Wednesday night some hours after bar closing time I found myself in Jeff’s living room pondering the nature of existence and the mystery of physical chemistry (as one does). Chatting with Ruth as our host cooked a very late supper in her honor, I mentioned something in passing about one of my kids.
Ruth’s eyes opened wide. You have children? she asked. From your own womb?
When she learned their ages the astonishment was palpable.
This reaction has been a recurring theme in my life. Some people are shocked, sometimes speechless, by the fact that I have kids. In direct contrast, people who know me through my work around the politics of parenting are often surprised (or embittered) by the fact that I travel and have adventures.
For the most part I find it easier to put both subjects off limits rather than deal with the expectations of other people.
My relationship with Byron started as a clandestine are-they-just-friends-or-what thing (my reasons for secrecy at the time revolved around the lawsuits and a legitimate need to be perceived as respectable). He responded to my recent journal about looking wholesome with this:
No, you are not wholesome. You know better.
Fair enough – though what I know about myself is rarely evident to others. Most people want to believe what they see, and there isn’t much you can accurately guess based on my appearance.
I have no fixed identity and sincerely believe that life is a costume party. Change the outfit and you can change the story itself – fundamentally.