An "oh my god" moment

We worked on the invitations today. The guillotine makes the process incredibly quick, but speed comes at a price: we had to stand at a strange angle to do the actual slicing, and poor Heather, who did most of it, feels practically crippled with back and neck pain. Still, it's mostly done now. We still need to glue the different layers of the invitation into the card itself, which is a fiddly and irritating task, but we should be finished by tomorrow afternoon.

Looking at the invitations today as we finished a few of them, I had an "oh my god" moment. That is, an "oh my god, I'm really getting married" moment. This is not new information, but apparently it's still nerve-wracking and awesome news to some part of my brain. Marriage, that part of me is thinking. And, shortly thereafter, marriage = forever. I suppose something would be wrong with me if the prospect wasn't a little terrifying. I wonder if this is something you get over once you get married, or if married people sometimes think the same thing.

By the way, I must say that the invitations look damn fine.

Another outing

When Heather called my work to leave the message that my Dad had arrived, she spoke to my supervisor.

"Who's calling?" the supervisor asked.

"It's Heather, her partner," she replied.

Suddenly I was out at work, and I didn't even know it yet. I don't have a problem with that, but I did feel a moment of panic when Heather told me. It's sometimes hard to tell whether caution or frankness is the best policy. This new workplace has a very young staff, for the most part, and quite a diverse one. It seems like an accepting place.

I came out (on my own, this time) to a few people yesterday, at break time. At least one of the guys I spoke to was gay himself, and it was really nice to chat to him. But it's funny how coming out is seen as a kind of one-off event. That's how I saw it several years ago when I told my close friends, my eldest brother, and, later, my mother. I didn't fully realise that it was a process that will have to continue throughout my life as I meet new people. I suppose that the very first time you tell people is so terrifying that you almost have to see it as a one-time event, otherwise you might never do it.

It's much easier now, though, than it was at first. Especially over the past few months, I feel more at ease than ever before. I feel stronger, and more certain that coming out is necessary. Every time I avoid honesty about my life, I deny Heather, and my true self, and our relationship. In some ways, too, avoidance denies the validity of all non-heterosexual relationships. Obviously, it's important to be cautious when instinct tells you so, and some people will never respond well to gay people. But sometimes the best way to avoid invisibility is simply to refuse to accept it in the only realm we can really control, the mundane, everyday reality. Being out to our families and friends, having the guts to say, "she's my partner" at the bank and the doctor and the phamacy, openly discussing wedding stationery at the card shop. All of these things are important--not so much to remind straight people that we exist, but to remind ourselves.

Fathers Day

Last week, my father said he might come and visit. He lives many hundreds of kilometres away and visits maybe once a year, usually because he wants to inspect a car or truck that someone's listed in the Trading Post. He only ever stays for one night.

I was excited when he said he might visit because it looked like he'd arrive today, on Fathers Day, which would be fortuitous. I was a little bit nervous, though, since it's only been a few weeks since the unexpected eruption when I yelled at Mum and Dad about wanting some acceptance of my relationship with Heather. Still, I thought it'd be all fine once we were all together in person, and I was looking forward to seeing him.

"Sunday will be great," I said. "I'm working all the time lately, but I've got Sunday off. And don't forget, Heather and I aren't at home, because we're house-sitting in New Farm. But Dad can come and stay with us there." We didn't make any solid plans, but it seemed likely that Dad would come.

On Friday night, I sat down at my desk at work and was just about to start for the night when a supervisor waved her arms about at me. I went over to her, and she handed me a Post-It note. "You just got a message. Um, your Dad just arrived at your house."

At this, my mouth dropped open and I made a strange yelping noise.

"Why is that so shocking?" asked the supervisor.

"Because he lives eight hours' drive away," I said, thinking: and because I'm stuck here for four hours while Dad and my girlfriend have to interact without me.

I called our house (not the place we're house-sitting) because I had a feeling Dad had gone to the wrong place. Sure enough, Emma answered, and told me that Dad had shown up unexpectedly on the doorstep. She'd called Heather, and sent Dad over to the New Farm house. There was nothing I could do, so I just tried not to think about the potentially awkward scene unfolding in New Farm.

After work, I headed home and found that Dad was asleep. He and Heather had sat around drinking coffee for a couple of hours and chatting, and now he was resting after his long drive. I woke him up (as he'd requested) and we talked for a while. I didn't bother asking him why he hadn't let me know he was coming, or why he went to the wrong house.

"Did you like your surprise?" Mum asked me on the phone the next day, meaning Dad's arrival.

"You need to tell me these things in advance, Ma," I told her. But I knew she wouldn't understand.

In the end, it was all fine, anyway. I had just been overly nervous and protective. Heather and Dad got along well, and it was really nice to see him so close to Fathers Day. With my parents living so far away and seeing us so infrequently, I think it's sometimes especially hard for them to get used to the idea of Heather and me being a couple. But this morning on the phone, Dad said,"What are you doing today? Are you and Heather just hanging around the house?"

And I really liked that. It means that now, when he imagines what I might do on a lazy Sunday, he's not just imagining what I might do. He's thinking about me and Heather.