Just Say It.

I wonder about the things we don't say.

I wonder about the things we don't tell each other - right then and there. Right in the moment.

When you let that moment go by - that lost opportunity - is there any way to ever get them back?

In the case of my grandmother, there never will be.

Grandma, as she will forever be known in my heart, was beautiful. Inside and out. I got to know her when she was truly great. I was the youngest of 14 grandchildren in her life, and a few years after me, she had already become a great grandmother. She was retired, settled down, and was just perfect for the Grandma role. She played the part well.

Those 14 years I spent with her were the really great years, in my book. The dramas in her life had mostly subsided or maybe I was just ignorant to any current dramas. Regardless, the years I had were just a dream.

She could say anything to me really and I would go along with it. I would say no to my parents, but if Grandma asked, well . . . "OK, Grandma!" (That would drive my Dad nuts.) Grandma just asked nicely. It was her voice. How could you say no to someone like her?

She taught me to draw and I like to think that she gave me that very first spark of creativity. She used to draw figures of women and she would sketch clothes. Is it a surprise to anyone that I somehow manage to work in fashion in New York?

I am crying as I think of this. I like to think that she would be proud of me. Lord knows, I was not a great art student (though I sure did try for years) but deep in my very soul, I wonder if she had dreamt of being in the arts, especially fashion. So, I like to think that in some small way that she is looking down on me during this period in my life.

This is all in my head, by the way. I could be completely wrong. This is the perspective of childhood memories and - in the end - it's all I have of her.

Grandma made the best pancakes - ever. No recipe, no measurements. Just a little of this and a little of that. My mother has tried to replicate it but, you see - she married into the family. It's not in her DNA. Her mom used Bisquick. (The audience collectively groans.)

So, you can't blame Mom for not getting it just right. As the years have passed, it seems closer and closer to being like Grandma's but, it's doubtful it could ever be exactly the same. To Mom's credit, she definitely perfected the Chicken and Dumpling recipe, so we really have to pick our battles. The Chicken and Dumplings that my Mom makes are a must!

Grandma, if she knew you were coming over, would have pudding in the fridge. I can't help but think of her whenever I see butterscotch pudding. It's sad that its not the most popular flavor of pudding on menus. It's clearly the best.

She used to have glass containers on her counters. In one of them, were pink mints. I believe the brand was called Canada Mints. The flavor: Wintergreen. It was the treat for the road before Dad took us back home.

Clearly, my stomach and memories of Grandma go hand in hand. I am pretty sure it's true for everyone.

I can't make the Chicken and Dumplings. I can't make the pancakes. I can't draw very well. But I can remember her.

I can still remember her home, some of her furniture, as well as the entire layout of the first floor of her Kelly Green home. It was a simple home and because she was special, her home was special to me.

One of my last memories of her is one of the most profound. It happened to be the time in my life when I knew I was probably gay or seriously questioning it more and more.

You have to remember the time. It was around 1992. People just didn't talk about it like they do today. It just wasn't discussed. It was supposed to be hidden. A major gay character on TV was not the norm. I don't think there was even a gay guest star on a very special episode of Blossom. Usually, if they were on TV, it wasn't in a good way. They had AIDS and were dying.

Even the actors on TV weren't out. George Takei was light years away from telling us that not only was he gay - but also very, very funny. Thank GOD times have changed, right?

Anyways, I think Grandma got the sense that something was weighing me down. Always the cool customer with me, she was super casual about it. We were in her living room. She was in Grandpa's gold recliner and I was on the big printed couch. (Grandpa had passed away a few years before but, in my book, that was still his chair.)

She brought up an old story about my cousin Ricky, when he was just a teenager (By 1992. Rick - as he is now known to people - was already married, in the Navy, and living in Hawaii. Side note: It is coincidental that the actor from Silver Spoons, Rick Schroder, and my cousin Rick chose both to drop Ricky in favor of Rick. Side, side note: I still think of my cousin as Ricky and still say Ricky.)

Now, Ricky was the only other male cousin we had around back then. My Uncle Buster had 5 girls. And my Aunt Joyce and her 6 kids were not close to my family. So, on this one side of my family: I had 5 older girl cousins and my sister. Man, was I screwed!

Grandma might have sensed whatever was bothering was a male problem, like how Ricky had trouble with some neighbor kids. I don't remember the whole tale. The gist was: the other guys in the neighborhood were trouble. I think Ricky (yep, still calling him Ricky) eventually told Grandma the problem and he may have even solved it on his own. What was important, especially to Grandma, was that he came to her and they talked it out.

She was opening the door for me to do the same. God, I wanted to! I wanted to scream out right there. I held the cushions of the couch tightly, not sure what to do. I wanted to blurt out, "I think I like this guy. What should I do?" I wanted to ask her a bajillion questions. But, I thought she wouldn't understand. Maybe I would get in trouble. And so, I was polite and basically said something like a thank you. "OK, Grandma. I will."

I never did. She died before I could ever tell her. It was at least another two or three years before I felt I could tell anyone my secret. It was almost a decade before I could tell my parents "I Am So Gay." (wink!)

I know on some level she knew. At the very least, she knew something was bothering me and I needed to talk it out, so to speak. To this day, it makes me sad when someone says they don't feel they can be themselves due to a certain situation or person. As a kid, I was always worrying about being myself.

If I say this . . .

If I like that . . .

But, I grew up. I found the confidence to find myself and live my life.

It's the never knowing about the conversation with Grandma, though, that is hard to think about. I don't like the never knowing. I am like my mother in the sense that I ask too many questions. We both have to know everything. (Mom  - if you are reading - this is a bad quality of ours, so cut it out! And I will, too.)

I know that I should move on from this "never knowing" feeling, Today, I live a life, where I say what I am always thinking and what I am always feeling. I have always done that since I came out. It was my own secret little pledge that no one else knew - until now. I had spent my early youth not saying what I thought and I told myself to never do that again. Don't lose out on another opportunity, like the one with Grandma.

So, I can't help but wonder just this last time . . . what would she have said? What would I have said? How would that conversation have gone down? I like to think it would have been the most special and important talk that we ever could have. And - no matter what - that talk we did share was special. It set me on my path to being the open person I was meant to become. 

Most importantly, I also would like to think that she would have loved me no matter what.

In the end, I am sure of that. She will always in my heart love me - just for me.