Gay Uncles; How I Wrote My New Book, "Garden Disruptors," 11

We sat on the couch on the barn porch. My editor friend stopped by to give me feedback. “I like how you use your gay uncles as a Greek chorus,” he said. Hmm, I didn’t want to look like a hayseed, but I had to say, “I don’t know what you mean by Greek chorus.”

The other words, ‘gay uncles’ brought a flood of memories. Back in the 70s, plenty of small Southern towns had their "antique queens." This little gay farm boy lucked out. My uncles not only ran an antique shop, but one was a band conductor, and the other an interior designer. Both were queeny. Unlike so many of their peers, they fit into the family, came for Sunday dinners, every holiday, and weeks at Edisto. They even took me to antique shows. 

Everybody knew. Nobody talked about it. But even with that omission, I recognized our special relationship. Somehow, they transmitted protection, understanding, and wisdom that I needed.

They tiptoed. When I got my feelings hurt by some rough-and-tumble boy on the bus, they let me hide behind their knees. When I felt confined, not knowing that I needed to get out, they played some album from a Broadway musical or showed slides from their trips to Mexico. Once we made and painted marzipan fruits. My fabulous gay uncles showed me the world I needed to know existed.

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My editor friend brought me back to the barn porch and the manuscript. He said, “A Greek chorus is a theatrical device, in your case, a literary device. It’s a group of unseen advisors who comment on and sometimes change the story that you’re telling.”

“Sort of like when people use the word ‘ancestors’ today?” I said, “But my uncles would despise that word because calling them ancient just wouldn’t do. Sounds like mummies. You know how I see them?”

“I can’t wait to hear this,” he said. He put down the manuscript and got a bemused, not completely sincere look on his face.

“They are a rock band called My Gay Uncles. They’re all dead now of course but the live in my mind, dressed up, laid back, in a disco lounge, surrounded by fog and rainbow lights. But of course it’s more than just my two family uncles.

They have new members— older gay men who’d advised me over the years. And, like some supergroups, they kept adding members. The 80s and 90s Aids years added a lot. My fabulous garden mentors, Jerry and Ryan joined when they died. And sometimes, an icon that I never even met, like Armistead Maupin and Quinton Crisp, makes a guest appearance. The Gay Uncles-– a super-group of men who share wisdom, comfort, and catty retorts just when I need them.

How could I not include them in the book I was writing? After all, it’s about a pivotal point in my life, ostensibly about building a huge botanical garden, but really about growing up, learning to deal with people, getting comfortable being out, falling in love with a man, and buying a house in a small Southern town. Throughout the book, when I need some words of wisdom, My Gay Uncles chime in from their cloudy lounge in the sky — sometimes the burst into song or quote Judy Garland.’

“Fascinating.” my friend said, “But all that doesn’t go into the book. The Greek Chorus, The Gay Uncles, are offstage.”  He’s in his editing mode.

But I have to buck up because, 'they’d never forgive me for leaving them outside, quietly advising, I thought, “Well, my Uncles haven’t been offstage since I was 4. They just wouldn’t go for that. You can’t ask Liberace and Elton to be a quiet advisor."

“Precisely,” they chime in, “Sweet child, let’s not use the rock band image. It’s coarse. We’d rather be the Rat Pack. Or maybe the Supreme Chanteuses.”  Another chimes in, “Torch Song Team Captains!” and then another retorts with a shrill, “Mary! You are the captain of the cheerleader’s team and all you did was the football team!” 

That’s just who they are. Sometimes, in life and in the book, My Gay Uncles offer salient advice and help me develop a sort of sophistication. Sometimes, they offer strength. And sometimes, they just add a little distraction, fun, and memories of a kind of man who’s pretty much gone from the world, but maybe we need to come back.

Read the Previous Chapter And join my husband Tom and me on Sunday for discussions about some of old, closeted but influential gay gardeners of Columbia.