jawnbc | And then I am moved

A much thinner crowd when I returned: my cousines Cathy and Mary, and then their nephew Michael and Mary's husband Paddy. Michael is an archetypal young working class Queens kid: about 20 and still working to be/become/prove his manhood. Paddy's from Donegal, and I'm 99% sure from the gaeltacht (he keeps saying "What are at" rather than "what are you doing"). Both are tradesmen.

When

querrelle and I got married, the issue of who to invite was complicated with regards to my family. We all love each other, and mostly like each other too. But we're also Oirish Catlick, and while most take our Oirishness very seriously (if not solemnly), the degree to which each adhere, attend to, or reject the Catlick part varies. And of course how each describes the extent of their observance often is dissonant with respect to actual practice.

Don't forget I was marrying another bloke. For those unclear, the Catlick church currently doesn't not have that as an option. Other considerations are that he's English, not to mention a heathen (better than a heretic). The flames of hell were licking at me from nearly every direction. good gurls go to heaven; bad gurls go everywhere

Cathy and Mary are among the cousins who, though born in Americay, grew up in Ireland. Among some of our other cousins I suspected that they might not think much of me marrying a guy, but they were to some degree used to dealing with queers. And all of us except the Irish-raised ones were raised as siblings, and if nothing else we'd try to muddle through these foreign waters. And I could rely on the rest of the US branch to suss out one very important consideration: Nanny mustn't find out about the wedding.

Look, I'm Mr. Queer Activist, so this isn't a self-loathing thing. Nanny was 97, healthy but frail, and very hard of hearing. Perhaps I could have made her understand what

querrelle meant to me. No doubt she'd still love me. But really old people are sometimes overwhelmed by things outside their customary frame of reference. I knew it would be OK, but I suspected it would upset her. I'm all for being out out wherever you are. But I'm not about being shortsightedly selfish. To keep this from Nanny meant keeping it out of the loop of most of the Aunts (Nanny's daughters) for as long as possible. FYI my 'rents were invited (Da and Ma; these are Da's sisters) and they...uh, declined. Tackily.

Cathy and Mary's mother Una is great but she's got loose lips. One of her favourite co-loose lippers was my aunt who helped Nanny take care of Brenda (who lived in the suite my parents now occupy upstairs). Helper Aunt, Aunt Ethna, as Nanny's oldest and brassiest, actually loved to push the envelope with Nanny like only the first-born (and only divorced) daughter in a traditional Angelus praying Irish family can: straight up and relentlessly. In this case Ethna would have done it on my behalf...genuinely. I didn't want her to. Not telling Ethna also meant not telling Una. Which meant not telling Una's kids...or inviting them. Plus I had no idea how most of them would react.

And you know what? I wasn't interested in any chance of receiving any sort of "you nasty dirty fucker" RSVPs. Which was possible, if not likely. I also knew that the non-invite would potentially rub some salt into wounds related to the Irish branch feeling marginal to the rest of us. Which is mostly because of levels of familiarity, nothing more.

So I return to the back porch tonight, and we're discussing Mary and Cathy's youngest brother Patrick's wedding next February in Ireland. And the topic of my wedding comes up again (I had explained it to Cathy earlier on the beach and she was fine with it). Mary was clearly hurt, but my explanations made sense to her.

And then Paddy launches into the sort of tirade only a half-langers Oirishman (particularly a golden-tongue Irish speaker) can. About how gay people are fuckin' alright, and we're all fuckin' people, and good on ya John. And a firm handshake. And I was getting a bit teary because I knew it was true.

Then Cathy said "was

querrelle born in Australian then?" "No, he's....English, from London."

*silence*

"Ah fook it," sez Paddy "we've got English friends and fuckin' gay ones."