Ranturday 3/10/12

Hey Folks,

 

 

So it’s been a while huh?

 

I’m sure you’ve just been dying to know what was spinning around in my head the last nine months or so, you know, apart from slashers and monsters and ghouls.

 

Ok I’m going to level with you guys here. This one’s going to be kind of a downer, sort of.

 

So if you read this solely for funny this may not be the post for you. I’m going to try my damndest to yuk this up a bit, but unfortunately I can’t make any promises.

 

Not that it would’ve been noticeable at all due to the sporadic posting ‘schedule’ I claim to have; but for the five of you that read this regularly you may have noticed a gap in January that I didn’t even attempt to explain away, today I’m going to tell you what that was about.

 

 

My grandmother died, on my birthday. Not that the second bit is terribly important it just kind of sucks.

 

I talk about fictional death an awful lot on here. Without death the horror genre wouldn’t exist. I poke fun at fictional characters dying in laughable or extreme circumstances almost every day whether I write about it or not.

 

Which is why I was sort of hesitant to bring this up at all, but if I can’t tell the internet who can I tell right?

 

I’ve never had someone that I was this close to pass away before. My father’s father died before I was born, my mother’s father several years ago and while I had a really positive, good relationship with him; we talked about the Yankees and how I was doing in school and the Giants and I know that he loved me very much, I felt the same way but we didn’t have the same kind of conversations that Mima and I had.

 

She was the kind of person that anyone could talk to. If you’d known her fifteen minutes or fifteen years it didn’t much matter. The woman had four kids and ELEVEN grandchildren and was all up in each and every one of them’s business.

 

She knew everyone we were related to, how we were related to them and their entire life story, there wasn’t a thing you could ask her that she didn’t know.

 

She would curse like a sailor when my nephew was in the room, when the twenty something’s were reigning it in. Then say ‘Hell’s Bell’s’, ‘darn it’ and ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph’ when he went home.

 

 

She was religious, not preachy, someone of true, deeply held faith and she could talk about it for hours in any context none of my best catechism came from the church it all came from family and Mima was one of my favorite instructors.

 

There are so many things, when I think about it now, that she did and said where I would just look at it and think about how much sense it made, how simple it was and how perfect; how lucky I was to be able to talk to her when I needed advice or just needed to vent off some steam.

 

We’d sit in the garage, or on the patio, both of us with lit cigarettes in hand waving them about for dramatic emphasis when prudent and just talk about anything and no matter what it was she always seemed to make it just make perfect sense for me.

 

There was always so much to make sense of, politics, movies, family drama (and there was no shortage of it), life, death, the cosmos, baseball (she was a Mets fan but no one is without their faults) work, Bright Dyke, whether or not I should marry Bright Dyke (she asked me when I was proposing about a year before I did) and pretty much whatever the hell else we could think of.

 

 

 

I can’t tell you how much I miss that. How the entire week the funeral was going on and my entire family was at that house, how badly I wanted to go out on the patio and find her there to make it all make sense for me.

 

Or you know at least tell me who the fuck the woman in the red coat had been at the wake and what degree of cousin she was.

 

Even if I thought it was a worthwhile endeavor, or that I could possibly hold your interest; I couldn’t tell you everything you needed to know about Mima in one blog post. I’m not going to try.

 

So since it’s sort of relevant to the blog, and it’s the best example I can think of to show you what she was like. This is the story I think you should know.

 

 

When I was fourteen, I figured out I was gay.

 

I was terrified.

 

I heard all these stories about kids getting thrown out of their houses, losing their families, losing their friends, living on the street, having NOTHING all because they told someone they shouldn’t have.

 

When you’re fourteen, you can be pretty damn stupid. I actually really thought that my family could do that to me.

 

I told my father, he said ‘I kinda figured’ and it was fine. My father, master of the understatement.

 

I told my mother she said ‘I just want you to be happy’ and it was fine.

 

I decided to tell Mima. This one scared me a little, my parents had put the disownment fears to rest but I still really, REALLY cared what she thought of me. She was older, religious and we’d never talked about anything like this (this conversation changed that).

 

So I just said it. “Mima I think I’m gay.” Out loud and everything shaking in my skechers because my father REFUSED to buy me real boots.

 

She looked up from the cake she was making, cocked her head to the side like I’d just asked her a question, (and I kind of had in all honesty, coming out isn’t a pronouncement as much as it is ‘hey…everything cool here?’) put the cake down, put an arm around my shoulder and said the most beautiful, wonderful sentence anyone has ever said to me in response to that pronouncement/question.

 

“I am so glad, that you trust me enough to tell me that.” Then she gave me a big hug and asked if I had a girlfriend. When I said no, she gave me pointers. For the record apparently there is supposedly a connection between the length of your fingers in proportion to your ear lobe and your sexuality, true story.

 

 

 

I told you that story to make this point. I have been extremely lucky, for all the not so great things in my life that have brought me to this point, and there have been plenty, I have had family right there at my back. Not just Mima, everyone. Not everybody can say that. Being in the position I was when I was fourteen, before the three boys behind me flounced out of the closet after me, made me realize, made me question, made me doubt however briefly that family could be something other than  forever. That the people I loved and trusted could conceivably break that trust, and throw me aside for something that was so small, but felt so incredibly huge at the time.

 

And as usual Mima made it so simple for me. There was never a question, of course I could bring my girlfriend home, of course she would be treated like one of the family the second she stepped foot in the house, of course we would get married, of course we would be a completely open and honest part of the family. I would never be treated one iota differently because of this.

 

Also I would like to point out that she read EVERY SINGLE post on this blog, she hated horror movies, could not watch them, but she read it anyway because she insisted that it made her laugh.

 

She was particularly fond of Wall Cat. She thought he was ‘charming’.

 

 

The woman was a sage.

 

 

I didn’t say she wasn’t a little crazy.

 

 

I guess the whole point of this was that I needed to purge this and by the time I was done ‘purging’ you never would have gotten a rant today. So here we are talking about something completely serious for once.

 

Did it get awkwardly revealing in here?

 

I think it did.

 

Oh well.

 

For those of you who stuck with it, thank you for reading this. I like to think that Mima would forgive the short departure from the funny. Though she would probably say I’m being overly dramatic.

 

 

 

So for one of Fright Dyke’s first and most ardent readers.

 

 

This one is for you FrightMa.

 

I miss you.

 

 

And I can safely say that without you I would not be:

 

 

 

 

Your vent-tastic Screamstress,

 

 

 

 

~Fright Dyke

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