Mamma Mia/My Mom
Today was Veteran’s Day, so — being a government employee — I had the day off. My mom and I had made plans to go shopping for apartment items: rugs, curtains, kitchen things, stuff to put on the walls.
At about 10:30 in the morning, my phone rang. I figured it would be her. “Are you watching the news?” she said. My first thought was, Oh, shit. They’ve done something to us again, haven’t they.
You know you’re living in a transformed world when a plane crashes two rivers away from you and it seems like just another disaster. You can’t find enough psychic room to focus on it, because that whole part of your psyche has been taken up by other things.
Strange how, upon hearing that it wasn’t a terrorist attack, a plane crash seems refreshingly normal.
Strange how, these days, it would seem normal even if it were a terrorist attack.
Strange how I can’t find room to feel how horrible it is, even though I know it is.
When I got to the PATH station at about 11:00 this morning to go to Newark –from which I’d take the bus to my parents’ house — there was yellow police tape across all the station entrances. They’d shut down the PATH lines. Fifteen minutes later, they removed the tape and I could go on my way.
I had a great day with my mom. We went to a diner. We went shopping. We bought a couple of rugs, a paper towel holder, a toaster, a spatula, and a few things to put on my walls. I got to run around the backyard with the puppy and watch her run after things that I threw.
My mom and my dad had plans to see Mamma Mia tonight, the new-to-Broadway musical that is basically a vehicle for ABBA songs, but my dad wasn’t too keen on going. I said I’d be happy to go in his place. He was fine with that. So in the late afternoon my mom drove me and my stuff home, and then we went into Manhattan, had dinner, and saw the show.
I enjoyed it. It was a confection, pure sugar, but it was fun and energetic and charming and there were hot shirtless guys. That’s always a good thing.
When I think of ABBA, I picture a gay British teenager moping alone in his bedroom with the door closed. I don’t know why.
I don’t know ABBA too well — at least I didn’t think I did. But there were so many songs to which my response was, “Oh, I know this one! I didn’t know ABBA did it.” Apparently a large chunk of the audience knew the band better than I did, because a character would sing the first line of a song and then half the audience would begin either clapping or laughing at the way the song had been worked into the show.
Afterwards, after a long, enjoyable day, my mom and I parted ways, and I went home.
I feel like I took a lot more from my mom today than I gave. I wish I’d at least paid for dinner tonight. I’ve never taken one of my parents out to dinner before, but I wish I’d done so tonight. Had I not been worried about my finances, I would have.
Why do I often wish I were still a kid? Why do I want to spend time with my mom and yet I lust after men? Why does my mom have to be the only woman in my life? Am I gay because I want to shirk responsibility and commitment? Is it possible that I can’t find a man because I’m only meant to sleep with them, not spend my life with them?
Sometimes, when I have a great time with my mom, I wish I were straight.
My mom is the most important woman in my life. Sometimes I wish I could say that that’s only temporary, that someday, some great woman will come along to displace her.
Sometimes I wish I could find a guy who’s just like my mom.
Sometimes I wish I could find an adult relationship.
Sometimes I wonder if being gay is a copout.
Sometimes I wish I were straight.
Wait a minute, lemme see if I got this straight: You went shopping for home furnishings, with your mom, and then went with her to a Broadway musical? What are ya, one of them sissy boys?
Seriously, I know whereof you speak, mon frere. As for me, I’m non-committal regarding my sexual preferences. Have you ever considered rethinking things along those lines for yourself? (Or are you afraid you’ll end up as screwed up as me? HA!)
Sure, I dig guys; I’m a definite ‘5’ on the Kinsey Scale — “predominantly homosexual, only incidentally heterosexual” (OK, so I really dig guys) — but I don’t rule out anything happening with the ladies. I might want a boyfriend sometimes (read: most of the time), and a girlfriend at other times (hmmm… I’ll have get back to ya on that one).
The only problem is what you call yourself — gay? bi? straight? bent? (all of the above) But that’s more other people’s problem, isn’t it? Labels, schmabels; I describe myself as “ambiguously gay.” Whatever. I say, don’t put yourself in a box, and don’t let anyone else put you in one, either. (I know there aren’t really any easy answers here — I’m oversimplifying because I’m trying to be brief.)
Oh, and another thing: I think you need one of these… ::hugs him::
I saw Mama Mia in London and it was very, very enjoyable… but then again I’m an ABBA fan since I was 12 years old (and no… I was not moping the floors ;-) )
Did they have a ‘encore’ as well in te NYC show, with the platform shoes and the ABBA songs taht did not make the show but are still well known? People (well.. ehh..me) were dancing and singing in the alleys with the encore.
I think your image of a girl in a bedroom is from the Australian movie “Muriel’s wedding”; a very funny movie.
Sorry, pal…I’ve been in Europe for a while and haven’t been able to catch up with your stuff for a bit.
Whenever I go through one of those self examination “am I living my life the way I’m supposed to?” moments, I try to answer some basic quesitons. Is what I’m doing hurting anyone? Is what I’m doing generated by love? And I try to remember that no one is ever gunna be able to be Brendan as well as I can do it.
It does not sound like you hurt anyone. Your feelings for your Mom are so obviously based in love. Maybe your bi, maybe you’re gay, maybe your straight. Who cares, really. You’ll figure it all out for yourself when the time is right. But just remember, wherever you are in your journey you are simply brilliant at being you. Cherish your day with your Mom for the delightful experience it so obvioulsy was. You’re doing swell. Relax.
I understand the feeling of equating the gay thing with being a copout on responsibility, related to over-loving mama and remaining child-like. But it’s way more complicated than that. It’s more generally about feeling like a solid, active, connected part of the world, not just a passive reactor. You want to spend as much of your life in the present, not encased in a cocoon of second-guessing.
The gay part is really a side issue.
Being gay has its challenges, but coming to terms with private, public and civic responsibility is a challenge for everybody in their twenties.
Just remember that there are plenty of straight people that love their mamas, have unsatisfying love-lives, and have strings of flings. There are also many irresponsible straight people. I don’t think it’s as related to being gay as much as it is about transitioning through life.
I could totally understand what you are saying. SOmetimes I feel that way too. I’m still struggling and dealing with it. I hope one day, we’ll all find some resolution. Sure, easier said than done, but hey! Hope is a good thing. *hugs*
“a gay British teenager moping alone in his bedroom with the door closed”??
That would be Marc Almond. Or Morrisey.
Abba is for getting drunk and going down the pub with the girls from work and telling them how much you like what they’ve done to their hair.
(You _do_ know that when it was playing here in London, the theatre was at the dead centre of Boystown?)