Behold a case for getting married
Whenever we drive my husband Brian to the airport to start one of his tours, my son Aidan sits in the backseat of the Kipcap. When we pull over at departures, Aidan says with that sweet little voice, “I’m gonna miss you, Papa.” But it’s not true. Aidan’s a shrewd businessperson. He’s read a lot more books on childing than I’ve ever read on parenting. He knows that if Papa’s away for more than three days, he gets a Tshirt or a stuffed wolf.
He also knows I’m the more easily intimidated parent, and so I give in to the dinner at Mitchell’s Ice Cream (or as we know it Sundae Monday) or staying up till midnight watching “The Amazing World of Gumball” or “Teen Titans Go!”
This week, before Brian’s next tour, Juan, one of the exdancers in his company (Sean Dorsey Dance) is getting married at City Hall. Another thing to love about this city: It’s blasé to go to a gay wedding. If I say I’m going to a queer vegan broomjumping, no one even blinks. The only question I got was, “Was the broom organic?”
To which I answer, “No, but it’s kosher.”
If you want exotic in San Francisco, go to a Catholic wedding.
At San Francisco City Hall, the building with the highest rotunda dome in the nation, we see hoop skirts on an hourly basis, but my favorite this year were the groom and groom who dressed as “The Superman/Aquaman Hour of Adventure” characters. (Print readers: this is one of the few times I’m gonna tell you to look at the online version.)
Whenever invited, Brian and I always buy the couple a pair of champagne flutes. The two of us are older than gay marriage itself, and when we got hitched, no one let us into a bridal registry, so we bought ourselves a set of two Powerscourt crystals, and began, what would become over 34 years, a service for eight of Noritake Virtue and Waterford. By 50, we’ll have the silverware.
Aidan’s not good at changes in routine, so us attending a reception had him going. As soon as Brian left, he asked, “I don’t get this whole marriage thing. Daddy, why would you ever marry someone like Papa?”
The truth of the matter? I made a lousy bachelor. Brian saved me from a lifetime of sweaters in the refrigerator.
I haven’t been single since 1985. Reagan was in office and I lived in a tworoom flat in Hoboken, the mile square city. (Not every city can be San Francisco.) I worked long hours at Macy’s, then long nights at the AIDS crisis line, which is to say that I was in that apartment long enough to sleep.
The only heat was the stove, so I baked a lot of brownies in the winter, and that was about the only cooking I did. You think that it’ll be fun being single because you can pick whatever you want to eat, but what you really get is a lot of Top Ramen noodles. The only advantage of single life was that I always got to use the express lane at the supermarket.
Dating was never fun for me because at some point I ran out of small talk. One guy broke up with me because I didn’t use hair conditioner, another guy because I stored my sweaters in the fridge.
Could have been worse. In ancient Greek times, if you got to the age of 21 in Sparta and still weren’t married, you had to walk naked through the marketplace singing a song about your dishonor.
Amanda, who even knew me back then (in the 1980s, not Ancient Greece) and who partied a lot more, insisted, “Kevin, you’re really more of a spinster.” She may have been a little more adventurous than me, having dated everyone from a gun moll to a circus clown, but Amanda never spent her Saturday nights doing needlepoint.
Thus, when I met Brian over that fateful lasagna dinner I was ready to give up my nights of wanton debauchery.
Didn’t hurt that I fell in love.
“Some day, Aidan, you’re gonna get married. You won’t live in a house. You’ll live in a very much like we do in the Bedlam Bungalow in the outer, outer, outer, outer Excelsior. And here’s the best part: After all the fireworks, you will know exactly who you’re having dinner with every night. You’ll sit at the kitchen table, and hold hands and say grace and some day, you’ll toast to ‘the best boys in the world.’ ”
To which Aidan answered, “Wherever they are.”
I made a lousy bachelor. Brian saved me from a lifetime of sweaters in the refrigerator. home,