Tag: Hospitality

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Hospitality, by Phillip Hoyle

My
parents lived truly hospitable lives. As a couple striving to live within the
Christian and biblical tradition, they entertained strangers and travelers. They
knew the stories of heavenly visitors that sometimes showed up asking for a
meal or a place to spend the night. They were familiar with the Old Testament
story of Abraham and Sarah’s visit by angels and the New Testament
interpretation that the same thing could still happen. They read the biblical commendations
of individuals and churches that welcomed travelling prophets and evangelists. In
their own time they lived out the spirit of those old stories and
interpretations.
They
also entertained their children. Of course that idea is not caught up in the
hospitality laws and traditions of Hebraic antiquity, for in Jesus’ teachings
there was no righteousness in taking care of one’s children or parents. Anyone
with dependants simply was responsible for the attendant burdens. Yet when I
contrast my parents’ providence and attitudes toward their children with what I
know happens too often in other children’s families, my parent’s home shines as
a place of true hospitality toward progeny, offspring who were treated as
persons not property. Our home went beyond the ancient values that treated
wives and children as a man’s chattels, for my parents treated one another
humanely and their children as well. They also treated other people as human
beings of value, and thus they related responsively to and responsibly toward
them. Surely such a distinction can be listed as hospitality, extraordinary
hospitality.
I
enjoyed a great upbringing in a hospitable home environment. So did Myrna, my
wife. Upon coming together, we saw our home as an environment for rearing
children and entertaining friends and strangers. Thus we accepted foster children
and “foster” adults into our home. For five years we entertained, as it were,
foster children when we served as a boarding home for the Kansas Children’s
Service League, a group I knew about due to my mother’s long-time support of
them. We also welcomed relatives and friends to live with us while they went to
school: Myrna’s sister who attended medical assistant school, a foster-daughter
of my sister’s who attended cosmetology school, our friend Ted who attended
graduate school, an old classmate Donna who likewise attended graduate school,
and friends of our son and daughter, kids who needed familial support in
various ways. We welcomed a friend of our son’s who as a young adult lived with
us for several months, and we welcomed a slightly crazy woman to live with us
for several more months, a woman who seemed always to be almost one inch from
living on the street. These experiences among many others kept our house lively,
taught the two of us strength, adaptability, and perseverance. Our home became
a crash pad, a loving support, an oasis, a place of cross-cultural learning, a
bed and breakfast, and the center of loving tolerance. The experiences changed
our lives, our perceptions of social reality, and our willingness to take
chances on other persons’ lives.
I
wonder then why we were unable to enfold my homosexuality into such an enduring
relationship and environment. Perhaps hospitality and homophobia don’t mix well
and the antipathy against homosexuality is too well institutionalized in western
society, too highly integrated into myths of otherness, sin, and transgression.
Both my wife and I were surprised at how quickly we moved towards separation
when details of my sexual truth became extrovert. We remain friends and when
together still wonder why we live separately. We are both hospitable; using our
separate homes to benefit others, and we are pleased that our children do the
same. Still the question lingers.
An
elderly minister and I once discussed the injunction in Matthew’s Gospel that
allowed for a church to kick out a member who would not act right. The wise man
pointed out that according to other good news passages such a sinner had to be
welcomed just like a brother or sister. But somehow, when homosexuality enters
the picture, there emerges a deep rift of disappointment, dirt, despicability, disrespect,
and dire detriment, enough so as to rip apart an intergenerational, long-standing
love and hospitality. Obviously marriages are not magic; nor is hospitality
uncomplicated.
Hospitality
must have been very difficult for Rafael’s mother, yet eventually she welcomed
me into her life on behalf of her dying son.
She
had to enter the home he shared with his gay American partner, a man her own
age.
She
had learned of her son’s homosexuality only about three months before when he
was in legal trouble. Then she learned that her eldest son was gay, he was ill
with HIV, and soon after that he was living with an American man.
Rafael’s
father was warm. His brother was warm. His sister was warm. I had to read body
language to understand those things. His mother was not mean, but she wasn’t
warm towards me. Some of what I understood about her I learned from her son.
She was not happy with the situation. It was against the church. It was against
all her dreams for her son and all the expectations she had held for her own
life. Sure her son had fathered a son for her, but he was supposed to stay with
his family, not run off to America and live with some gay man.
Rafael
told his parents they were welcome to stay at our home while they were visiting
him, but I was part of the deal. They were to be our guests. Of course, he
didn’t make it home until we were arranging home hospice for him. Then he
stayed less than thirty hours for when the home nurse tried to insert a
catheter to his bladder, she got blood. He had just been diagnosed with
full-term Hepatitis C.
Cultural
expectations were going to be a problem. I did housecleaning although I knew it
was women’s work. Once his father invited me to come sit with him. Of course we
could not talk. He wanted things to be as normal and proper as possible with
his wife and daughter doing the cooking and cleaning.
I
too was gracious and hospitable.
I
have received the hospitality of strangers.
I
have received strangers into my hospitality.
Home
life and hospitality.
Myrna:
Hospitality and generosity.
OT
traditions, NT traditions.
Users
and the hospitable, the foundation of a prejudice.
Hospitality
and spiritual dimensions of growth.
Pragmatic
considerations in hospitality.
Jesus’
words of hospitality—both to receive it and give it. Holy images.
Hospitals
Hostels
Hosts
Invitations

© 12 Mar 2013 
About the Author 
Phillip Hoyle
lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In
general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two
years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now
focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE
program “Telling Your Story.”
He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com
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Hospitality, by Lewis

Hospitality is one of the great lessons of the life of Jesus. But human beings have been exhibiting its essential nature for as long, I suspect, as they have walked this planet. It is told in the lesson of the Good Samaritan who stopped to minister to a man, likely a Jew, who had been beaten and robbed on the road to Jericho. It was the impetus for the Hippocratic and Boy Scout Oaths. It is the inevitable consequence of the Golden Rule–to treat others as you would like them to treat you–and, according to Wikipedia, is found in some form in almost every religion and ethical tradition.

In today’s troubled world, hospitality seems to be in short supply, for example, among the Israelis and Palestinians, Shia and Sunni Muslims, the Muslim Brotherhood and secular Egyptians, Tea Partiers and moderate Republicans, Tea Partiers and Democrats, Cheese Heads and Vikings, those who cling to guns and those who cling to their loved-ones to protect them from guns, those who like sushi and those who like cheeseburgers, those who believe a landlord should be able to evict a destitute tenant into hostile streets but a woman should be forced to carry an unwanted child to term and those who believe that a rapist’s semen or a failed condom is not a down payment on a nine-month lease on a woman’s body.

Yes, the world needs all the hospitality it can get right now. That’ s one thing I like about the Sharing Our Stories group–we treat each other like we would rather be here than anywhere else at this time and we show it in ways that are kind and liberally-minded. This is the kind of safe atmosphere that encourages creativity in us all. And what is hospitality if not the nurturing of the human spirit in all its variety?

[Footnote: Initially, I could think of very little to write about the subject of “hospitality”. I was about to write just a brief sentence or two about that subject and then launch into an essay on “Hospital Fatalities”, about which I am much more passionate. But I thought that might be type-casting me a bit so I deferred.]

© 29 July 2013

About the Author

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

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Hospitality by Will Stanton

When I was starting college back in the LGBT “Dark Ages,” society as a whole often was not so accepting or understanding about homosexuality as it appears to be now- days. This was especially true in small towns such as mine. Perhaps most devastating was the situation of parents not accepting or supporting their own children’s orientation or the fact that they had developed same-gender relationships. Parents who discovered that their sons or daughters brought home “special friends” often lacked kindness and hospitality, to say the least. Sometimes, confrontations could leave lasting scars. On the other hand, if young people were lucky and parents were better informed and more empathetic, parents might be surprisingly understanding and supportive.

At the time when I was only beginning to understand anything about the world of LGBT, a met a young couple of gay guys whose story was so special that I never have forgotten it. I attended an invitation-only party in Cincinnati. The guests were all young guys, several of them from the nearby university. One very affectionate couple drew everyone’s attention throughout the evening, partly because they were so stunningly good looking. I was not the only person frequently glancing at them but, at the same time, trying not to stare. We were curious about them also because they appeared to be unusually young for college students. The somewhat taller of the two, David, was an intelligent and self-assured brunette; whereas Peter, the more boyish partner with gold-blond hair, seem to me to more closely resemble an angel than a mere mortal. They obviously were very much in love, although they did not make an unseemly show of it.
Of course, those at the party who did not know the couple were very curious about who they were and how they had become partners. Part way through the evening, some more assertive person simply asked them to tell about themselves. So, with each partner contributing to the answer, they told us their story. The details were so interesting that I never have forgotten them.
My first surprise was when David said that he had just turned seventeen, somewhat younger than many college freshmen; however, it was his friend Peter who surprised me even more when he revealed that he was only fifteen and starting college. Oh well, it must be nice to be so intelligent as well as so good looking, all at the same time.
It turns out, however, that Peter’s early life had not been so pleasant. He was an only child of two upper-middle-class, professional parents from New York whose thinking and attitudes were extremely lacking in understanding, empathy, and perhaps even love. Apparently, they always had suspected that Peter was, shall we say, “different;” and they certainly did not approve. For several years, Peter had felt oppressed and unloved. The parent’s unthinking, harsh treatment left Peter continually feeling sad and lonely. Peter said that they told him that it was just as well that he was leaving home so that they would not be reminded each day of how disappointed they were in him, this despite that fact that he was a straight-A student and never had been in trouble. How could any parent say such a thing? No wonder he was unhappy.
David, too, was an only child. In his case, however, he appeared to be quite happy and well grounded. His parents apparently had been very loving and caring.
As fate would have it, the two of them were assigned to the same dormitory double-room, perhaps because both of them were younger than many of the other freshmen. When the two of them first met, David said that he immediately was very attracted to Peter, yet he discreetly made no overt indications of his feelings.
As the days went by, David observed Peter and saw that he was extremely studious, always attending to his school-work, frequenting the library for research, but he never went to any parties or social gatherings. Peter was polite and pleasant enough to David, but his shyness kept him from expressing himself very much. Also, Peter never spoke of his parents or his home-life. To David, Peter seemed to be in a constant state of sadness.
It was Thanksgiving break that gave David his first real clue that something was not well with Peter’s home-life. David was looking forward to returning home for Thanksgiving, although he had noted that his frequent phone conversations with his parents seemed to indicate that they were beginning to understand that he had not found a girlfriend but, instead, he often had spoken of his roommate Peter. When David asked Peter if he planned to be going home for Thanksgiving, Peter replied that he was not; he would be staying at school and just spend his time with his studies. David thought that this was somewhat strange but refrained from saying anything about it.
David drove to his parent’s home in Connecticut for Thanksgiving. He told us that, although he felt the accustomed love from his parents, they seemed to ask more questions than usual about his social life on campus and also what was his roommate Peter like. Then David’s mother surprised him by stating that, since Peter did not wish to go home for the holidays, he would have been welcome at their house as their guest.
Between Thanksgiving and Christmas break, David made a point of quietly and unobtrusively becoming even more caring and supportive of Peter. Peter said that he noticed and appreciated the kindness and affection. Over time, they became very close. As Peter gradually learned to trust David and his love, he found comfort and safety during the nights lying in David’s arms.
Then as it came time to prepare to depart for Christmas break, David received a phone-call from home. After some time, his mother inquired as to Peter’s plans for Christmas and suggested that he be their guest for the holidays. She insisted that David ask him. Peter silently shook his head, “No.” When David relayed that reply to his mother, she asked to speak directly to Peter. David turned the phone over the Peter, and she spoke to him with great warmth and caring. Peter agreed to come home with David.
David and Peter drove back to Connecticut for the holidays. David reassured Peter that he would like his parents and would feel very welcome in their home.
Peter said that, as they drove through the gates of the estate, he was surprised by how large David’s Georgian-style home was. It was easy for me to guess that David’s parents were very well off. I also guessed that, because of their position in society, they would be especially particular about David’s friends and whom he would be bringing into their home.
David and Peter said that both parents met them at the front door and invited them in. After they cleaned-up, they sat in the breakfast nook, had some refreshments, and chatted with each other. Peter said that David’s parents made him feel very relaxed and comfortable. After dinner, they sat in the living room and continued to talk throughout the evening.
Now here’s the most memorable part of their story. The most intriguing comment that Peter made to us about his experience with David’s parents was about the direction that their polite but persistent questioning took. They did not give the appearance that they were concerned by the fact that their son’s companion was a boy rather than a girl. Instead, they appeared to be thoroughly checking him out as a person. They wanted to make sure that he was well-bred and of good character. Apparently, Peter met with their approval.
Possibly even more surprising to Peter was, as the evening was closing, David’s mother stood up and announced that she would be retiring for the evening and then said to Peter, “We have a guest bedroom if you like, or you may wish to stay with David. You know best.” Those were the exact words that Peter told us, and I never have forgotten them. I’m sure that you have guessed right: Peter and David did sleep together during their visit.
I always have been impressed with David and Peter’s explanation of how the two of them found each other, how loving and understanding David’s parents were, and what wonderful hospitality they showed Peter. Although that was the one and only time that I ever saw David and Peter, I have not forgotten them. I would like to think that have been together ever since. Now, in a world that has far too much sadness, this is the kind of loving story-ending I like to hear.

© 2 July
2013



About the Author


I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

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Hospitality by Michael King

It seems that hospitality is more a commercial term than the cultured warmth and friendliness that one offers their guests. When I was young, maybe 8 or so, I imagined a world so very different than the one I felt I was stuck with. I wanted to live where there was charm, beauty, elegance, love, grace and happiness. I imagined that the surroundings should be comfortable yet exquisite. I had not been exposed to anything like what I pictured but felt that I didn’t belong where I was which had none of the qualities I felt should exist. I remember thinking that the little town of Nashville, Kansas was ugly and the people including my family were ignorant, crude and had no class. It seemed that somewhere there should be a place that was beautiful. When we moved to Truth or Consequences, New Mexico I had hopes that it might be more attractive and there the people would be more civilized; it wasn’t. I never felt comfortable or trusting in those days. Finally when I went to college I got a few glimpses of the environment that I craved. I also experienced times when those hosting an event created the warmth and comfort and elegance that I came to associate with my definition of hospitality.

Many times over the years I tried to create that feeling when guest attended the many parties we had. I loved having people come over and have an enjoyable time with food and conversation in an attractive and comfortable environment. I tried to make the setting as beautiful as possible. I wanted to make each event as much like my fantasy of my childhood. I wanted to create the hospitality that I felt should exist.

I have experienced on many occasions that kind of unpretentious and sincere hospitality and I have also been where it existed because people pay for it. I really enjoyed the dinners aboard cruise ships. A few times I have attended formal dress up events that were very well done where there was that genuine hospitable environment. Some included weddings, dining at upscale restaurants with friends, holiday parties and a few social events. More often it seems that I have had that feeling at casual parties, pot lucks and outings where either the hosts or the staff obviously enjoys making the situation smooth, comfortable and pleasant.

Finally after almost a lifetime I live in the manner that I so craved when I was little and I am around people who are warm and sincere as well as relaxed being who they are and are at home both giving and receiving hospitality. I experience an acceptance and feel more at home in my relatively newer gay environment than I did in the straight world. My world has more beauty and elegance, warmth and friendliness, happiness and joy, love and kindness, peace and comfort and hospitality than I could have imagined when I was 8 or so or even at 68 or so, And if I won the lottery I could throw a few parties where I could pay professionals to help create some of my fantasies and I could travel where hospitality is included in the package, etc., etc., etc. In the meantime I’m just happy to be living the life I have where everything is perfect.

July 28, 2013

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities: “Telling your Story,” “Men’s Coffee,” and the “Open Art Studio.” I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

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Hospitality by Merlyn

When I think about all of the places I have been the one that made me feel the most welcome was Jack Daniels distillery in Lynchburg, Tennessee. My girlfriend in 1983 and I were on the first of many long trips together. I sold radio cab #32 in Portland, Oregon, paid the rent three months in advance, and hit the road. We were heading east through Tennessee when we heard that we could take a tour though the Jack Daniels distillery. We were driving a ford van set up for camping and we were parking at Kroger stores to sleep. We got into Lynchburg just before it got dark. When we drove past Jack Daniels there was a big camper parked in the parking lot, so we decided to sleep there.

We were still sleeping when someone woke us up by tapping on the window. When I looked out he told us they that had fresh coffee and to come inside.

We got dressed and went into a building with a big lunch room where a guy met us and told us to help ourselves to coffee and donuts. He gave use a handful of postcards to fill out and told us they would stamp and mail them for us. He said the tour would start about 9:30 and would take about two and a half hours.

At 9:30 there were around thirty people waiting. They split us up into groups of five people and told us the guides worked at the plant and took turns showing people around. Our guide sounded like just like Jerry Reed and it was fun to hear him talk. The first thing he did was take a photo of the five of us. It was waiting at the post office when we got home.

Some interesting facts about the distillery and Jack Daniels:

Lynchburg, Tennessee is in a dry county. You cannot buy Jack Daniels there.

There were ducks on the banks of a small stream that were falling down and walking into each other. They would get into the old grain and were all walking around drunk.

We got to go inside a small cabin that Jack Daniels had used for his office. He had a big safe that was hard to get open, one day Jack lost his temper and kicked it so hard he broke is big toe. It got infected and the infection killed him.

They filter the whiskey with charcoal that they make at the plant. Since used charcoal that’s been soaked in alcohol is a fire hazard, a single match will set it on fire, someone came up with the idea of selling it under the name Match Light Charcoal.

After the tour he invited us to a free meal at Miss Mary Bobo’s Boarding House & Restaurant at 1PM. Mary was in her mid eighties and would make a dinner for everyone even if the Boarding house wasn’t full and we were lucky enough to be invited to one of the best southern meals I have ever had.

We stopped at the only store in town on the way to lunch and were going to come back after lunch and buy some t-shirts but they were already closed when we finished. We did not spend a dime all day.

Most of Jack Daniels whiskey comes out of Chicago today. Lynchburg is still operating and making the most expensive Whiskey the same old way they always did. They have over 250,000 visitors a year.

We had a real taste of southern hospitality that day.

July 29, 2013

About the Author

I’m a retired gay man now living in Denver Colorado with my partner Michael. I grew up in the Detroit area. Through the various kinds of work I have done I have seen most of the United States. I have been involved in technical and mechanical areas my whole life, all kinds of motors and computer systems. I like travel, searching for the unusual and enjoying life each day.

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Hospitality – A Gay Youth, Remembering Earlier Times by Jon Krey

Back when I was an early youth, somewhere around the age of 8, 9, or 10, I began to recognize a difference between my emotional and sexual needs and those of my peers. I had no concrete idea what it meant since I’d always thought there was nothing odd or strange about mine. I just wasn’t very “into the regular scene.” It was hard to associate with most kids, any kids, male or female. I became emotionally secluded. Sports weren’t of interest and my physical self wasn’t up to snuff anyway being a scrawny kid. My self isolation haunted me, forever being an outsider always looking in at those I longed to play with. As this continued over the years, and it did, the more it became true. There came a short time of inclusion during the late Junior High and Senior High years. I made contact with the neighborhood duck-tail squad, the greasers, those so omnipresent in the ‘50’s. My interest in motorcycles and cars had always been, and that’s why they accepted me.
Cars and motorcycles were the “the thing” with them. It changed my acceptability, obscured any oddities of mine at least for that brief moment in time. A too brief period of hospitality was handed me. Then it all began changing. Girls were becoming an object of interest and then an obsession for the guys but for not me.

Inside I wasn’t at all like the grease covered duck-tailed guys with their leather motorcycle jackets and tight Levi’s. I desperately wanted to own a jacket and Levi’s like theirs but mom wouldn’t permit it because they were “just plain nasty.” Finally the critical age of puberty with it’s attendant emotional change for everyone arrived accompanied by an avalanche of total upheaval. The guys were becoming men; taller than me, frequently muscular, hairy, crew-cuts, ducktails had begun disappearing in town, “T” shirts the rage. How they loved showing impressions of their new manhood, through their tight Levi’s. That made me sweat, a lot! I had interesting, moist, dreams at night.

Guys were obsessed with the possibility of finding and seducing girls, while I dreamt of the same but with one of them. I got to be close to these young studs only in school occasionally but nothing more. They looked good, smelled good and when I had a very limited chance to just touch one, they felt good…heavenly! Needless to say I embarrassed myself with an erection from time to time. Too soon I was classified a social outcast, known as a weirdo, an object of scorn. There were others who like me weren’t accepted, straight and not, but it still hurt. Any hospitality accomplished by me had been rescinded, permanently.

I came to understand what the words some used to call me in my earlier years meant. Their use became much more frequent. I was a homo, a fruit, a faggot, a queer, something to be avoided at all cost. Back then that was all there was. I was a monster, loathed by God and man. The church and bible told me so, again and again! Wanting these beautiful young men romantically and sexually was just wrong, sinful and evil…end of story!

There was no hospitality left for me. I was shoved out of the box.

OK, that was then. Many years of fear, self rejection and self hatred have passed. But over those years, now, a new dawn seems on the horizon. I’m far, far better at being me now.

The word “gay” always puzzled me! The acronym LGBT doesn’t, but that word “gay” still seems odd. It meant and still means “full of energy, happy, of glee, a sense of being carefree. In a world where we’re still tormented by too many it doesn’t make too much sense.

It’s now in the press, heard in the media around the world. The Gay Community. Gay Pride Month with parades and parties. Pride is displayed or at least attempted around the globe. But the word “gay” was and can still be mentioned with contempt. A “gay” is a “self avowed homosexual,” some still interpret it that way. Yes it’s true we are, but that one nasty-assed statement always made me cringe and shrivel as it still can.

It’s a new day now. Countless others are like me. The old scars still exist in me and won’t disappear completely but in this day and age us LGBTQ’ers are becoming ever more in the public venue what with Gay Marriage. There is an opportunity of hospitality for me in my quickly approaching old age! “Just forget the past and reach out “get over it already”. I hear it too often.

Inclusion! Now! Something I never thought possible in my lifetime is happening right under my nose! I accept myself today with much less trepidation. I’m part of a growing community of people who are learning to live without shame, without so much fear although there are monsters out there that can and do haunt our lives. Every single time I hear the hateful rhetoric of yesteryear in this day and age I shake inside.

Damn it to hell, all I ever wanted was a boyfriend, someone to be with, to call my own; to be his in the same way. Though three long term partnerships have come and gone I’ve never achieved that most primitive of goals from early childhood. I’m still very much that smallish eighteen to “twenty something” year old boy, still looking, at the exalted age of 73. Will I be lucky before I finally fall over? I wonder and still hope.

I also wonder if any of us have really found that one special man or woman. If some of us have we should thank the same God our loyal opposition uses to condemn us.

About the Author

“I’m just a guy from Tulsa (God forbid). So overlook my shortcomings, they’re an illusion.”