Wedding cakes, invitations, and aimless Saturday nights

Recently I was looking at wedding cakes online. Until you start to do even the most basic research, it’s hard to realise just how many ugly wedding cake styles there are. In fact, it seems like the vast majority of them are hideous. I was reading about the latest trend in cakes – having them shaped and decorated (usually in pastel-coloured icing) to resemble a pile of gift-wrapped boxes. And that was one of the better ugly designs.

Heather and I want to have a cake for the party we'll have here in Brisbane when we return. It'll be a fairly modest cake, I think; nice, but simple. We don't have a huge amount of money, and by the time we buy tickets to America and other wedding-related expenses, there won't be much left. Probably a negative amount, in fact. But hopefully we'll only ever do this once, so we want to do it well.

Invitations are another big cost. I've been looking at those online as well (it's something to do when I'm avoiding marking my students' work -- I'm tutoring in two courses at the moment). I can't believe how much invitations cost! The vaguely appealing ones cost close to eight dollars each (printed and complete) and that doesn't include reply cards. It isn't much cheaper to buy the cards and print them yourself. So I guess we'll be constructing and printing our own cards to keep costs down, unless we can think of an alternative. I want them to look really good, though; the invitations and the cake (and also the rings) are pretty much the only markers of a traditional wedding that we'll be incorpororating. So those things need to be just right.

Perhaps this is revealing to much, but I'll quickly add this postscript: It's a Saturday night and Heather and I can't seem to think of anything interesting to do. The only DVD in the house is a Nick Broomfield documentary, and his voiceovers (well, everything about him, really) drive me insane. So I'm updating this blog while Heather makes weird origami things on the back deck. Sometimes it feels like we're already married.

Coming out, part 2

When I started going out with Heather in 2004, I knew fairly quickly that it was a serious relationship. When my Dad bought me a second-hand car and in July, Heather and I went to Rockhampton, where my parents live, to drive the car back. During the brief visit, we slept in the same bed and no-one seemed to bat an eyelid.

In August, Heather and I moved in together, along with a couple of our friends. It was clear that this relationship was committed, and I knew I’d have to say something to my Dad eventually. Heather was my partner, and I wanted everyone to know how important she was to me. On a more practical level, I knew it would be impossible to conceal the nature of our relationship forever; Dad was talking vaguely about coming to Brisbane for a visit and staying at our place. It was time to tell him, I just had to choose my moment.

I’ve never been all that great at choosing appropriate moments. Around this time, my brother made wedding plans and I instructed him to send an invitation to me and my ‘friend’ Heather. My family knew that I was bringing my friend, but I wanted them to know Heather was more than a friend. I wanted them to recognise that she was special to me. In the end, I blurted out the truth to Dad over the phone in the same impromptu way as I had with my mother years before. I talked for much longer with Dad, though – because I was nervous about how he might react, because I wanted to be gentle on him and to really explain myself, and because he’s not much of a talker himself. I told him that I loved him, that I understood if he felt funny about what I told him, and suggested that perhaps he could talk to someone about how he felt about this news. I told him I hoped he still loved me, that I was very happy with Heather.

I talked for a long time and Dad listened, but said nothing. When I finally finished, he said, ‘I’ll have to talk to your mother about it.’

He spoke quietly and calmly, as though I was a kid who’d asked for permission to go to a friend’s house. Worried that he might somehow think I was asking his permission to be a dyke, I reiterated that this was the way things were going to be, it wasn’t going to change, but I just wanted him to know.

He just said the same thing again, ‘I’ll have to talk to your mother about it.’

He said goodbye and then he handed the phone over to Mum.

Mum was not thrilled that I’d told Dad, but there was no way I could keep the secret from him any longer. She asked me if Heather would be coming to the wedding, since we hadn’t RSVPd yet.

‘I’m not sure,’ I told her. ‘Heather’s got a lot of work to do. And now that I’ve told Dad about us, things might be weird. I wouldn’t want him to be rude to Heather, or anything.’

‘Shelly, he wouldn’t do that! He’s not like that. He’s not a rude person [This, by the way, depends on your definition of rude. Generally, though, he’s definitely not a mean person]. We like Heather, we wouldn’t be rude to her.’

I could hear Dad muttering something in the background, and asked Mum what he was saying.

‘I don’t know, he’s mumbling. He’s got a mouthful of icecream.’

‘Well, ask him what he said’, I said, feeling nervous and short on patience.

I heard Dad mutter again.

‘Oh’, Mum said. ‘He said Heather can come. See? I told you he wouldn’t mind.’

I couldn’t believe it. Dad seemed to be taking this really well.

I rang the next day and asked Mum how my father was coping with the news.

‘He wanted to talk to me about it,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t want to talk about it.’ In all my worry about Dad’s reaction, I’d forgotten how conservative Mum could be. She’s one of those people who considers herself fairly open-minded, but is actually very conservative at heart. It was not surprising, when I thought about it, that she was so unwilling to discuss my sexuality with Dad..

‘He needs to talk about it, Mum.’

‘Well, I didn’t want to talk about it. He was saying silly things.’

I braced myself for the worst. ‘So, what did he say?’ I asked her.

‘He said, Well, it could be worse. I could have a poofter for a son’, Mum reported.

I paused for a second, and then cracked up with laughter. As politically incorrect as it was, Dad had offered me some kind of acceptance. In his mind, there were worse things that could’ve happened. I knew then that everything was going to be okay.

Mum said, ‘We don’t understand how you got to be like that. I mean, your father and I are not like that.’

I laughed even harder then, and even got Mum to laugh.

Heather was kind of mortified at my parents' response, because it seems so homophobic. Her parents are much more liberal than mine, so she has been fairly lucky in that regard. But knowing my dad, and knowing how blokey he is, and that he’s from a different era as well as being very working class, I knew that this was a good outcome. One thing I’ve been learning through the whole process of coming out is that I need to treat my family with the same acceptance that I seek from them. From my side and from theirs, there are limits to the amount of acceptance that we can offer. They may never be able to fully accept the nature of my relationship. It will probably never be easy for them. But they are making some effort to understand, and I am grateful for this. From my side, there are certain things I will not tolerate. I won’t tolerate rudeness to Heather. I won’t tolerate lies or secrecy within the family about my relationship. I can accept that my parents are uncomfortable with my sexuality, but I won’t hide it from them to ease that discomfort. I am a part of that family. In order to love me fully, they need to know about my life. I can only offer them the truth, with some degree of sensitivity; I can’t control their response.