My Grandmother's Favourite Lesbians

There are times we read a blog, or a column and think; “Oh I just have to write a reply, I love this!” However, with such a constant barrage of opinion in the twittersphere and beyond, you get a bit overwhelmed and just move on. I could not this time. I was compelled to write this after reading a column by Monique Schafter, in the Star Observer, and the topic has been on my mind all weekend. ‘Are you out to your Grandparents?’ http://www.starobserver.com.au/opinion/soapbox-opinion/2012/02/02/people-can-surprise-you/70805 

I read. I remembered. I swallowed that lump. Then I wrote.

What really resonated with me was the whole idea that families tend to want to ‘protect’ the older generation from radical ideologies, behaviours and lifestyles. This is true with children as well, for some sectors of the community out there; people who cannot bear the thought of explaining two mummies or daddies to their little precious, sheltered children.

            “How will I explain to the children that John and Henry are married?”

            “Your great-grandmother wouldn’t understand, just leave it be”.

There comes a time when you get tired of your partner being referred to as your “friend” or that doosy; “special friend”. How naive do we think our olds are? They have seen a lot of change in their time; they know most “special friends” don’t spend every Christmas and family celebration together. They know most “special friends” don’t buy a house together in Daylesford. What we are all really doing is taking from our grandparents and elderly relatives the chance to speak their minds, to choose their own feelings. There are countless LGBTI supporters out there; parents, siblings and friends who once struggled with and even rejected that person close to them who first came out. It is risky business, to have your heart broken when a loved one takes the love away. It hurts because we care. It hurts because we spent our lives looking up to them, and we want them in our lives for as long as possible.

No doubt, it might backfire, but what if it doesn’t? I will humbly admit my own hypocrisy here, my family have no clue how or with whom I live my life, only my brothers and mum know I share my life with a woman; my wife. That’s all the more reason why I can’t let this one go...

My grandmother, Rosa, was a church-hating ex-Catholic. Born and raised in wartime Italy, she was a hard woman who often ruled our household with not so much an iron fist, but certainly an iron will. It was her way or the highway! Incidentally, I took the highway as soon as I could. We had a love-hate relationship fraught with many a butting of horns, but I confess we both kind of thrived on that. My one regret, one which will never be fulfilled, is that Rosa died before I had the chance to come out at all.

Rosa was the only one on our street, many moons ago, to befriend the gorgeous couple across the road. Long term partners, the two women went on to have a little boy, whom both Rosa and I would babysit. She treated them like her own family, and proudly spoke of them to family and friends. I will never forget how she referred to those girls as “De best lezbie in de world”.

Then there were the two boys next door, whom Rosa befriended in her usual way. She was genuinely devastated when they broke up, as if she was mourning the break-up of her own grandson. I know with all my heart that she would have embraced me. It would have been nothing like the time I told her I was moving to Japan; I thought I’d be cut-off then for sure! I remember her saying, after the fires cooled, that she was afraid because she thought I would never come back. Just like when she left Italy all those decades before, she knew we might never live on the same soil again. She was right.

I came back home after she had already lost her fight with life (and what a fight that was!) and she never had the chance to be my biggest supporter, my most vocal advocate...She never got to call me and my wife “De best lezbie in de world”.