How we see ourselves

I live on the third floor of my apartment building, overlooking a pond where kingfishers and herons and egrets hunt for fish during the warmer months. In winter, when the leaves have fallen, I can look west from my balcony toward the Front Range. I sit on this balcony now. It is October and the leaves here are just beginning to gild themselves; Midas has already visited the mountains.

I have a downstairs neighbor, Joe. He must be at least eighty. He wears a tan zip jacket and a newsboy cap, and he still has the good looks of Burt Lancaster, if no longer the stature. We hug whenever we see each other, usually in the garage, as he loads groceries into his walker and I rush to a hair appointment. I think about him a lot.

Today, though, he wasn’t alone. I’ve been hearing about George for years now, and I finally met him.

“This is my special person,” Joe said, gesturing toward the man beside him.

George and I shook hands. “I’ve heard so much about you,” he said, graciously.

“Ditto,” I said. I said “ditto.” Sure. They’ve only been together fifty-three years.

On the way to the salon, I was struck by how many examples of queer elders I have in my life. Most of the men in my Monday faith formation group are gay, and a few of them are over fifty, possibly over sixty. My reconciling church is full of gay and lesbian couples who could be my parents.

They could be my gay grandpas, I thought, and suddenly I was sobbing behind the wheel.

How many years ago was it that an entire generation of gay men vanished? How am I so blessed to know so many survivors?

When I got to the salon, my stylist was ecstatic. This magazine called and wants to profile us! Normally you have to pay them for that kind of exposure! They scoffed at how many people questioned their decision to bill their salon as explicitly and openly queer- and trans-supportive. Not just friendly, but a part of the community.

And I got it. I talked about my gay grandpas and what it feels like to have examples of who we can become. They said they started the salon in part because we need places where we can be safe, where we can be seen, where we can provide one another images of a full range of identities and self-expression.

How we see ourselves is so dependent on the mirrors available to us.