Dr. Strange Love or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Homosexuals

February 14th, 2014: “I’m sorry, but I think I might be gay.”

A fucking text message. My little brother came out to me over a fucking text message. There was no dramatic speech, no rousing, tear jerking score. He just plopped down next to me on our brown leather couch, I felt a soft vibration in my pocket, and nine life changing words popped up on my phone screen.

Without saying anything I stood up, grabbed my car keys off the table and gestured toward him to come outside. We drove wordlessly for about five minutes before Sammy broke the sound of Miles Davis. [1]

“So what do you think?”

Good question. Great question. What did I think? The answer was complicated. My entire life I had been raised a good old clean cut, Presbyterian kid. While the Presbyterian Church has somewhat of a laissez-faire attitude on gay marriage [2], the fact remained that even the most liberal member of our family felt that civil unions should be more than enough to placate gay couples across America. We grew up listening to Rush Limbaugh on the way to school and Glen Beck on the way home. Having a gay member was not part of our family’s blueprint. 

On the other hand, it wasn’t exactly like this ‘revelation’ was a revelation. For as long as I could remember, Sammy had been the more effeminate of us two. When we were toddlers we went to a barbershop that allowed kids to sit in pretend cars while they got their haircuts. I always chose the Batmobile. Sammy chose the Barbie Jeep. From his affinity to Polly Pockets to the fact that his biggest contribution to his Little League baseball team was blocking a ball with his sprawled out body while he picked grass, there were signs that Sammy may not have been as straight as an arrow. I was not blindsided by his coming out. 

Maybe I was uncomfortable because he was only thirteen, which seemed early to me. How could he know for sure? But then again if the signs had been there for thirteen years, who was I to say that it was too early? It wasn’t my call to make. Obviously I wanted him to be happy. Isn’t that what every big brother wants for their sibling?

So what did I think? For being so conflicted, my mind was surprisingly just white noise; there were no real thoughts in there, just a general feeling of uncertainty. With that being said, I knew what the right answer was.

“First of all you don’t have to apologize for that. Not to me or anybody else. You know I love you no matter what.”

I almost crashed the car as Sammy burst into tears and flung himself onto me.

[1]: High school me thought that listening to jazz made him cool or cultured or something. Not an especially proud moment. Then again listening to Miles Davis is about the 50th most embarrassing thing I did in high school.

[2]: The Presbyterian Church’s official stance on gay marriage is that they have no stance. Basically as long as it doesn’t happen in their church they’re ok with it. It’s their way of thinking outside but still pressed right up against the box.

February 15th, 2014: “Obviously no father wants this for his son.”

My dad has a way with words. A judge for the Los Angeles Superior Court, Dad’s life revolved around reading, writing and arguing. My father is also very much a man’s man. He grew up in a mob heavy area of Chicago idolizing guys like Robert de Niro in Goodfellas and Al Pacino in Scarface.[3] He wanted his kids to be a mix of Michael Jordan, Al Capone and Elliot Ness. I was none of those things. Sammy was even less of those things than I was. Dad did not respond especially well to his son’s declaration.

“I mean you know I’m not really a huge fan of this lifestyle in general, but do you realize how hard his life is going to be now?”

“I realize that, but there’s nothing we can do about it at this point. We’ve got to be supportive. You can’t choose the cards life gives you. You just have to make the most of them,” I said trying to put a positive spin on things.

He started to break down. I hadn’t seen tears stream down my dad’s face in a long time. I didn’t know where to look, so I looked out the window and tried to catch the eye of a squirrel hanging from our lemon tree.

“Is he going to get married? Can he get married? [4] What if they pick on him? What if he doesn’t have grandchildren?”

These were really good questions. Sammy’s sexuality was certainly not going to make his life easier. Even though we lived in one of the most progressive areas in the country, high schoolers are still high schoolers. There was no doubt in my mind that he would be picked on. I didn’t know if he was going to get married or have grandchildren, but I did know that this needed to be a day-by-day process. Thinking that far into the future would only overwhelm everybody.

“Hey, come on, I’ll get married like three times you know that. And I’ll even throw in four or five out of wedlock grandchildren into the deal if that’ll make it ok,” I said with a small smile.

He smiled back. I knew it wasn’t ok. It couldn’t be ok for him. But as long as he tried his best to make things work and Sammy was willing to meet him halfway we might be ok. Dad’s obstinance worked to push me toward Sammy’s side of things. I knew there was no way that Sammy would be able to talk to Dad about the myriad problems that growing up gay would have in store. Since he couldn’t talk to Dad he would have to talk to me. Which meant that I would have to be ready to listen, empathize and help.

[3]:These always confused me. He knows that movies don’t end well for Pacino or De Niro right? I’ll add this one to the list of questions I’m too scared to ask my father. For the curious the list is about 9,000 long at this point.

[4]: The Supreme Court wouldn’t release its gay marriage decision for another year and a half. In Obergefell v. Hodges the Court would say that banning gay marriage was a violation of the 14th Amendment and the due process clause.  Dissenting justice Antonin Scalia would counter that argument by claiming that the Court had stooped from successful legal thinking to the “mystical aphorisms of the fortune cookie.” Sammy’s a huge Antonin Scalia fan.

June 2nd, 2015: “Well if he likes me and I like him too then what’s the problem?”

My family was somewhat Puritanical when it came to dating.[5] We had a rule that said you could only date someone if you and them were both sixteen and we had Dad’s permission. This pretty much stunted my romantic prospects growing up[6], and I knew Sammy was going to have to face the same hurdles that I did. Toss in the fact that he was gay and I assumed that Sammy probably wouldn’t be allowed to date until he was around 30. However, Sammy blossomed a bit earlier than I did and soon found himself in the position of dealing with potential suitors. Unfortunately for him, being a fourteen year old gay kid somewhat limited (or completely decimated) the dating pool. Sammy found himself surrounded by mostly older men who I would classify as…less than desirable. 

This put me in a tough spot. I resented my father’s dating rules from the ages of 1-15, but I found myself agreeing with them when they were forced upon Sammy. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him dating. It was just that every guy he seemed interested in was seventeen or eighteen, ages where the ‘boys’ he was interested seemed almost more man than boy. My not quite fifteen year old brother was going after guys who were on the doorstep of legally smoking cigarettes. These relationships seemed borderline predatory. This specific target was a seventeen year old named Andrew who went to a school down the street from ours. I trusted Andrew about as much as Hollywood trusts Mel Gibson.

On the other hand I could not place exactly where my protectiveness stemmed from. I told myself it was the age gap that was my main hurdle that kept me from fully embracing my brother’s love life. However, I secretly wondered if I would have the same reservations if he were chasing seventeen year old girls instead. Was I being an overprotective older brother, or were my own deep-seated views manifesting themselves? It didn’t matter. My job was simplified by the fact that Dad would always be the bad cop, so I was forced into taking on the supportive role.

“I know right? It’s total bullshit.”

“Oh shut up you wouldn’t understand. You were a mess until you were sixteen. And even then it was a minor miracle Sarah[7] went out with you.”

“You know I’m on your side here right?” I asked, frustrated with the unnecessary personal attack.

“I know I’m sorry I’m just frustrated. It’s like he doesn’t even make an effort to understand me.”

“That’s because he doesn’t understand you.”

“He doesn’t even try to though. It’s like we’re from different planets. Given his high school dating history I don’t know how he can judge me.[8]”

“He can’t.”

“So….would you drive me to see Andrew?” Sammy asked.

Oh boy. He was asking me to make myself an accomplice. He knew he had no other choice since he couldn’t drive and Andrew didn’t have a car. I was being forced to balance my personal distaste for Andrew, my shirking of our father’s rules, and my honest desire for my little brother to be happy. 

“You know Dad wouldn’t approve.”

“Dad doesn’t approve of a lot of things.”

“Fuck it, fine.”

[5]: as well as everything else.

[6]: It totally wasn’t my overly long and messy bangs, ill fitting clothes or general awkwardness around girls. It was definitely this rule.

[7]:Sarah was my high school girlfriend. We spent about a year together followed by a year and a half of her ruining my life. Totally worth it.

[8]: The backstory to this is that my father asked a girl to the junior homecoming dance, she said no, and then he asked her twin sister the next day. She said no too (for obvious reasons.) This actually happened.

June 7th, 2015: “His schedule is, uh, unorthodox.”

Scheduling at my high school is an unnecessary nightmare.  There’s a flurry of meetings, papers and counselors and the end result is everybody ending up with more or less the same classes in order to meet the core requirements.  These requirements are mostly stereotypical.  You have History, Math, Science, English, etc. representing the academic side of things as well as an “art” class and PE or a sport to continue the illusion that we care about things other than grades.  For all of the headaches the process caused, the final schedules themselves were very by the numbers. Which made it all the more confusing when Dad called me into his room to discuss the classes that Sammy had selected for his sophomore year.

I scanned the list and was greeted by the usual suspects.  Honors English, AP Environment, Algebra 2, Sammy’s schedule was completely regular until I got to the last two classes: Choir I and Dance I.  

Oh boy.

“He’s taking Choir and Dance,” my dad said in a bemused tone.

“Uh, yeah, that seems to be the case.”

There was about fifteen seconds of heavy silence as I tried to figure out how I was going to tackle this issue.

 “Um, maybe he thinks it’ll help him with theater.  You know the singing and moving around aspects and stuff.”

“What about his academics?”

“I mean the core requirements are all on here I don’t think he’s left anything out.  It just looks like he’s taking a zero period to make room,” I said.

“To make room.”

“Yes.”

“For choir and dance.”

“Apparently.”

“Did you know of any guys who took dance when you went to high school?” my dad asked knowing the answer before I even opened my mouth.

“Well, uh, personally no not exactly. But I’m sure there were some. We had a male cheerleader when I was a senior. I don’t, uh, exactly know if that’s the same situation, but it’s not like it’s totally unheard of.  Plus I mean he’ll get PE credit, so it’s not like it’s a completely empty period,” I stammered trying to defend the decision.

“Why couldn’t he just play water polo like you?”

A brief image flashed through my mind of my incredibly unathletic brother either accidentally drowning a teammate or himself trying to keep his head above water in his first practice.

“Yeah I’m not sure that would be a great fit.”

“Or he could run track! He used to do that in middle school.” My dad was grasping for straws at this point.

“He hated track![8] And he was terrible at it! Look I know dance isn’t necessarily the most masculine way to earn a PE credit, but I’m sure it’ll be a pretty low time commitment and it might even free up more time for school instead of having to practice a sport he doesn’t even want to do for hours every day.”

Academics trumped everything for my dad. He went to a small undergraduate school in Chicago and then to Pepperdine, an okay, but not great, law school where he met my mom. Much of his legal career had consisted of him competing against guys with degrees from schools like Yale and Georgetown for jobs and cases. He had to work twice as hard just to prove he belonged, and he wanted to make sure that his kids never had to overcompensate for where they went to school like he did.  If an argument could be framed in a way such that it bolstered either of our academic prospects, then that argument gained a significant amount of momentum.

“I suppose you’re right. It’s just…you said it yourself…you don’t know any guys who did dance.”

“Patrick Swayze did dance. You love Dirty Dancing.”

If an argument could be framed in a way such that it involved being like Patrick Swayze that also helped.

“That’s a good point. And who knows maybe it’ll help him get that part he wants in the fall theater show,” my dad said with a small smile.

[9]:Track was an outdoor Fall sport in a city that boasted an average high of 93 degrees in the month of September and 85 in October. Every time I walked past a track practice they were always drenched in sweat and had desperate looks on their faces like some of them were considering running into oncoming traffic just to make practice stop. Not to mention we sucked at it. Sammy was not alone in shying away from the prospect of joining our track team.

June 20th, 2015: “I didn’t know I could be this happy.”

Everybody remembers their first kiss. Mine was in the backseat of my car while a Mumford and Sons album played in the background[10]. First kisses are sloppy, awkward, fantastic and unforgettable all at once. When I had my first kiss I couldn’t stop telling people about it. I was over the moon. So why was it that, when Sammy had his, I could not wait for him to stop talking about it? Why was I so uncomfortable?

I had done my best to be supportive, hell I’d even chauffeured half of the dates (without telling Dad of course.) I just couldn’t shake the image of my brother kissing this guy. It was so foreign to me. First of all, my little brother kissing anybody gave me the shivers. But another guy? I was so far out of my comfort zone.

“I really just think he’s great you know? He totally gets me. And man, that kiss. Wow. It was so great. I can’t even describe it.” 

He was so happy. I hadn’t seen him this happy in a long time. Even though our area was so socially progressive, I knew that school was not easy for Sammy. High school is hard for everybody, but being one of only ten gay kids makes it that much harder. He had joined the theater program in an effort to find his niche, and it seemed to be going pretty well. But even with all of his efforts to fit in, he wasn’t like the other kids.  

My hometown didn’t necessarily have explicit bullying. Looking back on my four years of high school I can count on one hand the instances of name calling, physical assault, Mean Girls-style bullying. Our bullying was nonverbal. 21st century stuff. If you were being bullied, you weren’t targeted; you were excluded, and I knew that Sammy had definitely been on the receiving end of a good amount of exclusion simply due to the fact that many kids in his grade didn’t understand him and, being the self-centered high school kids they all were, didn’t want to try. 

So with all that being said, seeing him this happy made me happy. Why shouldn’t he get to experience some of the ups of high school life as well as all the downs just because of the way he was born?

I was 20% uncomfortable 80% happy for him. Is this what progress felt like?

[10]: In terms of ranking the best artists to hook up to Justin Timberlake, Frank Ocean, and Michael Bublé are 1-3 in some order. Mumford and Sons are last.

July 13th, 2015: “Boys suck and I hate everyone.”

Just like everyone remembers their first kiss, everyone remembers their first breakup. Beyond the heartbreak, ice cream and John Mayer there’s a powerful lesson to be learned: every time you completely give yourself to somebody you also give them the power to do whatever they want with you.

It’s not an easy lesson to learn and Sammy, being the emotional hurricane^11 that he was and still is, did not take it particularly well.

We drove down Pacific Coast Highway as I listened to him unravel an entire tale of heartache and betrayal. Andrew was still in love with his ex. Sammy was a rebound who didn’t know it. I felt bad. I really did.

“I just don’t understand how someone could do that. Why do boys fucking suck so much?”

“It’s not just boys. People suck. Girls do it too. Everybody does it. Everybody sucks.”

“It really sucks.”

“I know it does.”

As we turned left onto the canyon he started to cry again. I knew how much he was hurting, and I knew there wasn’t anything I could do to help. I also knew that he was going to be ok, people always are. He was devastated. He had to be. But he was going to learn from this experience, and I was going to do my best to help with that. 

I didn’t know if he was going to get married or have grandchildren. I didn’t know if kids at school picked on him or if he was ever going to feel fully comfortable around his own father. I knew that he would never fit into the clichéd version of masculine. Sammy would never be Sylvester Stallone. He would always like singing and dancing more than football and track. And that was ok. Because I did know that he was never going to worry about being who he was around me; whatever his sexuality he was still Sammy, and I was going to make sure he knew that I was always with him. 100%.

[11] Sammy didn’t leave his bed for an entire day because he was too distressed over the ending of an episode of Zoey 101. Basically the guy (Chase) texts the girl (Zoey) that he loves her but her phone vibrates and falls into a fountain and she never sees the text. When I recently brought this incident up in a phone call with Sammy he hung up on me and apparently started crying again. He’s not exactly an emotional rock.

February 2nd, 2016: “So what do you think?”

One night after dinner my dad opined that it seemed to him as though our family had been chosen as the unwitting stars on a new CBS sitcom, with every season throwing us a different twist or turn that we would have to react to.  While there are certainly negative connotations to that statement, the more I thought about it the more I started to think that maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.  You can call our household dynamic many things, but boring is certainly not one of them.  There is no denying that our entire family unit has been shaken up by this revelation.  Although my family had never been perfectly nuclear, my little brother's coming out certainly pushed us in a more unusual direction.  Yes our lives had been flipped upside down.  But just because things are different does not mean they are bad. The devotion that the three of us have to each other is one thing that has certainly not changed.  The show has gone on.

But what about my place in all of this?  My character in the sitcom?  Well, I was finally starting to embrace the fact that my role in the family had shifted.  I don’t resent Dad for his difficulty or strictness with my brother.  He has always been a protective parent, and I know that it comes from a place of love.  He grew up in an even more conservative environment than I had, and I know that it wasn’t and isn’t his fault that he can’t understand Sammy’s identity. But that doesn’t change the fact that Sammy needs someone who does.  It was time for me to grow up and become less of a big brother and more of a sibling/parent hybrid when need be.  I’d like to think I have.  And hey, maybe our lives have taken the unnecessarily dramatic twists and turns normally reserved for something out of Shonda Rhimes’ imagination.  But I think that at least if we’re a TV show, we’re one worth watching.  And I know that we will all be together and ready for the next season.