The value of family
The straight people who helped raise us, loved us
unconditionally—where would we be without them?
hen I was 12, my mother got remarried
and went on her honeymoon. My sis
ter, home from college, was responsible
for my well-being during Mom’s
absence. She and her fiance, Bob, thought a
nice baby-sitting diversion would be taking me
to one of Washington, D.C.’s seediest neighbor
hoods at midnight to see The Rocky Horror
Picture Show.
One member of the audience
seemed to be nearly my age, but his
green mohawk hinted that we had lit
tle in common. Though the whole
experience was a little scary, Dr. Frank
N. Furter going down on Brad was my
first cinematic view of gay sex, and 1
have my sister to thank for it.
Now she has cancer.
As a gay man, I’ve seen illness.
Usually it has worn AIDS’ face. Also
as a gay man, I’ve pulled away from
my family. I’m unfamiliar with the
sports terms the rest of them use.
Now, because of my sister’s illness,
I’m being pulled back. Pulled back to
my family. Pulled back to an alien ill
ness.
About five years ago, after my sis
ter had her first child, Eugene, a mole
on her back had to be removed. It
became a malignant melanoma, or
skin cancer. Her doctor, after having
removed the offensive flesh and leav
ing a foot-long scar down her back,
consoled her with the prognosis of an
approximate 1 percent chance of
recurrence.
* /* J
Over the past five years, she’s had
three more children: Quinn Jane,
BY
William and Thomas Jefferson. For
reasons I cannot fathom, she even
WILL
asked me to be Thomas’ godfather.
O'BRYAN
Then, last month, she found two new
lesions.
The term “lesions,” I’m familiar with. It’s
related to Kaposi’s sarcoma. As something that
strikes the mainstream populace, though, it was
new to me.
Upon hearing the news, I got panicky and
cried a lot. Had it been a positive HIV-antibody
test, I would’ve known what to say to her. I
could’ve told her about new developments and
her good chances at survival. But metastasized
melanoma, at first glance, offers no good
chances.
What I immediately dreaded was losing a
woman who played such a large role in my rear
ing. My sister was the third person 1 came out
to. She replied with a card that read, “the
watchword is AIDS.” That I was gay was unim
portant to her. That I was coming out in the
late ’80s, which was a very deadly time, did con
cern her.
My mother had no questions about my sexu
ality. My father was worried that I wouldn’t
have children. Only my sister gave me the prag
matic advice that helped me to stay HIV nega
tive.
The gruesome irony, though, is that I’m still
healthy and she has become ill. While 1 used to
smoke packs of cigarettes, engage in risky sexual
behavior and drown my liver, she was compet
ing in 5k runs. If one of us was statistically des
tined to harbor a life-threatening illness, it was
me. Hands down.
But, as a wise woman once told me, life is a
crap shoot. I didn’t need more evidence, but
now I’ve got it nonetheless.
My sister’s chemo begins soon, and she’s in
one of the best cancer centers in the country.
Mostly she worries about what might happen to
her children should this drama play itself out in
a worst-case scenario.
Having alienated myself somewhat from my
biological family—perhaps because I’m gay, 1’11
never really know—I worry about my burnt
bridges.
Should things play themselves out in the
worst possible way, I’ve still got time to reac
quaint myself with my sister. During the past few
years, we’d communicate about once a year.
Since her diagnosis, we’ve improved upon that
history.
What is most important to me in re-estab
lishing a bond with my sister is letting her know
how greatly she has influenced me. Whether it
be the Rocky Horror field trip; introducing me to
the music of Blondie, XTC and the Waitresses
in the very early ’80s; sowing feminist ideals into
my young head; or explaining to me why voting
for Ronald Reagan was not in my best interest,
despite the fact that I was far too young to vote;
it’s all been paramount in my development and
my gay sensibilities.
Maybe for a lot of us, growing up, there was
a straight person whose values seemed not so
peculiar. A friendly voice that told us not all
straight people despised us. For me, that person
was and is my sister, Megan. And with just a lit
tle bit of luck, it will be many decades before I’ll
have to speak about her exclusively in the past
tense.
HEAR 'DA FUNK ON rca V< tor
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