For years now, something has been bothering me.  I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what it was.  All I knew was that it gnawed at me, taking away a bit of my spirit with each passing day.  It wasn’t until I sat down with friend for Easter Dinner this past April when I finally figure out what it was.

You see, I felt at more at home with the people that I had dinner with that evening than I did with my own blood relatives.  I felt the camaraderie as well as that sense of belonging. Acceptance enveloped me because I was among what felt like family, but in reality, it was just the similarity of our lifestyle that brought us together.  I listened (and participated) in the banter, and realized that the topics we laughed and joked about would never be discussed at my family’s dinner table, not because anything that we talked about that evening was inappropriate even by middle America’s standards.  The answer wasn’t as complex as that.  It was simply because we were (and always will be) different.

The debate over what constitutes a family rages on in America with people evenly split between what the true definition of a family is and should always be versus what a family is today.  The Traditional family has always been the father, mother, daughter and son.  It’s that very definition on what our country was founded on.  The moral majority will repeatedly wave this definition in the face of Americans to substantiate their position on why certain groups of people deserve to have the rights and privileges that come with belonging to one of the richest and culturally diverse nations of the world, as well as why other groups should not.  We’ve been brought up to believe that the only way to celebrate family life in America is to have all of the necessary components in place that defines what a family is.  And although I believe and accept this definition, I don’t accept that this is the only definition.  Times have changed.  People have changed.  And our society overall has changed.  Stay at home moms are a rarity and in its wake are single parent homes, where more often than note, the mother, (and in some instances), the grandmother play the roles of the provider, caregiver, protector and disciplinarian.  And with the absentee father being more commonplace than not, the definition rages on over who has the right to be called a family and who does not.

What bothers me more than anything is that the very people who seem to think that it is their right to project a definition of a family as whatever mirrors what they’re lifestyle projects are oftentimes the same people who preach love – as in love thy neighbor.  However, they carefully omit that little hidden clause that says, “love thy neighbor as long as they are like me”.

I’ve attended more churches than I care to acknowledge, watched a great many Christian programs and listedn to many preachers preach about love, tolerance and acceptance.  I’ve heard what it says in various doctrines, and have read the Bible cover to cover at least once in my lifetime.  And the one thing that I get is that God is love – Love in its purest form, and since we are created in God’s image, we all must have love within us.  With that said, I don’t think that it really matters if the person that you love is a man or a woman.  It only matters that you love, and if you are fortunate to have that love returned, I don’t see what the problem is.

I’ve been at family dinners where I’ve basked in the warmth of their love.  I’ve listened to my brothers and cousins debate about sports.  I was among family, and it was and always will be a wonderful thing.  But I know that I couldn’t bring up topics that related directly to my lifestyle.  My family, as tolerant as they are have progressed past the point where I can bring my lifemate home to meet them, break bread with them and enjoy idle banter as long as we didn’t go into detail about our life together.  It’s kind of an unspoken thing, and I get it.

Which brings me back to this Easter dinner that I attended this past April.  This was a dinner where I was one of two gay couples.  A heterosexual couple also attended as did one single man, and I had a great time.  I didn’t have to hold back on any gestures of affection for my partner.  And there were no topics off limit.  In some ways, I felt more at home with these people than I did with my own family.

And while I will always love my family, I can’t help but feel that the one component that they are missing out is the part of me that I’ve learned to carefully omit from conversation  with family in general.  And that’s a shame because the “gay” Jerome is pretty cool, just like other aspects of me.  Just like my black skin and brown eyes, my being gay was not a choice…it simply is a part of who and what I am.

I see why some gay men and lesbian women form they’re private families.  After all, everyone needs to feel accepted at some point in their life…and not tolerated.