Totally Joe (13 page)

Uh. No.

I don't know why, but I looked up Zachary, too. It's from the Hebrew, like my name, and it's a variation of
Zecharya
, which means “memory.” I like that. It's kind of mysterious. Although anybody who says, “Oh, my goodness” all the time is about as mysterious as a glass of milk.

LIFE LESSON
: You can't judge a person by their name.

MY GRANDPARENTS ARE NOT ENTIRELY CONVINCED I'M GAY
.

Grandma Lily said to me, “You're twelve years old,
bubeleh
. What do
you
know?”

“I'll be thirteen next month,” I reminded her.

“Still.” She looked at me meaningfully, as if “still” actually means something.

I don't know what the other half of Grandma is, but she sure loves the Jewish half. The next thing she said was, “Oy, what do you need this
tsuris
for?”

Tsuris
means “trouble.”

“It's no trouble being gay,” I told her.

She laughed at that. Joe Bunch, stand-up comic. Next thing, I'll have my own special on HBO.

“No trouble?” she said. “Tell that to Lester Rifkin.”

“Is he here?” I asked. “I'll tell him.”

She laughed again. Even harder. I made a mental note to write this stuff down, in case I do have my own special someday.

Grandma is always saying you should tell what you just said to somebody you never heard of. Like, “So you think going outside without a jacket is funny? Tell that to Herman Lowy, may he rest in peace.” (For two years I never went outside without a jacket because I thought Herman Lowy died from the cold. Then I found out he died in his sleep at the age of ninety-seven and never wore a jacket a day in his life.)

Anyway, Grandma and Grandpa were visiting from New Jersey this past weekend. Whenever they stay with us, Grandma spends a lot of the time asking my mother how she could have moved to a godforsaken place like Paintbrush Falls. My mother says, “Godforsaken? You live in Short Hills.”

Grandma: So?

Mom: I rest my case.

They talk like this. Half the time, no one else has a clue.

When Grandma and Grandpa leave, my mother always takes a hot bath and tells everyone to stay out of her way for at least two hours.

I love my grandparents, even if they are a little dense at times.
Grandma Lily can be a piece of work, but she means well, and Grandpa Ray is a softy. The only problem with Grandpa is that there's a whole list of things he can't talk about (which means he doesn't want to
hear
about), and at the top of the list is anything to do with s-e-x. In Grandpa's book, being gay has to do with s-e-x.

I hadn't really planned on coming out to them, but they asked me about the earring and why I was wearing rainbow shoelaces (part of my Christmas present from Aunt Pam) and, well, what could I say?

Grandpa immediately got out of his chair and headed for the kitchen. He said he needed a glass of water, but he looked more like he needed oxygen.

That was when Grandma told me I was only twelve years old and what did I know. (For the record, this may be the one and only time she called me
bubeleh
and did
not
pinch my cheeks.)

Later that night, I overheard her saying to my mom that she could not
believe
Pam would give me such
inappropriate
presents, pushing that
lifestyle
on someone so
young
. She then went into her usual rant about how Pam had always been a problem and she hoped one day she would come to her senses (meaning, live a life
Grandma could understand) and settle down. Mom told her that Pam was a problem only to
some
people, that she was a wonderful influence on me, and that being gay was a life, not a lifestyle. She also said that Pam's gifts helped me feel good about who I was, instead of giving me the message I should be someone I wasn't.

I ran upstairs and put on my
BEING WHO YOU ARE ISN'T A CHOICE
pin. I was thinking of putting on my
I'M NOT GAY BUT MY BOYFRIEND IS
T-shirt, too, but I wasn't sure Grandma would get the joke.

Sometimes I wonder how come my mom is so understanding and cool about who I am, considering that
her
mom goes
oy
and
tsk
and
sigh
over everything from how the table is covered with clutter to how the kids are being left to raise themselves. (We should be so lucky.) Grandpa isn't judgmental like that; he just kind of lives in his own universe. If it were up to him, I would still be getting trucks and catcher's mitts for Christmas.

But just when you think you'll never get through to them, they'll do things like hug you when nobody's looking or kiss the top of your head and say, “You're something special, kid” (Grandpa), or, “Sweetheart, you know I just want you to be happy” (Grandma).

Sunday when they left, Grandpa winked at me, which
was his way of saying, “I may not love the fact that you're gay (or even believe it), but I'm not going to have a heart attack over it (if it's true, which I'm not saying it is).” And before she shut the car door, Grandma looked up at me, wagged her finger, and said, “I still expect great-grandchildren. Don't think this being gay business is going to let you off the hook.”

Which means that it won't be long before Grandma is saying to people who don't even know me, “You don't think you can be gay and live a normal, happy life? Tell that to Joe Bunch.”

They're funny people, my grandparents.

Oy.

LIFE LESSON
: Even when they give you trucks or pinch your cheeks, grandparents can be pretty cool.

I SO DO NOT GET POPULARITY. MAYBE THAT'S BECAUSE I'VE NEVER BEEN POPULAR. AND FOR THE MOST PART THAT'S BEEN OKAY
. Except for that brief time in the fifth grade when I tried to figure out how to be a guy-guy, I never really wanted to be anything but myself.

Okay, in the interest of full disclosure
, this last statement is not entirely true. About three weeks into the sixth grade, which is so different from the fifth grade they should give you a passport, I started spending a lot of time in the nurse's office with these mysterious stomachaches. While I was lying there on that little bed, thinking about whose head had been on the pillow before mine and if they had coughed a lot and what disease they had, and
while I was also trying to look pitiful enough not to be sent back to class, it occurred to me that the real reason for my stomachaches was that not being popular
actually hurts!
I didn't want to have to change in order to have everybody like me, but that didn't stop me from wanting to be liked. When I thought about what it might feel like if everyone did like me, my stomach hurt even more because that was so far from ever really happening. I mean, I might as well have imagined what it would be like to be the star of a trapeze act (which is ridiculous even to imagine, since those trapeze acts all have names like The Flying Fedoras, and mine would be called The Flying Bunches, which sounds like a couple of guys throwing bananas at each other). Anyway, the point is that there was a time when I really, really,
really
wanted to be popular, and I just didn't understand why that had to be so totally impossible.

I still don't.

But I don't care anymore.

I guess.

This is on my mind because DuShawn was saying at lunch the other day that Tonni (Tondayala Cherise DuPré, whose name, like her hair, is fabulous) is the only one of his friends who is giving him a hard time for going with a
white girl, but that a number of his friends were all, like,
Eww, what are you doing with Addie Carle? She's such a loser
. DuShawn didn't say “loser” because he didn't want to offend Addie or anybody else at the table, but everybody knew what he meant. Especially when Skeezie came right out and said it.

What DuShawn actually said was, “You know what's weird? It's less of a big deal for a black guy and a white girl to go out than it is for somebody who's popular to go with somebody who's … less popular.”

That's when Skeezie said, “You mean somebody who's a loser.”

Miss Politically Correct (Addie) said, “We don't call people ‘losers,' Skeezie.”

And Bobby chimed in with, “Remember, we're trying to stop name-calling.”

Skeezie smirked and said, “Right. Please turn in your hymnbooks to number one-fifty-two.”

I'm not sure Skeezie is taking this no-name-calling thing seriously.

Anyway, we all got laughing, but DuShawn wouldn't let go of his point, which was that it's easier for any two people to go with each other than somebody who's popular and somebody who's not.

I said, “What about two girls? Or two boys?”

I don't know what made me say that. My heart was pounding like crazy.

“Like Bert and Ernie?” DuShawn asked, looking right into my eyes.

Addie jabbed him with her elbow.

I wasn't sure what to say next
(Hello? Script department? Dialogue, please!
) so I just kept staring at DuShawn. I guess this forced him to actually think, and you're not going to believe what he said. Well,
I
couldn't believe it, and it actually made
me
think.

He said, “If the two girls or the two boys were popular, they could get away with it. The problem is that most of the time the girls who'd want to go with girls or the boys who'd want to go with boys aren't popular.”

Oh. My. God. It was the whole earring thing all over again! If you're cool, you can get away with anything. If you're not:
Fuh-get about it!
(I have no idea what cheesy movie I picked
that
up from.)

So here's an example of irony:
Colin is popular. He could get away with going with another boy (according to DuShawn's theory). But he won't go with another boy because he's afraid he won't get away with it. But he
would
get away with it because he's popular. Meanwhile, here
I am—Mr. Single and Available and Out (to my family and friends, at least) and Proud—and I can't go with anybody because I am
un
popular!