Vicky's story

I was born in Texas in 1952 to an alcoholic father and manic depressive mother. I remember feeling very different as a child. It wasn’t that I was a tomboy. I was very feminine, but also asthmatic and sickly, uncoordinated, into books and school, and generally a social misfit.

I muddled up generally trying to do what I was “sposed to” do. That included getting good grades, going to the University and getting my teaching degree. It included marrying a man and trying to make a go of it. The marriage failed because we were both from alcoholic families and had no idea what we were doing. I was totally unaware of my sexual orientation, only vaguely aware that such a thing even existed.

I did have close, intense friendships with women. And eventually I figured out what a lesbian was. When friends would confront me and ask when I was going to come out, I would answer, “I want to be a mother and I’m a teacher. I can’t be a lesbian.” And I went on to be a teacher and a mother.

But then came Karen. She moved in next to my second husband and I. She was a fireball of energy and we became best friends. We did everything together: gardening, playing with our kids, cooking, and endless, endless talking. Karen was a recovering alcoholic and we talked about our histories and our dysfunctional families. A week after my husband left, we were sitting together after the children were in bed. Karen turned to me and said, “You know, there’s a lot of sexual energy in this room.” I could ignore it no longer, and I didn’t want to. We tried to change our relationship from friends to lovers, but she felt she would be “struck drunk” for being a lesbian. She just couldn’t do it. After a painful period of readjustment, we became friends again and stayed so until she died 14 years later.

I did become a teacher and spent 27 years in the public school systems. . I was reasonably out as a teacher. The junior high kids knew who I was although I could never confirm it verbally. I wrote lesbian poetry and articles about recovering from sexual abuse under an assumed name. That kept the districts happy. When NCLB forced me out of the classroom, I assumed the name legally. There was no longer anyone to protect: not my parents, not my children, not my career.

Seven years after my divorce, my ex husband decided to sue for the custody of the children. He was remarrying. His wife couldn’t have kids of her own. He won custody of the younger, his child. My older child became out of control during that time period, involved with drugs, alcohol and stealing. I couldn’t keep enough of an eye on him to keep him safe and eventually sent him to be with his brother. It was by far the hardest time of my life.
As a young adult Kwanza called me to make amends. I had just gotten off the phone with a parent who was equally distraught over their child’s behavior. I asked Kwanza if there was anything that a parent could do. His reply is one I will never forget. “Moma, when a child makes a decision like I did, the only thing you can do is feel sorry for the parent.”

Our relationship has been uneven since. Kwanza married a woman who decided she could not stand to be in my presence. I have not seen my grandbaby, his child, since his first week of life. I do not know if homophobia is any part of that. She won’t talk to me except to tell me I am despicable. I do know that the nurses were chiding her to let her parents know she was okay the day after the baby’s birth. I miss Kwanza and I miss having a grandbaby I can hold.

I do have a great relationship with my younger son, who is engaged to my best friends’ daughter. Yes, she is the child of a lesbian couple. Will and Dana reassure me that when, and if, they have children those grandbabies will be a part of my life.

Throughout this time, I had several relationships, always feeling vaguely guilty that I couldn’t maintain anything longer than 2-5 years. After the kids were gone I did have a partnership that lasted 8 years. I thoroughly enjoyed her and was sorry when we had to part ways. However during the whole time she was never very comfortable being out, certainly never demonstrative outside the house, and rarely in. We lived in Idaho and I wondered if that was a part of it. But we eventually moved back to her home in Hawaii and it didn’t change.

I never got the white picket fence and raised children with a partner the way I dreamed. But I have had wonderful experiences, loving friends, and two careers so far. Has my life been affected by homophobia? Certainly. It’s also been affected by many other things. Would my life had been different if I had lived in different times? Absolutely. We are all part of our culture and history. All in all I don’t regret anything I’ve done. It’s been a good life and there is much more yet to come.