When we're very small, our parents do everything for us. If we're lucky, they cook our food, pick our clothes and make sure all our needs are met. As we grow older, we begin to do these things for ourselves. By the time we embark for college we can clothe and feed ourselves, perhaps even without the financial support of family. But even if we don't rely on our parents to fulfill our every need and want, there are times when it is nice to return home to their tireless care. Thanksgiving is certainly one of these times.
As soon as my plane set down on Wednesday in the heartland of America, it was as if the weight of my non-stop east coast life gently blew away like a pleasant breeze through a field of corn. I sat back and slipped into a comfortable pair of cotton pants that would allow for several days of my favorite restaurants, family feasting and absolutely minimal cardio. It was nice to be chauffeured around town for family get-togethers, movies, low-key dining and even lower-key shopping.
But since this year saw my ascent to legality and most siblings were at their in-laws' houses, my mother found it necessary to provide me with entertainment. Being a proud member of Parents, Families and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG), she employed their recent meetings as a not-so-subtle petition for anyone who might be interested in "showing me the town." What resulted were a couple eager e-mails from boys around my age offering to make sure I wasn't suicidally bored over the holiday.
My mother, who had dressed me in onesies and nursed me into toddlerhood but began to lose control of me when I styled my own hair (spiked straight up) for my kindergarten class picture, was suddenly at the helm of my love life. Although I knew the control would be short-lived, the shift in power made me a little uncomfortable. Would she expect full details when I returned? What if I really despised these guys? What if we hit it off? My mom may have to face them at future meetings. I am quite versed in handling the awkward post-date run-ins but never considered how a parent might react.
Nevertheless, I threw caution into the pleasant corn-drenched breeze and agreed to meet up with one of the guys on Friday night. A year older than me with a lucrative medical job lined up, he was surprisingly cute and charming; I began to wonder if perhaps what my mom lacked in clothing taste was made up for in eligible boys for her son. We shared one of the most enjoyable nights I've had at a bar in many weeks, followed by two of the most enjoyable showers I've had in months. No need to mention how many times we came in between. Though I'm sure it seemed a little sudden for a hometown hottie like him, I couldn't help but apply my fast-paced lifestyle.
I didn't feel the need to tell my mother everything that happened. She wouldn't have wanted to know, anyway. However, I was sure to let her know that I loved what she picked out, since it can be quite rare. We all get those sweaters or the terribly overstuffed slippers made to look like cartoon characters, and we pretend that we like them, or that they are just what we needed to stave off hypothermia in our baking dorm rooms. But before we return to school we cleverly tuck them away in a bottom drawer or the back of the closet, with the hope that our moms don't get the urge to clean out our rooms.
We come home to escape the pressures we take on at school; just a few days of dressing down, eating up and sleeping in. Some things never change. My sister and I enjoy grilled cheese and chicken noodle soup while my dad lies on the couch. But instead of school plays and book reports, we discuss cancer treatment options and my senior thesis.
Even when we love the new things our parents have to give us, there is not always room to bring them back. Sometimes just the emotional baggage is more than enough. But we don't have the option of leaving that behind, because that is what being a family and being an adult is all about. Our parents no longer bear the weight alone; we share the load together.
To my sister, who may not have strayed far from home, but is still braver than I can measure.
Blair Bryant Nichols' column, "Everybody does it..." appears in The Eagle each Thursday. Blair also gives weekly sex advice for The Eagle, which appears
in Q&A format each Monday.
E-mail your sex queries to blairbryant.nichols@gmail.com. Answers will appear in future issues, but we'll keep your name to ourselves. Come on! Everybody does it...
