 |
 |
 |
 |
Were you to visit my pretentious, over-decorated home in Los Angeles, and take a visual inventory of my choice of household servants, it would become painfully clear to you that I don’t hire people for their credentials, punctuality, nor their ability to construct whole sentences. Like Britney Spears, whose homemaking ‘choices’ I feel are seriously misunderstood, I tend to surround myself with male actors/models/dancers/whatevers who can’t cook, clean, garden or food shop for shit, but whose head shots are exquisite!
You would think that my eight-year-old son Ethan, who much to my horror is becoming straighter and straighter each day, would see through my lascivious gender bias and DEMAND that I throw in a hot girl servant now and again. Perhaps some tender young scullery maid or cleaning lady who might dote upon him and flirt outrageously. Much to my bewilderment and enjoyment, such a request has never been made. On the contrary, my son Ethan, a total ‘guy’s guy,’ seems to revel in the constant array of Brandons, Matthews, Trevors, and Gregorys. While I am predictably dazzled by each ‘manny’s’ snow white teeth and washboard abs, Ethan honestly regards them as some kind of brethren, kindred spirits who share his interest in baseball, video games and ultimately… girls. With each of these gorgeous, dumb-as-a-box-of-hammers, ‘dudes’ Ethan has developed an innate comfort level and perplexing, somewhat frightening language completely alien to me.
Last night, as I sat upon our porch sipping a rather mediocre Burgundy, I watched Skyler, our new & improved manny/actor engage my son Ethan in a football toss. Skyler decided that Ethan should ‘go long’ and hurled the ball as hard and fast as he could. I held my breath and watched Ethan careen up the median to catch the ball as devastatingly handsome, frighteningly dim- witted Skyler shouted “Get under it bro, get under it!’ To my surprise, Ethan caught the pass and as he raced back towards Skyler, the two met and exchanged ‘high fives’ in addition to the ultimate in macho fuckery, a ‘belly bump.’ Skyler grabbed Ethan and as he held him jubilantly above his head, Ethan turned to me and shouted ‘Did you see that dad, I caught it!’
I waved proudly at the two straight men celebrating before me as a strange feeling suddenly overcame me. At first, I thought it was acid reflux from the crappy wine I was drinking. But after a brief moment of introspection, I realized that I was strangely envious. Ethan would always be the golden boy, the well-liked, popular boy that never wanted for love, attention or playmates. Unlike me, Ethan would never be picked last for football, never be called ‘fag,’ or worse, have to lie about who he truly was. I was in danger of becoming tiresomely maudlin, when out of nowhere, Ethan spontaneously waved Tyler away and requested that I join him on the lawn for a catch. I dumped my glass of wine, hurriedly descended the steps to my house and joined my son on our impromptu ‘field,’ content in the knowledge that while Skyler, Matthew, Gregory, or Trevor may ‘play for his team,’ I would always be captain.
But mixed with the slight feeling of envy there must have also been relief, right? Knowing that he won’t have a hard time, at least not as bad as you did… that seems to be every parent’s fear, that there is hurt in their child’s future.
Oh, and your house sounds like a the perfect spot for a girls night in, with drinks by the pool while watching gorgeous men
P.S. there may be typos in this comment, because I am typing blind. Your comment box settings have white ink on white background – maybe change it to black? HTH