Love, Ellen: A Mother/Daughter Journey (31 page)

On our last day in London, I walked from our hotel all around Buckingham Palace, snapping pictures all the way. Then, with time running out, I went with our driver and Ali, one of our bodyguards, to Westminster Abbey. Much to my dismay, Ali and I approached the entrance as they were turning people away for the day. Ali, an imposing-looking ex-prizefighter, said he’d talk to them.

As I waited anxiously, I saw Ali talking quietly to an official who was dressed in a red robe. The man’s face lit up, and he motioned for me to come through.

“Ali,” I whispered as we walked in together, “what did you tell him?”

He smiled and answered, “That you’ve been trying to get here every day and that this is your last day here. … Oh, and that you’re Ellen’s mom.”

What fun! I couldn’t wait to get back and tell El that I got into Westminster Abbey because I’m her mom.

S
O NOW IT’S
my birthday and my three kids are celebrating with me at the Ivy, making me feel good about what my being their mom has done for them.

Speaking of which, Ellen says, it’s a good thing I talked her into doing
Larry King Live.’
when she was in New York to receive the prestigious Peabody Award. With the
Ellen
series finale airing in two nights, doing Larry’s show made a lot of sense to me, but when I talked to El she was overwhelmed and was thinking about not doing it. As she said, it was a good thing that I had persuaded her to do it, because she was just great, answering questions and speaking honestly with her typical wit, intelligence, and congeniality. It was a positive, upbeat interview—just the right note for what she said would be the last one for a while.

“And what about your trip?” Vance asks me.

I’m glad he asked that. I had just come back from the last official spokesperson trip that I’ll have time to tell about in this book. And how perfect—of all places, it was a trip to my hometown, New Orleans. Talk about coming full circle.

To make it even more perfect, Helen drove in from Pass Christian to share a week of it with me. This was the icing on the cake.

I invited her to stay with me after I arrived at the Claiborne Mansion and saw my elegant, expansive accommodations. The brochure says, “The opulent home overlooking Washington Square Park has been restored to its 1850s Greek revival style with spacious rooms, 14-foot ceilings, and exquisite finishing details.” There were gorgeous chandeliers and fireplaces with marble mantels throughout, and my suite even had a baby grand piano. The courtyard was large and lush with huge oak trees; a pool, where Helen swam every morning; and a pool house with ceiling fans and tables and chairs for lounging. I was truly living in “opulent decadence,” and I like it there! This was certainly coming home in style.

The week was a happy mix of exciting scheduled activities and lazy downtime for doing old familiar things such as riding the ferry across the Mississippi River to Algiers and back. One day there was time for a streetcar ride up oak-tree-lined St. Charles Avenue, one of my favorite drives. Passing stately homes now interspersed with townhouses and condos, I spotted all the familiar sights—Audubon Park, Tulane and Loyola universities. Our final destination was the Camellia Grill, a favorite of New Orleanians for many, many years. The waiters have a reputation for staying there forever. This was where El and I used to stop in often for a sliver of cheesecake so rich that a sliver was plenty. I looked for the waiter who would always greet her the same way, “Hi, star,” to tell him how prophetic he had been, but he wasn’t there.

My HRC and P-FLAG events were like family affairs. I had a bit of a surprise at the first event, which took place on Mother’s Day. It was a P-FLAG gathering in City Park which I had assumed would be an informal event. Wrong. When I arrived, I saw before me a highly organized scene complete with a large roped-off area for a catered reception and, off to another side, several hundred chairs facing a stage.

This was actually the New Orleans P-FLAG chapter’s annual champagne reception to award scholarships to deserving young gay men and women. And when I looked at a program, to my further surprise, I saw that I was listed as the keynote speaker.

Generally, at informal events, I need to say only a few words, and I’m comfortable with spontaneous remarks. For longer speeches, I keep my notes in front of me, so that I can glance at them and not have to rely on my memory. “Keynote speaker” definitely sounded like more than spontaneous remarks.

Nonetheless, when it was time for my keynote address, I just got up and talked to everyone, speaking from my heart and keying in on the thoughts I most wanted to share with them.

It must have been OK. In thanking me, several people made the comment, “I felt like you were talking just to me—like we were having a conversation.”

I wanted to say: Well, as a matter of fact, we were! Instead, I just thanked them for the compliment.

One of the mothers who is also a member of HRC was bemoaning that my year as spokesperson was soon going to be over.

“Haven’t you heard?” I said. “I’ve been asked to stay on.”

“And?” She asked tentatively.

“And I said yes,” I told her. “I’ll keep talking as long as my message is needed.”

This setting at City Park Carousel was quite familiar, with its beautiful old merry-go-round housed in its own building that had all open doors and windows. There’s also a wading pool and swings, and giant live oaks draped with moss. Recalling the many happy hours I spent there when Vance and Ellen were little made this a very nostalgic evening. And how appropriate that it was Mother’s Day!

Though Helen has always been entirely supportive of Ellen, that has pretty much been the extent of her exposure to homosexuality. So this experience was really educational for her. Everybody loved Helen, and Helen loved everybody. At one of the events, there was a woman whom both Helen and I knew, though neither of us had any idea that she had a gay child. She told us that she hadn’t attended P-FLAG events before but she and her husband had come because they heard I’d be there. They have six children, and one daughter is gay. The mother and father are most certainly supportive and accepting, and all the siblings are too—except one brother.

I later commented to Helen, “How strange. I wonder why one young man would be homophobic when the rest of the family isn’t?” Helen found it sad as well.

At another event, we met a young woman from Pass Christian whose mother lives not far from Helen.

The young woman told us that her mother is not accepting of her being gay. Helen instantly asked, “Would you like me to call and invite her over and talk to her?”

I love it. Next year Ellen’s aunt will be the HRC spokesperson!

One of the most memorable nights was dinner at Commander’s Palace, truly one of the world’s great restaurants. We were a group of seven, and three of us were proud, supportive mothers of gay daughters. And we had every right to be. Their two daughters are highly successful in the business world, and my two are highly successful in the entertainment world. The dinner was sublime—the food and service were perfect. We ordered seven different desserts and shared. All the desserts were splendid but crème brulée and praline cream-cheese cheesecake topped my list. I knew there was a reason I had dieted for a few weeks before my trip to New Orleans.

Before leaving town, I visited Jackie in her French Quarter home. I had known her in grammar school, high school, and college. Her daughter, Jill, and Ellen were friends when they were in junior high. Jill also came over with her two little girls.

Jill told me a funny anecdote about when she and Ellen were in the eighth grade. “Ellen used to call me and ask me to bring her over two aspirin because her daddy wouldn’t let you all have any in the house.”

“What did she need aspirin for?” I asked Jill.

“Because she drank too much strawberry wine the night before,” Jill said, laughing. More things mothers don’t know!

Jackie told me, “I used to tell Jill to invite Ellen over to spend the night because Ellen was so funny.”

Jill added, “And watching her on TV is like being with her back then—she’s so natural and real. She hasn’t changed at all.”

W
ELL, ONE THING
is certain: Ellen hasn’t changed a bit when it comes to how loving and giving she is.

What a lucky mom I am! As I blow out the candle on my Ivy birthday cake, looking at yet one more table laden with fabulous desserts, it’s hard to know what else to wish for. But these three have more in store for me.

There is a beautiful pottery vase from Vance with a handmade card featuring his cartoonish male wishing me a happy birthday. Anne, a talented artist, has given me a painting of one of the fantastic, dreamy people that she draws. The dreamy figure in my painting just happens to have short gray hair and wears little round glasses. The painting is full of symbolism, and I love it.

And a gift from my best friend, best teacher and daughter, another Ellen DeGeneres poetic masterpiece entitled, “Sixty-Eight,” portions of which follow:

Oh my Mama Oh my

What she’s accomplished

What she’s done with her life

To come so far

To do so much

To start so shy

And be so tough

A teacher a leader an activist …

Poised is how she always stays

She fights the fight day after day

She could stay home

But no—no way

She’s our Joan of Arc

She’s making her mark

On society—on the world

She’s the greatest—She’s my Mama

I’m so proud to be her girl.

Here I am on the happiest birthday of my life. My kids are with me, and our lives are rich and full. For a second, I think back to those two women on the beach in Pass Christian, that mother and that daughter, as though they were two people I once knew a long, long time ago. El and I have both shed our skins a few times.

I think of what we have been through as a family—everything, the good and the bad. From the toughest and most challenging days to these glorious times, I would change very little. After struggling and learning, we’re all finding our place in life—purpose, wholeness, authenticity, fulfillment, love.

I couldn’t be more grateful.

W
ELL, AS FOR
what’s next—as they say in show business, stay tuned!

Ellen and I have been through many chapters in our lives, many openings and closings. Without fail, the closing of a chapter has led to the opening of a bigger and better one. I’m grateful for our journey together so far, and I look forward to whatever lies ahead.

That great philosopher, Charles Schultz, has said, “Just remember, once you are over the hill you begin to pick up speed.”

This is certainly true in my case. If sixty-five is considered over the hill, I am zipping along at quite a clip—on a faster track than ever—and loving every minute of it.

Not long ago, I was inspired by a short piece by Robert J. Hastings called “The Station.” He uses a train as a metaphor for our journey through life. He says that like many passengers on trains, instead of enjoying the sights and the scenery along the way, we think only of getting to the station—the station being “when I get a promotion,” “when I pay off the mortgage,” “when I meet Prince Charming,” and so on. Hastings speaks of the importance of realizing that there is no station, that “the true joy of life is the trip.” What an important message.

I think this applies very well to my own message about love and acceptance. If we all focused on being grateful for every day and looking for the good in everything and everyone around us, much of our hate and bigotry and fear would fall away.

I don’t mean to paint too rosy a picture. I understand that as long as there are human beings on this earth, there will be differences—as I said at the beginning of this book; however, there are some things that would make our differences so easy to live with.

In my fondest dreams:

People of different races treat each other with respect.

Members of different religions respect each other’s differences and, since we’re all God’s children, treat each other with kindness and love.

All of us who read and study the Holy Bible understand that some people take every word of the Bible literally and some don’t. We respect each other’s interpretations and emphases.

Those with strong philosophical opinions live peaceably with opposing philosophies.

No one feels a need to proselytize.

And, last but certainly not least, in my fondest dreams:

Our gay family members will be embraced and celebrated by all their loved ones.

They will be appreciated and secure in the workplace.

They will not face physical or mental abuse; rather, they will be treated fairly and equally throughout our nation. This, of course, includes the right to marry.

So this is where I sign off for now. I hate writing this part. It means that this particular journey is over. For me, it’s been enlightening and edifying. I’ve loved the whole process. I’ll miss writing. I’ll miss my sessions with Mim, who has been jogging my memory and keeping me organized and on track.

I hope you enjoyed coming on this journey with me. Thank you for making the trip. I hope you saw some sights that made you think or laugh or cry. I hope it has somehow enriched your life and your own journey.

Rather than say good-bye, I’d like to send you off with my own incurably optimistic version of Paul Monette’s admonition:

Go with love, joy, peace, and happiness in your heart. Heal the world.

Resources

P-FLAG

1101 14th St. N.W., Suite 1030

Washington, DC, 20005

202-638-4200

Human Rights Campaign (HRC)

919 18th St. N.W., Suite 800

Washington, DC, 20006

202-628-4160

National Coming Out Project 1-800-866-6263

http://www.hrc.org

You can call the 800 number above to receive HRC’s excellent booklet
“Resource Guide to Coming Out.” In it you will also find names and addresses of other
support organizations, along with a list of resources that includes helpful books and other reading
material.

Two I recommend are
Shared Heart: Portraits and Stories
Celebrating Lesbian, Gay, and Bisexual Young People
, with photographs by Adam Mastoon
(William Morrow, 1997) and
Straight Parents/Gay Children
by Robert A.
Bernstein (Thunder’s Mouth Press, Avalon Publishing Group, 1995).