Bi Focus
News, views, and a little bit of dish! Tune in each month as Michael
Szymanski looks at what's going on in the big bi world.
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Several years ago my dad's lack of acceptance of me as a bisexual became
national news. I was all over the talk show circuit -- Phil Donahue,
Marilyn
Kagan, Leeza Gibbons -- and the story helped catapult me into the
bisexual
movement.
My house in the Hollywood Hills became known as the House That
Bisexuality Built. It became a haven for bisexual leaders from all over
the
world, and still is, because I got it by coming out as bisexual.
It's a simple story. My dad reluctantly accepted me when I came out as
gay, reacting to the news as he would have to the announcement of a
handicap. But he couldn't deal with the B word. "Why, if you can choose,
would you choose the wrong way?" is the echoing phrase I remember from
his lips on my birthday. "I don't believe you're my son."
The result: My dad asked me to take a blood test to prove that we were
not really related. He offered me ten grand to do it.
I remember being angry, hurt, amused. Then I hit my father where I knew
it would hurt. I held out for $50,000. That would be a down payment for
a
duplex in the Hollywood Hills.
He conceded, and the house became a symbol. I told my story on more than
40 talk shows and wrote about it for every magazine that would print it.
I was getting even.
And then something unexpected happened. A stranger who had read the
story left tulips and a letter at my front door. He said he used to be
married and had been in a relationship with a
man. "I would like to get involved in the bisexual movement, and I would
like
to meet you," he wrote.
Another crackpot, a stalker, I thought. The story of my hassles with my
father touched a lot of people, and many wrote love notes to me -- some
even
sending me gifts -- so I was wary. I was ending a relationship with a girl
and
had pretty much resigned myself to being alone. But I decided to meet
this guy.
Now John and I have been together nearly four years, and I don't think
I ever want to be with anyone else, ever. We're both bisexual, we're
both
monogamous, and nobody gets it.
But here's the thing that I have never gone public with since my very
public "second coming out": My dad likes my partner John.
Yep, he never liked any guy I ever dated before: the soap opera actor,
the porn star, the Jewish intellectual. And when I look back, he didn't
like many of the women either. But John, well there's nothing not
to like about him. He's a great guy -- everyone thinks so -- and it's
obvious that we connect.
My dad and John trade stock tips on the Internet. He invites us to his
home in Florida, and even allows us to sleep in the same bed. You may
say he's come a long way. But I think I have, too.
Without ever saying so, it's become obvious to me that my dad
perhaps never really cared what I labeled myself, just as long as I was
with someone who really cared about me -- the right person. Though he
never said it, I know he thought that being open about my bisexuality
could hurt me in my career, or perhaps even in finding a good
relationship. I have to realize that my Dad wants the best for me, and
that he's not always able to say it openly.
Another thing I've never really been public about: You know that blood
test? It never happened. Dad was in and out of the hospital with
surgeries and illnesses and he wasn't well enough to give blood. Anyway,
the test was put off.
I don't have any doubt I'm his son. It also occurs to me now that maybe
he never intended that we take the test. Maybe he would have given me
the money anyway. Although he couldn't easily afford it, this was
perhaps his way of saying he loved me without really saying it out loud.
Now, five years later, Dad is very ill. I talk to him every day, and he
says he hopes to visit me, but I know he will never make it up the 39
steps to my front door. (He jokes, of course, that the steps are there
to prevent him from visiting.)
My dad used to take my sister and I fishing. He loved it. We hated it,
and we never caught anything, but it was time spent together. I sent him
an early Father's Day gift this year and teased him about it being
something he could eat or something that he would have to feed. He got
very upset because he thought it was a live animal. "I can't even take
care of myself!" he screamed. "If you gave me something alive, I'm going
to kill it and send it back to you."
It was one of those mechanical fish for $25.99 that sings "Don't Worry,
Be Happy." It's mounted on a plaque that says "Iggy's Big Catch, from
Your Kids." He opened it early, saying, "I may not live to Father's Day
-- I'm opening presents as soon as I can."
He loves the fish. In fact, I hear it singing in the background every
time I call. He told me, "I want to thank all three of you for this
gift." I thought he meant my sister and I and his grandson. "No, I mean
you, your sister, and John," he said, not hesitating a moment.
"It says 'From Your Kids,' and that's you, your sister, and John."
It was another way of saying "I love you" and "I accept you" without
really saying it. And that's OK.
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