WHERE CAN I GO TO GET MY GAYDAR FIXED?

This may seem an unusual question. Actually, it may be an unusual topic.

I am not tryin to be either politically correct or incorrect. It's just that I met a woman yesterday, with a group of other new people who are neighbors, and it may have passed through my mind, but so subliminally that I didn't pay attention. In case you're wondering, the answer is yes. That's not the relevant part. What's relevant is that it got me thinking about gaydar.

I don't know when that word came into usage, but I do love that so many languages evolve to fit the times we live in.

That's not the point. You who have been reading this, know I get to the point, when I get there. It can't be rushed.

Growing up I lived in Brooklyn. I can't remember how old my sister and I were, but my dad and the family would drive into Manhattan to go to Chinatown or eat in the Village or go to Central Park.

 


I recall driving through Greenwich Village one night and my dad pointing out the gay men walking in the streets.  Unless my memory is really distorted, I believe he talked about some of them wearing butt enhanced underwear to look more appealing. It was something to that effect. I don't know that he said appealing. I just recall the butt enhancement part.

I do not believe that most children had an education of this sort.  Most likely with good reason.  Even if we were, say 9 and 11 years old, why on earth was he telling us this?  My mom was in the car, I'm sure, being quiet no doubt.

If this happened on more than one occasion I can't say, but it would be likely. My did liked to eat in an Italian Restaurant called Minetta Tavern on the corner of Minetta Lane.  We loved going there.  *a digression. Once, when we ordered I asked for a coke, no rocks. The waiter and everyone thought it was hysterical. I was ten. It only took me twenty years after his death to realize he was an alcoholic, but that's a whole 'nuther story.

So, I was obviously aware of homosexuality at a young age. My home was very liberal so there were no condemnations or negative opinions. That's just the way it was.  Racism, hating people because they were different were not acceptable. I am happy that I was raised that way.

When I was younger, I thought I had pretty good gaydar. I suppose I've always been a people watcher so picking up on things, the nuances were what I did.

My parents had several couple friends for their entire married lives. One of the couples had a boy and a girl, both somewhat older than me and my sis.

I'll call the son Hap. He was very smart and nice looking. He went to Columbia and his parents of course, wanted him to be a doctor. He flunked out his first year which was the only way he could not do what they wanted.

Anyway, I was reasonably sure that Hap was gay.  No one ever said anything about him. How did I know?  Something about the way he smiled and laughed. His speech pattern. His presence. That little something.  However, it was not a topic for discussion.

Long after his parents died, his sister finally confided in me. He's since passed, although fortunately not from Aides although his long time partner succumbed to that. They had been living together but not together when his partner got ill.

I usually was able to pick up on  men who spoke English or Spanish.  Some of the Hispanic men I used to see were the most "flaming".

I've had many gay friends.  When I was in my early twenties I was in a therapy group (big shock) and one of the guys was gay.  We used to hang out and talk about the men we were attracted to and I got to say that it was sometimes weird being attracted to the same guy.

Through one of my Park Slope ( Brooklyn) friends, I met a Lesbian couple who lived next door to CeeBee GeeBees on the lower east side.
They were great. We all used to party together and one night I slept at their house because I was too um, drunk to drive home. I was the only straight person there and it was very heady. Like having a glimpse into a whole 'nother world.

I then met my future husband. The first one. I'll call him Flame. He was Israeli and we were just drawn to each other. He came from an orthodox home, although he wasn't religious. I was a little worried about how he would deal with my gay friends.  As it turned out it wasn't any problem. I was a little surprised, but happy because they were important to me.

We moved in together in a Brownstone in the Slope. There were two apartments on each floor. A woman lived in the apartment in the back on our floor. We got to know her after she moved in. I was in back of her and a friend of hers, as we all walked to the train for work.  Something clicked and I saw that whatever it was. She was gay.  It took her a while to tell me, but she did. Of course it was fine.  We had her and her new girlfriend over for dinner. She asked me to try out for a volley ball team she was on. I hadn't played for a few years, but I said I'd try. It was of course, a gay team.  They thought we were together. It was a compliment. She was a beautiful woman. But no. I was married to Flame.

Flame got a job way out on Long Island. The commute was awful, but trying to find a parking space when he got home took almost as long. And so we uprooted and moved to Bayside Queens. I was a fish out of water.

I'm going to jump now to three years after we were married. I stopped working and we were trying to have a baby. That wasn't working. And our relationship was becoming strained. And then, things got a little weird. I am trying to keep this short, so I'll leap into the fire. Flame tells me he's bisexual and want to see men. And has in fact, been kind of looking.

Holy Mother of Christ. How could this happen?  My excuse is very good. When we first met, we were doing a lot of drinking and smoking weed. And, my dad and mom had divorced because he was a whore. He left my mom and married a girl two years older than me.  So, I was not going to marry someone like my dad, and I never once saw Flame look at another woman. Ha. The joke was on me.

some other person is tired of putting up with their crap.

Bla Bla Bla.   We got divorced after five years of marriage. Man was I angry. At him. At me. How could I have missed that one?  Love must be deaf, dumb and blind. At least we're still friends. And I still love his family. That part is nice.

However, after that. I saw gay in every man I met. I couldn't trust my judgement. Not for a long time. And I think, unless a person is just so out there, I stopped caring or looking.

Last story. When my second husband and I moved to Florida I started to get tattoos. I went to a shop that had been recommended and there was a female artist who was free. She was so punked out, I really liked her. She did all my tattoos except the first.  It might have been after a year or two of knowing her when my husband said something about her being gay. I said, "huh?"  Why do you say that?"  He asked if I'd ever noticed the tattoo on her leg. I said I guessed not.   

"Well, he said, you should take  look.  There's a large penis with a big red X over it." "Hmm. I never thought about it".  He was right.  And of course it didn't matter.

Maybe that's what happens when you get used to something or someone that you once thought was different. You stop seeing the difference. 

Theory.  I just told you. Weren't you listening. Why doesn't anyone ever listen to me. Don't you know I'm always right?  (that's what happens to you when you grow up in an alcoholic home).