Tag: My Happiest Day

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My Happiest Day, by Betsy

First of all. What’s happy? Until I define what happy is for me, I cannot begin to address the question of what was my happiest day. So I click on the dictionary on my dock. Happy: feeling or showing pleasure or contentment. This is not much help. Feeling and Showing are two different things—entirely different. And pleasure and contentment are equally different from one another. So which is it? Never mind. I’ll tackle the question from another angle.

I suppose the day I was born may have actually been my happiest day because if I hadn’t been born, there would have been no happy days—zero, zilch. Contemplating this I realize that something was missing in order for my entrance into the world to make me happy; namely, awareness. One must be aware—conscious—of a situation in order to qualify it. Further, to qualify it in the superlative one must have other experiences, situations, with which to compare.

Another problem with defining my happiest day is that my memory is not good enough for me to remember my degree of happiness in some distant time of my life. Nevertheless, allow me to take a chronological journey beginning with birth in my quest to pick out, well, maybe a few of my happiest days.

At 9 hours of age I was extremely happy, probably desperately happy, to have a nipple stuck in my mouth. I was desperately hungry. No conscious awareness there, just survival instinct. So that doesn’t qualify.

Nine months old—same thing—food and milk. Enter the smiling face looking at me and the cuddling and love I am feeling from my parents. I must be very happy. Look at me I’m laughing.But again there is little or no understanding, so I cant really qualify my feelings.

Nine years old and I have definitely learned the difference between happy and not happy. There are lots of things that make me happy now. Alas, though, today 70 plus years later I cannot bring back the feeling. I just know I probably was happy sometimes. But happiest eludes me. Again it’s just a memory—a pleasant memory, but still a memory.

Twenty nine, thirty nine. Yes that’s it! The birth of my children. Certainly three of the happiest events of my life. Forty nine, acknowledging my true self and coming out of the closet. I don’t remember that being my happiest day. It was a difficult time. Happiness and resolution being the result. Approaching 79 my wedding day to the love of my life, but then we had already been together and happy for nearly 30 years. That day did also represent the triumph of a political movement of which we had been a part. Certainly qualifies as one of my happiest days. But again, THE happiest? No way to measure.

All these nines— all the way up to seventy nine, I still cannot honestly say “without a doubt I remember my happiest day.”

One of my favorite spiritual guides, Ekhart Tolle says the past is an illusion because it, that is the memory, is a creation of our mind. It is no longer happening—it is no longer a reality. The only reality is the NOW.

Aha! I think I’ve got it! This exercise in contemplating my happiest day has brought me to one conclusion: my happiest day is NOW, this moment in time. It’s quite clear to me really. Now is the only thing that is real and I am a part of it. I am here, alive, conscious and aware and participating in life. THIS is my happiest day.

© 31 October 2016

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading, writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.

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My Happiest Day, by Gillian

I
thought I might begin with some really icky remark such as, every day is My
Happiest Day, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it! Equally, I
couldn’t begin to pick out my very happiest days, never mind one single day. I
have been blessed, and the vast majority of my days have been happy, though
with some, inevitably, more so than others.
But,
on giving the topic some serious thought, I decided that I owe the presence of
this multitude of Happy Days to the few bad ones. They were the days which
taught me humility and compassion and, above all, gratitude; the very gratitude
which has given me so many Happy Days.
I
could never describe the day I spent visiting Auschwitz as a Happy Day, but I
will always be grateful for it. The shock and horror of the awful place, with its
indescribably dreadful memories, afforded me huge gratitude for the time and
place in which I live my own life of peace and tranquility; a peace brought
about not by denying the evils of the past, and, alas, the present in too many
other places, but by acknowledging how unbelievably fortunate I have been, and
continue to be, in my own life.
The
days my parents died were most certainly not Happy Days, but their deaths, and
the depths of my loss, brought it home to me, perhaps really for the first
time, how much I loved them and how grateful I am to them for the start they
gave me in this wonderful life. Barely a day goes by when I don’t think of one
or both of them with a love so strong that it still catches me by surprise.
A
few years ago a blood clot found its way into my lung and couldn’t find its way
out again. As I lay in the hospital bed with oxygen tubes in my nose and blood
thinner I.V. in my arm, I was feeling a bit sorry for myself. Poor me! Why me?
Then I recalled that a blood clot in her lung was what had finally killed my
hundred-year-old ex-mother-in-law. I remembered a TV interview with tennis
legend Serena Williams in which she talked of being ‘on her death bed’ with a
clot in her lung. It hit me; I was lucky to be alive! In a nanosecond I went
from being sad and sorry to being oh so very grateful to be alive. A miserable
day was suddenly a Happy Day.
Of
course, the bad days that end up creating the good, don’t have to be huge
dramas. Small incidents can have much the same effects. A good, longtime,
friend of ours died a couple of years ago. Barb was a lifelong Cubs fan, and it
hit me last week how sad it is that she is not around to revel in her team’s
first grab at glory in over a hundred years. But, remembering the many Happy
Days Betsy and I shared with her and her partner over the decades, my gratitude
for them, both on my own behalf and that of Barb, relegated baseball to a mere
speck of dust on the reality of life.
Poor
Stephen, suffering all his current health problems, offered in an e-mail that
he was grateful he was not in pain.
Right
there is the secret of Happy Days; gratitude. Gratitude for everything that is.
I
am so in thrall to gratitude that I am endlessly grateful for it.
And
that’s the last I shall say about gratitude, for which I am sure you will all
be very grateful.
© 17 Nov 2016 
About
the Author 
I was born and
raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S.
and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder
area since 1965, working for 30-years at IBM. I married, raised four
stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself
as a lesbian. I have been with my wonderful partner Betsy for thirty-years.
We have been married since 2013.
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My Happiest Day, by Ray S

Where do I start? Looking back over many years the end
result for me is that there were just as many happiest. Sorting them for this
story was the challenge and not necessarily in any order of importance—just
Happiest days as they occurred in the life and times of one who has had the
privilege of hanging around this sphere so long.
Some fifty plus years ago the happiest days were
marked by the arrival of several of our baby son and daughter.  Certainly, those two gifts came along with the
trials and tribulations of all of us growing up together, but today the loving
rewards far outnumber those trials.
Which was the happiest day? The day was one of my
luckiest with the receipt of my army discharge, the little gold button
disparagingly christened the “ruptured duck” and the G. I. Bill, a gift of a
college education, and a whole new world to try and master.
In retrospect with diploma in hand I looked around and
asked my fellow classmate, “What do we do now?” that was happy in the guise of
wonder. We survived in spite of ourselves.
There was along the way a surreal wedding with an
unsuspecting (I think) college sweetheart, not to be confused with any happiest
day, but some did happen later and we actually survived to feast on the joy of
many Christmases, Halloweens, graduations, and holidays.
For all of the above perhaps these were
“semi-happiest”, but full of the excitement and comfortable routine of home and
family.
“My Happiest Day” happened when I sensed the feeling
of belonging to my true GLBTQ family and marching behind the color guard in my
first Pride Parade. Liberation abounded for me and since then I have surround
my body with a rainbow flag, kissing and hugging the members of my tribe and
even more members. Stop and think about it all, right now and see if you don’t
recall the heady exultation and joy of your first “outness”?
And the parade marches on!
© 31 October 2016 
About the Author 
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My Happiest Day, by Louis Brown

Adventures of the Good Shepherd Fellowship

On previous occasions, I described several of my “happiest” days. This time I will describe what happened to me when I spent a weekend in Saugerties, New York, at the Catholic Convent of the Sisters of the Poor, with my gay religious group, the Good Shepherd Christian Fellowship. So, it will be my happiest 3 days. Our little group regularly met in the basement of the Unitarian Church of Flushing, in Flushing Queens New York City.

What made this a particularly happy occasion was that the Sisters of the Poor knew exactly who we were and agreed to let us have our religious retreat. The theme of our weekend was exploration of the future possibilities of gay positive Christianity. To clarify, though we were meeting in a Catholic convent, this was not a Catholic event. The Good Shepherd Christian Fellowship was my attempt to get gay and Lesbian people to meet the local Protestant clergy. The religious retreat weekend itself was a business exchange with the owners of the Sisters of the Poor convent.

Still when we showed up, a Catholic priest greeted us warmly and graciously. The person who led the retreat was an out of the closet Lesbian Presbyterian minister. I wish I could remember her name. She was from South Haven Presbyterian Church on Long Island.

The convent no longer had any resident nuns (sisters) as it used to have. They all grew old and passed on, but their convent was maintained beautifully. There was no such thing as a younger generation of wannabe nuns, or novices. We all got a good idea of how the Catholic Church treated these nuns. The housing was very comfortable. Each nun had her own room (rather than a “cell”). There was a large kitchen where they prepared their meals. The convent or nunnery was located on a beautiful ten-acre park on top of a small mountain overlooking the Hudson River. The whole setting was beautiful. I was even impressed when I heard the mission of the Sisters. They went into town and literally helped the poor and homeless in the local towns as opposed to leading a comfortable leisurely contemplative life at the convent.

The point is that, when most gay libbers react to churchdom, understandably they react with extreme hostility and mistrust. They become anticlerical atheists, etc. actually they react in a manner similar to that of my skeptical parents.

On the other hand, I am somewhat friendly to churchdom myself especially since our current political and educational establishment exclude people who think the way I do — progressives. It is time to turn to the churches to get our progressive agenda realized. At least, so I like to fantasize.

Still, I did my bit to get gay men and Lesbian women in my local neighborhood to talk to the local liberal Protestant clergy. One Reformed Church of America minister led our service; William Cameron, led our service when our group asked him. He was embarrassed and seemed a little awkward. But he did do the job.

On another occasion, an Episcopal priest from the nearby hospital for terminal children agreed to lead our service, and did so two or three times, but this upset the Episcopal priest in charge of Saint John’s Episcopal Church across the street from the Unitarian Church. So the St. John’s priest led our services several times. He explained that the Episcopal priest broke some Episcopal Church rule when he led our services. Both of these Episcopal priests met and settled their dispute. Both were out of the closet gay men. Which proves we gay men have friends and allies inside these churches.

I think gay and Lesbian people should talk to the American Protestant clergy and ask them to give us status as an at-risk minority group, and the reformed churches should support our gay rights agenda. And they should cooperate in all attempts on educating the public on the evils of homophobia. Many reformed churches have said yes to this proposal. That is, the churches are giving us what we want and need.

For a few years before me, Dignity Queens, the gay Catholics, held services in the same basement of the Unitarian Church of Flushing. And I frequently attended these services. I tried to offer a Protestant alternative. It sort of worked but I did not get the help I needed for promotion of my ministry.

26 October 2016

About the Author

I was born in 1944, I lived most of my life in New York City, Queens County. I still commute there. I worked for many years as a Caseworker for New York City Human Resources Administration, dealing with mentally impaired clients, then as a social work Supervisor dealing with homeless PWA’s. I have an apartment in Wheat Ridge, CO. I retired in 2002. I have a few interesting stories to tell. My boyfriend Kevin lives in New York City. I graduated Queens College, CUNY, in 1967.
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My Happiest Day, by Will Stanton

I don’t know what my happiest day was, assuming that it was some time in my past. How can I remember every moment over seven decades? If I recall some happy moments, how do I compare or contrast them? Was a happy moment of true significance, or was it some minor experience that, even so, made me very happy? Life is complex and often difficult to qualify. Which brings me to my mantra, “You know, I just don’t know, you know.”

Many of my happy moments I already have written about, some extensively. Perhaps the most significant moments were with special people who were important in my life. I also have derived much happiness from fine music, beautiful voices, instrumental performances. I have bathed in the sounds and visions of nature, describing in detail my many treks through the wooded hills near my home, communing with Mother Nature. I have experienced many happy moments watching movies or reading books that strike a personal chord within me. A recent Story-Time topic was “Fond Memories.” I listed many happy moments in that piece, too, albeit none could be described at my “happiest day.”

So, in my case, I cannot think of just one very special day that I could call “my happiest day,” especially considering that my deepest hopes and dreams never have been fulfilled. In which case, I guess I will have to conclude that I hope that my happiest day has yet to come; and I hope it comes very soon.

© 09 October 2016

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.