Countdown to

Hot Target

12/09/04

19 days (and counting to Hot Target, in stores on December 28th)

Note from Suz: It's two days to my son Jason's 19th birthday!

As always, when my children's birthdays approach, I find myself remembering the day they were born -- the whole labor and delivery thing that we women go through, seemingly so casually. (A Navy SEAL once told me that the only people who really, truly understand what BUD/S is like are women who have given birth! LOL!)

Jason was my second baby -- so it wasn't as if I'd never done this before. (But how quickly we forget!!!) Still, there had been complications with my daughter -- this time we were hoping to go natural.

December 11th dawned, and it seemed clear that Jason wanted out. Ed drove me to the hospital, but when we arrived, the nurse checked me over and seemed convinced there were hours to go before Jason would be born.

And so I breathed. And we waited. Should we go home? My water hadn't broken yet... Maybe this was a false alarm...

It was fascinating, the nurse came back in to report, how everyone always seemed to go into labor at the same time. There were three other women in that wing of the hospital, all laboring alongside of us.

Yeah, I remember thinking. Fascinating. Right.

They're all much farther along than you, she reported. So even though we only have two delivery rooms in this hospital, you don't have to worry.

(That's what we writers call foreshadowing. Watch for it, you'll see more about that in just a sec...)

I was not, however, worrying. I was trying to breathe through a sensation not unlike something I might feel if my entire skull were trying to squeeze its way out of my ear. For hours and hours and hours in a row. With nothing to numb the pain.

The doctor finally came in. I didn't know him well -- I had moved from Phoenix, Arizona to East Meadow, New York during my pregnancy. He wore a thick gold chain around his neck, beneath his hospital scrubs -- I'm not sure why I remember that. But during his exam, I had another strong contraction and my water broke. He sighed the long-suffering sigh of a man who'd rather be in Florida, playing golf, and left the room, muttering about how he'd be back after dinner. (It was lunchtime.)

The nurse, although overly-chatty-seeming to me in my focused-warrior-queen mental state, made up for him in her kindness. She left the room to get clean sheets for the bed, and when she came back, she said something like, "Oh my goodness."

She sent Ed out of the room to scrub up and put on the hospital cap and gown he'd need to come into the delivery room, (I think the word she used was RUN!) because I was, now that my water had broken, apparently nano-seconds from giving birth.

Another nurse turned to me and said, "Honey, try not to push. The delivery rooms are all taken."

And I said, "What, are you KIDDING???" And then I said, "I WANT ED TO COME BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!!!!"

The friendliest nurse in the hospital, alas, left my side. She went to help Ed get dressed, and, I suspect, to crack the whip in the delivery rooms. Meanwhile, the other nurse pushed my hospital bed out into the hall, reassuring me that I was next in line.

Knowing that wasn't, however, good enough. This baby didn't know nothin' about no line, let alone the concept of waiting.

I don't quite remember every detail, but I know that there was a lot of shouting and screaming that happened over the next few minutes -- most of the noise coming from moi. I do remember yelling for Dr. Gold Chain to #&@! come and #&@! give me a #&@! episiotomy RIGHT #&@! NOW!!!!! <GGG>

The doctor appeared just as they wheeled me into the delivery room -- and scolded me for being rude. Rude??? What, had he never encountered a woman going through transition before??? Ed appeared, too, and I grabbed his hand, intending to tell him to go and kick that stupid-ass doctor's stupid #&@! ass, but instead I said, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

And Jason said "Wa-wa-waaaah!" And he was placed in my arms -- this little teeny tiny red-faced squawking miracle that I fell in love with instantly.

It was one of the shortest delivery room occupations in the hospital's history. They whisked him out of my arms, and push me back into the hallway.

Apparently, pregnant woman number four needed the room.

I remember lying in that hospital bed in the hallway, staring at the ceiling, still not real happy with Dr. Mean, plotting my escape (would they let me and Jason leave in a hour or so...?), when I overheard the nurses talking about the ENORMOUS baby that was in the nursery. And I lifted my head and said, "Did someone have a really big baby?"

And they looked at me and laughed and said, "Honey, YOU did. That baby you just delivered is nearly ten pounds!"

Whoa.

"He got a ten on the APGAR scale, too. He's gorgeous -- he's like the poster model for perfect babies."

And I said, "Wow. Could I, um, maybe get a chance to, you know, see him, too?"

And the nurses realized that I'd had maybe 90 seconds with him so far, and they went on a rampage. They brought him to me, and I finally got to count his fingers and toes, and kiss his teeny little nose. He was perfect, with his chubby cheeks and shiny round head. Even the sound of his mewing little cry was musical.

Although, he still looked really, REALLY tiny to me!

So that's the story of when I met Jason, almost nineteen years ago.

Nice story, Suz, you say, but what does it have to do with Hot Target?

Well, Jason is one of the reasons why I wrote this book. You see, my beautiful, wonderful, brilliant, perfect baby son Jason is gay. He is gay, will be gay, was gay -- even back then, on December 11, 1985. He was born that way.

Although I created the character of gay FBI agent Jules Cassidy (who, as I've said has a major romantic subplot in this book) years before Jason came out, Jason is one of the reasons why Jules came to be. I wanted my gay friends (and I'll include Jason in that subset!) to be represented in the fictional world I'd created with this ongoing series of books. I'm a fan of diversity -- I've made no secret about that.

After Jason discovered that one of my most popular recurring characters was this gay FBI agent, he encouraged me to give Jules his own romantic subplot. He lent me lots of his books on American Gay sub-culture, as well as passed his issues of both The Advocate and Out -- leading gay rights magazines -- in my direction, after he'd read them.

Because of this, I've dedicated Hot Target to Jason.

I'm going to let you read the dedication that I wrote right here and now on this countdown, but first I want to explain that over the past year or so, Jason and I have had a number of conversations about what it means to be publicly out. See, there's the "out" that happens when someone tells their family and friends that they are gay. But there's also "Out," the way Ellen Degeneres is Out -- in a very public way.

When I first brought this up to Jason, I told him that there was a chance that I might be interviewed (appropriately enough!) by Out magazine. We were planning to send them an advance copy of Hot Target, and I suspected they would do a brief story. (They did! It's scheduled to run in the December issue, with a longer piece posted on-line!) What I wanted to know from Jason was whether or not I should mention in any publicity material that I am the mother of a gay son.

Jason blinked at me. "Why wouldn't you mention that?" he asked. "I'm your son and I'm gay. What's the big deal?"

I told him I wanted him to think about the differences between out and Out. And he said, "Being Out is a good thing. If my being Out helps raise awareness, if it makes being gay more acceptable, more mainstream, why wouldn't I want to be Out?"

Verklempt with pride, I still told him to sleep on it -- for like three months.

Three months later, we had the exact same conversation. And again, three months after that. His response remained the same.

At which point I showed him the dedication I wrote for Hot Target :

Dedication for Hot Target

To my fabulous son, Jason:

Even as a tiny child, your smile could outshine the sun, and your cheerful disposition and kind nature made you countless friends. Everyone who met you loved you!

At three, walking became too mundane for you. Instead, wherever you went, you danced. And occasionally you swished! One of the first times you did that, your dad looked at me. "Where did he learn that?" I shrugged. We didn't let you watch TV. "Got me. It's just... Jason being Jason," I said and went off to play with you and your vast collection of cars and action figures.

At eight, you discovered musical theater. You wanted to sing and dance on stage, so you auditioned for a semi-pro production. You were just a little too young, but you charmed the director and became the tiniest pick-pocket in an eight-week run of Oliver!

Your dad loved Stevie Wonder and I, a former rock and roller, was in my country music phase. "What's with all the show tunes?" your grandmother asked me when you played the soundtrack to Secret Garden over and over again. I smiled. "It's just Jason being Jason."

At nine, you had a class project -- write a letter to someone you admire. "Why Bette Midler?" I asked when you told me your choice. "She's my favorite actor in the world," you proclaimed after watching Ruthless People thirty times in a row. She wrote back, and you framed her signed picture, putting it in a place of honor on your dresser.

"Wow, that's interesting," I said to your dad, after we once again agreed that Jason was truly unique. "I wonder if he likes Cher, too?"

(You did! Along with Bernadette Peters and Debbie Reynolds and...)

At ten, you went to see a show that featured an actor friend you'd made while appearing as Winthrop Paroo in The Music Man. On the ride home, you asked me, "Did you know Charley Dude is gay?" "Yeah," I said. "Wasn't his performance excellent tonight?" You agreed, but were unusually quiet for the rest of the drive.

A few days later, we had friends over to watch a movie, and as Eric and Bill sat together on the couch, they started their usual banter. "Raising the homo-shield!" Bill announced, invoking the invisible force field that would supposedly allow him to sit so close to Eric without anyone making gay comments.

It was all supposed to be funny, but how, I wondered, would those jokes sound to someone who was gay?

That night, after everyone went home and you were in bed, your dad and I discussed it, and we agreed. We gathered all of our friends together and announced that from this moment on, there would be no more gay jokes in our house. No more inadvertent gay bashing.

Because if you were gay -- and I was pretty sure even then that this was, indeed, the way God made you -- you were not going to grow up thinking there was anything wrong with you.

Years later, when you were fifteen, you still wanted me to tuck you in at night. So I'd stand by your bunk bed and we'd talk a bit about the day. I'd also gather up your dirty clothes. You were supposed to put them in a laundry basket, but sometimes your aim was off.

One night, you took a deep breath and said to me, "Mom, I think I'm gay."

"I know that," I told you, giving you a hug and a kiss. "I love you. I'll always love you. Where did you put your dirty socks?"

A day or two later we sat down and talked about safe sex and personal safety. I have to confess that it made my heart ache to have to tell you that there were people out there, people who didn't even know you but who hated you anyway -- people who might try to hurt you because you were gay. Because you were simply being you. And it was your turn to give me a hug and say, "I know that. But, Mom, the world is changing."

Today, as I write this, you are eighteen. You are a grown man, and I am so proud of you.

Yes, the world is changing, but it's not happening quickly enough for me. I was outraged when we went to the Gay Pride parade last June and you saw that hateful, ignorant sign that read, "God hates you."

I wish the person carrying that sign had seen you at three, at eight, at nine, at ten. If he had, then he would know that you are a true child of God. If he had, then he would know that by being gay, you are just being Jason.

God loves you, I love you, Dad loves you. Unconditionally. You know that.

And I know that you love and accept yourself. You are confident and strong. Just like when you were three years old, you allow Jason to be Jason.

Shine on, my son!

This story is for you.

*************************************************************************

Photos: Jason and his dad, very proud of the tulips they planted me for Mother's Day. (I love tulips!), Jason trying to be urchin-ish in his audition photo for Oliver! (age 8), Jason with the giant pumpkin he won at a local farmer's market -- for correctly guessing its weight! Jason and his dad in costume for Once Upon a Mattress at Turtle Lane Playhouse (age 17), and Jason's current acting headshot.

Gay 101: Tolerance is a Fabulous Value!

In a 14-city study of gay, lesbian and bisexual youth, 80% reported verbal abuse, 44% reported threats of attack, 33% reported having objects thrown at them and 30% reported being chased or followed. Source: A. R. D'Augelli and S. L. Hershberger, Lesbian, gay and bisexual youth in community settings: Personal challenges and mental health problems, American Journal of Community Psychology 21:421, 1993.

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Will my child be ostracized, have trouble finding or keeping a job, or even be physically attacked?

All of these things are possible. It depends on where your son or daughter lives, what kind of job he or she takes — but attitudes toward homosexuality have begun to change, and are now changing relatively quickly. There are many places where your child can live and work relatively free of discrimination.

Unfortunately, societal change is often slow — just look at how long it took for women to achieve voting rights in this country.

Progress is often also accompanied by backlash. Until more individuals and more organizations become advocates for gay rights, until homophobia is eradicated in our society, your child does face some significant challenges.

From a PFLAG publication containing questions and answers for parents of gay children. Source link: http://www.pflag.org/publications/OurDaughtersandSons.PDF

That's all for now! Be sure to come back for tomorrow's installment in the Countdown to HOT TARGET!

See you tomorrow!

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