There are certain songs that resonate to this day. I mean, they just got it right. In the early summer of '65 this song was on the radio several times a day and Jesus! They nailed it. A groundswell in reactivation. The song spoke for all those in it. Making sense 60 years later.
Guys hair - getting longer - challenging 'the establishment's' gender values. It's not that I wanted long hair because it was more feminine but because it was 'cool'. Guys becoming softer and more transparent, was groovy. A lot of mixed messages.
A lot of hiding ... fear, mostly amongst older men. Secrets.
The Elaborate Entrance
I was 8 when homosexuality first entered my orbit. Sloane Street in Woodstock Ontario about a year before my parents split. It was summer 1965 just over a year after The Beatles were featured on the Ed Sullivan Show. I was entering grade 5 that September. It was 4 years before puberty so I was hovering like a fly, waiting for the windshield on a freeway. I was clueless; having absolutely no idea about anything pertaining to sex, other than an attraction to girls in a cerebral capacity. I was getting that there was more to it only not knowing what. Little hints that there was a tsunami on the horizon. The provoking prepubescent pokes.
Like overhearing Dad and his friend Rick talking in the back yard over a beer. That quiet malevolent chuckle shared by 2 men confident in their manly manhood. "I think Bill's a homo" - Dad saying, referring to a happily married mutual friend. Homo. What's that? I went inside. Mom cooking supper. Macaroni & cheese with weiners, asking ... Mom, what's a 'homo'? That look of sheer terror on her face, long pause ... 'oh you don't need to know about that' she said. 'Where did you hear that? Go wash your hands. Dinner's almost ready'.
Ok. Obviously it's a bad thing. So bad that even discussing it out loud could make it worse. Just better not to talk about it is what I learned early on. My curiosity waned but was always there wondering why they were so afraid of it. Truth is, she had been shaken to the core by my innocent inquiry. Time passed.
About a month later we were watching The Dean Martin Show together. He always came on with a glass of bourbon in one hand and a cigarette in the other; half in the bag. Family entertainment in the mid 60s was loaded with obscure anomalies and even outright contradictions. That's just how it all played out. I didn't get the deal with homosexuality. Like why is this such a big problem? Even at 8 thinking this.
Music fade after Palmolive commercial: you're soaking in it
Dean is slurring his words like he always does.
"Tonight, we have a very 'special guest' on the show". It was a moment that stayed with me - to this day. Like it was yesterday. Liberace was introduced by Dean. He flamboyantly talked for a bit, waving his hands around whilst, likely to show off all his expensive rings before he played his white piano, ordained with a massive silver candelabra. Ok, I'm confused. Is he a man or a woman? Ok obviously a man and everyone loves him BUT, he acts like a woman! Talks like one, even dresses like one. Mom saying - I love him - Dad quietly laughing ... 'he's a homo'. Both oblivious (well at least Mom was). Mom slapping Dad on the arm playfully. "Shhhh. Not in front of the kids" she whispered. I heard that! Terrible taboo.
Making me think. What am I? The delinquent question. Am I a homo? That said, I knew that if I was? Shit would hit the proverbial fan which is why I could never tell a single soul.
Ok, Mom may have had suspicions about the 'glitter man' but it didn't matter, almost like even if he was a homo, it was ok because he played so beautifully and was such an angel. In time, I discovered that those who worshipped him were mostly women or homos themselves AND that being a homosexual would later become an accepted way of life. MUCH later.
What you don't know? Won't hurt you
By the time puberty actually kicked in, my parents had separated and we had moved to Stoney Point (near Windsor) with my Dad who just took us there with a new woman in his life tagging along. I was 12 in 1969. I woke up one morning after the most amazing dream I'd ever had and was stuck to my sheets having no idea what had happened.
Finishing grade school in '69, all the way through high school and into liberal arts college in '75 where the sky opened after 7 straight years of holy homophobia. Brutal.
Epilogue: The Imposition
Right. Did you know there are 'gay' animals? Your little Muffy-wuffy lying on the floor licking himself and affectionately looking up at you could be as queer as a 3 dollar bill. Who knew? Turns out there is roughly the same percentage of animals that are LGBTQ as we are. I'm guessing humans were just supposed to skip that part?
A biblical imposition? Wait. If animals can be gay, why can't humans - and why are all flamingos pink? Aren't some guys?
P I N K F L A M I N G OS the story
FEATURING
TRIPTYCH (2020), a dance theatre production by Belgian company PeepingTom
6.38 am. The perfect cast - water is like glass ... kerplunk. The drop, the gentle pull. The slow decending return. Drag on the reel is set just right, like I am in this moment, anticipating magic. Loon in the distance. Seconds pass before the observation ...
There's a shiny squiggly thing moving up ahead in this cool murky green-brown water that's smaller than me. Cautiously approaching. What shall I do? It's food like. Yum. I eat - it dies.
Right. We really aren't the sharpest knives in the drawer, are we? A few fries short of a happy meal. There is a new thought process unravelling in me as of late. In 10 years of looking through the lens at those who gravitate to authoritarianism, I am now realizing that it is mostly genetic. Generations of parenting in patterns. Predictable.
Danger disguised. We are pulled to what's familiar. Safe.
Payback
Rooted in insecurity, the resentment festers and metastasizes. Populists see the opportunity and fan the flames disseminating disinformation, harnessing fear; using media to their advantage and gathering fragmented followers. Reaction feels good (for a few seconds). Heart rate increases, endorphins kick in with the seething stimulation that jumpstarts any given day, adding quality time and strengthening our resolve.
Sound familiar? It should. We're in it.
There are certain politicians that stand out in that regard. Unusually robust, overweight middle aged white guys (who conveniently have a shit-load of money), claiming they actually speak 'for the people' - a tad arrogant, outspoken and no shortage of detached animus. It's like they all have something to prove (to their furious fathers), managing to convince the people that they are legit. The lesson being, you really don't need to be a rocket scientist, to be in politics. All it takes is a little swagger. 'Gift of the gab' was what they called it in the 60s.
Sales.
The Outlaw & The Red Flag
In 2016 and again in 2025 nearly 74 million Americans voted for the strong man. Impotent, outlaw/felon and repeatedly bankrupt. Bully, cheater, purveyor of shams & scams and a penchant for payback. None of that matters. Rock star. Larger than life. It was always there going back centuries and coming around again. Humanity invariably returns to malevolence in a short term gain, long term pain amusement park ride that cycles then recycles ad nauseam. Wilful ignorance along with a convincing public narrative reinforces security.
Our historic fables in folklore, the anti-hero has always carried an unmistakable, charismatic charm that made them appealing regardless of their obvious disadvantages & impairments.
Parenting is the passing on of values on to us children just like their parents passed them on to them, reflected in our religious/ideological beliefs, way of life and most importantly, our loyalty to those who speak for us in precarious parliaments. It's a 'this' OR 'that' referendum marked with rewards and punishments, heroes and cowards.
Worship the Wacko
My Dad would have loved Trump. The big man in charge. Rich, compliant trophy wife - perks. Dad's whole thing was about this or that, reflected in his draconian parenting practices. Eat your liver OR go to bed hungry ... do as you're told OR ELSE! You see, lessons can either be learned the easy way or the hard way. Imposing one's will on another defines our place in the food chain and separates the men from the boys. It all comes down to 4 simple questions:
On a scale of 1 to 10 ... what do you value more in children:
1. Independence OR respect for elders?
2. Curiosity OR good manners?
3. Self reliance OR obedience?
4. Being considerate OR well behaved?
40 points right would point to an ardent supporter of authoritarian values. Dad would have scored an easy 40 with respect, manners, obedience & behaviour characterizing real patriotism. Mom maybe 20; like maybe she might think that being considerate and well behaved are equally important so she scored each a 5. I was spared a lot of unnecessary misery and able to raise my child with some semblance of empathy & humility because of that. Ultimately it was the feminine principle that saved my ass and shone light in the murky green-brown, revealing the lure with razor sharp hooks and the deceptive intention - the trap.
Women. The weaker sex? Right.
Tough love. Remember the line - 'this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you'? ... and so the hypocrisy begins. 'Do as I say, not as I do'. 'My way or the highway'. Economic uncertainty, inflation, cultural misappropriation, identity absence and loss of control are all bi-products of ideological alienation. Radicalization, foreign interference, paranoia, terrorism and inferiority all being components contributing to the MAGA community. Us or them.
Life or death.
Need for Speed
If we don't get this right, we'll perish is what we're being told. The prickly potion - an elixir that makes people feel good again. For now. For politicians like Donald Trump it's nothing more than a game where collateral damage is all part of the outcome. As President, he gets the world's fastest sports car that does 200 mph and there's no point of owning one unless you can take it out and drive it that fast. Right? So THAT my friends, is exactly what he is doing. Full throttle - no prisoners - no quarter.
We are pulled to what's familiar.
According to his niece, psychologist/writer Mary Trump, it's compensation for a damaged childhood where he never felt safe, loved - abused, exploited and emasculated. Learning to adapt with defence mechanisms that proliferate in a new world where angry adolescence has no consequences, power has no limits and where emotional maturity is for woke losers.
Dad was always a hero for me growing up or maybe he was my anti-hero. I'm still hanging on regardless. Wonder why? Maybe it just feels better that way.
