Intro to Parents 101...

Previously on Confessions of a Male Bridezilla, the soon-to-be male bride and groom had an interesting first meeting, followed by a series of other interesting firsts: kiss in the truck, date at Diesel, and a romp in the sheets. But another series of firsts were on their way: introduction to the families.

Before we journey into the tale of parental introductions, let it be known that the time line places us near the most dreaded of times of the year: the damned holidays. For this reason, we must set a mood; CJ's mood for the last 27 years of holidays. I hate them. Even as a child, I was never eager to stand in long lines to sit on Santa's lap. No one was passing off a hillbilly drunk, reeking of stale cigarette smoke and Milwaukee's Best as good ol' Kris Kringle for me. The holidays, for me, had meant lots of relatives that you don't know or don't like, terrible Christmas movies usually involving a bebe gun or Chevy Chase, and food. Lots and lots of food, followed by the unavoidable belly-aching about the extra 15 pounds gained around the holidays til mid-March.

So, as you can imagine, my ritual of hunkering down and praying for daylight had commenced. This year, however, something new had happened. I had fallen in-love with a gentlemen who was really family oriented. REALLY REALLY family oriented. It wasn't just being a twin, though I'm sure that had a little something to do with it, but his whole family was close. My family, while not distant from one another, certainly had maintained a respectable amount of space from the next of kins. We'd see each other four, maybe five, times a year, throw back a few bottles of whatever, regale each other with exaggerated tales of hilarity, and drive away having survived yet another holiday season. This was commonplace for me; it was easy. Trevor's family, though, would not be like anything I'd known.

It starts with A Very McBride Thanksgiving. Up unto this point, my family had been very involved in my relationship with Bob and very uninvolved in its' aftermath. This is not to say that they did not support my decision, but at the distance that I had kept them at during the break-up, I knew that they would be shocked to find that I had begun seeing another man. Trevor had his own family plans that day and so, we had separated to our respective dinners to endure the holiday merriment. In true-to-form fashion, as soon as I arrived, the questions surrounding my whole ordeal began to arise. To make matters worse, as part of my new-lease-on-life, I had given up alcohol intake. So, not only do I now find myself in the middle of a sinkhole hell of holiday cheer, but I have to do it all sober.

For a refresher course in CJology, sobriety hadn't been my strongest attribute in, well, ever. But sobriety during a break-up, a new relationship, and a holiday stream was going to be the ultimate test, a battle-royale if you will. Surprisingly, I was able to dodge daunting questions like "how are you doing" with a side-shoulder hug, and "will you be alright"with doe-eyed sympathetic stares looking for answers within my oh-so-telling eyes. What a bunch of shit! I was over it. I was fine. That's what people like me do: we become fine. And by fine, we mean unfeeling, cold, and blunt, but nonetheless...fine.

As we had just been seated around the table in grand-ole Thanksgiving style, the passing of every dish holding feast commenced. Spoonfuls of mashed potatoes and helpings of turkey were going to be accompanied by the annoyances of small-talk surrounding my life. So I let it out.

"I'm fine. In fact, I'm so fine that I've started dating again. I am dating. I am dating a someone. I have a someone."

That did it. My task had been accomplished. Utter, uncomfortable silence. And not just normal silence, but a judgmental, screaming silence with an icy tone was filling my head. Yes ladies and gents, a cool, damn-near frigid front had rushed into Bartonville and settled directly over our dinner table. Dad was silent. His long-time girlfriend, Donna, snorted into her wine glass. My uncle just looked at me. It was my non-blood relative aunt who broke the chilly quiet.

"So, what's his name? How'd you meet him?"

"Trevor. I met him at a downtown bar. He's a Senior at Bradley."

What came next was as unexpected as any event I've lived through to date. You see, my grandmother had been listening to the banter between my aunt and I steadily, calculatingly, and as mentioned before, judgmentally.

"So from one man to the next. What are you? Some kind of vapid whore?"

Silence.

Ok, to make the story really, really good you have to have a clear picture of my grandmother. She is 70 years old, 5'4" tall, and British. British in every sense of the word. So, can I tell you that when Mary-Frickin'-Poppins asks you if you're not just a whore, but a vapid one, it tends to create stirred emotions in the room. Donna snorted, yet again, into her Boxed-wine White Zinfadel-containing glass. Dad cracked a smile and looked down, his shoulders twitching to avoid outburst of laughter. My uncle and aunt quickly shoved mouthfuls of turkey down their gullets. The rest of dinner was hurried and encumbered by more thoughtful silence. After a rush of goodbyes, I flew out the door and chain-smoked the whole way home.

So endeth the life lesson: Never tell British grandmommies about new boyfriends over Thanksgiving. Check.

After this, I figured that no matter what occurred at the Thompson feast, it could never be as shocking nor as uncomfortable as this day had been. Boy was I wrong. Earlier in the week, I had purchased a floral arrangement for the Thompson family. They were Calla Lilies, with greenery and a pretty, clear vase. I thought it was best to go with simple elegance. I mean roses seem pushy, mums are ugly, and carnations? Ewe.

Trevor arrived promptly to pick me up at my house so that I wouldn't have to join his festivities alone. I was prepared to meet the family, but I wasn't prepared to meet his FAMILY. His whole family. We are talking parents, brothers, sisters-in-law, aunts, uncles, cousins and so on and so on. We pulled up to his lovely cul-de-sac and I took my first of many deep inhalations of the evening. Armed with my lilies, I hand-in-hand strolled with Trevor into his parent's home where, upon entry, we were greeted by the noise created by Whiskey Sour and Jack Daniels, the yorkies belonging to the Thompson's. Following the raucous noise of barks created by the pups, I hear an even bigger bellow.

"SHUT UP! DAMN DOGS!" Enter Mr. Thompson. Or at least Mr. Thompson's voice. The first person I actually met was one of his older brothers, Chad.

"Chad, this is CJ, he's my...friend."

Thanks, Trev! Way to clear that up for me. I was mortified. You see, it began to dawn on me, in this moment, that Trevor had not actually lept from his closet singing "Over the Rainbow" all dressed up in Mother's heels. To the members of his family that weren't a twin, gay-friendly, or his mom, Trevor was still a girl-lovin' man. Ok, let's not overexaggerate, but he wasn't out. And, for that matter, he had only 'come out" to his mom just a few days earlier. Luckily enough he had mentioned me during his chat so she was aware of my existence. Dad, Chad, and the rest were neglected from this new-found information. In a word, awkward.

So as I made my way into the kitchen, the introductions began. There were a couple of family friends who were on their way out as we were on our way in. They were Jacy and Jason, an "adopted" sister and her fiance' along with Trevor's mom, Robin (though she would be Mrs. Thompson for months to come.) Most of his family were curious to meet me. You may remember Taylor, the twin from earlier tales, Becci and Michelle, adorable and accepting cousins, and then there was also Nicoli and Emily, both fabulous people with adorable children, which coming from me is alot considering I think most children are snotty little toe-rags full of germs and vomit. These kids, however, were cute. And smart. And best of all, they were tolerable, well-behaved children.

After I'd met everyone else, it happened...

"Dad--this is CJ, my boyfriend."

Silence.

That was two show-stopping silences in two days. I was definitely on a roll.

"Hi, Mr. Thompson. Nice to meet you."

His response? "Ya. Uh-huh. Nic, toss the salad."

The irony of his statement was not lost on me then or now. But, dinner was soon served, and then we were on our way home. I survived. I lived past the awkward introductions of all members Thompson. Mom liked the flowers, the food was excellent, and the family members were as nice as I could have hoped. Obviously, with two sons, already out in the family, Trevor's coming-out wasn't the most shocking of occurences to Rusty's (Dad's) existence. But, a word of advice to all closeted queers: DO NOT, under any circumstance, COME OUT ON THE HOLIDAYS! A second word of advice: DO NO BRING THE BOYFRIEND HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS BEFORE YOU DO COME OUT!

All in all, it was awkward and awful and humiliating and I wouldn't change a single ounce of the way that it happened. It only makes our story that much more perfect.