Moment of Truth

I had two of the most difficult conversations in my life, one with each parent, years apart, in regards to my being gay.
1.

First my mother who was not the 1st person I came out to, but the first family member. I was 19. Unchartered territory. And my belief was that I was about to lose my entire world because as much as she loved me, I had no idea how she was going to take the news.

My purpose was selfish. To stop living a lie and confront the consequences of being honest. Because that is something all LGBT people face: consequences for trying to just live in the same world as anyone else. worrying about the same things as anyone else. your kids' scraped knees, the mortgage, the job, the heart break, the dream, the disappointment.

For years I had to do all of it alone. Until my family caught up to where I was. And I made the difficult sacrifices. I took, yes, the higher road because these people who raised me mattered to me. so i took the hits and the jabs from friends and some family. until time the great leveler just evidenced that I was who I had always been. A funny, insecure, passionate person with a red hot temper who cried during happy endings and really, just really only wanted love.

Well, that conversation with my mother wasn't as bad as I thought. But it was for a few short years a painstaking evolution. And ultimately my mother surpassed even her own expectations. She witnessed how I fought and wouldn't back down and held my ground. And what started as a negative reaction for fear and worry of her child, turned into her own blossoming.

When my mother died I packed up her whole apartment and all her belongings and momentos. It was years later that I opened an envelope full of cards she was sending back to my step-father, her ex husband, at a time they were considering getting back together. And I found this letter she had planned to send back with all the cards he ever gave her and she had kept. I keep this as a note in my cell phone to look at it whenever I need reminding that I can have an impact on a person's life. (I have taken liberty to edit for structure but content is intact):

From my mom to my step dad: "I am writing this not for my sake but yours. I want you to think about something I have come to understand. Maybe I am wrong but I feel that I have accomplished an immense soul searching in the past four years and for that I'm grateful to my son. He has opened vast horizons for me and I want to get to this world before I depart it."

She went on to explain that this was why she wasn't going back to him. It was time for them to let go because she found her own strength to live life for her.

2.

Since coming out I have had many many difficult conversations with my birth father, and we oscillated many times and years between being close or completely apart. The hardest conversation I had with him wasn't coming out to him. It was telling him for the first time what I really believed about God and religion. I listened for many years about his, in my view, fundamental beliefs about religion. I never challenged him. I didn't think I had enough Bible learning to have an academic conversation about scripture and interpretation.

I constantly felt apologetic. "Gee, my poor minister father's older son is gay. let me keep a low profile. let me bow my head when we pray in public even though I never would at home. let me agree where I can and swallow what I refute. let me be as dutiful and compliant a son even though no amount of love would rub the stain of the sodomite off me as he quoted to me Leviticus, Romans and Corinthians."

After a few years living as a gypsy following the deaths of my mother and maternal grandmother, I found myself living with my father's mother. Living with his mother gave my father opportunity to leave me pamphlets on my bed about transitioning from gay to straight. It was literature aimed at younger people discovering their sexuality (I hate the phrase "questioning their sexuality"). I had just turned 40. I was never doubtful of who I was. And certainly not at 40. I had already been through so much in my life, including my mother's fight with cancer and having the bitter privilege of giving her permission to let go and leave her suffering and have her pass away in front of me as I closed her eyes - as I told her that she brought me into this world and I helped her into the next one. I DID THAT. I own that. For the same woman who unbeknownst to me at that time was grateful to me for her self growth and awareness and was ready to get to the world she unfortunately never got to explore.

But damn it all if she didn't get to posses her own self discovery before the end. So no, I had no doubts of being gay and those transitioning pamphlets couldn't have made me more angry than any bible verse or literature thrown at me. And that was when I told my father to meet me in a park, on neutral ground, so I could tell him that I didn't believe what he believed. That I didn't subscribe to any literal translation. That I believed the true Godliness in living is being kind to other people. That was my only holy scripture. And after years of being tolerated I told him that loving me was not enough. And I had no doubts that my father loved me deeply. But I couldn't ask for anything less than acceptance. I couldn't ask him to give me any less than I expected and received from my friends. I was through with allowing him the exception because he was my father. If anything, I deserved it all the more from him because he was my father. And I know it hurt him to say it as much as it hurt to hear it, but he said it all the same with the full confidence of his beliefs - acceptance of my being gay is something he could never give me. And that was the day our relationship ended. And all my sense of obligation, pacification and subjugation with it.

3.

Why am I writing about this now? These two relationships? Because oddly enough, I find myself having to defend myself for being gay because of the election. Because the subjugated son became the dutiful friend trying to appreciate everyone's point of view. The Libra in me balancing the scales. And I realized that I was reliving the dynamic of allowing people who say they love and support me to live the illusion that voting for the Republican ticket in 2016 isn't exactly the opposite of loving and supporting me. And I can't do it anymore. Just as I needed to come out to my mother so that I could live an honest life - and just as I needed to confront my father so that I could be free of a self-effacing life - I tell you now, either I inspire you or for my own self preservation I free myself of you. I just won't allow you to pretend that you are just voting for strong borders and bombing ISIS or repealing health care. You are voting for one of the most anti gay tickets and platforms in our modern history.

A Note from Nerd Nirvana

This was originally a draft from April 2014 that I never posted.  I no longer remember how I was tying the last paragraph back in to the Avengers franchise but I just like my enthusiasm over it.  So I am posting it now:

I was watching Captain America:  The Winter Soldier, which in of itself is a cornucopia of comic book geek goodness.  I understand general audiences are enjoying the Avengers franchise, but I can't help but feel you don't get the full geek gasm unless you are a bonafide comic-book geek (CBG).  Not since the Avengers appeared in my 1978 view master have I drooled over seeing the Cap with the Falcon and the Black Widow in audio/visual action.

     Add to that what I believe is an unprecedented moment (fellow geeks please correct me if I am wrong) that a a franchise with both product in a movie and on television are sharing the same universe and story line.  The same week that Hydra took over S.H.I.E.L.D. in Captain America, the ramifications of the story were played out in full in Marvel Studio's TV fare, Agents of Shield.  In the past you may have seen a TV series follow the success of a movie franchise, such as the Planet of the Apes, but it wasn't the same universe.  ("The same universe," is prime geek speak.)

      But along with the CBG goodness, I had an unexpected sci-fi movie geek moment as well, one that made me audibly squeal in the theater.  When I saw the close up of the council woman I had immediate facial recognition of the actress but I was too scared to believe it could be true.  Is that....?  Could it possibly be....?  It was Jenny Agutter from Logan's Run and An American Werewolf in London.

     One of my obsessions with movies and b-movies, and geek movies, is recognizing actors that for the most part have become obscure but never really stop working.  One of my favorite examples is Veronica Cartwright, an incredibly prolific actress who has been - just to name a very short few - in Hitchcock's The Birds, Alien, the remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers and The Witches of Eastwick where she played a similar witch-hunt character as she does right now on Resurrection.  I love to see her pop up in dozens of films and sci-fi TV shows. This pleasure could only be eclipsed if Roddy McDowall, the original Cornelius/Ceaser in the 60/70's  original Planet of the Apes movies were still alive to play a cameo in the current franchise.



   

   

Profile Pioneer Winter: Four Years On, 10/12/16

every year I drag out the same profile and cover photo on 9/11. In the grander scheme of things, a very impotent act. There are current tragedies happening right now, today. Acts of violence of man against man. We can't do anything for what happened in NYC on 9/11 except remember. But let's not waste the memory. Use all that anguish and anger and disbelief and shine the light on every foul deed. And scream into that darkness and say "I refuse you!" It's not any divine power that allows or prevents the tragedies of the world. It is only us

9/11, 15 years later...

As a little boy in my microcosmic world of Miami I learned of the outside world from movies. I watched ferociously whatever my mother allowed me to see on TV and in those days before VCR and movie rental places, movies from all periods were shown on TV. And my earliest memory of seeing New York in film, and the Twin Towers, was Godspell (1973) on TV around 1974 or 75.

Then when I was 8 I went to movies to see King Kong (76) with Jessica Lange and Jeff Bridges and I saw the Twin Towers featured prominently as they replaced the Empire State form the original 30's movie as Kong's last stand. Then came The Wiz where the WTC plaza was the scene for their emerald city and of course dear to my heart, Superman: The Movie where NYC stood in for Metropolis while Reeve flew by the Twin Towers. I fell in love with NYC proper through many movies, like Arthur and Fame and so many I can't count.

When I finally got to visit the city as a college student in Boston (ironically now, I flew on the long defunct Trump shuttle regularly between the two cities) I felt as if I had come home. And when I finally moved there in 1996 I followed Jessica Lang 20 years later to the top of the tower. My generation is the one that barely knew a NY before the Twin Towers and is the generation that can barely imagine a NY without them, except that it's our unforgettable reality. Sept 11, 2001, was our "where were you when Kennedy was shot" moment. It was our Pearl Harbour.

I moved away from New York shortly after my mom died. I couldn't separate the memory of the one from the experience of the other. And I left in 1999. But still I visited from Boston where I spent the longest day of my life on Tuesday, 9/11/01.

This past spring I went back to WTC for the first time since I went to Ground Zero in December 2001. In my trips to NY after I moved away, I just couldn't go down there again and then I was gone for ten years.

April 2016 I went back to visit NYC and went down to the new One WTC and the memorial pool footprints and the memorial museum and my old favorite Winter Garden. and I just felt numb. Like someone just painted over the blood stained walls and I was the only one who knew what was behind the veneer. I thought I could feel jubilant as if the area grew like a phoenix out of the tons of dust and concrete and mangled steel. But toast can never be bread again.

But still I love you NYC (even if I can't live there). You held so many of dreams once. Maybe one day, once again.

Village Voice Review by Jowitt, 9/6/05

Ana Bolt Testimonials

Pioneer Winter Collective Press Page

MTC Miami, 12/11/13

Ballet Memphis Blog, 5/11/15

Indy Week, 6/10/15

PRLOG New York, Metropolis, March 1, 2015

Welcome to the Dance, Miami Art Guide, 3/30/12

Artstopper Spring 2014

So many people seem to think to know what I need to be happy and what I need to get there. And converse is true. Staying the course has made me miserable. Once upon a time I shocked everyone in my world, including myself, when I just left home for college. I didn't even apply to any schools in my state. I won't say coming home was a mistake. But I have never been more homesick than being where I grew up and having lost family and home. It's like driving past a headstone everyday.

I do crave what on the surface appears to be the dream of domesticity. The safe harbour of family. But it may not be my path. And I have sacrificed all freedoms and came out worse trying to fit circles in square pegs. Well, I am the square peg.

And it is hard to imagine that I will never know living in any other place than where I was born and raised. I sometimes fear I could pick up and leave and end up in the gutter in a strange place. But, you don't have to be in the gutter to suffer from stagnant water.

"Seeking approval and external validation is part of the human experience, but when it comes to making a big life change, they can be hard to find. People expect you to stay how you are, to maintain the status quo, to stay the course. And if you get bogged down looking for that affirmation to make a change, you may never make it."

Can't Blame it on the Rain

1977, fourth grade, I lived on a residential island in miami beach. my elementary school was in walking distance, minutes, as there was a foot bridge over a creek connecting the north end of the island to the back fields of the elementary school. Florida weather can be tempestuous and on one typical rainstormy day, my mother drove me to school rather than let me walk. I don't remember why, but I do remember that we were engaged in an argument in the car. Maybe I just wanted to stay home. I was having a hard time adjusting to this new school as we had just moved there a year before and this was my first year of public school in the new hood. I threw a fit and in my self righteous tantrum I ran out of the car wihotut my umbrella as soon as my mom pulled us up to the front crosswalk. Ran in a huff to Mrs. Stratton's combined 3rd and 4th grade class. With seconds to spare before the bell, I sat down at my desk still wearing my soaked slicker, dripping water everywhere. And then I realized that in my short sighted fury I had run out of the car without any of my school supplies. not a stitch. I was being so petulant that morning I more than deserved to have sat the day without any books, homework to turn in, not even a pencil. No lunch or lunch money. Any other day I could have snuck at recess back to my house as it was so close and grabbed my stuff. But this particular morning my mother drove me so everything was in her car on the way to her workplace miles across town. The moment of realization led to cold sweat panic and I had no idea what I was going to do, how to explain it, how to face the rest of the day, how to avoid giving the other kids more reason to make fun of me then they already did - the little boy with the accent, and the funny bowl haircut who couldn't throw, kick or catch a ball properly. Now I would be the soaking wet kid who had to sit there all day unprepared and constantly reminded by the stern teacher of my failings. And it was probably what I deserved. My anger and tantrum took over and I was mean to my mother and I alone created this situation. I was about ready to bust into tears as I stood up to walk to Mrs. Stratton's desk and try to explain my situation. Then literally like out of a movie or children's story, there was a knock at the door. As it opened you could see and hear the continued deluge outside. In the doorway was my mother accompanied by the school office secretary. I can still clearly picture my beautiful mother, hair matted down with the rain, and in her hands was my bicentennial themed notebook, my books, my superman lunch box and star wars pencil case. I heard her apologize to Mrs. Stratton for interrupting, but she explained that she had dropped me off closer to the school entrance due to the rain and continued on to the school parking lot in the rear to bring my things. She not only saved me from the nightmare day ahead of me....she took the blame for why I sat in that classroom with none of my supplies. Yes, I probably deserved to have gone the whole day without them. without my lunch or lunch money. I would have learned an important lesson. And that may have been enough to keep my tantrums in check next time. But I learned an even more important one. even at my worst, and when I deserved it least, my mother pulled my bacon form the fire. I was so humbled and ashamed. I didn't just learn to always be mindful to bring my supplies in with me. I learned that my mother deserved more than my yelling and tantrums. I was reminded of her unconditional love and constant sacrifice and all the energy she spent for my betterment. That day, like many more days, my mother became my superhero. 

Water Fest "Covalent Bond" Preview: Interview with Barron Sherer, 4/26/16

Breaking Free of Oppression in Dance: Companhia Urbana de Dança, 4/5/16

Ladysmith Black Mambazo's African Sound Back in Miami, 2/24/16

Nu Deco in the Open Air at the North Beach Bandshell, 1/26/16

The following is a paid public service announcement.
Hello. My name is Mickey Estefan, and I am the founder and chairman of the Stop Fo Peds Society (SFPS). Like millions of viewers, I have many personal stories of near death close calls when a negligent driver didn't Stop Fo Peds as I was crossing the street. Sound familiar? Hundreds of Americans each year suffer from failure to Stop Fo Ped related accidents. It's an epidemic. And until now there has been no legal recourse or sufficient ordinances in place to prosecute Stop Fo Peds violators. And that is why I, along with hundreds of concerned and civic minded Americans, created and joined SFPS. Although we have made gains in some counties and municipalities, our long term mission is to have viable and enforceable Stop Fo Peds federal legislation, so that perpetrators of this heinous crime are brought to justice - so that You get justice. And that is why we need your help. Your generous donation not only supports our grass roots efforts, but also helps funding for research, medical centers and rehabilitation for Stop Fo Peds victims. All members and donors will receive this wonderful day glo adhesive bumper sticker "I Stop Fo Peds!" Isn't it time America to take back our crosswalks? Won't you please join us and help save a life and put criminals who don't Stop Fo Peds behind bars where they belong? Because in America, you shouldn't be afraid to cross the street.
This was a paid public service announcement. We now join your current programming already in progress, "Monster Mash Car Bash."

Cabaret South Beach Survives and Thrives on South Beach, 1/12/16

The current 24 hours celebrates two very conflicting memories. On January 10th, 2008, on the eve of his 81st birthday, and just days after getting out of the hospital, my grandfather took his own life with a gun shot straight to his heart. And tomorrow Jan 11 would have been his 89th birthday. My grandfather survived my mom, his only child, and wife by ten years. I dont know how he kept going. I barely did. He was never prone to depression but he was angry. The last Christmas I ever really had was 1999 when I moved back in with him. I bought a Christmas tree and tried my best to make some semblance of a holiday. It had been less than two years since we lost my mother and grandmother in the same year. He asked me why did I bother. Nothing means anything and g-d didn't care. I couldn't offer any solace. I couldn't bring us any peace. And we found ourselves at odds more often than not after that. I have since never had a Christmas tree in my home again. My grandfather somehow always kept a wicked sense of humor though. And I will always remember him fishing on the dock, or on his boat and loving his town house on the water; that was all he ever wanted. A self made man who always told me he had no regrets in his life even when horrible things happened. I remember him watching movies at night with my mom. With the closed captioned on. You never heard a damn thing because he would ask my mom a million questions or complain, Esto es un paquete. If the movie didn't follow it's own bullshit rules, he wasnt going to either. Click. Tv turned off. He spent a lifetime yelling at the Dolphins on TV. and they gave him many years to yell about. LOL. My grandfather traveled the world. He came from nothing and built his own business and provided for three generations under one roof. He was secretly sentimental. after his death, I found a collection of papers he kept, form his first work permits dating back to 1945 in Cuba along with his Chofer's license issued in Cuba but with people and addresses in Trenton, NJ, and Brooklyn, NY. I am left with so many questions on all the odd jobs and experiences this scrapper of a man did as he moved his wife and daughter to Miami in the late 40's and early 50's. He was no saint but he was a force of nature. He did whatever he wanted. And he died as he lived, sitting on the patio on the dock, with the water and sun the last thing he saw in his life.