When Grandma Came Out



It was after a Sunday dinner at Grandma’s house. All the females were sitting around the table after the meal, when she made the announcement.

“I think I’m part lesbian.”

No one moved a facial muscle.

Grandma could get mighty mad if she thought you were laughing at her. In her mid-seventies now, she would sometimes mix up words, even forget the English word and only remember the French – the language of her youth.

I knew we were all thinking the same thing: is Grandma coming out at 75? Could this be?

Then we understood.

Grandma had recently fallen in love with hummus.

A new neighbor, of Lebanese descent, had invited her over for wine and served hummus with roasted garlic and red peppers -- and from that moment on, Grandma had to have hummus and pita chips at least once a week.

In fact, that is what she had served us for an hors d’oeuvre before our big pot roast dinner on that very day.

“Oh, you mean you think you’re part Lebanese,” we said nodding-- thinking just how damned cute she was.

Grandma had a quick retort:

“If that’s what I meant, that’s what I would have said. I said L_E_S_B_I_A_N (she spelled out the letters for us) and you girls know what the word means.”

Whew. This was a shockeroo, as Grandma would have said.

None of us spoke.

“You know, I was thinking about this because I never liked wearing a skirt or dress. I never liked fussing with my hair, or clipping on earrings or wearing make-up. I have hated lace and bows and ruffles my whole life. And most of all, I always hated being out with Grandpa when the men would go into the living room to watch sports and I’d be stuck in the kitchen with the women. It would make me so damned mad.

“The men would be smoking cigarettes and drinking whiskey with their feet up on ottomans, and I’d be stuck with the ladies and their tea and crumpets. I always wanted to be out there with the men, smoking and sipping whiskey and watching sports, not in the kitchen with a bunch of women who’d rather gossip than watch a ball game.”

“That doesn’t make you a lesbian, Grandma,” we said.

“Well there’s more. You all know I’ve hated pink my whole life.” She said this with a very serious expression.

We wanted to smile but didn’t dare.

We certainly did know Grandma hated pink. She never bought us a single pink thing in our lives. She never wore a single pink thing in her life, and if we’d dare to wear pink in front of her, she’d make a face and chant: "pink pink you stink," like a petulant child.

(This must have had something to do with being traumatized while either looking at or wearing pink because she had an unnatural hate for the poor color.)

One of us asked haltingly, “Grandma, were you ever attracted to women?”

“Of course, don’t be silly,” was her reply.

“I am attracted to all of you young women sitting around my table!” she said, waving her hand in our direction.

She wasn’t going to make this easy for us.

One of the braver women at the table went for it: “Grandma, what we mean is have you ever been sexually attracted to women?”

Grandma scowled. “I’ve never had any use for sex of any kind,” she replied.

“Oh I guess that's not exactly right. For a short time before I got pregnant with my first, and for a short time after my hysterectomy and before your Grandpa lost the lust…there were some good times, but mostly sex meant fear of getting pregnant, having a miscarriage half the time and feeling sick -- wondering where the money was going to come from. Impossible to enjoy anything that could add a pregnancy into the mix…so I can’t blame Grandpa, it was the times.

“So to answer your question,” she continued, “no I have not been attracted that way to women and let’s not ever ask that question again.”

“Okay Grandma.” We were irking her for sure, so we changed the subject and talked about books we were reading, recipes and the Red Sox.

“Yup,” Grandma said, “Sometimes I’m absolutely sure I’m part lesbian.”

We just looked at each other and decided whatever Grandma was, whatever Grandma thought she was…it was okay with us.