Date #41: Me and Mrs. Brown

You remember Dwight, right?

The Republican who asked me for a second date after our combative first date and then had the good sense never to call back.

Well, he called back.

DWIGHT: I need a favor.

Apparently Dwight was having a family get-together and he needed to bring a date. Having been so busy getting his party's ass handed to him in the bygone election, he hadn't really had much time to get out there and meet other like-minded Republicans. (Not to mention the fact that gay Republicans in Rhode Island are few and far between.)

The get-together was his mother's birthday, and she had threatened to invite a date for him if he didn't show up with one.

ME: Your mother's okay with you being gay?
DWIGHT: My mother and I have...very different opinions about things.
ME: She thinks you should blindfold the prisoners before you shoot them whereas you like to see the whites in their eyes?
DWIGHT: Something like that.
ME: Terrific. I'll go.
DWIGHT: Really?
ME: Why not? I'm assuming there'll be food, and you owe me a seocnd date.

(Now that we're getting near Date #50 I keep worrying I'm going to run out of guys, so I'm trying to get in any date possible.)

Dwight's family lives on the East Side of Providence in one of those "this place is so old there's a good chance there's a strictly servants section of the house."

We showed up looking quite regal. Dwight encouraged the "professional professional" look, so I busted out the jacket, tie, and serious demeanor.

When the door to the place opened, a very pretty woman dressed in flowing floral sarong opened the door.

This turned out to be Dwight's Mom--Barbara.

BARBARA: There's my boy!

She hugged Dwight--clearly more physical contact than he enjoyed--and then turned her attention to me.

BARBARA: Oh, and this must be your life partner.

Oh Christ...

It was then I noticed the expression on Dwight's face. It was a grimace mixed with a stifled laugh.

DWIGHT: Give it a rest, Mom. Where's everybody else?
BARBARA: Inside. I'll get your coats--and your ties.
DWIGHT: Mom--
BARBARA: Dwight, it's my birthday. I'd prefer it if nobody was dressed like they were going to audit me.
DWIGHT: Fine.

We removed our coats and ties--something that made me very happy. Barbara was already scoring points in my book.

As we moved through the house, I could see what Dwight meant when he said he and his mother had "different opinions about things."

The house was not the house of a Republican mother.

There were books everywhere. Working in a library, you get pretty good at scanning the titles of books and then determining what kind of person is in your presence.

Mrs. Brown had books on Che Guevera, Nelson Mandela, Arlo Guthrie, Jimmy Carter, Gloria Steinem, and the clincher--Fear of Flying by Erica Jong.

Oh yeah, this woman and I were going to get along just fine.

We went into a very nicely decorated dining room where a table of assorted men and women--all over the age of 40--were seated, chatting away and not even noticing us enter.

Mrs. Brown spread her arms and said in a loud voice--

MRS. BROWN: Everyone, the boy has arrived.

I heard Dwight let out an embarrassed sigh. I could tell he was less than thrilled by his mother introducing him like this.

MRS. BROWN: Now, let's now scare him away too quickly like we did the last one. My Dwight isn't getting any younger.

Uh...what?

ME: Does she mean me?
DWIGHT: Oh, didn't I tell you? You're the guest of honor.

Oh Christ...

ME: But it's her birthday.
DWIGHT: It doesn't matter. This is going to wind up being about me, you, and how we feel being gay in today's society.

The only thing I think about being gay in today's society is that there definitely aren't enough original musicals...does that even count?

Mrs. Brown assumed her spot at the head of the table and motioned for Dwight and I to take our seats. Dwight looked as if he were preparing for battle with a sword made of passive agressiveness, whereas I just looked at the door a few times and considered bolting.

One of his mother's friends broke the seal--

MRS. BROWN'S FRIEND #1: So Dwight, still supporting the murder of innocent men and women your own age?
DWIGHT: Yes, Uncle Mike, I still support the war.

Okay, change Mrs. Brown's friend to "Uncle Mike."

MRS. BROWN: Apparently my son is going to support this war until the participation rate is so low they come calling for me.

This got a few good laughs around the table.

I had to admit, I felt sorry for Dwight. I mean, I'm not for the war, but I'm also not too big on publically humiliating someone who's just trying to celebrate their Mom's birthday.

This was my attempt to change the subject:

ME: So Mrs. Brown, Dwight tells me--

Now, usually when you start off a sentence like that, you have something to follow it up with--but Dwight hadn't told me anything about his mother that could even be posed as an appropriate question, so all I was left with was--

ME: --that it's interesting being your son.

This is why I make an awful host at parties. Luckily for me, Mrs. Brown didn't seem phased in the slightest.

MRS. BROWN: Interesting? Is that how my son is describing it nowadays?
DWIGHT: Yeah Mom, I bumped it up from 'borderline disturbing.'

Mrs. Brown's Friend #2 slammed his fist down on the table.

MRS. BROWN FRIEND #2: Why is it every time I come over here you're disrespecting your mother?
DWIGHT: I don't know Uncle Rich, because she makes my life a living Hell?

Strangely enough, the retort shut Uncle Rich up and he went back to his drinking.

MRS. BROWN: So Kevin, how long have you been seeing my son?

From now on, honesty would be the best policy.

ME: This is only our second date so far.
MRS. BROWN: Oohh, one more and he gets in your pants, huh?

Laughs all around, except for me. I settled for mortification.

DWIGHT: Mom, I'm warning you--
MRS. BROWN: Oh come on, he looks like a fun kid. Back when I was your age, we used to screw first and eat dinner later--and that was on the first date.

More laughs--realizing the door was no longer a viable option, I began looking for air vents to crawl into as a means of escape.

MRS. BROWN: I hope my son told you that his mother is from the 'kinder' generation.
MRS. BROWN'S FRIEND #3: You're at a table with a bunch of ex-hippies, kiddo.

That would explain the smell of burning candles everywhere.

MRS. BROWN: Carla, don't call him 'kiddo.' It's so demeaning.
ME: I don't mind being called 'kiddo.'

I was doing anything to placate the crazy, ex-hippie mob.

After a few minutes, Dwight got up and disappeared. I excused myself and followed him up into his room. From behind me I heard Mrs. Brown say--

MRS. BROWN: I wonder what those two are up to.

More maniacal ex-tree hugger's laughter.

I found Dwight in what I assumed to be his bedroom--or what used to be his bedroom. It was devoid of any kind of life, but there were some posters of Regan up--I kid you not, I didn't even know they made posters of Regan.

Dwight followed my gaze.

DWIGHT: Do you like my posters?
ME: Yeah, I want to get one. Do they make ones that say 'Homophobia is good America'?
DWIGHT: What do you think I have on the inside of my closet door?

I sat down on his old bed with him.

DWIGHT: So on a scale of 1-1o, how much do you hate her?
ME: She's not that bad, actually.
DWIGHT: Compared to who? Mrs. Bates?
ME: I've seen worse.

See the "Meet the Family" entry.

DWIGHT: A lot of people think the way I am is a rebellion against her.
ME: Is it?
DWIGHT: Of course it is. I don't want someone like that being proud of me. It'd be like being one of Castro's top aides.
ME: I thought Castro was Secretary of State under Regan?
DWIGHT: Ha ha.
ME: Seriously Dwight, she's not that bad. She's kind of funny actually. Besides, it could be worse. At least she's accepting of who you are.
DWIGHT: Too accepting.
ME: Would you rather having the pendulum swing the other way? Look, she's your mother. You're stuck with her. And the way I see it, as long as she doesn't beat you, disown you, or date the same people you do, you didn't get such a bad deal.

Dwight looked at me and smiled.

ME: What?
DWIGHT: You're not as big of an asshole as I thought you might be.
ME: Gee, thanks.

Then he leaned over and kissed me on the lips.

DWIGHT: And that's all you're getting as long as the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Bunch is downstairs.

With that, he bounded out of his bedroom and went back downstairs.

FRIEND: Eww, you kissed a Republican.
ME: It tasted like dead babies.
FRIEND: Really?
ME: No, it was fine.
FRIEND: Honey, coke fiends, strippers, sodomites--all acceptable, but a Republican?
ME: A kind of...sweet Republican.
FRIEND: That's like a...like a...
ME: An oxymoron?
FRIEND: Yeah, pick one and go with it.

We finished out the dinner without a lot of extra theatricals. I think everyone realize that Dwight was probably upset about how the evening began. I could tell a kind of peace was made when they brought out the cake for Mrs. Brown and Dwight stood behind her and kissed her on the cheek after she blew out the candles.

I went home that night and called my Mom to say hi.

MY MOM: You know I saw this show about teenage gay bashing on Oprah--

--And hung up after about a minute.

Hey, nobody said you have to follow your own advice.