Oy Vey My Daughter's Gay (14 page)

“Dreams are like paper, they tear so easily.”- Gilda
Radner

People say you never forget your first love. There’s no
chance of that happening to me. If it did, I’d only have to glance over to the
sofa where he normally resides, with his iPad mini in one hand and the
TV remote in the other.

Love had to happen sooner or later for Lila. Judging by her
outlandish stories, she had dated more than her fair share of the weirdos on
her lesbian dating website. Then one day, out of this sea of lost souls,
emerged Lila’s mermaid. Alice was a small, slight, almost ethereal-looking
girl, with wispy blonde hair and a shy smile. If Lila had to date girls, here
was one we could get on board with. We had never met or seen photos of Alice’s
predecessors, so we had no idea if she was the latest in a line of
manifestations of Lila’s love of the film ‘The Little Mermaid’ or if her
physical appearance was just a happy coincidence for us.

We didn’t find out about Alice for some time, as they dated
for a while before Lila revealed she existed. She probably couldn’t believe her
luck and was frightened to jinx the relationship by sharing it with us. When
she eventually told us about Alice, we were impressed. She was a law student,
so we knew she was intelligent as well as being pretty and feminine. Lila
maintains we had a great deal of trepidation about meeting Alice for the first
time and kept putting it off, but, when she eventually came to our house, we
all got on well. She was a quiet, well-mannered girl and a perfect guest.

“So, what kind of books do you enjoy reading, Alice?” I
asked her.

“Actually I don’t really read much for pleasure,” she
answered.

This really threw me. I knew deep down Lila could never be
serious about a girl who didn’t share her love of reading. Reading was more
than a hobby for Lila; it was her life’s blood. Nevertheless, Lila was happy
for the moment and we were happy for her.

When Valentine’s Day rolled around that year, Lila was
ecstatic. For the first time in her life, not only did she receive a
Valentine’s card, but she also had a real-life partner with whom to share the
day. I’m still haunted by her Valentine’s Days in Mallorca. In Lila and Lee’s
school, carnations were purchased by admirers and delivered in class to their
‘Valentines’. I don’t know who came up with this insensitive idea; I’m guessing
it was someone with a popular son or daughter. I dreaded it every year. One
year, I came up with the ingenious idea of giving Lee money to purchase a
carnation and send it anonymously to Lila − but, mysteriously, she never
received it.

Valentine’s Day had always remained a sore spot for Lila.
The previous February, she had celebrated her twenty-first birthday in a
partnerless state and had been extremely bitter about the fact that a
considerable number of her friends cried off attending her party because they
were away on Valentine’s Day ‘romantic mini-breaks’. So this year, with her
first ever girlfriend, Valentine’s Day was a real cause to celebrate. I was
delighted to see her so happy and was excited to be asked to help plan a
romantic Valentine’s meal for Alice. Cooking a meal was no mean feat for Lila
and teaching her no easy task for me. We’re talking about a girl who
recently asked me, “Mum, does ‘simmer’ mean big bubbles or small
bubbles?... There’s no need to roll your eyes.”

“Yeah, actually I think you’ll find there is!” I replied.

John and I spent a happy hour wandering around Lila’s local
supermarket with her, debating what she was capable of cooking for Alice’s
romantic meal and what would be a challenge too far. Then I spent an hour on
the phone talking her through the steps to make something edible. Alice was
duly impressed − or at least she, romantically, pretended to be.

I suppose, like any young couple, Lila and Alice faced many
issues together, but, annoyingly for me, Alice’s parents weren’t one of them.
Apparently they were fine with Alice being gay (damn these enlightened people)
and effortlessly included Lila into their family circle.

However, at her graduation party, Alice was faced with a
dilemma. Although her parents and close friends knew she was gay, she hadn’t
told her classmates.  She didn’t want to overshadow the celebrations by having
to summon up the courage to come out to her entire graduating class and spend
the night dealing with their reactions, especially as she wouldn’t even see
most of them again. It was a difficult decision for Alice and a trying time for
Lila. While she fully recognised the problem, she found it hurtful and
disappointing to be excluded from this important event – a celebration that
straight couples could attend without a second thought. After much agonising
over the dilemma, Alice went to her graduation ball alone.

Meanwhile, Cinderella Lila sat at home eating frozen
shepherd’s pie. (This was before she became a vegetarian.) After a sad and
lonely evening, she went to bed. Suddenly her phone rang. Oh joy! It was Alice.
She was at the ball and more than a little tipsy.

“Lila, I’ve had enough of living a lie − I want you
to come and join me.”

“Are you sure?” Lila asked, trying, unsuccessfully, to
quell her growing excitement.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Alice answered.

“Okay, give me half an hour,” Lila said. She quickly
swapped her flannel pyjamas for a ball gown (luckily she had one from her own
earlier graduation ball), ran a brush through her hair, jumped in a cab and, a
mere thirty minutes later, Cinderella arrived at the ball. Lila quickly caught
up on the champagne and then she and Alice took to the dance floor, putting on
a display that left no one in any doubt about Alice’s sexual preferences.

That night ended perfectly for Lila, but often nights out
could be stress-ridden. At nightclubs, by midnight, most singles paired off. If
Lila was on her own, she would have to expend a lot of energy (physical and
mental) fending off male advances. She would end the night standing alone on
the dance floor, feeling abandoned and sad and just a little embarrassed, while
surrounded by kissing couples. If she was with a partner and displaying any
hint of being a lesbian, be it as innocent as hand-holding (behaviour that
straight couples take for granted), it would inevitably attract all sorts of
tiresome and upsetting attention.  This might, equally, come  from males
‘wolf-whistling’ and offering to be part of a ‘threesome’ or homophobes making
rude and insulting comments. Lila quickly learned to think twice before
engaging in any activity that would mark her out as being gay.  Either that, or
ensure she would be ready to deal with the consequences.  As a result, she and
Alice rarely held hands in public, though, apparently, they spent hours
debating whether they should.

Lila and Alice continued to date for about a year. They
split up a month before Lila’s final medical exams. Worried that the trauma of
breaking up would affect Lila’s exams, Alice persuaded Lila to get back with
her. (I can’t imagine many males being that thoughtful.) They would discuss
whether their relationship had a future, post-exam. Sadly, as it turned out,
their romantic relationship had come to an end. However, ten years on,
Lila and Alice still remain friends and support each other − another
rarity for straight exes, I imagine.

“Some drink deeply
from the river of knowledge. Others only gargle.” - Woody Allen.

“My daughter is a doctor. My daughter is a doctor. My
daughter is a doctor.” I practised saying it over and over again, the way
love-struck teenage girls practise writing their latest ‘married name’ on their
school folders, preceding their Christian name with ‘Mrs’ and replacing their
surname with their crush’s.

Lila’s second graduation was much less angst-ridden than
the first. John and I sat in the university hall, trying to contain our
superiority as lesser degrees such as ‘Bachelor of Science’ were handed out. Of
course, they were keeping the best until last. Still basking in the glow of her
last achievement, that of being awarded a Carnegie Scholarship to study at
Harvard University, we clapped especially enthusiastically as Lila eventually
went up onto the stage to collect the degree that would officially recognise
her as a doctor. We winced a little as her name was read out, knowing that she
would later air her pet peeve of being the only graduate without a middle name.
When she was younger she was so annoyed by only having one first name that she
actually made up and demanded use of her own multiple middle names: Primrose
Miaow Ninny Lynn Leigh − Primrose as she was prim; Miaow as she liked
cats; Ninny as it was a nickname she gave me and Lynn and Leigh as they were
summer camp counsellors she fell in love with at the age of ten. Luckily, by
the time she graduated from medical school, she had mostly reconciled herself
to her lack of middle name − but not quite.

“Having one name just sounds so tacky compared with
everyone else’s. Even Lee has a middle name.”

“That’s because Dad wanted to call him John and I didn’t,
so we compromised and gave him that as middle name. When you were born we both
loved the name ‘Lila’, so there was no need for an extra name.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she said, totally unconvinced.

Lila sat down clutching her degree.

“Who are these people who haven’t been up on stage yet and
why are they wearing superior-style hoods trimmed with gold?” I hissed.

“How on earth should I know,” John whispered back.

It turned out they were PhD students who were already
medical doctors: in effect, ‘double doctors’. Under the resplendent fur hooded
gowns, they were an ordinary-looking, laid-back bunch of youngsters who
sauntered onto the stage with the nonchalance of teens who had just completed a
work experience apprenticeship. I expected to see them chewing gum. As their
parents clapped loudly, I surreptitiously checked them out, wishing that they
hadn’t taken the shine off my big moment, be it ever so slightly.

I had the chance to try out Lila’s new title a few weeks
later at the furniture store. She had taken the big step of buying her first
flat and was sparing no expense in furnishing it. “Why should you worry about
money? You’re a doctor, after all,” I said, in a voice loud enough for anyone
within a half-a-mile radius to hear.

“Mum, please,” she said, cringing with embarrassment.

However, when the salesman raised his eyebrow at the amount
Lila had just amassed on her credit card, he asked condescendingly, “Is that
‘Miss’ or ‘Mrs’?”

“Neither,” Lila replied. “It’s Doctor.”

Lila’s new home was an incongruous mix of old and new. 
Traditional red brick sandstone tenement flat on the outside and über-modern
white-on-white inside. Her favourite feature was the set of small
multi-coloured lights set into the base of the kitchen units. When turned on,
it gave the effect of being in the world’s smallest discotheque.

Lila had since broken up with Alice, but, inexplicably,
Alice had moved into a flat nearby, closely followed by most of Lila’s lesbian
friends. It made for an unhealthy and incestuous atmosphere. Alice began dating
one of Lila’s friends and, inevitably, past conversations were shared, leaving
Lila feeling excluded and maligned.  And then both Alice and her friend would
call Lila individually, each to complain about the other, leaving her caught in
the middle and stressed.

Her job wasn’t giving her much satisfaction, either. Guided
by her mentor, who specialised in kidneys, Lila chose pathology as her medical
speciality. It was perhaps obvious that this branch of medicine would attract
the more solitary individual. She often joked that there was more life in the
dead bodies than in some of her colleagues.

Even her dream flat was turning against her. One day we
were chatting as she was getting changed in her bedroom. Suddenly a drop of
water landed on her shoulder. “What was that?” I quizzed.

“Oh yeah, that’s been happening a lot over the last few
days.”

“And you were just going to leave it?” I said, looking up
at the ominously dark circle around her light fitting.

“Well I was going to mention it to Dad, but I forgot.”

It turned out to be a problem with the roof tiles (her flat
was on the top floor). That was only the beginning of an escalating catalogue
of horrors which, eventually, culminated in half the walls having to be removed
and treated for dry rot or wet rot (whichever kind is the worst).

Lila had been in the flat a mere three months when I came
in proudly clutching the perfect bowl to complement her coffee table. I
unwrapped it carefully, setting it down on the table. “There!” I said. “The
last piece of the puzzle.”

Lila seemed preoccupied. “Thanks Mum. It’s lovely, but how
would you feel about me moving to London?”

She handed me a cup of coffee. Lila didn’t drink tea or
coffee and, as she sat on the edge of her new, red leather sofa sipping from
her glass of milk and pushing her long brown hair back from her face, she
looked more like a little girl than a qualified doctor.

“There’s an advert in this month’s BMJ* for a six-year
run-through training programme to become a consultant psychiatrist. It’s in the
Maudsley, London’s top psychiatric hospital,” she said. “Anyway, I might not
even get it. There are only a handful of places and it’s very competitive, like
getting into a top school. And I’m not entirely sure about psychiatry; I don’t
even know if that’s what I want to specialise in. It just sort of leapt out at
me.”

We both already knew that she wanted it and that the place
would be hers

I thought of how unhappy she was with her current job; the
untenable situation with her lesbian friends and ex-girlfriend living on her
doorstep and her flat causing her angst. “You should apply for it,” I said with
certainty. “It sounds like you really want it and, anyway, we both know it’s
time for you to move on. Things are stagnating romantically and you’ll have a much
better chance of meeting someone in London. There’s bound to be more lesbians
there.” When I told John he tearfully agreed. Posting the application, I
realised how important it was for her to move on. On being told by the post
office clerk that she was unable to furnish her with an envelope for the job
application form, Lila went into meltdown. “Don’t you find that life is a whirl
of craziness and stress?” she asked me.

“Only when I’m with you,” I joked.

“Yeah,” she replied sadly. “But I’m with me all the time.”

The day we waved Lila off at the railway station was one of
the most emotional I can remember. As the train pulled out, John and I were
bereft. “This is ridiculous,” we told each other, both embarrassed to be
gulping back tears as we watched the train eventually disappear from sight.
“She’s only going to London. And we’ll see her in a few weeks.”  

But we both knew it was a significant moment. Lila had her
own life to live now and we wouldn’t be a daily part of it.

* BMJ: British Medical Journal