My dear father moved to California in the early 1950's from Newport News, Virginia to pursue acting at the famous Pasadena Playhouse, and to escape his oppressive Southern upbringing. Drama, and particularly musical theatre were his passion, and he wanted to make it his career.
My mother attended Stanford, under a bit of duress as I understand it...she started early, and didn't enjoy herself much while she was there. Both of my grandparents attended Stanford, and she was the oldest. It was as though she had no choice but to attend there, it was a legacy. But she has few fond memories of college, or at least has not shared many. Upon completion and earning her degree in English, she moved back to Pasadena with her parents,which was intended to be a temporary arrangement. She had BIG plans to move to New York to become a writer. But it was maybe 58 or 59? Single women didn't really do such things often back in those days.
My parents met at Vroman's, a historical bookstore in Pasadena, in which they both got jobs to pay the bills while they pursued their dreams. My mom chickened out with regard to New York and married my father, only 7 months after meeting, I believe. My mother was 22. She has told me in the past that one of the reasons she married my father was to get away from her OWN father, since she'd been living at home. My father was 30, and he loved her spirit and independent nature. They married on June 10, 1960. My sister arrived shortly afterwards, and a household had to be created and maintained, as well as provided for. Mom became a housewife, which I still cannot for the life of me even picture in my brain. For anyone who knows LA well or has ever pursued acting, it's well known you can barely make a living for one person by just getting small acting gigs. Providing for a family as an aspiring actor was just not going to happen, so my dad got a job teaching speech and debate, as well as drama, at San Marino High School. Three years after my sister, my brother came along. Five and a half years later, I came into the picture.
The reality? The possible ill-advised decisions? My mother gave up on her dreams and married a gay alcoholic. My gay father married a woman who really never wanted to be a housewife. Keep in mind the jury is still out as to when my mother realized my dad was gay. She says now she always knew, and she thought she could "fix" him, but I'm not so sure about that. So she faked being a happy housewife for a number of years, which I never witnessed directly. She was home when my sister came home from school, was a girl scout leader, and made dinner every night. Maybe at the time, she was enjoying it and not faking it, I have no way of knowing. At heart, she was a writer, a ferocious women's libber, and a free spirit. I don't think she wanted to raise a family in the same, mundane, traditional manner in which she was raised. At one point my father stopped drinking, and they decided to have another baby to celebrate (one of three stories I have heard about the reason I'm here, but okay...). I was conceived in 1969, the Summer of Love, in a Motel 6 in Goleta. However, my entrance into this world didn't end up fixing anything. As it turns out, married men from the South in the early 70's with wives and three children often don't want to face up to the fact that they are indeed homosexual. So guess what they do? They drink so they don't have to think about it. It didn't take long. So operation "sobriety celebration baby" was for naught. I write this with a smile on my face, because I was unequivocally adored by my father, so I in no way think I was a mistake. But the marriage ended about three years later. I have absolutely no recollection of them ever being together. When I hear stories about my parents from my siblings, who are older by quite a margin, it's as though they were raised by completely different people.
I know neither of them have/had any regrets that they had us....but I'm sure they've wondered...
What would have happened if Dad had remained single, and pursued acting with the likes of Dustin Hoffman, who was his roommate at the Pasadena Playhouse, and Gene Hackman who was also there at the time? Perhaps he would have come out of the closet officially much earlier than he did and could have had a happy life with a consistent partner and lived his dream of becoming a famous actor.
What would have happened if Mom had truly moved to New York alone? Would she be a published novelist? A columnist or maybe even an editor at a prominent magazine such as the New Yorker or probably more appropriately, Ms. Magazine? I personally believe she never would have married, and possibly never had children. She recently had a short fictional story published in a local magazine that describes JUST that kind of character. An unmarried, single woman, who is a writer in New York who bumps heads with her own mother. My brother and I both have asked her if she was writing about the life she wishes she'd chosen. She denies it. "No! I have always seen myself as a mother." I'm glad to know she's glad we're here, but I'm just not totally convinced.
So were these the first of many ill-advised decisions that affected my very existence as well as the rest of my life? Or was this all in the plan? We'll never know for sure.
Despite other jobs and countless responsibilities, neither parent gave up on their passions. Teaching became a passion of my dad's and he taught for 37 years, influencing generations of students who came out of the woodwork to attend his memorial service. He was the favorite teacher, and everyone knew who he was. During and after teaching, Dad continued to go on auditions and acted in plays, commercials, and small films way past his diagnosis of emphysema until he literally couldn't stand or say an entire sentence without becoming out of breath. The movie "Mr. Holland's Opus" reminds me a lot of my father.
My mother, after divorcing my father became very involved in politics and women's rights, and was often so busy I rarely saw her. When I began high school, my mom had a calling. While still working full time, she began seminary and became an ordained Episcopal priest just as I was graduating high school. Retired and in her early 70's, she's writing quite a bit now, and I believe is working on a book.
Here was MY plan for my life...I love children and psychology. I wanted a happy marriage, and an intact family. I wanted a pretty damn conventional family, as a matter or fact because I was not brought up in one. I AM a school psychologist and work with children every day, have been happily married for 14 years and have two amazing children. However, I have also ALWAYS wanted to write. I have stacks and stacks of journals and stories and essays I have never shown to a single soul. At 40, what am I waiting for? Not pursuing this now would not be the first, but would most surely be another ill-advised decision.
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