all in a weekend

The day after the annual ‘gay boy’s Christmas dinner’ at my house this weekend, I was on my way back from picking Chad up from work (he had a few overtime hours this weekend). Chad was in the passenger seat, Dunkyn and Dolan were in the back seat—Dolan’s head sticking out the window, desperately taking in all the sights and smells around him while seeking his ever constant fix of human adoration. I saw a beat up red truck coming up behind us in the lane to our right. The back was piled high with furniture, and there were two large men in the cab. The driver looked to be around fifty; he was burly with a dirty white pony tail. Instantly, I thought, ‘Oh, brother, here we go.’ You begin to equate personalities with certain characteristics. Stereotyping, sure. But there is a reason people stereotype, yes, even most of the gay ones. As Dolan came up even with the truck’s driver side window, I hear this manly voice talking baby talk to Dolan. Dolan frolicked in the attention, and the man’s voice got ever more babyish as he cooed to my dog. A flash of pleasant surprise went through me; I needed to stop judging a book by its cover. The truck sped up and came even with the passenger window, which was open (it really was a perfect summer day—considering it was Dec. 7). As he zoomed past, he turned his head to us and yelled ‘Homos!’ As the truck took the lead, a tarnished icthus (Jesus fish) shown out in the sunlight against the oxidizing red paint.
Later that evening, we went to see the movie ‘Milk.’ Remarkable. It shames me to no small degree that I am so completely ignorant of my gay history or how many have sacrificed so much for my less than equal rights. Here I have been wondering who was going to be our Martin Luther King, and come to find out, we already had one. The amount that this fallible, far-from-perfect, un-trained man accomplished in so short amount of time was mind boggling. Depressing, of course, but also inspiring, and a reminder of how much I have to be thankful for and how much I still need to fight and to give. The movie was expertly crafted and acted and given so much love and respect, while not really sugar coating anything. Used to, it would have driven me crazy seeing the fallibility of ‘heroes.’ Now, it just reminds me that if the case calls for it, I will be in like company.
The following day, five blocks away from my home, a little after six in the evening, after working out, waiting patiently at a red light that seemed to be taking forever in the blizzarding snow storm (for those of you keeping track of the weather patters here in the Rockies it was December 8, the day after the summer day), a car or truck ( I couldn’t see) plowed into me from behind. This is the third time I have been hit in two years. Once in the side of my car, two from the back. Both of the other times, I haven’t made a big deal about it, never even turned them in to insurance. It’s the beauty of having a crappy car, plus I felt sorry for the people that hit me. However, the second my head flew forward at the impact and I heard the crunching of my car, I told myself that enough was enough, and tonight I was going to call the police and turn this into to insurance. Apparently, my thoughts are louder than I realized. As I pulled into the parking lot, to get out of the snow packed, crowded street, the car behind me zipped off into the darkness. All I could do was double over laughing. Then I got mad. Then I laughed again.