Oh Come All Ye Christmas Beetles

In the lead up to Christmas last year, MBH (my better half) and I invited friends visiting from overseas, Bob & Peter, to join us for a home-cooked meal. I was determined to pull off a Bree Van de Kamp culinary experience and make the catch-up an evening to remember. Memorable it was…

There’s a split level in our home between the kitchen and the dining room that we had forgotten to warn our guests about. Disaster struck when Bob missed the step on his way to the loo and stacked it against the toilet door in a tumble worthy of a Cirque du Soleil show. Rushing to his rescue, MBH checked for broken bones while I sourced a bag of frozen peas for Bob’s sprained thumb. Luckily, the rest of him was intact.

Moments later, a bottle of bubbly was opened and champagne flutes filled and distributed. Things were looking up. After toasting each other’s good health and Bob’s crooked thumb, I took a sip from my glass and winced. The bubbly had gone flat and tasted like cat’s piss.

“Right, that’s two strikes,” I said to myself, as Bob scanned the room looking for a place to ditch his mouthful. “Time to step it up!”

MBH replaced the drinks while I pulled the baked lasagne out of the oven and placed it on the dining table. Once everyone was seated, I handed the serving spoons to Peter. “Please dig in,” I said. Lifting the lid off the Le Creuset dish, I did a double-take. The pasta had turned into béchamel soup and had sunk quicker than the Titanic to the bottom of the dish. Note to self: Next time leave the lid off while baking!

“It smells lovely,”said Peter reassuringly. “Yes, it looks…interesting,” added Bob, helping himself to the cheesy liquid. “Bad luck always comes in 3s,” I joked, guffawing like Woody Allen caught in an awkward moment.

Several minutes into dinner, I felt something brushing against my leg. Assuming it was the table cloth, I thought nothing of it until I glanced down. Making its way towards the opening in my shorts was a giant cockroach. Trying not to choke on a mouthful of food, I brushed the insect to the floor. Rather than scuttle away discreetly, the mutant roach flew across the table and landed on the wall in full glorious view of our guests.

“Isn’t that a cockroach?“ asked Bob, squinting his eyes to get a better look. “No, it’s a Christmas beetle,” I offered. “Yes,” confirmed MBH, winking at me while refilling everyone’s wine glasses. “Australian variety…Love ‘em!”

Bree Van de Kamp couldn’t have made a better save.

Overcoming Childhood’s Obstacles

“Antisocial?” I stuttered, picking up the graded exam from the teacher’s desk. I can still remember the stern look on the man’s face as his words, delivered like a judge’s sentence, cut right through me.

“Brighty, you’re an introvert,” he continued, “That makes you antisocial and therefore you’ll never succeed at anything in life.” Even as a 12-year-old I knew he’d overstepped a line. I felt betrayed as I walked back to my seat amongst sniggers and whispered comments in the classroom.

I couldn’t believe anyone wearing socks and sandals and a scraggly beard would dare point a finger at me. Seriously! This man was meant to be a role model; someone kids could look up to.

That day I made a vow to myself. If I ever held down a teaching position, I’d do my best to inspire others. I’ve since had the opportunity to put theory to practice by tutoring school kids and teaching adults how to better their lives through health and fitness. It’s a rewarding journey.

I’d always been a shy kid, but never thought of myself as a pariah. Being different to most boys my age and not sharing their passion for sports and an interest in the opposite sex didn’t seem such a big deal at the time. I didn’t quite get the point of chasing pigskin around a football field. I could however name every character on Happy Days and The Love Boat. Now that’s something to be proud of!

My parents once told me, “Challenge yourself and break your own records. Don’t worry so much what people think about you. Most often they’re just as worried what you think about them!” And it’s true. No one should have to bear the responsibility of living up to any expectations other than their own.

When I understood it was ok not to constantly conform, I began taking risks and realised that I could get back up again if I took a tumble. Being able to break out of my comfort zone and push boundaries was a new and satisfying experience. Funnily enough, every job I’ve had since leaving school has required public speaking.

Decades later, I happened to be walking past my old school. Spray-painted on a sidewall was an angry message to the very same teacher who’d mangled me in sixth grade. How many children had he damaged, I wondered. I smiled as I read the one-liner and then thought back to the 12-year-old boy I once was. If I had any words of encouragement to share with him, they would be:

“You have more inner strength than you know. Be true to yourself, embrace your sexuality and never lose your love of life. It does get better, kiddo!”

I Am What I Am

MBH (my better half) and I were recently discussing our respective childhoods when Sally Field’s name came up in the conversation. Sally had just made a speech about her gay son while accepting the Human Rights Campaign’s Ally for Equality Award. Her words had stuck in my mind.

“Nature made Sam, it wasn’t a choice,” said Field. “Sam was different, and his journey to allow himself to be what nature intended him to be was not an easy one.”

Field’s statement reminded me of my own journey. At school, I was quite shy and not particularly good at team sports – ok, I was terrible and once even scored a goal for my opponents’ team! Like many kids, I struggled with self-esteem issues. Being overweight, gay, dyslexic and saddled with a stutter didn’t help. You could say I was a hexagonal peg trying to fit into a square hole.

Hoping my confidence would grow, my parents enrolled me in the cub scouts. I took the pledge, learned new skills and fell in love with an older boy scout. When, as a 7-year-old, I announced to my mother that I was going to marry him, she sat me down and lovingly explained the boy-girl dynamics. But, never did she make me feel bad about myself. Nor did she play down my boy crush.

My parents were very accepting. They even indulged me one Christmas when I asked Santa for a doll that could pee when fed with a bottle. On receiving the toy, I was the happiest toddler on the block and made sure the doll never went thirsty. So much so that it was suddenly able to go potty through its head when held upside down.

Back in the 1970s, we didn’t have gay support groups to turn to. Nowadays, there are places such as Twenty10 that offer same-sex attracted and gender diverse young people a safe environment to hang out and be themselves. Anyone under the age of 26 can benefit from free and confidential services including counselling, assistance with housing, conflict resolution and legal problems.

There are so many gay children who don’t get the opportunities I had to explore and understand their sexuality. Some face prejudice from parents fixated on the notion that being gay is a choice. Others get tossed to the street because their families abandon them. Whether society accepts it or not, there will always be little boys and girls who realise somewhere along the way they’re different from their other brothers and sisters. As Sally Field puts it so eloquently in her speech: “…and so the f**k what!”