Tag: Secrets

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Coping with Loved Ones, by Ricky

          Children do not “cope” with loved ones – they “survive” loved ones.  Babies survive being accidentally dropped when they are covered in soapy bath water or are squirming at the wrong time when a parent’s attention is distracted or any number of similar circumstances.  Most parents love (and would never deliberately hurt) their children, but legitimate mishaps do occur.
          Young children cope by using survival instincts, like staying out of sight of a raging parent, if they can.  Some hide under the bed; some escape to a friend’s house or apartment.  Some assume an adult role and make coffee for their hung-over parent.  Others care for younger siblings to the exclusion of their own social needs.  Some turn to illegal drugs and alcohol, while others just run away from home.  Unfortunately, some must do all of the above to one degree or another.
          Once a child’s brain develops increased capacity for reason, logic, and problem-solving, survival skills can grow into rudimentary coping skills.  Skills like thinking ahead to possible consequences for one’s actions (for example, do not do anything that might make mom or dad angry).  Trying to become the perfect child is another example.  Another skill is to keep secrets by not telling your parents anything that would upset them even if you only think some information might upset them and make them angry.  Closely associated with keeping secrets are the twin skills of avoiding telling the whole truth or outright lying.  These two skills can lead to major consequences when discovered by parents.
          One type of survival-mechanism children use is totally involuntary and effective but can leave permanent damage to a child’s physical or emotional development.  I am referring to the case where the situation a child is in, is so terrible that the child’s subconscious intervenes, and mentally the child “goes” somewhere else in their head.  Other situations may not be so terrible, but still cause a child mental, emotional, and physical pain.
          At the age of 9 ½, when I was told about my parent’s divorce, my mother’s remarriage, pregnancy, and my new stepfather and stepbrother, I developed the classic symptoms of shock along with depression.  Then my father, who was the one who told me about the divorce, left the next morning.  After spending the weekend moping, crying, scared, and confused, my subconscious “turned off” my emotions dealing with loss.  I became emotionally incomplete, which has a major impact on my life even to this day.  Perhaps not feeling negative emotions actually helped me survive the confusion over my orientation, having to babysit my siblings instead of attending after-school activities, and so forth during my high school years.
          Survival and coping skills learned in childhood and adolescence, can serve an adult well, if developed properly.  Are there any straight or GLBT parents who have not experienced challenges when raising children through their various stages of development?  Things like: potty training; the terrible two’s; the 2AM “Daddy. I want a glass of water.”; the midnight through 6AM feedings every two-hours; “All the girls wear makeup.  Why can’t I?”; diaper changing ad nauseum; underachieving at school; overachieving at mischievousness; various childhood illnesses; dental and doctor appointments; conflicting school and family activities; “I hate that food item!”; “Can I have a $20 advance on my allowance?”; “Sir, this is officer Bob.  Could you please come to the police station and pick up your son?  He’s had a bit too much to drink for a 13-year old.”; “Mom, now that I am 12, can I have a 16-year old boyfriend?”; “Mom.  I’m bleeding between my legs.”; “Son, do that in private or at least lock the bathroom door.”; “No you can’t watch a PG-13 movie until you are 13 and no R-rated movies until you are 30.”; “Mom, Dad – I’m gay/lesbian.”; and a host of other such issues too numerous to list.
          How does an adult cope with those challenges?  You do the best that you can with the knowledge and skills you learned as a child in how your parents manipulated you.
          But there are some of life’s challenges that no one can really prepare for.  Divorce is hard enough on the adult but especially devastating for a child or even adolescents.  Some adults and children have friends to be a social support during the stressful times.  Others turn to their religious faith for comfort.  Some just get depressed and withdraw and many children take their own life.
          My most stressful time was when I was temporarily caring for my wife’s mother, an Alzheimer patient.  Her regular caregiver (and partner) needed to take a month-long vacation.  My children and I split up the time with me taking two-weeks and the others taking one-week each.  The first night I stayed with my mother-in-law, she decided that she was in my apartment and spent much of the time between 1AM and 6AM (while I was asleep), packing her things and loading her car so she could drive to her house (the one she sold several years previous).  For the rest of the two-weeks I was there, I was in survival mode and not much good for anything. 
          I left my car there for my children to use while there, and I took the train back to Denver.  The train took 3-days to go from Jacksonville to Denver by way of Washington DC and Chicago.  I needed every one of those days to decompress and relax.
          Even knowing what to expect from an Alzheimer patient, who can really prepare for the reality.  I truly understand how loving children can place their Alzheimer parents into a nursing type facility, as the stress is tremendous.  What I do not understand is how the staff of those facilities can provide the care they do without shutting off their emotions.
          People do not really cope with situations.  They maneuver about mentally and physically until the “crisis” passes and they become survivors.
         
© 14 October 2012 
About the Author 

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach.  Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I was sent to live with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.
When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.  After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11-2001 terrorist attack.
I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.   I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.
My story blog is: TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com 
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Revelations by Betsy

I have not had very many secrets in my life. Sure, I’ve had my share of the petty little “nothing” secrets that don’t amount to much. And sure, the secret thoughts about the people around me that I don’t like, ugly thoughts that I would be ashamed to admit to having.

As a lesbian I share the one big secret that most glbt people have grown up with. The really big secret that has taken up residence inside my soul and has no intention of leaving. The really big secret that has permeated every cell of my body. The really big secret that I can no longer live with … or without. After all, this secret is about who I am. So its disclosure was a major revelation by me, about me, and for me.

Interestingly, once I disclosed the secret to myself (that is, my conscious mind) and then those closest to me, it became easier to tell others and I became more comfortable in my new skin.

When my secret first started creeping into my consciousness, I didn’t think I would ever reveal it to anyone. After all, I myself had been resisting the revelation for most of my life. But once I obtained some information about the subject and learned a few things about it, I realized there was no reason to keep it a secret.

After myself, the first recipient of the revelation that I am homosexual was my husband. I know he was braced for some kind of revelation because our lives had been in a total upheaval anyway and I think he was simply waiting for some kind of explanation. The fact that my secret was working its way to my consciousness like a bubble floating from the depths to the surface–this fact had caused some disruption in our lives and in the lives of our children who sensed, as children often do, that there was a secret not being revealed.

The next recipient of the revelation was my oldest child, who at the time was home on a break from college. I remember the two of us walking home on a cold winter’s night in a snowstorm. It seemed relatively easy to make the revelation to her as I think back on it. I wonder if I sensed that years later she would be making the same revelation about herself to me.

I wrote about coming out to my sister in a piece called “Coping with Loved Ones.”

I timed my coming out to my sister, so that she would not be able to say a word after I made the shocking disclosure. Yes, this was how I coped with this difficult situation, ie, coming out to this loved one. We had been together for a few days and the time came for her to go home. We are at the airport at her gate. Her plane is boarding (this was before the high security days). “Last call for flight 6348 to Birmingham,” blared the public address speaker. “Oh, I do have something important to tell you, Marcy. I’m gay.” I said, as she is about to enter the jetway. “Let’s talk soon,” as I wave goodbye. I’m thinking,”Maybe she didn’t even hear me above all the noise.”

I never had to reveal my deeply-buried secret to my parents. My mother died in 1957 right after I graduated from college. At that time my secret had not yet taken the form in my conscious mind. Although I knew good and well what my feelings were I was not yet willing or able to admit to myself what those feelings meant or what they represented. Sounds pretty dumb, doesn’t? But that’s the truth. I had neither enough experience nor knowledge to understand what my feelings meant. So I never came out to my mother.

My father died in the late 1970‘s before I came out to myself. Just before the upheaval in the family took place–the upheaval that led to my revelation.

I have been out for just over 30 years now. I have become quite well practiced in making my revelation to others whether they be friends, family, or complete strangers.

It seems quite natural really. Like revealing to someone that I am, say, left – handed. (which I am not). But no different than something like that. Being gay is not necessarily mentioned unless it is relevant to the conversation. I have found, however, that when we are having a conversation with someone, we are revealing who we are, disclosing more and more about ourselves–what we think, feel, believe–ie, who we are–and who we are includes our sexual orientation. And so the revelation is often made. Happily revealing myself no longer makes me nervous, anxious, trepidatious, or break out in hives. On the contrary my journey has taken me to a place where I feel quite proud to reveal who I am. It is the hundreds of thousands of such revelations that are made every day that help to change attitudes, correct misinformation, and promote understanding and good will.

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver women’s chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change). She has been retired from the Human Services field for about 15 years. Since her retirement, her major activities include tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with National Sports Center for the Disabled, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and enjoys spending time with her four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 25 years, Gillian Edwards.

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Secrets: High School by Ricky

My guess is that many people have things that they really don’t want everyone to know that would fall into the category of “personal” rather than “secret.” Of course governments and politicians or others in authority routinely abuse the “official” system of designating some information as belonging to the class “state secrets.”

The only one of those that I am personally aware of (and involved in not keeping) occurred when I was stationed in Florida with the Air Force during the Vietnam era. One day my First Sergeant called me into his office and asked me what my security clearance level was. I told him Top Secret. He then handed me a folder and said read this. Inside was a message labeled “Secret” which said, “The Inspector General team will arrive at your base at 1300 hours [tomorrow—I don’t remember the date].” It was nice to get a heads up, but my section (Headquarters Squadron Section; Orderly Room) was already “perfect,” if I do say so myself. So, I didn’t need the warning. But it did indicate that someone at higher headquarters was circumventing the system of surprise inspections. I’ve never trusted the government since; or at least became suspicious every time some official claimed, “Sorry, that’s classified information.”

In high school I was pretty much an honest person and had nothing to hide. Naturally, I didn’t want just anyone in high school to know that I liked to suck dick, but since I remained naïve throughout the time period that 69ing was a definition of homosexuality, I still classify that item as personal and not a secret per say; you can disagree, but that was how I viewed it. Mostly because at the time, I didn’t even know what a homosexual was as I never had heard the word used or defined in my presence.

This weekend, while here at So. Lake Tahoe, I attended my 45th class reunion. I was worried that no one would remember me as I was a nerdy type who never socialized after school due to having to be home to babysit my younger siblings. I worried for nothing. Within 5 minutes one elderly dude (I can say that because the class of ’66 members are the same age and 63 is pushing “elderly” in my book; not “old”, but “senior citizens”). I didn’t not recognize him and when he began to tell me that “you lived on this street [drawing in the air with his hands] and I lived over here on Becka Street.” I knew he remembered much that I didn’t. He then “reminded” me that he had been to my house a couple of times so I could teach him how to play chess. When I asked him how we met, he looked at me and said, “Duh, high school,” and then gave me the embarrassment coup-de-gra by stating, “I was in your Explorer Scout Post.” Strangely adding to my embarrassment, just a few days earlier I had seen in the old newspapers I was researching for articles on Scouting, a large photograph of our Explorer Post and he was not in it when the photo was taken.

I met others and when the subject came up I discovered that several admitted that their parents had been alcoholics also. Most of those who shared that information (personal or secret you be the judge) with me also said that many classmates they spoke to besides me had said the same thing.

The biggest secret from high school then, turned out to be that while individually we all may have thought that all our classmates had “Father Knows Best” and “Leave It to Beaver” home lives, we actually had the darker side of family life in common. How much better high school could have been if we had only known and not had be to be so stressed out to not let others know of our personal pain and shame.

@ 2012

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

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Secrets by Donny Kaye

My
nine year old granddaughter told me yesterday that secrets can be good or
bad.  She went on to say that a secret
was good if you have just gotten a new puppy and want to surprise someone with
it.  When I asked her about when secrets
are bad she said, “Papa, you just feel bad inside with some secrets”.  As Lauren answered me, I recognized once
again, how early in life we are introduced to secrets and how they typically register
at the earliest of ages as “making you feel badly inside” and fill one with confusion,
disconnection and wonder about the truth.
Last
Saturday, the lay organist searched out the melodious tune of Amazing Grace on
the transportable electric keyboard organ in the gathering area at the small
town funeral home.  I was intrigued to
watch members of my extended family solemnly entering the memorial service in
remembrance of their recently deceased loved one, my aunt.    As I
witnessed their somber entrance, I was filled with fleeting remembrances of my
own of the stories that are part of my heritage in the Irish Catholic family I
grew up in.  Most of the stories I was
recalling have been figured out in time, realizing that secrets flourish in my
family’s history.
          My
cousin Mary spoke so eloquently at her mother’s funeral the other morning.  There is still confusion in the family about
her children and husband.  It seems that
after she was first married and had a child, she left her husband and child for
the man next door and his children.  No
one has ever breathed a word about this episode.  It’s treated more like she got confused one
night and entered the wrong house when she came home and no one ever had
courage enough to correct her error. 
There
is the secret about Cousin Bill who one day just disappeared from the family.  As a child I watched the eye brows raise in
the hush of the conversation about Bill. He was older and really cool and one
of my cousins who I enjoyed the most. 
Where did he go?  What could he have
done that resulted in such secrecy? Years later I learned that he was gay and
just disappeared because it seemed easier than to try and find acceptance
within the family.  
Or
Cousin Diane, whose children just disappeared one day, leaving all of the
others of us kids wondering if the same could happen to us, and nothing would
be said. 
To
add to the confusion and deceit there was Cousin Rogene, who after an extended
stay in California, returned home with triplets.  I was only ten and couldn’t understand how
that happened.  Only at her funeral some fifty
years later did I learn that the triplet’s father had secretly continued to
visit his lover, my cousin, on weekends when he could travel to Denver, leaving
behind his other wife and children in California.  It would have been nice to know that she
really hadn’t gone through life totally alone as a single mom. 
And
Amazing Grace played on.
As I
was overcome by emotions sitting in the memorial service as a result of the,
“bad feelings inside”, to quote my granddaughter Lauren, I found it difficult
to breath knowing my own story of secrecy related to my homosexuality and I
wondered how my deceit  would ever find a
place of acceptance and understanding within my family? No wonder my Cousin
Bill just disappeared one day.
On
Friday night before the funeral, I was visiting with my niece, who is my age
mate and who grew up with me more as my sister who lived next door. We were
recalling humorously, our learning in high school that one of our family had
been suspended from school because of the “m” word.  The only “m” word that she understood at that
point in her life was menstruation.   Did
this mean boys menstruated too?  This
secret confused her for a number of years; thinking that she didn’t want to get
caught having her period at school, for fear that she would get suspended like
our cousin.  She was in her late twenties
when she realized our Cousin William had been suspended for
getting caught masturbating at school.  Oh,
that
“M” word!  Needless to say, not only do
secrets make you feel bad inside, they can create situations of immense
confusion and major misunderstanding.
         It seems that sexual secrets
abound in our family.  My sister, who was
sixteen years my senior, recalled for me long after I was married that our
mother had bitterly handed her a brown paper bag as she prepared to leave her
wedding reception.  In the bag was a jar
of Vaseline and a douche bag.  Our
mother’s words to her on this significant occasion were, “Here, you will need
these!”  These were the only words ever
spoken to my sister about sex.  This
exchange of the brown paper bag constituted her sex education it seemed.   
In
the hours since this weekend’s family gathering, I’ve not only been aware of
“feeling badly” about the secrets I have created and allowed in my life, I’m
also aware of anger and sadness that comes up for me.  I know that there has been no spaciousness
within my life experience for fifty some years, regarding my sexuality. As I
realize this, I also recognize that I have been the one agreeing to and
perpetuating the secret concerning my sexuality.  As my granddaughter said to me yesterday,
some secrets are good, some bad.  Out of
fear and a sense of inadequacy within me to language my sexuality, I created
the secret in my life related to who I am. 
         Secrets, despite them
creating bad feelings and a sense of disconnection, isolation and separateness,
you’ve got to laugh.  Secrets revealed or
not can be quite humorous.
What
I recognize now is that living the secret is far more energy consuming than
living the truth.  Others do figure it
out, eventually.  The real price of
having a secret comes at the expense of the one living the secret.  After all, only my closest friends realized
the enjoyment I had shopping for my aunt’s funeral  for the perfect muted pattern scarf in purple,
pink and red to wear with my European cut pink shirt and skinny jeans.

About the Author