Mum gets the lingo

On Monday morning, I found the number for PFLAG (the support organisation for parents and friends of LGBTIs) in my hometown and called Mum to pass it on. She told me she’d been up until midnight the night before, but didn’t say why. I instantly had a feeling that she’d called Lifeline or some other telephone counselling service. When I told her I had the PFLAG number, she said she already had it, and that she’d called them the night before and left a message. This was pretty exciting news. She’d actually called the Brisbane branch, rather than her local branch, so I gave her the regional branch’s contact number. Mum wrote it down and said she would definitely speak to them.
That night I called again to see if she’d made the call. It turned out that a woman from the Brisbane branch of PFLAG had returned Mum’s call.
‘Was she nice?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Her son is gay. She said she just treats her son’s partner like another son.’
Yes, my mum said partner. She’s getting the lingo. It’s such a small change, but to me it felt like she’d jumped on a Mardi Gras float. The woman at PFLAG also told Mum that if her son’s partner wasn’t invited to extended family gatherings, none of the immediate family went either. Overall, it sounded like a really positive exchange for Mum. I was really pleased. I thought I’d remind her to call the regional branch as well, since they hold meetings in Mum’s town.
Mum wasn’t so sure at first.
‘But I’ve spoken to someone now,’ she said.
‘That doesn’t matter. You can speak to someone else. And these ones are local.’
‘Yes, I might call them,’ she said.
‘You may as well,’ I said.
‘Yes. Get a second opinion,’ she said.
She makes me laugh so much sometimes, my mother. ‘Yeah, a second opinion,’ I said. Just in case the Brisbane branch got it all wrong with their message of tolerance, love, and acceptance.