My Big Gay Lifetime Movie

[October 8th, 2003] I hate the beginning of fall.

That's because when I was in school, going out for football was a given in my house--no questions asked. It took heat stroke, a severe allergy attack and two trips to the emergency room before my parents gave up their freshman dreams of my ever becoming a tight end. (How could they have guessed how good I would become at this later in life?)

So instead of reflecting on my sordid relationship with autumn and team sports, I set out this month to focus on my future. I'd get stuff done: finally file my taxes, visit the DEQ (my '81 Jeep Wagoneer passed on the second try) and get my dog's anal sacs expressed.

Mission accomplished.

But I was completely fazed by the other stuff that happened between the end of August and September. It's a time of life I now refer to as my Lifetime Movie of the Week called Stop My Heart, My Bowels Won't Move.

Our family's story revolves around the reality that my mom has a good chance of losing her right breast before doctors rebuild her left knee. In a parallel plot line, Dad's looking for the right combo of meds to slow down his heart but still have enough juice to ride his Harley. He may have had a heart attack, but that's not going to keep him from his hog.

Cut to Grandma, out of rehab, back in the hospital, where they've discovered another pelvic fracture but haven't figured out why she's having digestion troubles. While she's there, though, at least she can listen to a harpist. In The Dalles, one of the duties of the medical center's thanatologist is to play harp music for patients. Which strikes me as kind of like Pearly Gates waiting-room Muzak.

The plot gets even more complicated with the fact a close neighbor has suffered a stroke and a close cousin has broken both his leg and ankle. As for my sprained back, it still hurts, and my chiropractor has prescribed full-body massage. Trouble is, our health plan doesn't cover massage. To me, this only adds more insults to my injuries.

Now, if I were to cast this movie, I would like Judith Light to star as me. As my supportive partner, Juan, Tony Danza would be the perfect match. Tammy Faye is a natural choice as my mother, and that guy from Coach, who's also in Poltergeist, Craig T. Nelson, has the right stuff for my dad. In the pivotal role of Grandma, I can think of no one else but Betty White--post-Golden Girls, pre-Yes, Dear.

But this isn't a movie. This is my life.

It's absurd to think all of this could happen in less than one month, but try as I might all of this doesn't strike me as something I can laugh about. Not yet, at least. Writing about my lifetime movie, though, seems to help. And putting it all down on paper somehow distances me from its emotional load.

Lately, I've been thinking about how gay men are the court jesters of the modern age. How we always have the perfect bitchy comeback for any situation. How our survival instincts have given us the witty edge. But this time I'm all out of funny one-liners. In fact, my current situation is one scenario where my gayness is totally irrelevant.

My family is in trouble and I don't know where to begin to help. At least this fall I won't be thinking about football.