I'm worried about what your future relationships will be like."

They'll be fine, I say, I can worry about that myself. How about an, "are you happy?"

"I'm loving work though"