some one I never met

I am going to tell you story about some one I never met.  He was someone’s partner, some one’s son and some ones brother and Some one’s friend.  He cam e int

o my life in a unique way.  And I still hold his memory. You may ask, how I could have memories of someone I have never met.  How could this person life become part of mine?  For the last 13 years I have been holding a piece of this person and held on to him so he would not be forgotten. I hope that now you, my reader will know some thing about him now too and he won’t be forgotten. 

Doug Philpot was a young man who died in 1994. He was only 28 years old.  He grew up in southern Oklahoma in a small town of Marlow.  He lived there with his parents and siblings and had family nearby including his grand parents.  Marlow is located east of Lawton Oklahoma.  He also had family in Wichita Falls. Doug was involved in theatre and even starred in local theatre productions while in high school.   In 1983 he graduated and join the US navy. I have Doug’s class ring in my jewelry box at home.    He would be stationed in San Diego CA for a few years.  He made friends easily and loved seeing the world.  While in the navy he met other gay men who became life long friends.  He had a best friend named Stewart.  California was a place where young men could enjoy being gay and times in the early eighties were exciting.  He enjoyed meeting other gay men, partying into the night and occasionally used drugs.  It was not uncommon for small town boys to venture to big cities and quickly become consumed by the freedom.  After his years n the Navy Doug,  lived with friends.  He managed to buy some antiques and furniture for his apartment.   He also loved mirrors and started a crystal collection.   But eventually the fun wore off and real life set in.  He would soon decided to move back to home.   So he packed up his things and moved back to Oklahoma.  He was 22. He attended a local beauty college and began working as  stylist.   He quickly found the small town of Marlow constricting. He ventured to the night life Wichita Falls.  He enjoyed going out the only gay bar in town and meeting other men like himself.  He had even tried dressing in drag for the first time.   He also met a man, who would become his lover.  I don’t know too many details about how they met.  That part of the story is lost by the two men who lived it.  It was 1987 and the gay community was devastated by the new AIDS epidemic.  Today people live for years while undergoing anti-vial treatments.  But in the late 80’s your long term options were not good.  Doug and GW would move in together in 1988. 

 Soon after, Doug was diagnosed with HIV.  He had found a partner, moved past all the immature and reckless behavior only to find out that he now faced a terminal illness. 

 Yes, his past was coming back to haunt him. GW was also tested, but he was negative.  For those who already know my life story you might have already  guessed, “GW” was my late partner, GW Wood.  Not many people  know that Doug was GW’s first love.  When I first met GW he lived alone and had been single for many years.  He lived in a house in Wichita Falls by himself and did not go out much. During his single years he put himself back in college and earned a bachelor in Social work.  He and I did not meet until 2000.  But back in 1988, his was new lover was Doug Philpot.  And for the most part, they were a good couple.  They worked hard and shared a life together. GW shared all these things with me so that I might be able to understand who he was and what he had lived through.  As a couple GW and Doug struggled financially but had seemed happy although they moved often.   GW and Doug even had a civil union ceremony at the local MCC church in 1992.  I have it on video at home.  I have watched once with an odd fascination about some one I had never met.  It was also odd to know so many of the friends I knew from back home, knew Doug Philpot years before I came out.  During the last few years of his life, Doug had become an advocate for HIV/Aids services and even volunteered at the local out reach center in Wichita Falls.  He also had been interviewed on a local television station about health services and testing.  He himself was battling the disease.  And he looked sick.  I have seen that interview too. GW was very honest with me about who Doug.  I sometimes felt like a replacement for the lover GW had lost.  He reassured me that Doug and I were very different people.  He felt lucky to find love again.   ( I can relate to that now)  Doug died in 1994  from the illness that he was trying hard to raise awareness.  I have seen pictures of him during his late stages.  They were very sad and almost scary.  I respected GW for sharing his life with Doug.  GW was his lover, caregiver and friend until the end.  I found comfort in this when it came time for me to care for GW before his death.  Yes, I was his lover, caregiver and friend until the end.  Most recently I have been trying to figure out what to do with some of Doug’s personal belonging.  YES, I still have them.  I kept them even after GW died over six years ago.  They became part of me. How could I discard them, as if Doug’s life didn’t matter?   I have a steamer trunk full of his memories.  I could not simply trash them.  That seems like such a horrible thing to do.  Each life is important even if it’s over.  I never met  Gerald “Douglas” Philpot, but his life touched mine.  He affected me in an indirect way.  I have tried to contact some one in his family. But keep running into dead ends.  His mother died in 2006 and his father in 2012.  They done even know that these objects even exist.  They were so ashamed that their son was gay, the cut him out of their life just before his death in 1994.  GW had no support and took care of him by himself and laid him to rest because he loved him.  I know now exactly what that feels like. I will continue my search for Doug’s family and hope some one will take and cherish these things that were once his. 

For Gerald "Douglas" Philpot  died 1994 Wichita Falls Texas      

   MY QUEST CONTINUES........

my dad

When I was a kid, my dad drank. He drank a lot. There were many times what my mom would have to go pick him up from city jail. He got arrested for DUI or public intoxication.  He would spend the night and “sleep it off” there. The he would be released.   Or if he drove, she would have to find someone to drive her to the bar in order to pick up the truck.  He would drink so much that often times, he would come home and argue and fight with my mom.  She tried hard to keep him quiet or defuse his angry rants.  She didn’t want us kids to hear them as the arguing escalated.  Sadly, we knew it was going on. I saw my father hit my mother, punch her or pull her hair on many nights.  He would also throw things, like the time he broke an ashtray that split my mothers lip.   My dad was mean and angry when he was drinking.  It scared me.  There had already been enough abuse by the hand of my father. He would hit us with his fist and beat us with his belt.   He would tease us until we cried or punish us for some behavior that he felt was wrong.  He would call us names and tell me, I was ugly or stupid.  Really I don’t know what I did wrong, only that if I made him mad enough he would lash out and hit me.  My mother would try to protect us and keep him from hitting us.  I think it made me very distant from my father.  I was never sure if he loved me.  I was just a weak kid, defenseless to protect myself.  I always felt like he blamed be for not being stronger like my brother.  I remember once, my dad took me, my brother and my sister to the cemetery on the edge of town. He was drunk and talked my mother into letting us go with him. Maybe she just assumed we were going for a quick ride or maybe to the store for cigarettes.  My dad was a pack a day smoker.   But my dad had other plans.  We were all barefoot and scared. I remember crying and trying not to sob.  I sat against the door of the truck and my brother stood on the seat. My sister was in the floor with her knees up and her arms hugging her legs. Her head was down.  I think she was sobbing too.   I was probably only about 4 years old.  It was late and dark on the moon lit up the road as we passed the overpass on the edge of town.  My dad made a left into the local cemetery. We passed through the metal gates. You approach the cemeteries from the highway; The Old Electra Cemetery is on the left side of the road. It is the first entrance that you come to on the left.

In a section behind the Old Electra Cemetery is the Dick Sparks Cemetery that was the black cemetery.  Even in 1979, the cemetery was segregated.   My dad smoked a cigarette and the glow cast a glow on his face.  He drove slowly to the back of the cemetery.  The road was mostly gravel with a grass growing between the compressed parallel paths of gravel.  My dad parked the truck on the narrow road and turned of the lights.  He rolled down the window to discard his still lit, butt of cigarette out the window.  He left the truck running.  My dad began to speak.  He told us not to interfere when he “talked” to my mother.  He felt that when adults were talking, the kids should stay out of it. He continued to lecture us, slurring his words and rambling on about what he felt like was a lack of respect.  He made no mention about the beating, yelling or punching that had left my mother in tears on the floor at home.   He wanted us to get out of the truck.  I sobbed more but it came out as a whimper of saliva and snot. I quickly wiped from my face with the sleeve of my shirt.  He told us to walk over to the white grave in the middle of the rows of head stones.  It was dark but you could see it.  It was bigger than the others.   He told my sister, to wait with us about an hour and then walk home.  This would be our punishment. We would have to walk home barefoot in the dark. I was confused.   I cried more and wanted  the whole nightmare to be over.  My brother held hands with my sister and I followed behind them.  We sat on the grass and I watched my father drive out of the cemetery.  How could he leave us there?  We huddled together and flinched at every sound.   I closed my eyes as I cried.  We sat there for what seems like hours.  My brother tried to talk to my sister, who the oldest.  She would quickly scold him for speaking.  Maybe she was afraid that my dad would some how hear us and become angry again, it would mean more punishment for us.  We had seen him drive away, but some how he always controlled what we did, how we acted and the fear of punishment was a constant threat.  This control was in our minds even when he was not around.  We finally got up the nerve to leave. My sobbing had subsided, but the fear of the dark and unknown grew as we walked the gravel road toward the iron gates of the cemetery. We finally reached the highway and walked along the edge of the pavement in a single file line.  My sister, then my brother and then me bringing up the rear and scared not to keep up.  We could see the lights of the overpass walked through the high grass and onto the concrete curbs.  We crossed under the overpass.  We could see the lights fro the neighborhood a few miles away.  Walking on the warm pavement was not as painful as rocks of the gravel roads of the cemetery.  There were no cars.  We proceeded cautiously down the side of the highway.  And we reached the first city street inside the city limits. My sister knew the way even in the dark. We continued all the way back to our house.  The kitchen light was still on.  My mother was outside, sitting on the back step crying.  She quickly wiped her eyes and hid her pain. Something she did a lot.  She hurried toward us and knelt down to embrace us.  We all began to cry. She kissed our foreheads and whispered prayers over us.  I know she must have been beside herself when my dad had retuned without us.  Apparently he had come back with the intent of confronting my mother again.  My mother had locked herself into the bathroom room until she was sure my dad passed out.  She then waited outside waiting for us to come home. 

hosptials

My parents are both passed away for several years.  My mom’s declining health was partly because of her lack of access to health care.  She had diabetes and high blood pressure that for many years went untreated.  Often times, she refused to “take care” of herself  or watch what she ate.  I do not blame her, but it does seem a shame that she was only 52 when she died.  My dad on the other hand was defiant and accepted his own bad health choices.  He joked that he would live to be 100.  He lived a long life. He was 75 when he died.  He smoked a pack a day since and early age and was not worried about the long term effects. He hardly ever went to the doctor; accept when he suffered a back injury many years before he died.  My dad was not fond of modern medicine. 

Hospitals are a place I know all too well.  I was a sick baby and my mother took me to the doctor often, before they realized that my infant system could not handle the formula.  I was sadly suffering from malnourishment.  It was my mother fear that I might not live.  The doctor changed my formula to natural goat milk and my mom saw an improvement.  I began to thrive again.  When I was 13 I was diagnosed with a heart condition.  People with Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome are born with an extra connection in the heart which can disrupt the coordinated movement of electrical signals through the heart, leading to an abnormally fast heartbeat (tachycardia) and other arrhythmias. Resulting symptoms include dizziness, a sensation of fluttering or pounding in the chest (palpitations), shortness of breath, and fainting. In rare cases, arrhythmias associated with Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome can lead to cardiac arrest and sudden death. I hope it never does. But it is possible I guess.   I was diagnosed with WPW after I had fainted at home and was taken by ambulance to the local hospital. Imagine how scary that was to wakeup on the floor and have EMT’s hovering over you.  I was so dizzy and feeling like I was going to pass out again.  I under went test and stayed 3 days in the hospital. The “attack” wiped me out physically.  I went to a heart specialist who referred to another cardiologist at Parkland in Dallas, two hours from our town. Since then, I have not had any problems. I was released this year by the heart doctor. I don't need to go back unless I start having trouble again. I was 13 when they found it. I could never play sports in school because I felt like I couldn't breathe right and it made me extremely tired. Now I know what it was.  I would be in the ER again just a few years later, but this time with a broken arm.  It was simple fracture of the left ulna.  It was painful and I had to wear a cast for six weeks.  I remember it itches and after six weeks, it reeked of sweat.  I come off and my skin was white underneath from not being exposed to the sun.  It looked like a reverse farmer tan.  I was a brown kid with one white arm. It only took a few weeks before my color returned naturally.   

I also ened up in the ER after getting ina physical fight with a guy who I was living with.  He was very controlling and abusive.  It is some thing I recently told to my current boyfriend.  Abuse is always hard for me to talk about.  I still carry the emotional scars as well as the physical ones.  The scar on my arm is about 8 inches.  The scars have faded to a pink color but I still put makeup to cover it when I wear a sleeveless costume.   It took many years to move from victim to survivor.  I vowed to never let myself be harmed like that again.  This injury required a hospital stay and surgery.  Hospitals are never a good place to be.

Paul's Market

I remember as a kid shopping with my mother.  We had two grocery markets in town.  Neither was a supermarket as you might think of them today. Each one was on opposite ends of town.  Both were run by local people and each business employed adults from our community and several high school students part time.   The cashiers Linda and Ida-June always knew you by name. Or in my case, they knew who are parents were.  My mother was a loyal shopper at Paul’s Market.  Paul was the owner’s name.  He was old and eventually left the business to his son, Barry Jones.  My mother knew Barry Jones personally; she was the cleaning lady who would clean their house.  He was a very hands-on business owner. He would work the service window, bag groceries when needed or work the cashier’s register to avoid long lines. He really knew how to keep the store moving.  I remember at Paul’s Market there was no such thing as self check out or express lane.  The two check-out lanes served the entire store.  Paul’s market was located on north Main Street just a few blocks from the down town area.  It was an old building with aged yellow walls, green floors, and suspended florescent lighting. 
The store had a large meat counter that stretched across the back the back of the building.  All of the meat was butchered fresh.  That is a service you don’t see much today.  Most everything at my Walmart is prepackaged.  There are no slabs of meat hanging in the back of my Walmart supercenter.  The meat counter at Paul’s provided services for every thing from poultry, to pork, to cuts of beef and fresh ground beef.  It looked like red worms coming out the extruder.  They would weigh it and then would wrap it in white paper packages sealed with a strip of white tape.  Lunchmeat and cheeses were sliced fresh to order there. They would hand write the price on the package for the cashier to ring up.  There was no printer or barcodes.   I remember many a times buying bread and a pound of bologna for a fishing trip with my dad.  Or asking for chicken livers for catching cat fish.   
The store had hand painted signs on drawn on butcher’s paper in the window that changed according to the weekly sale items.  I think Barry Jones painted them him self.  It was our small town grocery buying place.  I remember shopping there with my mom.  Some times she made us sit in the window while she shopped.  We were expected to sit quietly and not misbehave.  The cashier would tell her if we did.  Other times she would let us follow her up and down the narrow aisles.  She would load up her cart with groceries and wheel her cart to the check out line.  In fact back home it was not a shopping cart; I remember it called a buggy.  Some times I will over hear an older person still call it by that name.  That reference always reminds me of my small town.   My mom would always try to get the most out of each dollar.  I too always look for the best value.  In my opinion, only an idiot grabs the first thing they see and buys it with out comparing prices.  Mom would watch attentively as the cashier rang up the entire cart of groceries. Prices were entered manually from small price tag.  There was no barcodes or moving belt.  She would always question a price that seemed incorrect.  After the end of the order, the cashier would announce a total.  My mom would already have money from her wallet ready to pay.  She would then do some thing that I thought was odd.  She would pay the money in cash, and say “put the rest on a ticket”.  A “ticket” was a yellow slip of paper that looked a lot like a check to me.  The cashier would write it up.  The remaining unpaid total was written in the small square box on the right side of the ticket.  It would also be dated.  My mother would sign her name at the bottom.  The ticket and register receipt would be stapled and placed in the cashiers drawer.  My mother would exchange polite” thank you’s” with the cashier. Then a young high school boy would help take the brown bags to our car.  That was his job. 
Yes, my mother had just paid part of the grocery bill on credit.  The store would hold the tickets until pay day. My parents would pay on the outstanding balance when they cashed my dad’s check.  Barry Jones, in the office, would add them up and take payments for credit purchases our family had made.   I was allowed to sign credit tickets when I was about 10 years old.  There were many times, my mom would send me to the store just to get a few things:  Maybe a loaf of bread or a pound of meat for supper, or a pack of cigarettes for my dad.   It was generally small purchases.  You can’t sell tobacco to a minor in Texas anymore. But it was ok back then, because the cashier knew my dad smoked camel unfiltered cigarettes.  Plus it was small town; they would have called my house if anything seemed fishy. 
I know now that my mother worked for Barry Jones, cleaning his house, because money was owed to the grocery store.  She would clean on her days off.  Barry Jones let her work off some of the debt my parents owed at the store.  My mother did this for many years.  Raising five kids was hard for my parents, but because of such arrangements, they managed never to be on welfare or let us go hungry. 

This building was once Pauls Market on Main street.

When I was in junior high, Paul’s Market moved to a bigger new store building.  It was progress.  It became just Paul’s with a big sign on the top of the building.  No longer was it near downtown.  Many of the same employees moved there too.  They offered a larger selection of everything and employed more people too.  The small market was a thing of the past.  But I still remember the original store on Main Street.   The old building would eventually because a thrift store and most recently an antique shop.  But about thirty five years ago,  it was the place I would sit in the window and watch the world drive down the street.  Or wait to see my mom peer at me as she rounded the end cap of each aisle. It was our local grocery place and I will never forget it.   

my thought

I miss my Mom today.

a lost friendship

I had a few friends when I was in fourth grade.  It was a period in my life when I just discovering who I was, but still not sure what that meant exactly.  I enjoyed school and always looked forward to the summer.  My friend Michael lived four blocks away. We would walk to my house after school.  The intention was to ask my mom if I could go over to his house and usually it was a yes.  We would then continue to his house while laughing and talking. He would ride his bike, I would walk. Michael was an only child and we became friends in PE.  I enjoyed playing dodge ball and other school games. We seemed to be cool friends.  He also had two small dog named Cookie and Peanut. I always thought those were silly names.  They were fun to play with and I remember the jingle as they would run around his back yard.  Our dog had neither a collar nor tags.   His parents worked until the evening, so we could watch TV, play video games or listen to music. I remember hearing George Strait for the first time on the stereo.  He was so young and cute. But these were words I has was not ready to say out loud.    It was about 1983.  Michael had some cool video games.  It was the early 80’s, so there were only a few out. But he had them.  It was the first time I had ever played a video game.  I remember how the brown clucky box looked with two joy sticks connected by wires.  You would have to shut it off and get it to reset itself if it froze up.  The game console had four switches and you could play solo or against another player.  

 That seems like so long ago.  Michael would also watch cable including MTV and HBO.  Cable was something we didn’t have at my house.  I remember watching ‘Porky’s’, a secret I never told my mom. There was brief nudity and crude humor. She would have killed me.  For the most part the gags were funny, but I didn’t always understand the sexual humor. After all I was just a kid.  I was only about 9 years old.  My mom would have killed me if she knew.  She thought we were working on home work the whole time.  Michael’s Mom and Dad were nice people.  His dad was a former military, and worked as a city cop.  His mother was trained as a nurse, but worked as an EMT for the small city where we lived.  They had a nice modest home, much nicer than ours.  But still they were not home a lot. Michael spent a lot of time at home alone.   His dad loved to grill and often invited me to stay for dinner. I would always have to call my mom and ask permission. How embarrassing.   I remember my mom always telling me “a guest is a guest” and not to eat more than anyone else.  They are being polite by asking.  “Don’t over stay your welcome.”  His dad was also a scout leader and liked teaching Michael and I about outdoor stuff.   Camping and fishing are things I still enjoy, but don’t do very often anymore.  Michael’s mom also taught us first aid and we got badges from out scout troop. Michael was my friend for two years.  It was nice.  There were many days we would go exploring the woods on the edge of town or ride the back alleys on his three-wheeler.  That is another secret I never told my mother.  It was nice to be just a boy and have a friend who seemed to enjoy being my friend.  Michael and I would also play with his toys. Like many only children, he often played alone.  He seemed to have had so much:  toys from hot wheels to action figures to puzzles . He always had a new bike for his birthday.  I don’t think I ever had one of my own.  It seemed Michael had all these things but no one to play with.  I think about my own siblings. We had to make up our own games. We played together, because we were always together.   I some times wanted to be like Michael.   Surely it could not be that bad.  Nice parents, your own room, great toys,  free roam of the house every day!  My house was the exact opposite!   Cramped, old, lots of noise, few toys, and just regular parents. My dad was not a cop nor my mom a nurse.  My dad was a laborer and my mom was a cook.  Still it was nice to be Michael’s friend and enjoy things I did not have at my house.  Michael and I would laugh and talk and just be buddies.  But sadly things changed as we entered junior high.  I don’t really know why.  Maybe as we matured our interests changed. I played in the band. Michael got involved in sports, especially foot ball.  In Electra, football was a community activity.  It would only be a few more years; the Electra tigers would win the 1985 state championship. 

Michael and I graduated together, but were not friends in high school.  Michael was involved in athletics and hung with the jocks.  I was a band geek and hung with the other geeks.  Plus I was starting to figure out who I was as a gay man.  So the tendency for me was not to draw attention to my self.  I was not ready to be out.   Jocks and gay band nerds don’t really interact.  I don’t know why, but maybe he just knew I was different.  I was not interested in him, but truly enjoyed being friends.  Nothing more. I think that is hard for teenage boys to understand . Being gay, does not mean you can not have platonic friends of the same sex.  I have many coworkers and male friends who are straight. They are attractive, but I am not attracted to them.  I have become more secure in my manhood and my life as I have gotten older.  I find the more people I interact with, the more accepting I am to differences.  But just for the record, I still don’t hang with the jocks.  Not because I’m gay…but because I don’t like football.

music is not working today.

Well I have been sitting here working at my desk for several hours with my ear piece in. We can listen to music while we work.  Usually on a normal day, I enjoy music. My mind is scattered today.  But today the music is not really doing the trick to help me think.  In fact I dread hearing certain songs. Love songs are tough to hear, and special songs that are tied to memories and tough too. They make me feel emotions that are painful.  Instead, I skip over them and try to at least look for music to make feel better rather than cause me emotional discomfort.    I know this mental pain is just my heart telling me, “nope I cant deal with that today”  So I push those feeling aside or try to ignore they exist.  I wish there was a way to stop having emotions all together.  

My calendar for this month is full. Some shows have been better than others.   The one in Dallas was ok, but it was not my crowd.  I tried to give a good performance despite the uninspired crowd.  I did however enjoy being in Fort Worth last night. I had accepted the booking a few weeks ago.   I spent all day, working on some new costumes.  I also pulled out one of my old gowns and altered it to fit.  It was three sizes too big and has been hanging there, looking at me, for a while.  I also added more stones to it and did some minor repairs. I was a lovely purple gown. I ended up selling it to another girl after the show. I needed the cash more than I needed the dress.   I have never had so many friends say the word, stunning to me!  So I got my wear out of it.  That was a good feeling.  I needed it, since I’ve been in such a gray phase lately.  I think maybe all queen have ups and downs.  I was really enjoying being “Tomas” for a while and sporting a more masculine facial hair.  If I were not always in shows, I would rock that look all the time. I like they way I look with a mustache or goatee.    I also like the attention it brings.  Men, gay men, like that sort of thing.  I have to say, I like facial hair on a man.  But  it’s not a deal breaker. I also like the surprise I get when the transformation from Tomas to Mattie is complete.  I don’t think they look alike at all.  I always think, if people recognize you in drag…you are not doing it correctly.  In my experience, men tend to be repulsed by drag queens or feminine guys. I have always fought that stereotype.  Honestly, I don’t think I am fem or masculine.  I am just me, a gay man.  I am ok with that, and I enjoy being who I am, and not putting on a false image of overly masculine attitude.  I think many gay men struggle with self acceptance.  I finally got there and try not to lose that self understanding.  I also understand my personal preference to be the aggressive, dominate partner in the bedroom, is not defined by my wardrobe.  Some less secure men do not understand that division.  They assume I am passive and over look me because of my enjoyment of the art female impersonation. 

My sisters wedding

I wrote this before my sisters weding and completed it days after. 

My sister is getting married in a few days.  I knew this day would come. Now it is here.  She met Ronald about four years ago and has lived with him and her girls for quite some time now.  It has sometimes been strained, but last year they set a date.  I take a deep breath and reflect on all they have had to deal with over the past few years.  Anita is my younger sister.  She has been in Oklahoma City now, for 14 years.   She still tells people, “I’m not from here” . I find that funny, because I some times rely on that same phrase when people ask me about places in Dallas/Ft Worth.  

I have been here since the end of 2002.  I always thought Dallas was too big with too much traffic.  The people there have a selfish with big city attitude. ( It took a while to sort through those people and find good people. Those are the friends who are important.)   Sadly, rude people are out there. There is a lot of that here.  I see it everyday in my morning commute.  I probably cuss people from the privacy of my own car everyday.  My biggest pet peeve is not using a blinker or cars cutting in and out of traffic like they are entitled to special privileges.   But like everything in my life, I have adapted.  I’m sure other drivers have seen me as a jerk once or twice.  Although I never mean to be. 

Oklahoma is a lot different from Dallas/Ft Worth.  I lived in OKC for less that a year back in 2000.  I left my job and apartment and tried to see what life had in store for me there.  Anita, my sister let me live with her while I looked for a job. I had a twin bed in the corner of her second bed room. I also moved with a few small pieces of furniture and clothes.  And some boxes of drag of course. I had a rough break up with an ex and it was time to move on. A trip to the ER was all it took for me to be done.   I got rid of things I did not need or want.  I had parted with the stuff I had collected during my single years just prior.  Anita had two toddlers, my nieces. One was till in diapers. They were so cute and funny.  And they just grew up knowing about my dressing in drag for shows and pageant. Toddlers don’t question that kind of stuff. They knew even before they knew what it was. They thought I was a singer at a club or some thing. I found a job in Choctaw, working for a group home there.  I didn’t really like it but needed a job so I did it.  I only worked there about two months. I never put it on my resume.  Then I got a better job in down town.  I worked for a large hotel in downtown OKC.  I liked OKC. I was single and needed friends in my new city. I made some friends there and a few new drag friends too. I even dated a guy who would later become just a friend.  In fact I don’t think I even kissed him.  Some times that happens.  It was never anything more than two friends having fun.  He struggled with his own life and was in love with some one else.    I did drag at night and worked during the days.

My sister, Anita also worked for the same hotel.  I worked in the banquets department and Anita worked the hotel‘s upscale restaurant.  We worked together, but not in the same department. She also went though a tough break up with Leon, the father of her two daughters during that year.  They had their reasons. Anita was not happy. Eventually Anita and I decided rent a small house on the east side of the state capital.   This was the predominately black area of the city. We worked and split the bill, even though she worked more hours than me.  I would take the bus to work and then walk home at night. It was not very safe. I had gotten assaulted once and harassed often. There were times I would cry on my way home. My car had gotten repossessed because I could keep up the payments. I would also get rides from coworkers when I could.  I would eventually buy another one for cash.  I had that car for the next two years. 

Me with my three neices, Areona, Breona, and Cameron

me- The day of Anita's wedding

During those months I was still seeing GW.  He was living in Wichita Falls and I was in OKC. We had met at a New Years Eve party. I was dating other guys but never told him,  he would be eventually the only man I wanted in my life.   It was one of the few secrets I kept from him.  The other guys never amounted to anything serious. He was always on my mind.  I saw him as often as I could. I was trying to make it in OKC. I was working and doing shows. I had also started to sew.   My drag was slow at first.  No one really knew who I was plus the city girls were so far ahead of where I was in costuming and makeup. I was an amateur.  But over the months I used each set back as motivation trying harder at my art form.  I was only 24 and knew that drag was something that I loved doing.  GW and I continued to date and eventually, my heart would lead me back to Wichita Falls.  Yes, we had fallen in love and I wanted nothing more than to be with him. Even if that meant living in Wichita Falls again.  It was in Aug of 2000 that I left all my new friends, my sister and my home in OKC. I moved back to Wichita Falls.  I knew that being with GW was the right thing for me.  Anita was also expecting her third child in November of 2000.  GW, my mom and I would come back when she did.  I remember, GW was the most supportive man and my family loved him. From the beginning, he was part of  US, as a family.  That was important to me.  I have a picture at home that GW took of me, my mom and Anita and her new baby. I look at it today and its awesome to see what he saw. Like have a snapshot from his memory.  He was the eye behind the camera.  GW was there for many family moments, and I tried to be there for some of his family moments too.  It was strained relations with them.  Having a partner to share holidays and birthday and tragedy was all part of a relationship. I always wanted to marry GW, and sadly that dream never came true.  It left me feeling like I was not worth having.  That was an issue I wrestled with for years.  I once had a man who loved me, but would not make a commitment to me in front of God and our friends and family.

I have been to seven wedding in my life.  That seems depressing.  I have seen friends and family marry and enjoy their special day. Maybe I’m a selfish idiot, who is having trouble letting go of my own issues.  I had a year to find a date to the wedding.  But I did not. I want to be there for my sister, because she has a good man in her life. And they have struggled to stay together and build a good life.  I will not go to anymore weddings after this one.  I decided that just now.   I guess it is all too much for me.  Anita and I talk a lot about love and relationships, friendships and family issues.  I know I can trust her with the secrets of my heart.  Her wedding is the last one I will go to. 

Short Story

Once there was a boy who grew up to be a young man. He tried to fit in some where and after meeting some flamboyant friends. He finally found a place where he could excel.  He worked hard and pushed him self to try bigger and harder challenges.  Along the way he had many heart breaks and painful experiences.  He kept trying, and grew strong with each thing. He never quit. He learned to love other people and help when there was need. The older he got be found that many special people in his life were gone. But he worked hard to keep his heart open.  That boy was a man and his passion was clear to all he met. He was a beautiful soul.  And all he ever wanted was a place to belong and someone to share it with.

a picture to share.

FLYER FOR MISS MID AMERICA

Mattie Madison-Roundup Saloon Dallas

Natahsa Parson and Mattie Madison at Garlows

Febuary was not good.

It has been an interesting month.  To say the least! I have been busy at work. I love my job especially since I got a raise and a good yearly review.  The sit down discussion with my boss was very eye opening.  I didn’t realize how my boss perceived me.  He seem to think that my work is good and right now, he thinks I am ahead of schedule for some one who has been in the group only 11 months.  I felt comfortable enough to really talk to him about how I felt about issues that have gone on in our work group.  So it was a good review.  I have taken on new challenges and my boss recognized my efforts. I am about to celebrate four years at my company. I am excited about that.

I dated some one briefly.   It was a very bad situation. I finally realized that I was beating myself up trying to please him, when he was the one who was NOT good enough for me. I know exactly what I want and will not settle for less.  He has some other personal issues and I felt after dating, that he was a user who was just trying to play me.  Sadly, I almost fell for it. But I have moved on.  He turned out to be a very bad guy, with a criminal past. I have since cut all ties to him. Although he continues to harass me via text and FB.  I have blocked him and may change my number.  For now I ignore his calls and texts and hope he will just go away. If not my friends suggested a restraining order. I really don’t feel safe.   I had to really re think what I am looking for in a relationship.

 I have traveled out of town for a few shows and done more local shows as well. I am also preparing to travel to Nashville in a few weeks to compete in a Miss Mid-America pageant.  It is a regional pageant that sends girls directly to Miss America later this year!  I am very excited to try and think I will do well. Regardless of how I place, it will be a great experience.  I decided months ago to follow my own dreams!  That is what I am doing.

 I finally did my taxes and got the money back. But them was face with major car problems.  So there goes quite a bit of that money.  I intended on upgrading, but have not yet found a car I want and can afford. So I am waiting a while longer.  Its a commitment I don’t really want to go into lightly.  After all I have not had a car payment in over 3 years.  Plus my car is running so good now after being in the shop that I am tempted to keep it!  Spending 700$ in repairs will make you think.  Plus like I said it’s running so smooth now. (Just some thing to think about). They fixed a water pump fitting that was leaking water. My car got a tune-up, new spark plugs and wires, fix vacuum leak, and replaced old fuel regulator.  (Well actually they replaced twice. The first one was faulty and sprayed gas after only driving about 30 miles.) I was in a rental car for a week.  But today she is good.  Its like having a new car again. I just renewed the tags and registration too.  So its good for another year.  I also did some work myself.  I popped out the dent in the bumper that some bitch with no insurance left about two months ago.  It looks scuffed, but much better now that it is not concave. I also replace a bulb that was out. Minor work compared to the big money I dropped at the repair shop.  
I have not written and I’m glad I did today.  As I move into a new month, I am in a better place.  I have faced several challenges and keep smiling and moving forward. 
 I am hosting a show this weekend for charity.  March is turn –about month locally.  The girls become “bois” and the boys become “gurls”….it all in good fun. In fact I’m making a gown for a friend who only does drag once a year.  He is competing for Miss Turn-about pageant.  I do not do turn about!  I have never performed as a DUDE!  “Mattie” is the performer, Tomas is just the mastermind who pushes her to excel.  I would be too embarrassed to do it.  I wouldn’t know how to act. So I will enjoy just hosting. 

 

pennies from heaven

I have done this before. This time I will use three pennies.

When ever I see a penny on the ground I pick it up. They are pennies from heaven.  I dont care about the luck they bring.  It is way of remembering my loved ones.  It is my own superstititon: it means some one is thinking about me.  Here is the first thing that came to my mind when I pulled pennies from my pocket today. Each penny is a different year.  It  gave me an excuse to share something about myself.

1974- I was born.  I don’t remember it. I cried because it was scary. And swore I was never going back in there. ( my mom used to hated that joke)

1995-  I was two year in college, but quit.  I had trouble fitting in. I found some gay friends who changed my life forever.  I swore I would never hide who I was again.

2004-  I was in a good relationship we got a new dog. I had a good job.  Things were going well.   It was a good year. 

sad news

My weekend plans were over shadowed by the passing of my two uncles.  Each will be missed and loved forever.     My sympathy goes out to all my cousins at the loss of their dad’s.  This news makes me miss my parents all over again. The arrangements are pending for each and I will be traveling out of town to the funerals in the next few days.  They died just days apart in different cities. 

RIP : Paul Flores.  My uncle.  My dad’s youngest brother.  Passed away on Friday Jan 18^th. 

RIP: Paul Ozuna.  My Uncle who was married to my late Aunt. ( My Dad’s sister)  Passed away on Sunday Jan 20^th.

Chocolate

Some times I write things down but do not post them in my blog. It helps me just to know that I have written it down and removed it from my mind.  It gives me peace: a sense of relief and well being.   I have heard it said that chocolate has chemical in it that releases a sense of well being as well.  Interesting.  I like chocolate especially in a peanut butter cup.   Even though chocolate is regularly eaten for pleasure, there are health effects as well.  Cocoa or dark chocolate may positively affect the circulatory system.  Other possible effects include anticancer, brain stimulator, and cough preventer.  An aphrodisiac effect is yet unproven, but death my chocolate cake sounds good too.  A BBC report indicated that melting chocolate in one's mouth produced an increase in brain activity.  The human heart rate becomes more intense than that associated with passionate kissing!. Really!  Also the feeling lasted four times as long after the activity had ended.  I feel that way about writing.  But I am not making out with my computer just to measure the lasting effects.

I get pleasure from writing.  It is important to my sense of self and understanding of myself as a person.  You don’t have to be the best at something to enjoy the passion of doing it.  These are most of the times my thoughts and feelings.  It is my way of venting and releasing my thoughts.   Some times they are letters to my self.  I can tell myself anything.  Sharing those thoughts with the world is not so easy.  Maybe I could increase my enjoyment by eating chocolate while writing. There is a sweet thought! 

thoughts

Well in the past six years.  I have not talked to any of GW’s family.  They had my number and address.  They did not bother to ask how I was after his death. That hurt.   I stopped to see his sister once in Bowie where he was from.  I was on my way the cemetery; I was hoping she might want to go with me.  She didn’t. She was friendly and we talked for a while.   I never saw her again after that. 

 I met with Bob and Michael once.  About two month after his death.  Bob is GW brother; and Michael is his partner of about 15 years.  GW died in September.  Our meeting before Christmas. I remeber the christmas lights.  We met at a local bar in Dallas. It was called the Hideaway. I’m not sure it is even still open.  It was not my usual place.  They ( Bob and Michael)  picked the place to meet.  We sat in the front bar area and ordered a few drink and talked.  It was a bit strained.  They had never warmed up to me, to say the least. Actually they didn't like me at all.  And I knew it. But the point of the meeting was to finalize some issues surrounding GW passing.  I had some family things that they wanted.  We also discussed the funeral and how much we missed him. Bob, GW’s older brother, shared childhood memories.  He was a teenager when GW was born. So he remembered a lot.  GW was an ornery kid.  He would often be punished for being so pig headed, that is what Bob said.  It was not hard to imagine. I had gotten to know him very well during our life together.  He was a very independent man.  He had his own way of doing things.  GW also enjoyed music and at one point played the piano and organ. He also played trombone in the local high school band.  GW once told me that he was not very good, but it was fun.  In small towns, kids join organizations because there is not much else to do.  I understood that.

Bob, Michael and I went out the patio with our drinks.   It was an open courtyard area.  We wandered into the small building at the far end of the property.  It had been converted into another game room with pool and dart boards and a full service bar inside. There were several guys sitting and watching the large TV over the bar.   I drank a beer, they drank martinis.  I had just lost my partner and best friend.  Being there and listening to the stories really got to me.  I tried to fight back my tears.  I had brought along several family photos.  Also I gave them his college ring, several pieces of jewelry and rare coins GW had acquired. 

Many months before, GW had invited his family over to our place for an afternoon.  He knew he was going to die and found comfort in them all being together in one place.  They obviously loved him.  So did I.  He talked privately with them about his wishes.  He had already told me what to do, whom to call and how to handle things on his behalf.  GW gave them things that were special to him.  These included keep sakes and photo albums.  He even gave them art work and his pieces from his personal antique collection.   It made him feel good to give things to his loved ones. Maybe that would bring them comfort upon his death.  They would have something that once belonged to him. 

 He had a good day. Everyone left. It was just him and I.  I made dinner, and we talked.  He told me that after he passed, he wanted me to move on with my life. There were many tears.  Don’t grieve too long he said.  He tried to flatter me by saying I would find a new man in a month.  I didn’t really want to hear it.  He told me to not invite his family over after he died. I was not sure why. He explained that they might take things from me.  He also advised me that I should move after he died.  He said he had given them everything he wanted to have. The rest of his belongings were mine.  He had alrady transferred his money into my account  for funeral expenses.   He told me to sell his car.  I eventually did.

Bob and Michael never liked me. I remember,  I was nervous the first time I was introduced to them.  GW had told them about me. I was the new love of his life.  They were happy to know he had found some one new.  They invited us to come to Dallas for the weekend.  It was not a very good visit.  The always looked down on me for being Mexican. They always thought GW could have done better.  It hurt and I after a few years of strained family gatherings. I stopped going.  GW didn’t like it, but he dealt with it.  He wanted me there.  But why would I want to be where I was not really welcome.   Once they had invited us to a high priced steak house.  They were both successful guys and enjoyed spending money.  GW and I lived on a budget because he was in grad school and only I was working.  It would have been more affordable to enjoy a meal with a reasonable cost.   But no, they insisted we all dine at a fancy restaurant. The conversation was good.   I mostly sat there, not really engaging.  We  splurged on our dinner.  Even thought it was not our way.  My night was ruined when Bob and Michael finished off two bottle of wine between them and his brother knocked his water goblet over and it poured into my lap.  I was wet, embarrassed and very pissed.  I came back the table after trying to dry my crotch in the hand dryer of the men’s room.  I politely excused my self from the group;   I whispered to GW that I would be in the car.  I was in tears as soon as the car door slammed.   Our group finished the meal without me.   GW was kind enough to apologize for the accident his brother caused and he had brought the remainder of my dinner home for me in a hinged Styrofoam container.  He told me his brother felt bad, but I could not be consoled.  I did not go to anymore dinner with his Brother Bob and Michael  again.  I even skipped the Christmas party I skipped.  I told GW to have a great time.  He went, but didn’t talk about it. He was the one they invited anyway; I was just the ‘plus one guest’.  At least that is how I always felt. 

The things I gave Bob and Michael where things I wanted them to have after he died.  They said thank you.  And we hugged be fore leaving.  As gay men, I thought may I might be able to lean on them.  But no, that did not happen. I did not see them again.    I sent them a letter a few months later.  I gave them an update about where I had moved, and how my job was going.  I was alive, but not back to living.  It would be a long time for that to happen.  My grief was almost unbearable, but I faced it alone.  It hurt that they did not ask how I was doing.  They did not call.  The letter I sent included a copy of GW’s death certificate, and information about the head stone that was to be placed.  I got no response.  The head stone was the last thing that I would do for him, so he would not be forgotten. 

Today I wrote a letter and included in a large envelope of more family photos that i came across when I moved again recently.  I only keep the photos from our life together. His personal family photos may be better appreciated by Bob and his sister.  I don't think they still realize what a special person GW was.  He was a great man, who loved me until the end. I was the person who cared for him at the end of illness by myslef.  I was more than a "plus one"  I was his partner.  I was sad to let him go when he passed.  But it was worth it to know he shared his life with me. Sadly,  I am certain that they won't respond or even say thank you.