Recently , in my recent recentcy, I had to discipline ,Rua, my 4-year-old son, for repeatedly hitting his little brother over the head with his new clutch purse. What’s that, you say?. Discipline?! Yes, I know, I know. Call me old-fashioned. But I like a bit of child discipline when called for. However , that is a whole other story. No, good people……….. the focus here is on 2 words. Clutch and Purse. Two words that in their own right, are rather harmless. That perhaps conjure up images a young man ‘clutching’ to life by hacking his own arm off to free himself from a boulder. Or maybe a cats bottom. Like a set of very ‘pursed’ lips. You might like to take a moment to conjure up some images of your own. However, put these two words together and into the hands of a four-year old boy, you have a weapon of mass destruction and apparently a spot of controversy.
The aforementioned clutch purse was originally a birthday gift from the artist formerly known as my Mother in Law. It had its time and over the years I realised it’s time was no longer.Whilst putting it in my charity bag , young Rua intercepted it and claimed it as his own. I could see no reason to hold the clutch purse back from the dear, blue-eyed child.Quickly he proceeded to fill it full of matchbox cars and other such lark and carry it around with him. Everywhere he went….the clutch purse went. Until eventually the power of the Clutch Purse went to his head. He started hitting his brother with it. Repeatedly. I had to confiscate the Clutch Purse and put it in the hallway cupboard along with the many more previously confiscated toys. Of all of those toys , it is the Clutch Purse that Rua missed the most. After 2 weeks of nagging it was returned to the child. When I returned it to him, he did an excited we giggle and an Irish jig. I have yet to see if he has learnt his lesson and manage to refrain himself from beating up his brother with his purse.
But here’s the thing. Apparently it’s not normal for a little boy to have a clutch purse! Word on the redneck street is…it’s not normal at all. My folks split when I was a baby and my Ma raised me from then on. I was bought up as an only child, only to meet my half siblings in my 20’s.So my only real concept of family was me and my Ma. Mother and Daughter. Chalk and Cheese. The point being ..That as far as me raising 3 boys….it is most certainly a case of the blind leading the blind.
I remember years ago , my eldest boy Tahi, was rather attached to a doll. At the time I was still very much with his Father, who is a very involved Dad. He would pretend do put Dolly to bed, feed Dolly, change Dolly and all the things his father did with him. On a trip to the supermarket with Tahi, I had him in the trolley whilst he held on to Dolly. A man walked past, did a double take and then said with complete disgust in his voice “Is that a doll??!! You’ll make him gay!!” In that moment my heart broke. For that mans children. How awful it would be to be raised by such ignorance. It dawned on me that if Tahi was to have carried a Teddy bear around with him, that man would not have thought twice. But that the toy of Tahi’s affection was a Doll, surely meant he was Gay. Never mind that my son was learning how to be a caring and nurturing man. To be a person that showed tenderness and compassion to other human beings. This was all beside the point. Clearly he was going to grow up to be a “Poof”.
Well have I got news for you Supermarket Redneck Man and other such folk. If being a caring, loving human being means you’re gay, then bring that shizzle on!!!
As a little girl, two of my favourite people were a gay couple that Mum knew. Called Tom and Jerry. They were kind and funny and loved me to bits. I felt safe with them. Loved. I guess, like a little girl is supposed to feel with her Dad. I still feel that way around most Gay men. Especially Burt and Ernie. But those two are a whole other story. Where was I…..? Oh. I was always so excited to go and see Tom and Jerry. Funnily enough they even had ‘The Wizard of Oz’ on video. And I can tell you now , I watched that movie 17 million times. If I had have been a character in that movie, I would have been The Wicked Witch of the West. I would not have had an army of flying monkeys though. I would have had designer chap wearing flying homosexuals with fabulous hair and an insatiable appetite for Mojitos. “Fly my pretties” I would screech from my tastefully decorated castle. “Fly!!!”
I think it’s safe to say that if anything, my poor boys would only be scared to tell me they’re gay, because they know it would send me into an excited Mother of the gay frenzy. No doubt I’d immediately take up knitting, so I could knit them some lovely Angora hot-pants and matching vests for the winter months . At Gay Pride Parade I’d be dragging them up onto the biggest loudest float ,making him wear a mother and son, his and hers rainbow PVC outfit, holding a sign that says ” My boy is Gay!! Thank you baby Jesus”. Whilst watching Dirty Dancing , together we would yell “NOBODY PUTS BABY IN THE CORNER” at the TV screen whilst Johnny Castle works his magic on Baby’s Daddy ( see what I did there? Baby’s Daddy…BabyDaddy. So freakin’ clever!) We would shop together. Ohhh how we would shop. None of this grumpily sitting in a corner reading a car magazine waiting desperately for his mother to realise she is far to old and fat to be wearing anything other than a Mu-Mu. He would lather me in complimentary compliments and contribute to the mountain of try-ons in my changing room. We would even do a montage, playfully showing each other some ridiculous get ups before revealing the one outfit that makes us shine above all other Mother /Son duo’s. We would sit outside a trendy cafe together sipping our double decaf ,triple shot soy chai lattes and scour the paper to see what’s on at the theater. Strutt into a bar for a pre- theater Mojito whilst judging the attire of those around us. Me with my clutch purse. Him with his man Clutch. Oh how I would be the envy of all my friends who have only bred heterosexuals. . Yes folks, I would walk with my head held high if one of my boys were to discover he was a fan of men. Because Menfolk are fantastic!!! And so are my boys!! No matter WHO they love.
So, to the small-minded man at that supermarket, if I had to choose between a strictly heterosexual world whilst being wrapped in the arms of Joshua Homme (amongst other things) or a world with a good few Clutch Purse carrying, Doll playing ,gay people….I’m sorry to say…..Josh, you big gingerlicious rockstar ,………… I’m dipping you in honey and throwing you to the Gays.